The Legend Of Zelda Fan Fiction ❯ The Desert's Rose ❯ Enemies of the Heart ( Chapter 3 )

The Desert's Rose

 

Warnings: Slash, violence, angst, cute little kids

Disclaimer: Zelda, Sheik, and the word Sheikah aren't mine. The ideas, plot, and Sheikah culture ARE.

 

Chapter 3
Enemies of the Heart

 

“Are you finished yet, young one?”

“Just a few more nails.”

The planks easily went into position over the expensive windows. Glass was a rare commodity and extremely pricey, so few had much of it. The wood planks might not completely shield the glass from winds and sand, but it could buffer the blow a bit.

The entire town was readying for the sandstorm. It had been spotted less than an hour before and was coming on fast. The Sheikah were ready for this. They were far too experienced to let themselves panic. Mothers had gathered their children quickly as men boarded up the windows. Each house had it's own supply of planks used for nothing but this one, important purpose, as the sandstorms were numerous.

“Check Roëlni's!” Ze'rin called from inside. Sheik gave a short affirmative and went on to the orphanage. Dan'el was outside, getting the building ready, so Sheik helped him. The boy was grateful for the assistance. Though having been trained early on as a warrior, he had little endurance. Sheik bid the orphans good bye once everything was ready. By then, the winds had begun to howl through the streets, kicking up sand.

Just outside Ze'rin's shop, a warrior grabbed his arm and wrenched Sheik around. The blonde man rammed an elbow into his gut from reflex and jumped away when freed. He began to apologize but the other Sheikah waved him off.

“Mage?” he coughed out.

“Fourth ring,” Sheik replied, remembering what Ze'rin had taught him about the classes. The warrior nodded to him.

“Get to the edge of the village as fast as you can. We need as many mages out to sheild the city.”

He didn't wait for an answer. As soon as he was finished speaking, the warrior turned off and ran on, seeming to be searching for other mages. Sheik gave Ze'rin a quick word and then ran through the village.

The storm was a huge wall of sand heading straight for them. Sheik tried not to let it panic him for he knew that if he had to, he would find away to survive. Scattered along the edge were other Sheikah and he felt the dozens of pulls at the ethereal river. Immediately, he pulled himself and started gathering energies for a shielding spell. He'd never done one on such a grand scale and never along with three dozen other magic wielders. It was all he could hope for to not disrupt their concentration as he kept his own.

Sand bit and tore at his skin as the winds picked up, but they were flowing away, sucked up by the oncoming cloud. And then it was so very still, but the sound of falling through air, of screaming, of animals in agony filled his ears with such a power that he could not be anything but humbled. He felt more than saw the first mage release his shielding spell. One by one, the others joined in, attaching their spell work with his and Sheik learned within seconds what he was suppose to do. Throwing his hands out, he let go with a yell.

The storm simply stopped at first and the sound that left his ears ringing went dead. The shield held, shining purple-blue light upon them all. As the storm tried to push past, push over them, the shield lengthened and soon engulfed the entire village. Sheik didn't even notice.

Power was pumping, pulsing through his body, igniting every nerve with pain, pleasure, heat, cold, too much for him to process the intensity of it. He dimly felt that he was screaming and knew others were as well. It was so personal, so intimate, sharing this power with the other mages, sharing his life force with men and women who felt exactly the same pain and pleasure of power. He'd never felt so alive in his entire life, nor as utterly engrossed in every single sensation, loving and hating it all with the same depravity.

As the storm went on, hours dragging on so very slowly, yet so fast he could blink and a day was gone in his mind, the effects became debilitating. Pleasure melted away to leave nothing but the bitter pain of every part of his body stressed to it's maximum, but he didn't dare let go, even as he felt one of the others fall. The storm was still hitting just as hard, just as powerfully, and he couldn't see but didn't know if it was because of the sand blocking the sun or if night had fallen over them. Tears streamed down his cheeks and his arms ached so badly, but he couldn't let go, he couldn't let go…

Another fell and the need to make up for the loss hit him hard, nearly knocking him down as well. One after another, they fell and the burden was still with him, still with the few that managed to keep hold. Wind broke through thin tears in the magic, funneling through the narrow streets and knocking the rare plants down and around and gone. He couldn't hear it anymore, but he dimly felt it shooting along his skin, ripping his hair back, and throwing sand into his face with bruising speed.

It hurt so badly but he couldn't let go…

The next and last thing he remembered was an astonished warrior grabbing his arms and gently lowering them to his sides before telling him with quiet awe that the storm was over.

For a long while, Sheik drifted. Sometimes he saw a pale room and a fuzzy red or white blob leaning over him, but mostly it was the sweet caress of darkness. In the dark, he felt the hands of his lover soothing the hurts of his body. That soft, sweet voice murmuring comforts into his ear and loving him in the purest, simplest form.

The pale room was cold and he felt his body shaking every time he was there. Words were spoken but he rarely understood them and fought the hands that held him still and forced water and burning liquid down his throat. He longed for the warmth and security of his lovers arms, not the biting scratch of rope at his wrists nor the push of unfamiliar hands.

One day, he woke up. His body felt heavy and tired, soul drained in a way he'd never felt before. Opening his eyes was a chore, but when he succeeded, he was rewarded with a surprising sight.

“Hello,” murmured Nabooru from a chair next to his bed. He blinked dumbly at her and tried to speak, but his mouth was gummy and weak. She smiled softly and touched his shoulder. “It's all right. You've over stressed yourself. Just rest.”

He nodded and she brought him some water. He was soon after asleep, but she was there when he woke again. She'd come with the latest caravan to check on how her childhood friend was doing.

“To think I'd see you so weak,” she said, but the pride in her eyes took the sting.

It had been a week since the sandstorm. He was the last to wake from the exhausted sleep all the mages had fallen into. His magical reserves and pathways were burned through and it would be some time before he could manage even the simplest casting. He'd run his body nearly to death.

Two days after he woke, a man came to see him. He was old, white haired and bearded with intelligent, though half blind eyes. Wrinkles creased his face from smiling his entire life and worrying just the same. The wraps of tan cloth had little ornamentation except for a red sash, but Sheik could feel just how much power the old body was capable of. He began to sit his weakened body up, but the man waved for him not to.

“Rest, young one,” he said in an old voice, pinkish-red eyes settling on the younger man's form. Sheik gratefully let himself down again. “I wanted to meet you.”

Sheik nodded a little, waiting. The man seemed pleased with the response.

“My name is Archmage Dae'rin'tul,” he introduced with a grandfatherly smile. “It is a wonder to meet a youth with such ability with the ethereal river. From whom did you study?”

“Impa of the Tear Sheikah,” Sheik replied truthfully. He somehow knew that lying would do nothing for him. Dae'rin'tul sat down beside the bed, brushing back his white braids. All of his hair, beard included, had been braided and red beads littered it.

“A wise woman,” Dae'rin'tul murmured sagely. “I have met her but one time and even in her first seasons, I knew she would me a master warrior.”

“You met her?” Sheik asked with a blink. “But Impa always told me we were the last.”

“Last of the Tear,” the old man retorted gently. “Not last of the Sheikah.”

It occurred to Sheik very suddenly that Dae'rin'tul knew exactly who he was, yet hadn't said an ill word.

Ze'rin was the only other man in the village to know, though others suspected he was from the Field simply because of his pale hair. Half breeds in general were treated with a strained indulgence within the village. They were not spoken of, but everyone knew when one was born, for they always knew when ones of their number took outsiders as life mates. Children so visibly half bred, like Roëlni or himself, were less liked but the Sheikah would tolerate them as long as they proved themselves capable of supporting the community.

“She was very young,” Dae'rin'tul murmured, bringing Sheik back from his thoughts. “Impa was strong, silent child, and she knew her duty. Trained from birth, really, to give her life for the Throne.”

The old man's expression saddened. “I pitied her.”

“Impa loves the Princess,” Sheik said quietly. “She always has.”

“Children like that are never given the option to feel otherwise,” retorted Dae'rin'tul with a colder tone to his voice. “From the day they are born to the day they die for those bloodied hands, there is no other option available to them!”

Sheik was silent. The Archmage closed his eyes and calmed again.

“One reason why the Eye are still here, child, is that we give that choice to our young,” he said softly. “The Tear could never be free of their obligation to the Throne and it murdered every last man, woman, and child, until only Impa and you are left.”

The blonde man was compelled to defend himself, to defend his people, but there were no words to do so. He knew, deep in his heart, that he had thought those same things. He remembered his childhood, how Shaden had tried her hardest to raise him as a Sheikah would for his dead mother, telling him always that first and foremost, he was to live and be strong for the Throne. He was to be the protector of the Royal Family and come to their aid whenever they needed him. After he had run away and gone to Kakariko, Impa had found him and took up his training where Shaden left off. She had said the same exact things but coming from a mature, fully trained Sheikah warrior instead of a Gerudo leader, it took a far greater hold. He remembered a time when he wanted to be everything Impa hoped he would be, the perfect warrior and protector.

And he knew he'd failed her. No one could attain that goal.

“I've upset you.”

Sheik lifted his gaze but still said nothing. Dae'rin'tul sighed softly and reached over to pat his hand.

“You have many years to go, child,” he said gently, “before it is time to look back at your life and deem its worth. Even then, it is the Goddesses who decide that.”

The young man nodded a little, looking off distractedly. With effort, Dae'rin'tul heaved himself out of the chair and to his feet.

“They should let you out soon, so that you can finish recovering with Ze'rin.”

“Yes.”

“Don't over exert yourself too quickly,” the old man warned. “The amount of trauma you forced upon your body will take months to heal, if you aren't permanently scarred.”

Sheik's eyes went wide as he jerked his gaze to the old man at the doorway. Dae'rin'tul shook his head a little and left.

Never in his life had Sheik ever imagined he'd be permanently injured beyond healing. Yet, as he laid in bed, he could feel the hurt through his magic recesses and knew that it was definitely going to be a while before he could cast, but he was determined not to have lost his worth just yet. As Dae'rin'tul had said, Sheik was still young and there were too many years a head of him to have lost the strength he needed to be a protector.

That night, Sheik dreamed of horrible things.

The morning was disappearing when Ze'rin, Roëlni, Nabooru, and the orphans arrived to take Sheik back to the shop. Dan'el carefully lent his shoulder to help the older man walk and it was clear that he was used to warriors wanting to do their own share. Roëlni, however, scoffed at the notion of Sheik carrying any of his things and distributed them among the children who were big enough to carry. Kulyne sat in a carrier on her caretaker's back and she waved a chubby little hand that Sheik returned with a small smile. The child brightened considerably at that.

It was slow going through the town, as Sheik had to stop many times to rest but refused to be carried or otherwise taken back. When they did finally arrive, he went right to bed and slept the rest of the day. The children carefully put his few things away while Roëlni and Ze'rin measured out doses of medicine the healer had ordered Sheik to take daily. Nabrooru sat at Sheik's side and kept things quiet for him. The orphans headed home at nightfall and Ze'rin closed up the shop for the night, spending the evening in peaceful quiet.