Floating Compass

On the outside, he was a young, unassuming boy clad in forest green, with long ears poking out from beneath his long cap, intense eyes that stung and watered in the arid wind, and fair hair a few hues brighter than the swirling sand. He had dismounted from his horse, a spirited red filly stubbornly plowing ahead, and now led her by the reins. The baked earth turned dull burgundy as the sun descended toward the horizon.

As dusk approached, the horse pricked her ears forward and let out a soft whinny. Hoarsely, the boy whispered, "What is it, Epona?" Eyes falling shut, he imagined he could hear the soft tread of another rider. A soft breeze passed over his head.

"Who is this?" cried the baritone of a young adult. "Do you see it too, Rhiannon, or is it another mirage? He might feel solid, but you never know."

"My name is Link," said Link, blinking back to awareness as he felt his cap being grasped and pulled off his head. "Give me my hat!"

The other man inspected the green hat curiously before squashing it back on Link's head. "You are not from around here. Why might a little boy be traversing this treacherous wasteland?"

Link chose to ignore the "little boy" comment. "I'm searching for a friend," he said, and then, more desperately: "Maybe you've seen her? She is a fairy, about--"

But the other man shook his head. Sand fell loose from his dark hair. "I've never seen any fairies. Would you really think your fairy friend is in a desert?" he asked dryly.

"She might be anywhere! Maybe on the other side of the desert."

"Turn back," said the stranger, shaking his head again. "They say this place is controlled by malevolent wind spirits who stir up howling sandstorms with little warning. There's a violent sandstorm coming from the east that will sweep the next several miles. You'll die if you continue north."

"I'll die if I turn back," countered Link. "I have almost no water left, and the return trip is four days." He felt dizzy thinking about it.

The stranger's youthful face wilted slightly. Link wondered briefly how old the man was; he had seen the same expression on Princess Zelda's face when she'd been powerless to do anything besides giving advice to her unheeding father, or dropping the barest of clues as Sheik.

Digging through his pack, the stranger fished out two items and tossed them to Link, who recognized one to be a bottle of water. He couldn't tell what the second was. "If we try to return, this won't be enough for both my horse and me," Link said, feeling a little awkward.

"It's almost more than I can spare," said the man. "If you follow the blue line on that compass and make haste, by dawn your water will have taken you to a village at an oasis that is never affected by the storms. Good luck, Link, and be quick."

Link studied the strange compass in his hands. The back was embossed with a fancy, unfamiliar insignia. When he turned it over, a thin, light blue needle swung to the left, quivering slightly. Upon looking back up, Link found that the stranger was already far away.

"Your altruism will not be lost to the desert," swore Link into the night air. He turned his face to the oasis still too distant to see. "Let's go, Epona." Epona nickered back.

The rising volume of the whistling wind swallowed the gentle neigh.

:::

On the inside, Link loved nothing more than peace. He liked food, too, but food without peace was meaningless. When he thought of peace, he dreamed of forests and music and innocent quarrels with a stuck-up Kokiri chief. It was why he fought: he fought for peace. As the Hero of Time, Link was obligated to uphold an impossible paradox.

Sometimes he'd dreamed that he would stay in Hyrule, or in Termina, now that peace had been established, yet eventually, he began to feel lonely surrounded by all the happy people. Saria knew. Zelda knew. Maybe Navi knew too, because it was she who had disappeared first, prompting him to depart on a new journey. Despite her nagging, she was a remarkable fairy; she understood him well.

He never felt more at home than when he was gone.

"...if you move fast / everything fades away, that given time..."

In the darkness, clay clinked against stone. Voices murmured and laughed. A child lisped a poem. Link didn't want to stop dreaming, but there was too much noise.

"Did you hear? Anna's getting married!"

"...every memory goes / into the blackness, and if new ones come..."

His lips were parched. When he licked them, they tasted like the salt of the desert. It was nothing like the forest of his childhood that he knew so well. Kokiri, it was called. Link caught the name before it fled into the abyss of wakefulness. They said he wasn't a true Kokiri, because he didn't have a fairy.

"...nice to be safe from the wind?"

"Watch that plate. It's..."

"...they, too, / curl up and die."

A loud crash jarred Link awake. A babel of snickering and reprimanding voices flooded the room; a clumsy fellow had slid a plate off the table, and it hit the floor and shattered. Feet slapped the stone floor as people looked for a rag to sweep up the pieces and throw them away. On a far wall, someone had painted in orange, crooked letters:

EOLIA'S INDOORS AGORA.

He rolled over on the cot he had been laid upon and felt his lumpy pillow, which appeared to have been rather hastily made. It was a folded blanket with his ocarina, wallet, and compass beneath, all intact. To his side lay his sword and shield.

"Hey, look there in the corner!"

"The kid--"

"He's awake?"

"He's awake!"

Pretending to still be asleep, Link curled up under his blanket and tried to block the voices out. It was nothing but another town, another journey, another day.

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