On The Wing
High above Dragon Roost Island, Prince Komali pumped his sleek white wings against the salty wind. Further up he climbed, until the palm trees on the beach were nothing more than green splotches against a bright white background of sand. Then he dived, plunging straight down into the abyss of blue, his eyes watering in the wind, falling -
He pivioted and steadied himself, easing into a calm glide. In the distance he could see dark clouds gathering. These clouds worried him; a storm would make it nearly impossible to fly, complicating all the work of the post office. He'd talked to his father, the Chieftain, as well as the head postman, Quill, about putting the mail on hold for a day, but Quill had been resolute: the mail must be delivered, no matter what, that's all, the end, or else! That stubborn mule of a bird-man made even Link seem easily persuadable.
Coming to rest on a jutting rock, he made his way carefully towards the roost. Far above, Valoo the dragon spirit rumbled contentedly, and a shower of dust came down from the mountain, sprinkling Komali's head. Smiling to himself, Komali brushed the stuff off of his feathers and entered the roost.
It was a huge, circular room, carved into the stone and lined with a thick thatchy rug. Stairs led up the walls, branching off into chambers and bedrooms. Rito came and went in flurries of feathers, chatting to each other in their shrill voices. The place had an earthy, healthy smell, like clean, dry hay.
Crossing the room in a few wing strokes, Komali reached a niche in the floor that led to a cool, dark stairwell. As he descended the stairs, Komali brushed his white bangs out of his eyes, thinking of Link.
Seven years. He could not believe it had been that long. Seven years since the ferrety, brave, big-eyed kid had shared Komali's own room, the same room that lay at the bottom of this same stairwell. Seven years since he had taught Komali how to be brave himself. Seven years since they had all learned how to be heroes, together.
Perhaps, being a Rito and a lover of the open sky, of freedom, he understood why Link had left. It had been wanderlust, he speculated, a need to get out and see the world. Still, part of him habored a secret anger toward the young hero, anger that they could have not spent even more experiences together, anger that Link had not stayed around to defend his own family and the only world he had ever known.
Komali sat down hard on his bed. Resting his chin one hand, he kicked his legs absentmindedly, deep in thought. An idea was forming in his mind; admittedly it had been forming for several weeks now, but he was just beginning to come to terms with it. But where to start?
Then it hit him.
"Quill!" he yelled, leaping off of his bed and charging back up the stairs. "Hey, QUILL!"
After a search, he found the head postman dozing in his office, his head cushioned on a pile of letters.
"Quill!"
Quill stirred, moaned sleepily, rubbed at his eyelids -- and leapt up in an explosion of squawking feathers.
"Komali! Great Valoo, you surprised me! What is it? Oh no . . ." A wary gleam appeared in his eyes and he ruffled his feathers irritably "Komali, if you've woken me up from a nap just to chat about that worm diet again, I'll --"
"Oh, no, it's - it's not that."
The eagerness that had burned within him only a minute ago was gone; he felt suddenly apprehensive.
"Well, then what is it?" Quill was definitely irritated now. He would have looked comical if he hadn't seemed so fierce, his head feathers ruffled, glaring at the prince from over a pile of paperwork.
"Actually, Quill," said Komali, shuffling his feet, "it's about - him. You know. Link."
All the annoyance seemed to drain out of Quill to be replaced by surprise and curiosity. "What about him? Is he all right?"
"I hope so. I don't know. Actually, what I was thinking was that I would like to go and - find him."
It was, after all, Komali thought later, the only thing that would help, the only thing that would satisfy his longing for and his anger at his old friend. Quill didn't seem too surprised. He propped his elbow up on the desk and blinked slowly, thoughtfully.
"Komali, I -"
"Don't patronize me," said Komali.
"Let me finish. Komali, I understand that you want to see your friend again, of course, but face the facts. We have no idea where he is -"
" - we could find out -"
"- and besides, we don't know if he's - well, you know-" The old postman shook his head like a dog trying to rid water from its ears. "All right."
"He's not dead!" Komali said, and his voice became shrill and more birdlike as he said it.
"There's no way of knowing that's true," said Quill quietly.
Komali put his head in his hands. "I know. It's just -" He struggled to find the right words, but Quill cut across him.
"I know."
"You don't think I should go, do you?"
"I think Komali should have what he wants, don't you, Akoot?" said a new voice.
"Oh yes. He is the prince after all, isn't he?"
Two other bird-men had arrived on the scene; neither Komali or Quill had noticed them enter the room, and both of them fell back, shocked. Komali quickly recognized the newcomers as Skett and Akoot, both members of the Rito guard.
"Skett! Akoot!" said Quill, breathing hard. Then, awkwardly: "Well, I, I see you're both back from your visit to the summit!"
"Indeed," said Skett, who was tall and magnificently fledged. "A couple of Bokoblins were hanging about up there, it seemed. No matter. I suppose they're impaled on the rocks now for the seagulls to eat. Knocked them right off mountain, didn't we, Akoot!"
Akoot, who was shorter and slightly scraggly, scratched his beak absentmindedly. "Er, what? Oh, excuse me. Yes, I do most certainly agree, Skett."
"But that's beside the issue," said Skett.
"Very much," said Akoot.
"We thought we heard our good prince Komali talking about going after his young friend, Master Link," said Skett pointedly.
Quill fidgeted.
"Well, yes," he said. "Yes, he was."
"It's not any of your-" Komali began, but Skett and Akoot cut him off, bowing low.
"Forgive us, Prince Komali," said Skett.
"We're such impudent little birds," said Akoot, nodding fervently.
"But we want you to know we approve most highly of this ambition of yours," said Skett.
"Indeed. I miss little Link. Did I ever tell you, I once had a most engaging conversation with him concerning the quality of the island worms -"
"In all seriousness, though," said Skett, cutting across his friend, "the time is nearing us when Komali will have to take over ruling the roost, and he will have no more time for quests and adventures. I say let him have his last dance and see his friend again before that day comes. Isn't that right, Akoot?"
"I agree most wholeheartedly, Skett! Now, if you asked my opinion -"
"I didn't ask it, Akoot."
"Oh whatever. Anyway, dear Quill, what say you?"
Quill leaned back in his chair. He looked from Komali, to Skett, to Akoot, and then back at Komali again.
"Quill," said Komali, "I -"
"Oh, Komali." Quill let out a long sigh. "Skett has a point. You should satisfy your youth, and -" He paused, smiling sadly. "I confess I miss our little friend too. Come on, let's take this matter before our Chieftain."
With surprising speed he stood and swept out of the room, Skett and Akoot in his wake and Komali following at a slight distance. Excitement was boiling in the prince's stomach again as he ascended the stairs to meet his father. Soon, very soon, he was going to see his lost friend again.
He was sure of it.
On the Sea
The pirate ship lay cradled in the curve of the black seawater. The water pushed and pulled, pushed and pulled, causing the vessel to rock gently back and forth.
Link was fast asleep, curled up like an animal on the pillow of his bed, completely oblivious to the pitching motion. His lips were parted slightly and one arm dangled off the bed.
"Oi!"
A girl's shout stirred him and he sat up. Tetra stood in the middle of the cabin, tall, muscular and dark-skinned. She grinned when she saw he was awake, plopping down on his bed next to him.
"All right, legendary hero?"
"Never better, fearsome pirate woman," said Link grumpily as he blinked sleep from his eyes.
Why do girls always have to wake you up right in the middle of the best dreams? he wondered.
"You were supposed to be on lookout."
"So?" said Link.
"So you were supposed to be on lookout, and now you're dozing in my cabin," said Tetra with a trace of amusement.
"It's mine as much as yours. Besides, I got Niko to do it."
"Good for you. Something on your mind?'
"No."
"Oh really," said Tetra, narrowing her dark blue eyes. "You know, I thought you might be missing that peasant family of yours. You know. Homesick. You haven't seen that kid sister of yours in seven years, after all."
"Oh. Um," said Link. "I haven't thought much -"
"You never do," said Tetra with a smirk, causing Link to go red around the ears.
Tetra adjusted her position on the bed. "Sooo, what do you think?"
"Think of what?" said Link, confused.
"Of this village. We saved them from those spider things, after all; they love us. We could settle down here. What do you think?"
"No," said Link immediately, and Tetra laughed.
"I knew you'd say that. But, Link, you can't just muck around on the ocean all your life. You've got to plant yourself sometime."
"I'm only nineteen. And look who's talking."
"Well, yeah," said Tetra with a slightly sheepish grin. "Anyway, I guess I shouldn't complain. I mean, at least we're mucking around on the ocean together." Her voice suddenly dropped about an octave, turning mischevious and husky. Crawling up next to him, she began to stroke his cheek.
Link had to surpress a shudder; adrenaline rushed through him. He had never liked physical contact much, and his experiences seven years ago had only served to reinforce that aversion, but with Tetra it didn't matter. She was . . . different. Different and perfect.
With a sigh he drifted back off to sleep next to her. Pleasant dreams embraced him, dreams of a world of sweet caressing waves that somehow had Tetra's touch. The waves lapped over him, warm, comforting, as he lay on his back in the sand.
Then the dream changed. The calming scene seemed to twist and morph, swallowed up by darkness. He was standing on the thick shoulders of a colossal man, driving something into the man's head, deeper and deeper in. The sword. It shook in his grip like a living thing; the shock went up into his arm, threatening to shatter it. Then the man kneeled over.
Oh, no . . .
The memory he had carried within him for seven years had sprung alive again as a nightmare, and he could not escape; Ganondorf's blood soaked his tunic and he fell forward, aching and exhausted. Tetra was waiting for him; she wrapped her arms around his chest as he fell, and it seemed for a second that she was the one and only safe thing to lean on, the only sanctuary, the only thing left that was whole and real, and even she was slipping away as the world turned dizzily on edge, threatening to send him spinning into blackness.
He woke up slowly, his eyes flitting open, and for a while he lay there, stunned. Tetra was asleep, curled up beside him.
He bit his lip. It had been a long, long time since he had been truly bothered by that memory, and it was shameful that it had returned to him now, when he was supposed to have put it behind him, not clung to it like the mute, frightened twelve-year-old he had once been.
But it had just seemed so real, so close. The sword shaking in his arms, the awful, spine-deep exhaustion, red glare of blood. He rolled over and shut his eyes tight, trying to shut out the vivid images as the ship pitched and rocked and the wind blew outside.
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