Fan Fiction Friday: The Man Behind the Masks – Part 29a

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The rose wood box lay in its bed of freshly dug earth. Snow white lilies thrown to acknowledge the man that sacrificed himself for the sake of the Royal Family. The sun had no business to shine so brightly, but it did. It shone over those left behind; the Sheikah clan in dignified acceptance and the outsiders who fraternised with the thought of their own deaths.

Upon our reunion, Yasei had been my shadow. Her violent outburst at being left behind had given way to a hug that threatened to crush my ribs. And I took the onslaught, for I knew exactly how it felt. That wouldn’t stop me from repeating such actions, but it’s the sentiment that counts I suppose.

Impa guided us to the entrance of the Shadow Temple. This held a clear view of the graveyard. Grey stones in organised rows stretched from one end to another. I had stooped to read a few and surprisingly, not all were Sheikah. There were composers, soldiers and even members of the Royal Family themselves. An octagonal step with golden Triforce lined up perfectly with the distant windmill that blocked out the sun.

To our backs, a curious tunnel led down into the coal black darkness. This, Impa obstructed as she spoke. “We Sheikah owe you a debt. As promised, allow me to bestow upon you this mask.”

For a mask, it was certainly unique. Two engrailed at the top, but otherwise triangular in shape. My finger stroked the sharp edges all the way to the chin. If you tilted it at the right angle the lucent material seemed to glow.

Yasei whispered in my ear, “That’s the freakiest mask I’ve ever seen. One eye? And why is it smiling?”

Smiling indeed, the outline of both eye and lips captured in blood red paint. It had tribal markings to the sides and forehead, a clear resemblance to the Gossip Stones I had seen near the Temple of Time. “Don’t be rude,” I replied. “Someone put a lot of work into this. I can tell. Remember when I criticised your work?”

“I was like eight. And don’t drag the Hero’s Mask into this, it was your birthday present. This is… This is…”

“The Mask of Truth,” Impa supplied, making us both jump. “And mind your tongue, this mask has been handed down for generations. It can see into people’s hearts and minds.”

Yasei squared up to the white-haired warrior, who towered at least two feet above her. “You’re pulling our leg.”

“The Happy Mask Salesman can try it for himself.”

“Is it safe?” I held the mask at arm’s length. Stories of ancient curses and transformations crept into my mind. As usual, the General offered no words of reassurance. Was that amusement dancing in her red eyes?

Slipping on the Mask of Truth, it became clear that the design (in my humble opinion) required a few tweaks. I could breathe, thanks to the generous mouth, but vision was quite another matter. A peahat could have flown in front of me and I wouldn’t know.

“This way.” Impa led me a few steps forward. “Can you see the Sheikah Stone?”

“I can hardly see any–” I stopped. There it was clear as day. Emitting a similar glow to the mask I wore. “Goodness.”

“Listen carefully to what the stone says.”

On my knees, I pressed my ear close to the heart of the stone. A sense of déjà vu tickled my memory. Oh yes, I played a little joke with one of these, didn’t I? I wondered what words of wisdom may come. What amazing secrets could The Mask of Truth reveal about the peoples of this world? And did they realise such powers were eavesdropping on their very thoughts?

They say that there is a secret near a tree in Kakariko Village.  

I didn’t know what I expected. Either way, this underwhelming knowledge sounded more tittle tattle. About to rip the mask away in bitter disappointment, the stone suddenly spoke once more.

They say if a promise is not kept, Yasei Muryō will die.

It felt like someone had poured a barrel of ice-cold water over my head. Suddenly, the mask was too small for my face, it dug into my cheek bones.

Yasei giggled. “Sweetheart, did you hear anything?”

I blinked against the realm of my daydreams. But like spilt ink on parchment, they ran free. The blots form blurry figures walking side by side through soft swaying reeds. They laughed at a joke as my nails scraped on stone.

Yasei Muryō will die.

The taller settles beneath a tree and takes a pipe whistle to his lips. The companion takes a fishing rod and casts the line. When I closed my eyes, I saw them. When I opened my eyes, I still saw them. What is this? Why can’t I wake up?

“Hey, you okay?” Yasei sounded too far away.

I blew out a hot, desperate breath.

Yasei Muryō will die.

My shoulders quake as I fight the story, but it pans out anyway. A choked cry. The pipe is forgotten and the musician moves. No, he can’t…  I see a fish on the shore. It flaps and writhes in torment, trying to reach the water. Next to the fish, serrated blades lie sunken into a heap of limbs.

“No!”

My heart tipped into a pain so intense, I would have torn it out to escape. A Hyrule without her wouldn’t be worth existing. I won’t let him do this. Such fear soured every joyous memory we shared.

“That does it. It’s coming off, now.”

Daylight returned. Warm hands cupped my face, but the chills remained. I had never been so happy to see eyes of peridot green. Her rough thumbs swiped away salty tears.

“By Nayru’s love, what happened?” she said.

I clung to her. The bliss of a beating heart, I thought. She’s still here. She’s still here.

But an unwanted voice wormed its way into that relief. I could hear the dark sorcerer laughing inside my head. “Yes, she’s alive, he agreed. “For now…”

Featured Image: Alison Patten

Alison Otwl continues her fan fiction at Zelda Dungeon. She likes reading manga and collecting Japanese wind chimes. Her favorite Zelda game is Ocarina of Time. Check out more of her fanfiction over at: Otwl.