2012 Part XXVI

Risk

I awoke with a start. The night was dark and thick, but I could tell morning wasn’t far off. Looking about my desk, I noted where I left off before falling asleep. Papers upon papers of writing in tiny words, filling from edge to edge, lie in a relatively scattered pile. Open books, including The Record of Dragmire, The Book of Mudora, and the Gerudo-English Dictionary, lie on the periphery of the desk just in front of a small desk lamp. I shook my head clear of the grogginess and attempted to finish my work. I reached for a couple sheets of paper and folded them to make a large envelope, and then addressed it to my son, Samson. I smiled to myself; as it seemed, Ganondorf never got my son’s name. I gave no return address or name because of the sheer number of people who know who I am. I reorganized the scattered pieces of paper, folded them into thirds, and shoved them roughly into the hand-made envelope.
As I began to wake up more, some of the words and phrases I had fallen asleep reading reemphasized themselves: “Although I have only kept a few in the Desert Wasteland, there is no question that I will make her among them. But I would not subject her to those dangers while carrying child. Some time after birth, they will be separated. I have yet to decide a fate for the child, but I suppose that will truly depend on her mother’s actions.”
I made an extra seal with some dripping wax from a nearby candle and pressed the wedding ring and my finger into the wax. Hopefully, that would tell at least my husband who sent the letter. Along with all of the Record of Dragmire, translated. I included a little letter to the lot of them, explaining where I was, my safety (or predicament, as the case may be), and of those I have met. I closed the books, taking extra care of the journal, and slid them back into the desk drawer along with my left-over paper and my pen. The letter, however, I slipped into the pocket of an outfit I intended to wear the next day, when we made port. I couldn’t afford to leave that behind. With what little energy I had left, I blew out the candle and moved to the bed, plopped myself down, and fell asleep almost instantly.

The next morning I was awakened by a rude, harsh knock at my door. “The King requires your presence!” After a groggy moan in response, the voice added, “Now!”
So I got up—much earlier than I had anticipated—and dressed myself in the clothes I set aside. My escort was not a patient woman it seemed, as she continued to knock and shout, especially when I responded. Something in me wondered why she didn’t drag me out of the room, but I never suggested the idea. Finally, when I knew I had everything I might need (letter, check; US dollars, check; pocket knife, check) I exited the room and followed the old, cranky Gerudo to the deck. There, quite regally in his black suit, stood Ganondorf staring off into the distance. I approached him, and when I did, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I mentally sighed in relief; he was in a good mood… and based on the smile, he didn’t have any idea what I’d done in the last 12 hours.
“We are almost at port. That,” he gestured to a vague city-line a ways off in the distance, “is La Rochelle. We will stop there for about seven hours before our journey continues to Egypt.”
I almost nodded. Instead, I managed to blurt out a small question—you see, I became aware that Egypt was our penultimate stop before Gerudo Desert through The Record of Dragmire. Realistically, it was unlikely he would have been surprised by my knowing; plenty of crew-members aboard the ship would  have known that… still, I was jittery and nervous. I even began wondering whether the information gathered was worth the sheer stress. “Why Egypt?”
“It’s the location of one of nine portals to Hyrule. We will be directed to the inside of the Fortress of the Desert.”
Odd as it may be to say, I was almost thankful with the pang in my stomach. It made whatever my reaction was seem honest and… without anything to hide. No matter my lack of surprise, whenever he tells me small parts of any plan he has formulated, I always get nervous and scared. I already knew before he told me that we were going there, but I still shivered at the sound of his voice. He never made any attempt to hide in his voice the implication that I was his prisoner.
“So, why did you request me here? To show me the french landscape off in the distance?”
He smiled a genuine, amused smile. “It has been some time since you have stood on dry land. The errands will take quite a bit of time to complete, so I supposed I could allow you some time to visit the marketplace.”
I was shocked. Not only was he allowing me some strange form of freedom for a segment of the day: he was also taking me to shore without my request or groveling ahead of time. I suddenly felt very nervous, but knew I couldn’t pass up an opportunity as great as this one.
Before I could answer, he rounded me to the front and looked down on my nearly-trembling form. “Of course, I’ll need to enforce precautions.” He was looking at me—but not at my face; he held his gaze upon my arm, almost exactly where he had held it not long ago. I looked and —lo and behold!—a metal clasp was locked around my arm, only adorned with a green jewel facing outward. “You’ll need to do as I say, and remain within thirty feet from me at all times.”
Part of me wanted to rip off the bracelet, but I thought better of it. Instead, very cautiously, I asked, “What if I don’t?”
He grinned, this time sly, and as if glad I asked. He took some steps away, nearing the opposite end of the boat. I didn’t think to move, but soon I understood him; a terrible, deafening pain overtook my entire being. My mind reached for kindness and warmth—my chest clenched in retaliation, and my arms wrapped around my torso in protection. This lasted some immeasurable time, where I lost all sense of self or surroundings. It ended with a rude jolt to reality—every sense returning back to it relatively-calm state—and a strong grasp on my arm just below the bracelet.
I looked from the strong hand to the owner’s face. “Take it off!”
Instead, he released my arm. You don’t have to experience this pain; just don’t fall behind or run off. Simple.” He paused, as if gauging by reaction. “However, if you must have it off, you will be confined to the boat.” I was uncomfortable with this. I shifted and held my stomach in anxiety. My mind was already made up, however; I had to go ashore today—else I may never get that chance again.
“I… I’ll deal with it.”
He was surprised. “Relenting so quickly—so easily? I have to say, I was ready for a fight.” He crossed his arms with amusement on his face.
“Yes, well, boats have never really settled well with me.” It was true; even cruise ships seemed to rock enough to cause seasickness in me, and my only saving graces now included the fact that my stomach was perpetually sickened within this man’s presence, and the common stops to the unmoving, stationary library gave me some greatly-needed relief.
“And honest, too? Did you sleep well enough last night?” It was a joke, and even though I was on edge, I could tell.
“I never sleep well, particularly lately.”
He let loose a short laugh. I was lucky; if he was in any other mood, I probably wouldn’t have been given the opportunity at all, or the bracelet would be set to ten feet instead of thirty, or (if he was in a really rotten mood) lock me in my cabin with the bracelet on. Maybe that last one was heavily exaggerated, but at the time the thought was only accurate. “Come; we will eat before arrival.” He turned to go under-deck. He was implying I eat with him, which was something I had already fought passionately against.
“With you?” He stopped and turned to look at me. “I thought we discussed this….”
He gave a half smile, a knowing grin. “You are welcome to eat with whomever you wish…” he was staring at my arm. “I only suggest you think your options through.” And without another word, he continued on as before. I looked at my arm and remembered the bracelet—and finally understood his words. Without another thought, I hurried to follow him.

It seemed that in only two short hours, the life of the ship multiplied to maximum intensity; men scrambled about above deck, securing the boat and ensuring the safety of both goods and guests. Everyone tripped and rammed into each other, and the scent of sweat filled the boat.
But the sheer presence of President Dragmire opened the mess to create a path forward, in this case directed toward the pier at which the boat was tethered. With him were three Gerudo women, oddly clothed in western-european garb; two Scottish men, one with white hair and an incredible beard, and the other a much younger, blond man; and, of course, me. I did not stray far from him all morning, and I intended to keep it that way. The only trouble would be sending the letter without his notice.
We stepped onto dry land for the first time in what seemed to be weeks. I still felt the waves rocking under my feet, but I managed to hide it well. It wasn’t far from the oceanfront that a wide street opened and split into a maze of roads and buildings. Stalls lined the edges, selling various goods to the public. Honestly, that was the last thing I was focused on; I was looking for a post office.
“There must be something you’re interested in. Tell me.” Ganondorf kept an eye on me as he spoke. When I didn’t immediately answer, he said, “Books? Clothing? Or perhaps jewelry would be you interest…?”
It frightens and confuses me to say, but the man I was so carefully avoiding and so intent on losing—if only very briefly—was the one to direct me to the completion of my plans. There, at a stall selling jewelry, was a figure faintly familiar to me. No, I have never been to France and nor will I ever return; this man was born and raised in America, same town as Nick and Jake, but had moved to England long before the start of these events. He wasn’t even vaguely connected to the conflict Chelsea, Jake, Nick, my father and sister were. I wouldn’t have recognized him if it hadn’t been for the laptop, leather jacket, and greased-back hair.
I told my captor where I intended to go, he seemed fine with it. The place was not more than fifteen feet from the dock and flooded with people. It took longer than I would have liked to make my was there, but when I did, a wave of comfort washed over me. The man was quite distracted, typing something quickly onto a computer.
“France, Grover? You chose France?”
He jumped a little, scattering some papers on the ground nearby. I stifled a laugh and perused through the wares. I glanced upward toward Ganondorf, just to be certain he was preoccupied. He was, but an eye was definitely on me. I turned back and watched as the “jewelry merchant” sat up with his papers in hand.
“Excuse me—I apologize.” He fixed his glasses on his nose and looked me in the eye for the first time in over seven years. Slate-green eyes connected with brown ones and widened. A mixture of emotions overtook him, including surprise, happiness, and finally caution and nervousness. He started looking around carefully for something or someone, and I knew who it was.
“To the left, by the dock. Very well dressed.” I didn’t gesture or make any other movement to indicate my meaning. Grover turned and searched, and when he spotted him, he let loose a breath of air, but quickly turned away.
“So it’s true? You’re the dangerous Jackson girl?”
“Oh, is that what they call me?” I was looking at and picking up necklaces nonchalantly.
He quickly suggested escape, and I told him precisely why I could not. Instead, I held up a necklace with a fairy pendant hanging from it.
“You want that, I’ll give it to you. But—”
“Grover, look, I’m in a bit of a pickle. I have a letter to mail, but I’ll never be let close enough to a post office to do so. En route to Jake, Chelsea, and Nick,” all of whom he knew well, “the contents of which are fragile in the wrong hands. Please, will you take this for me and mail it to them?”
He took a sharp gulp and looked toward Ganondorf. After a moment, he nodded and, with a resolution I hadn’t expected, said, “Sure, sounds like fun. So where did you stay for all these years?”
I sifted through my pocket, looking for my money and letter and organizing them such that the letter was hidden in the bills. This transaction moved slowly, the two of us in utter paranoia. “Iceland,” I barely managed to say. “the locals could tell you where. Ask about the Farm’s Council.”
“Hey, why has he been batshit crazy over finding you?” He asked while slowly putting cash into a money-box and writing out a short receipt.
I opened my mouth to answer, but instead sighed and said, “It’s really best that you don’t know.”
He wasn’t satisfied with that answer, but accepted it begrudgingly anyway. “Then you’ll be imprisoned? And that’s that?”
“I really don’t have a choice. If it was a matter of threat to only myself, I’d probably be a little less careful… but,” I placed a hand on my stomach guiding his eyes downward, “it isn’t my life alone that’s endangered.”
There was a pause before he asked, “How long until…?”
“About a month, I think… well, so long as nothing goes wrong….”
He shook his head, handing me the receipt. “Good luck. I mean it.”
I bade him the same and returned to the dock. I didn’t dare look back, but the short encounter was precisely what I needed. My captor seemed confused by my swift time, though; the letter was sent—with more information than I could have prayed for—and it was with a trustworthy soul. I sent a brief thanks to whatever strange system it was that put the five of us—Chelsea, Nick, Jake, Grover and me—in the same class in high school. He removed the bracelet and I was free to return aboard the vessel. I returned directly to my room and sat down with a good tome; The Book of Mudora.

O Goddesses, the Divine Three, deliver us from the darkness; remind us of the comforts of the light, lest we so easily forget. Take us from this pain, and help us revive an age of peace and prosperity. O Goddesses, o Three Divine, protect us from desolation and destruction brought upon us by the King of Evil. Save us, we beg. Save your children from a fate worse than death. Save us, we beg, save your children from the will of the King of Evil.
—Prayer of Hyrule, era --—---AIW

The prayer stayed with me long into my dreams. The words vibrated and bubbled in my mind as my pains and sorrows returned from the past seven years in one intense hit. At first it began as a strange, deep vibration deep within my core, but soon grew to something of an earth-shattering “boom” that echoed around me. It was then that I woke up, but the shift from dream to reality was  a step into hell, all exits suddenly locked. I opened my eyes and looked around me. It was dark outside, and my cabin was only faintly lit by the light of the hall streaming in weakly from the now-opened door. A dark burning silhouette stood in that light—I could only barely see the eyes.
But that was all I needed.
Ganondorf’s eyes burned, and those burning eyes were focused directly on me. Besides one shiver to flee down my spine, I was paralyzed under that look. I wasn’t quite sure what caused his anger, but he didn’t wait to demand,
“Where is it? Where is it?!”
I knew immediately what he was looking for. I pointed to the drawer, frantically. He ripped it open with force I thought would destroy the contents, and his rushing hatred, anger, and absolute fury slowed to a painful stillness, fury still heavy in the air. He reached into the drawer and carefully withdrew the contents. It was a book bound in black cloth that had one, tiny tear in the corner. A foiled title gleamed dismally in the hall light. He opened the book and flipped through it, gently pausing only to inspect a slightly folded page deep within. After a moment, he closed it and turned the book over—then to notice the tiny scar in the cover. Our breath hitched together. He looked up at me slowly, and his fixed gaze pinned me back to the bed. I shrunk and visibly shook.
After what seemed to be an eternity of silence and stillness, Ganondorf quickly stepped toward me. He was furious. He was swift. He was dangerous. And I was, without a doubt, completely screwed.
He swore at me in Gerudo—which nearly hurt more than one I could understand—and spat my name in ferocity. “I’ve warned you before of the dangers of defiling a relic, and this—this essential record was hardly yours to touch, forget take!” With hardly a sound or change in movement, he silently set the Record of Dragmire on the bed stand atop the Book of Mudora, and wrapped his fingers around my throat, tiny in his grip. I immediately reached up to his arm and fist to attempt removal, but his grasp proved only to increase intensity. “I’m sure you realize your mistake. But, as you can imagine, that knowledge does not quench my anger.” He flicked his free wrist and the door slammed shut, closing the two of us off from the rest of the world beyond. My glance returned to the man hovering over me. His fingers tightened to impede breath. “What made you take it?”
The question wasn’t rhetorical, but for many moments I was unable to answer. Neither was I physically capable at that moment, nor did I have a good answer for him. Finally, though, rather than tempt his anger further, I settled on choking out the only three words I could, “I don’t know.”
That wasn’t the answer he was looking for—not that there really was any good answer to give in the first place. He tightened one final time, but only for a moment. he let loose a growl of frustration before releasing me. I lay on the bed, gasping for air and coughing like I nearly drowned. In my time of recovery, I didn’t notice him reach into a pocket and withdraw a bracelet—the same in fact from earlier this morning. I didn’t notice it until after it was locked tight to my arm. I looked down at it and, slowly, came to an understanding. But the room was really no more than fifteen feet in length at the longest, and he shut the door, so while my fear expanded, so too did my confusion. I looked up at the man again, but he wasn’t finished. He took both of my wrists and, with thin rope, tied them to the back of the bed.
He took a step back and looked down at me with furious golden eyes. “Welcome to your fate.” The book was in his hand in an instant, and he turned to cross the room—but he didn’t have to go far. Not more than a few feet away, the wicked pain returned and took over in ferocity—as if the torment it implemented depended upon the mood of the master. The pain was wild, and somehow I never became numbed to it. It came in waves, whose ebs were only just enough to grant me breath and flows progressively gained power. As my suffering grew, so too did the pleasure evident on the face of my captor Time trickled by for hours—and I only knew that because he told me. While I lie, cramped and writhing, he sat with my desk light on, The Record of Dragmire open, a pen in hand, and a grin on his face that distorted the chiaroscuro of the scene into an ominous warning.
Don’t defy me.