The Merchant of Ages

Okay, perhaps this is just to buoy my chances in the ZU Awards, but I've decided to repost my fic. I'm working on Chapter 5 right now.

***

The Legend of Zelda: The Merchant of Ages

1

Link woke with a start and a shout. It was dark in his hut, but through the open window he saw the brightening in the east that hailed the dawn. He sat with his heart hammering, and noticed his fingers were stretched towards the night table, his boomerang. The dream did not fade, but stayed vivid and bloody behind his eyes until the first birds began to sing and his heart slowed back to its normal pace. He cursed, an ancient curse that he had no right to know, let alone utter. A boil bloomed at the corner of his mouth and he scratched at it, frantically, drawing blood. He cursed again and a spark shot from his mouth, burst into bat and fluttered through the window. This was Old Magic, though for such a young looking boy his eyes said he earned it.

He climbed out of bed and pulled on his tunic. Then he grabbed the boomerang and headed outside. There was something missing here, though the sunshine that crested the trees and tickled the dew seemed to say, Peace, Link, peace.

Link took to the air. These were morning stunts, morning secrets, shared only with the dawn and the birds in the sky. From his tree-top hut he jumped, launched himself towards the roof of his neighbour, landed smoothly, softly, barely disturbing the squirrel that had been quietly consuming a cache of nuts in the yellow thatch. He jumped again, arms out, and floated nimbly over the next few huts, occasionally touching down a toe to push off again. He came to the edge of the village, Odenarb, and sailed up the tallest tree, perching on the highest branch.

Hyrule lay sleeping, the dirt roads untravelled, the towns quiet, empty. From this vantage he could see everything, everything in the shadow of the mountain that blew lazy rings of smoke through the sky. His village was in the Deep Forest, once known as the Lost Woods, now cleared of the confusing fog that stranded travellers, sometimes at their ultimate peril. He could see the stone gates of the neighbouring village of Kakariko, and saw the fruit sellers wheeling barrels and carts in from the field farms, eager to take advantage of the good will of the villagers on such a promising, fine day.

Link took three leaps from the top of the tree and reached the door to his hut. He laced up his boots and shouldered his pouch - something sewn from the gut of a monster boor, or so said the merchant who had been more than happy to give it to him at a fraction of his asking price. The man had been strange - eager eyes, hands orbiting each other expectantly, lingering in the handshake longer than was comfortable. He carried a simple basket, but the contents seemed endless - strange clocks, wood-rendered whistles, masks of every description. When Link asked the merchant if they had met before, the man laughed and bobbed and shook his head, said nothing more but asked Link to pay only a pittance for the craftsmanship. When Link protested, the man held his hand up and said, “I may have reaped the harvest, but you had sown the seed.” The Kakariko market was busy at the worst of times; Link had no sooner handed over his rupees, marvelling at the depth of such a small bag, when a few children chasing a chicken crossed in front of him and drew his attention away from the strange merchant. He had never been able to find the man again, though he listened for that laugh, and had on occasion chased it into empty rooms.

He dropped the boomerang into the pouch and turned to leave. There, by the door, was a sword - a small thing, wooden handle, well-edged blade. His sword, although he had long since lost the taste for carrying it. It didn’t seem... right, really, though he knew it was the same sword he’d had his whole life, the sword his father had given him on the road to Hyrule, the very same he had thrust through the heart of the Moblin King who had raided the party and killed his parents. He had escaped by curling into a pot, and waited with his blade poised. When the thief king was counting his wares, and leaned over just right, Link propelled himself upwards and caught the monster’s heart by luck. Such a small boy was easily able to weave through the legs of the Moblin horde and steal a pony, ride swift into the unknown alone.

His mother had given him the boomerang and he treasured it, lately favouring it over the sword when he ventured from the Deep Forest. There was an elegance to it, and an exacting simplicity, whereas the sword was starting to seem too small, light, insignificant. The problem wasn’t swords as a weapon of choice - it was this particular sword, somehow not... complete. Today, he thought, I look again. Kakariko’s ever changing merchant population brought in all kinds of things from outside the kingdom. He took the sword in its sheath and slung it over his shoulder - he would trade it, at least, if only to clear his discomfort.

He stepped outside and climbed clumsily down the rope ladder, hating his modesty - but it was true morning, now, and the villagers were starting to wake.


The Kakariko Market was in full swing by the time Link reached the gates. He exchanged a few friendly words with the Royal Guard and wandered into the throng and sling of the market world. The air was thickly spiced in places, though it was still hours shy of noon and the smells suggested heavy curries and ripely cooked meats. All manner of person walked the cobbled square, from the stone denizens of the Mountain (once called ‘Death’ but now simply, the Mountain), to the fish-folk of the Waterfall. A troop of Gerudo women, with their silk veils and seductive swordplay, were performing for rupees - some danced, some fought, some sang. Link watched a woman named Guilda struggle in the coils of a giant snake, but what started as a battle became a dance, and Guilda ended to thunderous applause with the point of her sword at the throat of the beast. She moved like liquid to collect the rupees thrown in appreciation.

Link entered a tavern, dim for all the sun outside. He took a booth near the back and waited. A youth in a blue tunic came to the table.

“What for you, young master?”

Link ordered a glass of Lon-Lon’s Finest and a peppered apple. Sipping his milk, he considered the day. He could go to Castle Town Market, if Kakariko proved unfruitful, maybe take in some theatre, or creep through the Castle Gardens, tormenting the guards. This was how most days went - finding tasks to complete, things he might not have known of or cared for before he stumbled across them. He had wealth, of some weight - but he didn’t know where it had come from, originally, just that it was there, an account at the Kakariko Bank and Post that he assumed his parents had set up for him long before their untimely demise. Hyrule was a prosperous kingdom, small in comparison to the wider world beyond, known to few whose families had wandered from it seeking whatever it is that takes people from their homes to their destinies.

While he was musing over breakfast, a merchant had entered the tavern. Not uncommonly dressed, he carried on his back a seemingly endless supply of oddities, ranging from crude masks of the mountain tribes to complicated mechanisms with whirring gears and golden dials. Link might not have taken notice, but the Barwoman flirted and flashed her teeth, and the merchant laughed. Link spilled his milk and turned to the bar.

The face was the same; almond eyes twinkling, something dashing, daring in the corner of the mouth, hands encircling each other echoing Guilda’s snake dance. He was a young man, older than Link but not much, still young enough to take the interest of the Barwoman seriously. Link crept to the bar through the growing crowd and stood for a moment behind the man, regarding the curiosities on his back. They were layered, he saw - the peacock items on the outside, rougher, rawer things deeper in. In the bundle something glittered, and before he thought he reached inside to touch it.

... master...

The man yelled “Thief!”and grabbed Link by the arm. He hauled him up with an incredible strength that made the Barwoman gasp and reach for the club under the counter. But when the merchant’s eyes met Link’s the snarl turned into a grin, and he thumped Link on the back with a hearty chuckle.

“My mistake, old friend, my mistake! Barkeep!” The Barwoman held the club uncertainly. “Some milk for my companion here!”

Link rubbed his wrist. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Indeed you have. Sadly, our time together has thus far been brief. Do you have a table? Let us sit, then, and catch up like old friends do.”

The man unshouldered his substantial pack, and though it was awkward sat on the outside, protecting it from prying hands and eyes. Link could not concentrate on the man’s face, though he talked animatedly about his life and travels since they last met. He was thrown by the merchant’s familiar tone and frequent winks and kept finding his eyes drawn back to the glitter in the deep of the pack.

“Where have we met before?” Link asked in a lull after the merchant had spoken some choice words about the hygiene of the dancers in the square. “I’m sorry, but I think I should know you and I don’t.”

“Where is an interesting word,” the merchant said. “When is much less interesting, I’ve decided. Time means nothing without space.”

“I don’t understand.” His eyes darted to the pack.

“You will.” And here the man’s eyes grew dark, and the laugh left his mouth. “You will soon enough.”

Then he changed, quick as can be - the light entered his eyes and he smiled ferociously. “I am called many things in many places - here, I am Bahl, the Merchant of Ages. I have known you before, Link, but you will not remember me; another place, another where. But in all my travels, never have I been so strongly drawn to one figure, no matter how many forms he or she has taken over countless worlds.” He clapped his hands in glee. “I always love this part, the beginning, the joyous beginning!” The darkness returned to his features. “But this beginning is unlike the others, for though I am far and wise I have not a hand to play in these proceedings, but a torch to pass.”

Link struggled to understand. He was raptured by the man, but couldn’t keep his attention so narrowly focussed, not with that glitter taunting his periphery. “What torch?” he asked slowly.

“There are greater evils, Link, than any of your many selves could imagine.” Bahl gestured towards the pouch. “Do you remember what I said when I sold you that?”

“Yes. But I didn’t understand.”

“You killed the boor king whose gut makes the depth of that purse. In another world, he was an evil magician who became a tyrant bent on destroying Hyrule - a different Hyrule, similar to the stone but not the same by any means. So you see, I couldn’t, in good conscience as a merchant, sell you full price what you yourself had made possible.” Bahl smiled expansively, congratulating himself.

“This boor king,” Link began, “is this what I...”

“No-no. He is merely an anecdote, an interesting side note to this story. I mention him to show you that actions in one world make consequences in the others.”

Sudden understanding hit Link like a hammer and he cursed, surprised, and found a toad hop from his mouth onto the table.

“You see. Consequences. One of your selves became a little too interested in the magical texts of the Old Ones. You might want to keep an eye out; you’re a tricky bastard, in some worlds, and don’t hesitate to distrust your self. Not every incarnation is good.” Something chimed in the pack and Link started, ready to grab that glitter and run, regardless of his destiny. There were open doors all along the corridors of his mind now, but his first thought was on that shimmer.

“I suppose I ought to go.” Bahl stood from the table and extended his hand. “I look forward to seeing you again. Soon.” Somehow, Bahl had swiftly mounted his wares and was turning to the door before Link could even utter complaint. But he turned before leaving and said, “Ah, I almost forgot...”

And the world was lost in mist.


Link stood blinking on the long flat leaves of a tree outside his village. The first thing he noticed was his sword - weighing heavier on his back than before. He grabbed the handle and felt metal, the smooth raised bumps of jewels, and unsheathed a silver blade that glittered in the afternoon sun. A small piece of parchment was tied to the hilt. Link read it and felt a shudder creep down his back like gears of a cog fitting finely into place.

Soon.

2

Days passed. Weeks. Soon, a season; it was not so easy to slide along the sunlight and crest on the leaves; they were browning, thinning, and though Link did not soon forget about the note or the sword, he took his days in tasks that kept him far from home. Waiting, he knew, was best spent not waiting at all. He volunteered with several other villagers to go to Hyrule Castle Town and barter with the locals. Odenarb was quietly famous - those that sought seed sought their seed, for they were known as a green people quick with soil. They carted everything - from earth-blown pots to flutes, from the special small fighting cocks to the sticks that flashed with fairy magic. The Castle Town Market was spectacular - any assortment of persons selling dazzling, brilliant illusions and deceptively normal cures. When Link wasn’t minding the stall, he simply wandered, watching. He caught a smith selling horseshoes gilded with Fairy Fire, which he demonstrated by pitching them at spectators. The shoe would hover, briefly, in the air, sail farther than it would with normal smithing, and return to the smiling smith’s waiting hand. Link applauded with the other spectators, though he was hardly impressed. The day before, on the road, he’d tripped over a rock and uttered a curse that came thick and fat out of his mouth; when he stood, a little round man was wiping his face.

“Well thank you very much!” the little man said, and marched off grumbling to himself. Luckily, Link had been lagging behind the caravan, so no one noticed this strange birth. Since meeting the merchant, he had been fascinated by this ability to call things into existence using words his conscious mind did not know, and forced himself into all kinds of small accidents just to see what he would say.

Someone was standing next to him, hands clasped together against their chest. They were wearing a cloak that brushed the cobbles and aside from their hands and the crescent of their chin, he saw nothing that gave away their identity. The figure was about his height, but lankier in some way - a child, perhaps, not an ‘arb like him. The Odenarb peoples were notoriously mistaken for children of the other races, something Link was always finding a new threshold of disgust for. He had been in the Market not one day, and already several of the taller races (women, mostly, toting around their own children) had bent down to ask him if he were lost. Oh, if he could draw those glorious curses at will! Many a mother would find fur on her face, or branches sprouting from her ears.

The figure laughed as the smith’s pony trotted out a few feet into the air - a boy, Link then knew, and he had the sudden and absolute surety that this was the prince himself. A precocious lad, widely rumoured to be impossible with his tutors, the maids, the cooks and even the King and Queen, the prince was said to sneak out of the castle and into the Market incognito - and looking around, Link could see the brilliance of the disguise. So many children, and half of them were bundled in similar cloaks against the quickening fall bluster - if this truly was the prince, all he needed to complete his disguise was to stand next to any adult, close enough to seem their child.

The smith started calling for customers, then; the demonstration was over, and to his disappointment a good deal more than half the possible patrons suddenly had business elsewhere - like at the neighbouring stall, where a witch of some distinction (her headdress was simple - the witches were at best modest, at worst reclusive, and they showed their stature by very sparse and simple ornamentation) was applying a balm to the face of a willing old woman. The cloaked boy stood at the front of the crowd, and Link to the left of him, glancing every now and then. He wasn’t sure if the prince saw him, but when the witch had finished (the old woman smiled, and even Link was shocked to see the lines on her face had completely disappeared, with no waxy residue or evidence of the balm), the prince disappeared. Link found him again across the market square, feeling oranges in a fruit stall. Link stood on the opposite side of the stall, and began inspecting pomegranates. He kept his eyes on the task, but watched the shadow of the prince that had fallen on the fruit move like liquid, soaking into the darkness between the piles. It disappeared, and the prince wandered off again.

It went on like that for most of the afternoon; but it changed, sometimes, so that Link found himself being followed. A silent game of tag.

Link had followed the prince into the Inn. The boy was standing at the counter, ordering something, and Link snuck up behind him, ready to tap him on the shoulder, when a hand fell heavily on his back. He spun around and met the eyes of Bahl.

“We must go,” said Bahl, and grabbed him by the wrist. They left the Inn, just as the smiling prince turned, holding two glasses of milk.


“Things are moving rapidly forward,” Bahl announced, marching Link out of the Inn and into the Market. “There is still time, but we need to take advantage of a small - ” Bahl paused to jump over a dog, who then began to follow them, barking incessantly “- window.”

“I don’t understand,” said Link, ducking a torch twirled by a dancer. “The sword...”

“Oh yes!” exclaimed Bahl. “I’m glad you have it on you. But I suppose you’ve never left without it, eh? Always ready for adventure, what?” And he dropped a conspiratorial wink that Link distrusted deeply.

The Market was in full swing, and their progress was hindered by people, Link thought bitterly, who ambled happily along without destiny playing games with their lives. Bahl seemed to grow increasingly frustrated, until he shouted, “Enough!” and stopped dead in his tracks. The dog tumbled into Link’s legs, barked rapidly, and ran off embarrassed. A few people turned to look, but Bahl didn’t give them much time to goggle; he spread his arms and spoke a word that seemed to come from outside himself, so loud and deep that Link felt his teeth rattle. Suddenly the Market was gone, and they stood on a vast field, hazy with mist, in the shade of a great tree. Link blinked and rubbed his eyes, then dropped his hands and silently cursed himself for such childish behaviour. Too long in the Market and he began to behave as the people expected. A child. So he folded his arms and asked, “What now?” trying to sound as old as his eyes.

But his own voice confused him. Because it had a timber he’d never noticed before. Looking at Bahl he was shocked to find himself face-to-face with the man, when moments ago he was being tugged along like a doll.

Bahl smiled, and Link wished, just for a moment, he could slap it clean off his face.

“So. I had to make a few adjustments. I hope you don’t mind. Not that it would matter if you did.”

Link looked down at his body. He was grown. Not yet a man, but closer than, as an ‘arb, he’d ever thought he’d get.

“What have you done?” he asked, running his hands over his body. “Where did you get these clothes? What’s happening to me? What - ” and Bahl belted him across the face. Link fell to the ground, and swore a fat yellow slug into existence on his pants.

“Honestly. I thought you’d be pleased. Know that there are things you will never know. It is the first step to true wisdom.” He held out a hand. “Now get up. We have work to do.”

Link regarded the hand and grabbed it, firmly. Work to do.


3
Bahl, seeming ever so urgent before, clasped his hands before him and began to walk at an almost leisurely pace, with Link taking shuddery steps beside him. This body - if he had known how much effort it took the larger folk to kept upright and steady, he’d never have wished for it. He tried to remain calm and collected, though his feet moved as if they’d never been used before, and twice he had to check himself to keep from simply falling over. Still, there was potential in these limbs. He was of a mind to jump, and see if he could catch those invisible toeholds in the air whose presence his ‘arb form was able to detect by intuition, to run and see how these strong, thick legs could carry him, to shout and hear his new deep voice echo across the field and startle the butterflies - but Bahl looked poised on the verge of some revelation. He followed as best he could, and was silent.

Ambling away from the tree, Bahl’s almond eyes were closed in thought. His steps were sure, and twice he avoided crushing a toadstool (much to the relief of the fairies sitting under or on it) without stumbling, or, for all appearances, seeing.

“I suppose,” Bahl began, “that you have many questions.”

Link was getting a little tired of the monstrous curses leaving slime in his mouth, so he merely nodded.

“What one do you want answered most?” Bahl hopped on one foot for a few paces, his heavy pack emitting a clamour of metal and magic; Link looked behind them and saw a grateful toad waving, his little hand barely distinguishable from the grass.

“I suppose,” he said, a million thoughts vying for position until one stood out strong. “I suppose I would like to know what it is I have to do.”

Bahl smiled. It was the most serene expression Link have ever seen on a living man. “Ah. The question of a true hero. ‘What is it I have to do?’” Suddenly, like a thunder-head passing across the sun, his expression darkened. “The answer, however, may prove your undoing. Know that here is the only safe space left, in all the worlds. In all the wheres,” and he gave that word the same ominous weight he’d used in the pub what seemed like an age ago. As they walked, Link looked back frequently, noting the tree grow smaller and smaller until it disappeared. Then, surprisingly, he saw it appear again in front of them - the same knotty braches, that orange moss creeping up it’s bark - looming in the mist.

“Do you remember when I said I had a torch to pass?”

Link nodded.

“There is something wrong. Something terribly wrong. The worlds are growing smaller, the lines between them weaker. Things are creeping in from Outside.”

“Outside what?”

Bahl flashed his teeth. “Outside, boy, Outside everything. Don’t interrupt.”

But the merchant trailed off into silence. They passed the tree again; all the while they walked Link’s mind erupted with curiosity, breaking through his shock. Finally, he thought, something to do! Something that isn’t small, isn’t tedious, isn’t just killing my time until the next pointless task. He reflected on those days and weeks and months spent finding make-shift quests, and was struck with a profound gratitude that scoffed at his recent trepidation. This is what you’ve wanted, he thought, and knew it to be true.

He was warming to this new form. But in the back of his mind, a little voice piped up; a voice that said, “Consequences.” He imagined the mirror of himself in all the possible worlds waking up somehow... different, and not knowing why. Like he had so often. The curses... the flying... and now this.

But the sword sat heavily on his back, somehow begging him with it’s heft to stop thinking and start doing.

“I must teach you a few things,” said Bahl, coming out of his reverie.

“Yes,” said Link.

Bahl began to wring his hands. His pack rattled indistinctly. Though his expression was still serene, there was a shadow creeping in, tightening his eyes, making his smile grim. It was slow, and for that much more unsettling, because Link had only ever seen the man flicker through his moods, not ease into them. Something was wrong. But he was here to listen.

Bahl stopped. Unshouldered his pack, and left it on the ground by his sandalled feet. His almond eyes were stained but twinkling.

“Are you alright?” asked Link, reaching out a hand to steady him.

“Fine, boy, fine. But I won’t be for long. I feel Them... coming.” He shook his head, and it brought him back out of whatever was drawing him in, at least for the moment. Link began to feel frightened again.

“Take out your sword.”

As he pulled it from it’s sheath, he heard a growl. They had stopped out of sight of the tree - the field was, aside from fairies, butterflies and mist - empty. Immediately his hands grabbed the hilt and held it ready, the long sliver blade fairly glowing with anticipation. He stood stalk still, ready to swing.

“You and your sword are one,” Bahl said, walking around the ready Link in a casual circle. With the pack on his back he seemed slow, awkward. Now he seemed dangerous, full of power, even though that tightness still held his features and his voice was getting rough.

“Wait - did you hear...?”

“SILENCE!”

The few butterflies that had been playfully darting around the pair zoomed away. It seemed that even the mist cleared a few feet around them. Link was still shaking when Bahl began again.

“You and your sword,” Bahl repeated, “are one. You are a hero. You’re sword gives you power, gives you purpose. Do you agree?”

Link nodded, curtly, and let his eyes dance around the field. Was that a shadow in the distance?

“A hero is physical. A hero is action. A hero fights that which he sees, does that which he is told, asks for nothing but the task. Do you agree?” As he circled, he quickened - Link tried to stay aware of the field, but Bahl was too distracting, too insistent. Bahl’s voice, instead of moving with it’s master, seemed to come from everywhere. Link tried to stay firm on his feet, but he was getting dizzy.

“Yes,” he said.

“Can you act without thinking, know without knowing, win without trying?”

“Yes!” He heard another growl. Closer this time, though he could see nothing but the merchant.

“Good!” shouted Bahl. “Of course you can! But can you think without acting, try without winning, learn without knowing?!”

Confused as he was, Link said, “Yes.”

“I don’t think you can, boy, but we shall see!” The merchant did a little skip in his pacing circle, and laughed heartily. “We shall see! NOW!”

And he disappeared.

His constant orbiting suddenly gone, Link tottered a little but stayed standing. His eyes darted across the field. There, in the distance, was a definite shadow. He could see nothing through the mist but a great, hulking shape. It growled at him; a low, warning sound.

His mind raced. Ten, maybe fifteen paces to the beast. No visible weakness. He’d have to get closer and be prepared to strike. He could see the swell of it’s back as it took huge, even breaths. It’s head was facing him, must be between his shoulders, strike low, go now. And his feet were taking him forward in an instant.

He jumped, found the toe-hold in the air, and took several leaps above the beast. The closer he came, the mist cleared; he saw a scaley blue hide covering a knobby back and wide, thick shoulders. The spine sloped down between them and joined a head the size of the merchant’s abandoned basket - black eyes, vacant, a wide mouth, closed but denoted by broad, white fangs poking out both up and down. Strange gold edging around his black eyes, lips, nose. Ears the size and shape of dinner plates. There were butterflies, too, four or five of them with expansive, parchment-soft wings, all fluttering about the creature’s face. The scattered as Link floated over, and the creature shook it’s head once, abruptly, as if coming out of some trance.

Link continued with his quick observations. Arms the size of tree trunks. The creature tapered down the middle, and had small, stubby legs - not a runner then. As Link sailed through the air and landed behind it, he saw vicious claws, the length of his arm, curling from the creature’s hands. It was resting on it’s knuckles, like an ape. It started to turn towards him, growling again, and Link jumped over it once more.

He landed right in front of it. The beast reared up on it’s small hind legs and brought it’s massive hands up, like it was about to snatch him. Out of its vast maw came a noise Link had never heard before - at once ferocious and sad, so loud his ears rung when it stopped.

He looked at his hands - the sword was plunged hilt-deep into the creature’s belly.

It tottered for a moment, looking down from its great height with an expression Link didn’t understand. Then it fell, shaking the earth.

“Good, boy, better than I hoped!”

The merchant stood beside his pack. Link stayed by the fallen monster, not quite sure what to do. He walked over to the corpse and pulled his sword from it’s belly. The stink was foul. Obscenely pink curls of the thing’s gut spilled out. Out of the creature’s head lolled it’s fat tongue. Link knelt and examined the teeth. They weren’t all sharp - the ones at the back were flat and rounded, good for grinding - but here at the front they were sinister.

The beast had died with that expression on its face. It’s open eyes, more vacant now, still had that tension in their outer corners. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was fear.

“What was it?” he asked softly as he heard the merchant approach.

“A monster.” Bahl’s voice seemed hoarse again. Link looked up into his eyes and saw a weary man. “Do you need to know more than that?”

“How many more?” He wiped his blade on the grass and stood. With his pack on again, the merchant was dwarfed, weak, pitiable. Inconspicuous. His face was drawn.

“Seven, as of right now. More than I can handle, meagre one that I am. But you - you’re a true hero, boy.” He patted Link on the shoulder. “Come. Let us walk again.”

He directed Link away from the stinking body. The reached the tree and stopped. In the distance, the mist was thickening into a fog, and the spoiling monster was just a smear.

“I needed someone who could do this with more grace or precision than I could ever hope to on my own. I thank you for being that man.”

“I thought you said this space was safe.”

“It is. That is the only one I was able to apprehend - and I could do nothing about it but keep it contained. You see how it has pained me so.” He gently touched his own cheek, staring over Link’s shoulder in the direction of the fallen beast. He seemed relieved. And whatever tension was held in his features began to melt. In fact, he was soon smiling, that handsome, dashing smile Link first saw in the market café.

“Seven more,” said Bahl. “This one gave you no trouble, eh? Shouldn’t be too hard for one such as you.” His grin was positively glowing. Then suddenly it fell. “They are good at camouflage, these hideous beasts; the one I brought here lost his after a while. You’ll have to look carefully in the worlds you find. I know where their lairs are, but they sometimes don’t come back for months at a time.”

Link could not shake the creature’s expression. Fear. It wasn’t right, somehow. It left him feeling guilty. “What do they do?” he asked. “Why must I kill them?”

The merchant snatched the front of his tunic and twisted the fabric at his neck. “Because you have to!” he barked, and on his breath Link caught a whiff of something foul, like rotting meat. He pulled back instantly and started rubbing his hands together nervously.

“Forgive me,” he said, smiling again. “It is the urgency of the matter that makes me act so. They come from Outside, as I said, and are agents of Chaos. It helps if you think of all the Ages as a....” He trailed off, tongue poking out comically as if he could taste the word in front of his face. “As yes; a quilt. An infinite quilt. Each square is separate, yet they are all attached. These creatures are, in effect, trying to undo the threads between the worlds.”

“What will happen if they succeed?”

The merchant’s face darkened so speedily that Link regretted ever asking the question. But when he answered, his voice was even.

“Chaos,” he said simply. “Each world is supported by the others. You think waking up with Ancient Curses popping out of your mouth is bad. You have no idea.”

And, Link found, he didn’t need to. The merchant’s explanation sufficiently quelled his uneasiness. He not only had a quest, now, but a purpose, some goal. To save all the worlds. Perhaps the most noble he had ever undertaken.

“Where do we begin?”

Bahl clapped his hands together and bounced on his toes, positively delighted.

“Ah, the most important question of all, eh? Such a man, such a man!” For a frightful second Link thought the merchant would pull him forward in an embrace. But Bahl merely smiled expansively and clapped a second time. “We must begin by teaching you the talent I have long taken for granted; we must begin by showing you have to travel between the worlds.”


4

Link was alone. The fog had cleared, and that which remained stayed nestled in the grass. There was sun, too, but only when he stayed close to the tree. Feeling experimental, he took a run across the field (making an effort to avoid the monster’s prone body though the smell of its death seemed to chase him for twenty paces) and had his suspicions confirmed; the world was a tiny sphere, and now that the light was brighter he saw that one side, maybe a hundred paces across, was bathed in the sun; the other was dim, and looking up from it he could see the tiny pinpricks of stars. The denizens of the grass were frolicking on the warmer side; fairies bouncing on the toadstools, multi-coloured butterflies dancing in the hair, the rustle of grass here and there that put him in mind of small, simple creatures that lived in the ground.

The merchant had given him a map after their lesson. He sat with his back against the tree, sword thrust into the ground, and traced his finger along the lines of latitude and longitude, coming to an X every so often. Seven monsters to slay. The first had been easy. When he admitted this to Bahl, the merchant seemed both delighted and reproachful; he admonished Link by saying, “This one you battled was old, disoriented, stripped of its camouflage. I daresay the others will be a trifle more prepared.” And he smiled in such a way that Link felt uneasy again.

He had his boor-gut purse of surprising depth - a loaf of bread, a canteen of water, a few strips of cured beef and his boomerang barely filled it - and his sword. Bahl had also furnished him with a cloak, which he said was the best inconspicuous dress in any of the Ages. That was another thing - when he talked of time in terms of space, he mentioned that each world was really an Age, and he gave the word such importance that Link dared not question what he meant. He knew he had to travel to each of these seven Ages and find the monster that threatened to tear it apart. That was all, at this time, he felt he needed to know.

Warmth filled him with the sun’s bright rays. The big white butterflies chased each other in front of him, looking for all the world like children playing tag. He reached out a hand and they sped away, as if afraid.

“You shouldn’t have done that, you know. They are angry with you.”

Link looked around, hand already on the hilt of his sword, ready to pull it from the ground. The field appeared - well, not empty, but occupied only with the tiny things indigenous to it. He felt a very slight tug on the hem of his tunic and looked down. A toad with golden eyes stared up at him with an expression of concern.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” Link asked, suspicious of his own sanity.

The toad gulped. “Only that you’ve angered the butterflies. I thought you’d like to know.” He stood like a man, looking a little unsteady because of his relatively big head. His dry, orange hide was covered in dark green spots. He was holding a struggling beetle in one webbed hand, and pulled a twitching leg off with ease. He popped it into his mouth and chewed slowly.

Link thought, If I can’t have a simple conversation with a toad, I’m done before I start. Bahl warned him that all manner of creatures lived in the variety of Ages, and to never assume any was less intelligent than he was. So Link brought his face closer to the toad and said, “Why are they angry?”

The toad took a bite of the beetle, and a runny yellow pus squirted onto his chin. “Come see for yourself,” he said simply, and started walking away. Link sat for a moment, not sure of what to do; the toad turned, after having struggled over the distance of only one of Link’s strides, and said, “If you carry me it would be much faster,” as if Link should have offered already.

Hastily, Link stood, and bent down to pick the toad up.

“Your shoulder, if you don’t mind. Thank you,” said the toad amicably, settling in and holding Link’s collar. “Try not to jostle me off. Go forward.”

Because the world was so small, it was easy to know where the toad was taking him. By now the body of the creature was half in shadow; as he stood on the bright side he marvelled at the sky, how the bright blue faded into darkness, and a few stars flirted at the edge of the world.

At first glance, he thought the creature’s decomposition had quickened. No longer a scaley blue, but almost completely covered in fans of white. He took a step closer and realized the corpse was coated in butterflies. They were still, with their wings spread wide, but every so often a breeze would pass over them, and they rippled, one or two taking to the air in lazy circles before settling again. Link was astounded. It was like witnessing something divine. The smell was still hanging in the air but now competed with something almost sweet, like honey warmed in the sun.

“What’s happening,” he breathed.

“Funeral, I suppose.” The toad’s tone was indifferent. “Anyway, they say you’re not welcome here. They want you to leave.”

Link took a step forward. “What have I done wrong?” He spoke to the toad, but the butterflies on resting on the shoulders and head of the slain beast flashed their wings rapidly, as if in response. He took another step forward and the toad said in his ear, “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

Link stopped. All the butterflies were now angrily flapping their wings, and the message was unmistakable. Leave us. Leave us now.

Unsettled, Link turned and slowly walked back to the tree. He sword was gone. He looked around for a few minutes and realized he’d had it in his hand the whole time.

5

Bahl taught him a word, which, after he had secured the cloak around his shoulders and had all his possessions safely stashed away, he spoke with some trepidation. The toad sat passively on the head of a toadstool a little in the distance, and said, “Try saying it louder!” when nothing happened. He noisily sucked at what remained of the beetle’s innards and watched with passive interest.

Link cleared his throat and spoke again. This time it came out confident and clear, and his last sight of what he called the Butterfly Age was the little toad, waving the hand that held the beetle carcass. Then all was dark. Link closed his eyes as instructed by the merchant. “Never look when you’re between the Ages; greater men than you have gone mad by what they saw.” He felt a cold wind blow through him, and his teeth began to chatter. His mind fumbled for the second word - his destination. He had memorized three from the map, and chose one at random, speaking it loud and strong against the chilling breeze.

No sound came out. But the darkness behind his lids suddenly brightened, and he felt sunlight on his cloak, soaking his limps. Very cautiously, he opened his eyes, and got a glimpse of what he eventually began to think of as the Wooded Age. His view was thick with trees. Not ordinary trees, not like those he and his kin had lived in. These were as broad as whole buildings. The forest floor was covered in fallen leaves. It was moist under his boots, and squelched when he took a few steps forward, out of the patch of sun. He saw no sign of active life; the only sound was the wind blowing miles and miles away in the treetops.

It was cold in the shade of the canopy, and Link was grateful for his cloak. He pulled it around his shoulders tightly; he stepped back into the bright patch and noticed the position of the sun. He waited. A few minutes told him that it would be setting on his right, so he faced that direction and headed off, stumbling here and there over knobby roots the length and width of whole cows.

The trees seemed endless. The sun soaked through in spots, and he would hesitate to check his direction, but for the most part he trudged on, wrinkling his nose then masking his face with his cloak when the smell of rotting leaves became too much.

After about an hour, the light was getting dangerously dim. As was his patience - he was of a mind to forget this Age, go back and find somewhere else to start, when suddenly he noticed movement. His body became still of its own accord - a habit which he was delighted to find simply translated from his small frame to this one in perfect pitch. As always, his mind began firing rapid facts at him, and his sword fairly twanged in eagerness.

Trees. More trees. Light failing. Movement - no, just trees.

Link stared hard. Before him, in his immediate vision, stood about twenty-six trees, all house-thick and sky-tall, and went into darkness approximately six or seven rows it. The reality of it wasn’t so organized as his thoughts, but he found his mind making grids, marking spots to jump and cling and hide behind. A forest is no place for a battle, especially not one as dense as this.

Sweat began to trickle down his forehead. A stinging drop seeped in his eye, but he didn’t blink. He couldn’t.

There! - no, just trees. Bracken swaying.

Slowly it dawned on him; what Bahl had said: “They are good at camouflage, these hideous beasts; the one I brought here lost his after a while. You’ll have to look carefully in the worlds you find.”

The memory seemed to change how he saw; one moment, it was just a forest, impenetrable, thick, dark. The next, something began to emerge - something that looked enough like a tree to fool anyone, but shook ever-so-slightly with the effort of keeping still.

Thirty paces. Less if he bounced between the trees in the air.

He made not a sound. The difference between action and inaction could not be seen. One moment, there he was, a newly-made man, wrapped in a dark cloak, lifeless as a statue. The next he was gone, as if plucked from existence by some great Hand.

He took three steps up the side of the nearest tree and pushed off, kicking each passing branch as he moved forward, gaining a dangerous momentum. With all the hurried movement his hands found his sword - they always would, as Bahl might say - and he sped through the air like an arrow loosened from an expert’s bow.

Fool! he thought as he neared the hidden beast. I should have seen. But it was a mistake he’d not make again. Swift as his approach, he was able to notice every detail about the monster that had hidden it from his eyes.

It was shaped as the other, perhaps thinner in it shoulders and chest, and covered in bark and moss. Clinging to a trunk several feet from the ground, its back was covered in twigs and branches, each bearing enough leaves to effectively hide it completely higher in the canopy. It twisted around as the Link sliced the air with the hissing sound of a swinging blade, and its enormous eyes glowed a bright and icy blue. If he could have stopped, he might have then; there was such fear and sadness in its expression, and above all, the same uncanny intelligence that its cousin in the Butterfly Age had shown before its demise.

But the blade was moving, catching flesh and bone and gut, pinning the creature to the tree on which it clung, sliding in until the hilt met its hide and Link felt the rough flesh part against his knuckles. He planted his feet on either side of its back and let out a gasp that was at once satisfied and confused. He tried to keep his eyes down, but he could feel the pressure of its dying gaze on the side of his face, and was compelled to look up. Its snout, a nub if not less, was mere inches from his nose, and its wide, ice-blue eyes cast a faint glow on his face.
It opened its mouth.


Link made his way back to the clearing. His bloody sword, its tipped cutting a groove in the ground as he dragged it along beside him, was covered in dirt and bits of leaves. Distracted, he wiped it on the edge of his cloak. It was full dark now, and the white light of a rising moon made the shadows between the trees seem haunted.

Link shook his head. “Why?” he whispered.

He must find Bahl. He must. Before this went any further. Before he found another of the agents of Chaos with the too-savvy eyes and pathetic faces.

Before another one, on it’s dying breath, was able to say, “Please.”

Can't wait for next chapter...very interesting...
Just 1 Q...how do you do it ??? I've tried and tried but I always get writers cramp

I do what I do 'cause it's all that I do.

Chapter 5 is finally up. More to follow soon.

Very nice. Can't think of any critique at the moment. One of the better Legend of Zelda fics I've read though. But, of course, I haven't really read many.

Kind of makes me want to write again. I shall save you all from sweet suffering, though. As I never finish a story. xp

I really like the way it is written! It's nice!

:::warble:::

... does that qualify as a valid review? Because it's really all I can think to write at the moment...

Oh, and I want the toad...

Shucks. Thanks guys. I'm in the middle of chapter 6 right now, but I'm going to wait to post in until 7 is done as well. Things are heating up for our poor, misinformed hero.

Uh, hint.

Oh drat I thought it was an additional chapter... Oh well back to the drawing board...