19: Drums

All but the Sheikah were blind to the dead, but he could hear the demon drums stirring deep below.

The Sheikah were a devoted people, set in their ways and steadfast to the tasks they were born to.

It had always been enough in her youth, passionate and skilled a warrior had her father raised her to be—the kiss of a blade was far more important than that of a boy, and the stealth of her feet more pressing then what boots adorned them. Impa did not question the war when it came, bred for it as she was to defend and fight, be it demons or men. Her brothers had fallen in the battle, but where once their broken bodies lay scattered about the cinders of their homes, she would stoically rebuild and await the next fight.

She had not allowed herself to feel burdened by her survival and loss, left standing alone when the smoke had cleared to carry the Sheikah name. Brick by brick, born of the sweat of her brow and the strength of her back, the last of the Shadow folk had seen Kakariko forged anew. Those with hearts left heavy and broken from the war began to settle there in time, drifting with sorrow to be near their fallen, laid to rest in the graveyard.

Impa found she pitied them, empathetic to their pains, with only memories left to keep them company where once people stood. She had never been without the spirits of her kin, for her eyes saw the truth that they stood beside her still, ever watchful of the legacy she carried. They flocked to her, questions desperately burning in their souls, asking her to liaise with their dead and hopeful of one last whisper.

It was the Hylian grief she witnessed that began to crack the brimming dam of her own emotion, and soon enough, the dead spoke from her lips.

Taboo though it was, the woman's heart was kind, and her own loss felt somehow eased for it and easier to tuck away, when such a simple thing brought comfort to those whose pain could not be caged like hers. Her mercy was deemed miracle by the Hylian ears that heard lost voices leave her lips, and soon rumour of it spread like wildfire across the plains, gathering people from near and far. She could turn no broken heart away from her door, though she often held the conviction she would.

From all over Hyrule, those mourning would cleave to Kakariko in search of the Sheikah, the very last Messenger of the Dead.

Gorons, superstitious as they were, came rolling down their mountain to learn the previous Patriarch's secret dance, hoping to aid the growth of their special crop. Zoras swam upriver and paced up crumbling steps to grow dry in the heat of the sun, asking their ancestors to protect their ailing Queen. A young Deku scrub had once made a seven day journey, slowly sneaking through the nights and hiding in plain view during the day, simply to ask how much his father charged for seeds.

When finally the Impa locked her door to the outside world, weary and spent for the selfishness she often witnessed, she resolved never to break the laws of her people again. The dead would remain silent, and the living learn their lessons as experience saw fit to teach them.

But of all the glossed eyes and sad tales to arrive in Kakariko, searching for answers and truth, not once had a Gerudo appeared.

Impa spied the blaze of crimson from her window, half way across town as the young thief stood beside the well with their back to her. She was used to strangers breezing through her town, she supposed, but not without a knock at her door—least of all a stranger from so far in the West. The Sheikah watched them a while, tracing the child's outline with curiosity as copper skin drank up what little sun the overcast day provided. They did not move from their spot, silently watching the slow turn of the windmill's blades and shifting their weight idly from foot to foot.

There was a harsh sound like a whip cracking upon the breeze, and suddenly she stood before them, drawing a flinch for the shock as golden eyes grew wide. Unlike so many other children that would shriek and stumble back, this slim show of surprise suggested she had merely caught the Gerudo off guard—this child was accustomed to magic such as this, and recovering, their wry smirk soon confirmed her suspicion.

This boy, she noted, as she studied his features, mixed as they were between child and man. She had never seen Gerudo men, only overhearing the rumours about lone boys born to the desert tribe, though clearly, it was no myth that had entered her town. This blooming man, lithe and lean with the toned musculature of a fresh teenager, shorter than he ought to be for the age she saw in his face; her fabled eyes could look right down into the bottom of him, and there she saw mischief and cunning. Impa could guess she may be no more than six or seven years his senior, but crossing her arms, the Sheikah would tilt her head to address him as such.

"What business have you in Kakariko, boy?" she asked coldly, stoic and scrutinising, her crimson gaze tracing the exotic clothes he wore.

The smirk wavered only slightly, any offence taken from her tone hidden marvellously with a roll of his shoulders. "I'm a king, actually, but all the way up here in this... quaint hamlet of yours, I suppose you wouldn't be very informed on current affairs."

His accent drawled thick and cocky, blunt and unaccustomed to forming Hylian syllables, though he seemed familiar enough with the language—she found it somewhat obnoxious, though she couldn't deny he had piqued her curiosity.

"I had heard there was one last Sheikah wandering around up here," the apparent King continued, waving a dismissive hand at her and beginning to walk around her, as if she was the one to be studied, "I'm guessing that'd be you."

Impa fought the aggravated twitch that threatened to take her left eye, lightly drumming her fingers upon her arm. "...You would be correct." she offered patiently, biting back on her annoyance as she watched him trail a hand across stone brick, peering into the well water.

He paused to flash a grin at her, cheeky though tailored with charm as he offered a golden wink. "I'm impressed. I thought you'd be some old doddery crone, but you're actually not bad to look at."

Not turning back to face her after that, the Thief would sit himself on the edge of it, letting his hand splash about in the water with mild amusement. Unseen, he cocked a brow, thoughtfully musing to himself and watching the ripples he made with odd fascination. "In fact, you're probably the most interesting thing this sleepy old town has to offer thus far... until I find what I came for, that is."

Her curiosity dimmed as her visage twisted into an authoritative scowl, posture shifting into one of belligerence—this child, king or not, was still a guest in her home. His trespass on her lands had already sent him adrift in the sheltered harbour of her patience, and his entitled attitude did nothing to alleviate that.

Especially when such words came from the tongue of a careless thief, familiar with magic, when Impa knew well of the dangers buried underfoot. There was much darkness lurking in the Shadows of Kakariko, tucked away and silent between the houses, simply waiting to be disturbed from their slumbers...

No, she did not care for his want to poke around at all.

"If you wish to speak to the dead, you'll find them silent as the grave. If you come in search of gold, you will find only bones. Now I will ask you only once more..." she hissed with a squint, returning a grimace to his coy grin and hardening her features with warning. "What business have you here, boy?"

"...That's not what the spirits say." he returned, a devilish and knowing smirk lining his lips when next her looked at her.

Taken aback, Impa stared at him with disbelief, fearful now of what he'd heard—somewhere in the back of her mind, a careful hope began to bloom. Familiar and drawing up an old ache, she suddenly saw in him the ghosts of her fallen, stirred by his revelation. Only the Sheikah could hear the whispers of the dead... surely, the Thief was dishonest, as all who come to steal should be.

Her arms fell to her sides and she found herself advancing quickly, bandaged fingers shooting out to scruff the cotton cowl that lay draped upon his shoulders. The Gerudo was heaved from the stone brick of the well, dragged to his feet before her as the Sheikah's nose brushed his, indignation face to face with fury.

"Do not lie to me, Thief! Only the eyes of truth can know of such things!" she spat, a murderous glint in her crimson eyes as the Gerudo struggled some in her grasp, scowling back. "I and I alone know the secrets of this place, and I will guard them to my dying breath, do you understand me? You will find nothing of this place unless I see fit to show you!"

Raw upon his features, it was clear the Gerudo was not used to being handled in such a way, though as her words bit into his rounded ears, he found his own flash of temper doused by the taste of acid on his tongue. Settling a rough hand on her wrist, the young King would lower his tone to an acerbic whisper, eyeing her with conviction.

"If you can see the truth, then it's a pity your ears aren't as keen. I can hear the drums from half way across the field... it's like a heartbeat. I heard your clan grow fiercer in their warnings for every step up those stairs I took. I can hear the beasts wailing and tearing at the lost souls. The foolish Hylians who live here have no idea what lies buried with their dead... but you and I do."

With a force she had not expected him capable, her hand was roughly torn away from his collar, thrown aside as he took a step back. The two would stare each other down for a good moment or so, and as she saw a dark flicker of pain in those golden eyes, Impa felt her anger fade. He was not perturbed by the demons, though she knew he was sincere. He too had known loss, the grief ebbing inside of him like a tide risen with their scuffle, and though he could hear them just as she could, now she saw him to be blind.

Inclining her head, the Sheikah would sigh, her gaze tracing the grass between them. "... You've come for the eye, haven't you? To lend faces to the things you hear..."

Resentful of how quickly the woman had figured him out, the Gerudo would scoff and turn back to the well, frowning down at the pristine water. "I can cross the river of sand and I can follow the laughter of the Guide... but so too can my sisters. A King should see and hear the spirits, for he is divine. I am holy, and I will not be fooled by the mirages again... They're just lies and sand."

His voice softened at the end, anguish seeping into his tone though he tried to hide it, and Impa could only guess what the mirages were—what awful spectres would haunt a child so far that he would journey here to be rid of them?

But like so many that came to her, they all knew the answers beforehand, simply seeking to have it confirmed by forces greater than themselves.

In that moment, reminded of her kin, she gave the boy the same care and advice she would a younger brother, indulging in the odd connection she felt to him.

She softened, stepping forward to place a gentle hand upon the Thief's shoulder, and offered her last service. "If you know them to be lies, then you already see the truth, boy. They will only haunt you insofar as you dwell on the pains they feed upon, and hold them within you. If you fear you are not enough, and these mirages convince you so, then strive to become more of yourself so these beasts have nothing left to prey upon. You are the one in control."

The young King said nothing as he stared into the well, fists balled tight at his sides as her words drifted on the breeze around him. Sensing there was little more to be said, the Sheikah would let her hand and brief comfort fall away to leave him there, turning to head for her home.

And as the Gerudo stood there in silence, peering into the darkness, he knew that she was right. He was the King of his desert, and he would not be ruled by its phantoms—he was Goddess sent, and his will would be as strong as hers. He listened to the beating drums, overwhelming and strong, and respect bloomed for the stoic Sheikah who could live with such a foreboding sound.

One day, he resolved to command its rhythm, and perhaps then she too would know him as a King.