Fanfic: Ghost Dance by Cavalier

Author: Cavalier Theme: Festival with Music Contest Chapters: 1/1

Worlds within worlds: so read the Book of Mudora. No other words could describe the vastness of the underworld labyrinths Link had discovered below the surface of Hyrule. Titan halls, inconceivable in their magnitude reared about him in monumental panoply. What forgotten hands had fashioned this fathomless elder world entanglement of sprawling mazes he could not know. He had long since passed beyond the deepest recesses of the Goron civilizations, and the abyssal caverns beneath them, only to find himself within a yet deeper realm of stark monolithic construct.
 How often rumors had led him into darkness and peril, he had long ago lost count. True to form it was the pursuit of rumors that led him to the boundless underdark in which he now found himself. Strange rumors whispered by the scattered tribes of Hyrule who spoke of the elusive movements of small bands of furtive nomads stealing across their borders from the lands beyond Hyrule. The Zora had seen grey ships harbored in the Great Bay. Masked travelers had been seen crossing over into the lands of the Kokiri from the unfathomed forest depths south of their woodland realm. White-clad wanderers had been seen drifting down from the deepest wastes of the ruin-haunted reaches of the north, while the western desert tribes spoke of a shadow-people descending from the mountains of iron beyond the Desert Colossus. Yet despite the varied nature of these rumors their remained a constant thread: the travelers moved east. So when Link had seen the spectral hues of sorcerous illumination flashing atop the serrated peaks of the mountain expanse which dominated the eastern realm of Hyrule he set off in search of answers.
 Each night in his week-long journey the ghostly lights could be seen dancing like witch-fire atop the mountains. Yet no sooner would he reach one of the mountain summits than the lights would cease. That this was not the mischief of some wandering faerie court, was grimly evidenced. For burned into the stone of the summit floor were the ominous clockwork rings of ritual casting circles and bizarre glyphs of evocation.
 After days of chasing eldritch lights and abandoned sites of ritual magic, a night came when no lights defied the darkness, and night fell as black and silent as the pre-dawn of creation. A cold wind raked the mountains that night, as if swept down from the stars themselves, and though he spent countless nights in the far distant wastes of the world with neither warmth nor shelter, Link shuddered.
 At dawn he awoke with the unshakable feeling that while the lights atop the mountains may have ceased, his search was not yet over. He knew that the mountains would offer no answers. Yet if not they, perhaps their children would have a tale to tell. Gazing northward his eyes settled upon the volcanic summit of Death Mountain. There he would seek the wisdom of the Goron sages.
 The consummate rover, Link sped along the mountain trails swift as an Ordon goat. After three days and nights of ceaseless travel he at last reached the boulder strewn path of the Death Mountain trail, where barring his way stood a gathering of towering red cloaked figures. From beneath their hoods, obsidian eyes were set within ancient wizened faces, caked with tribal paint, peering unblinkingly at the Hylian youth.
 “Hail brother.” Rumbled the tallest of the titan conclave. “The Fire Sage said you would come. Goro.”
 Link smiled. “Greetings brothers.”
 With that the mighty assemblage of enormous figures cast back their hoods to reveal the gentle smiling faces of ancient Goron elders.
 “From Tal Tal Heights, to Snowhead, Death Mountain to Turtle Rock, our tribe has seen the return of the shadow folk to their mountain dwellings.” Rumbled the chief elder.
 “Who are they?” asked Link flatly.
 “That is not for us to say, Goro.” Spoke the Elder. “They have worn many masks, and played many roles in the long march of years since our people first learned of them. They are a grey folk, free to walk between both light and darkness. Servants of truth, they have defended our world from terror beyond reckoning, yet so too has the world wept beneath the butchery of their blades, and for those deeds this mountain was named after their craft: Death.”
 “Is that why they have returned?” asked Link, teeth gritted. “To slay?”
 “We do not know, Goro.” Spoke the Elder. “Yet we will show you the road to their city. If you
have the courage to walk it, Goro.”
 “I have.” Spoke Link grimly.
 “Then come brother, we will show you.”
With that, the Elders donned their hoods yet again and led him into the inner halls of Death Mountain. Below the Goron City, below the Fire Temple, beneath the temple mines, and below the undelved grottoes which lay deeper still they led him to the vast ruins of an underworld realm that no Goron hand had fashioned. It was there that Goron Elder’s silently departed, leaving Link to continue on as
always he had: alone.
 The pillared halls spiraled down into a seeming infinite. The immense architecture seemed to flow into a single massive subterranean structure, an acropolis of temples, shrines and rock-cut dwellings all of monumental aspect. Their straight, austere angles and delicate statuary had been subsumed by the gentle running of mineralized water, engulfing the man-made structures within an organic forest of living stone and crystalline growths. Yet as Link delved deeper the beauty of his surrounding was increasingly subverted by an ineffable sense of trespass and lurking malignancy. And then the song began.
 From the snaking depths of the ancient labyrinth the moaning lament of many voices arose in spectral lament. Crystal formations flared to life with a pale phosphorescent light, bathing the halls in a ghostly luminescence. Instinctively Link’s blade flashed from its sheath and to the ready. It too pulsed with a pale throbbing light. Casting aside stealth, Link plunged into the now illumined depths in a mad flight to discover the source of mournful dirge blaring in awful resonance throughout the ancient halls. Racing ever deeper into the mind-bending depths the moaning lament rose to an unbearable tenor, pregnant with a thousand sorrows that threatened to tear both his mind and heart asunder. When at last it seemed he could run no longer, he reached the labyrinth’s end.
 Before him yawned an abyssal chasm of inconceivable vastness. The dull roar of a thousand waterfalls cascaded down into its unfathomed depths. A single narrow span bridged its breadth, which led to a temple structure fashioned from the rear wall of the pit itself. A violet light shimmered from the narrow, crystal encrusted windows of the domed edifice, pulsing in rhythm with the now blaring sonority of the nightmarish dirge. 
 Fearlessly Link crossed the narrow span and entered the temple. Upon crossing threshold of the temple’s single arched entrance he discovered the source of the droning lament. For standing within the deep-set amphitheatre of a huge circular chamber, there stood a ghostly assembly arrayed in garb of white and grey, pale skinned, crimson-eyed, silver haired.
 “The Sheikah.” Whispered Link in breathless awe.
 The voices went suddenly silent and all turned to face him. Standing upon the amphitheatres central stage, a masked figure gazed at him from behind the single crimson eye of the Mask of Truth. A slender black gauntled hand reached up and removed the white metal mask, revealing a familiar face.
 “Impa…” whispered Link again.
 “Welcome Hero.” Spoke the Sheikah Sage in her strident voice.
 The assembled Sheikah bowed low in unison.
 “Greetings Shadow Sage.” Offered Link, as he kneeled in deference. “Forgive my intrusion my lady, if I had known-“
 “You would have done exactly as you did, but perhaps a little more furtively.” Interjected Impa, a wry smile gracing her impassive features. “Yet do not berate yourself to harshly my boy it is well that you are here. You honor us with your presence. Rise and come forth.”
 Link arose unsteadily. Despite the cessation of the Sheikah’s harrowing dirge, a powerful unease gripped his heart. Neverthless he descended the narrow stair that led to the amphitheatres central stage where the Sage awaited him.
 “As I said Hero, it is well that you are here. For when I am gone, you alone will bear witness to the passing of an age.”
 Link’s brow knit in confusion at her enigmatic yet ominous words.
 “You speak in riddles Impa.”
 “I speak of penance.” Whispered Impa sharply. “Do you know the story of my people young one?” she asked.
 Link hesitated, knowing that he must choose his words carefully. “It is said your people betrayed the Royal Family.” He said tightly.
 Anger flashed in ageless woman’s crimson eyes.
 "Yet not before they betrayed us.” She whispered savagely.
 “I do not understand.” Spoke Link.
 “Chosen by the Goddesses, my people are the arbiters of truth and balance Link. By sword or subterfuge we balance the forces of light and darkness, answering to none save the Goddesses…and the Royal Family.” She ended quietly. “Yet a time came when the Royal Family forgot their place in the order of things and we were forced to betray our loyalty to them. The land was awash in blood, there was war amongst the races, the great kingdoms were cast down and the Triforce lost. The Hyrule you know is but a shadow of what it once was, and my people are responsible.”
 “We betrayed the Royal Family to remain true to our first duty; truth and balance. Yet that does not absolve of us our betrayal, we are still guilty and blood must be payed in blood, and when I am gone my people shall be free.”
 Suddenly the chorus of voices arose again in an unearthly chant.
 “I do not understand!” shouted Link above the rising clamor.
 “Nor could you.” Spoke Impa donning the Mask of Truth.
 The Sheikah’s voice rose and fell in a steady rythmn like the beating of a heart. Impa’s body began to sway and her knife flashed from its sheath. Then hand to hand, shoulder to shoulder the Sheikah began their dance. Masked, blade in hand Impa took her place at center stage, and in slow spiraling motions led them in their waltz.
 Their voices raised in a tongue not heard in centuries the Sheikah’s dance spiraled round and round gracefully descending towards the chamber’s central stage. Soon Link found himself within a maelstrom of dance and song. Their movements became increasingly frenetic, and soon the chant’s rhythm became a pandemonium of phantasmal voices, and the dancers began to glow with an unhallowed light that gleamed from the wild motions of Impa’s knife. Then all pretense of song ceased, each Sheikah’s voice cried out in shrieking horror, as their dance became a stampede of whirling madness. Link lost sight of Impa as the press of bodies swirled around him and then through him. The Sheikah dancers bodies now seemed to burn with witch-fire, and their swaying forms were passing wraith-like through him. Horrified the Hylian youth’s mind was savaged by memories of blood and madness, memories that were not his own. As he struggled to remain conscious Link found himself screaming Impa’s name over the wild cacophony, as he rushed through the now seemingly illusory dancers. The raving voices harmonized into a single psychic scream of torment and sorrow, a black gauntled hand rose above the spectral throng clutching a bloody knife, the Sheikah dancers coalesced into a blinding river of light that coursed through Link like lightening and suddenly his world went black.
 Link emerged slowly from unconsciousness. All was silent save his own ragged breathing. His body felt cold, his spirit numb. Gripping the Master Sword strength flowed again into his body and slowly he rose. The dancers were gone, and so was Impa. A small pool of blood stained the chamber floor upon which layed the Mask of Truth. Sheathing his blade, and shouldering his shield, Link knelt and recovered the ancient artifact. It was cold to the touch, its haunting one-eyed gaze impartial as truth itself.