clashing swords and suicidal explosions eclipse what is left of the kingdom as the group of survivors gradually reach the outskirts of town. The snowfall begins to amplify minutes before they reach the barracks, the bitter cold seeming to shove the desperate Ikanians into the structure with contempt.
“Geist!” Cale shouts from the door, unsure why his friend has lagged so far behind. A single classmate of theirs hangs his head as he closes the door of a nearby shack. A deep breath later, he starts for the barracks, stopping in his tracks when he spots Geist staring at him with bloodshot eyes. The snow whirls through the scene, falling consistently and beginning to accumulate on the forms of the stationary few who still stand beneath nature’s unforgiving wrath. Shaking his head solemnly, the distant reaver starts for the barracks as Geist falls to his knees, finally shedding his emotional defenses as he cannot process so much loss. The steady wind carries echoes of death from the kingdom, through the trees and far beyond. The sun slowly sets on the first winter snow, and draped in accursed shadow, Ikana falls.
Consequences
“Uhnn, my head,” Geist mumbles, blinking slowly as his hazy surroundings gradually come into focus. The smell of seawater fills him with dread, and removing his palm from his brow confirms his suspicion. Smooth, solid stone beneath him and an array of metal bars confine him within a small cell of Gerudo making. The consistent sound of water lapping against the risen platforms of the room ticks like a wet metronome. The hideout of the self-proclaimed pirates is well known to the magi, residing on the northern coastline of Great Bay, tucked neatly into a cliffside out of view. The events of last night have yet to become clear in the Ikanian’s mind when a distant swell of voices cause an already sufficient headache to worsen. Giving the old lantern an impatient, but mostly tired glance, the voices gradually subside, and the eerie, blue glow lessens. Moments later, a distant, metallic door slams up into the ceiling, revealing an angry Gerudo woman garbed in red.
“Awake now are we?” She snaps, rhetorically.
“Abooru, baby,” he starts, swaying slightly as he climbs to his feet and opens his arms.
“Do not,” she interjects, pointing a threatening finger. “Abooru baby me. You get one chance to explain yourself. One.”
“Well,” he breathes, a blur of pictographs rushing through his head. Between the potions, the boat racing, and running into the twins, very little of his evening is clear, and the few parts he recalls are far from chronological.
“You don’t remember,” she states, wide-eyed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Listen,” he insists with a smile, licking his lips as his eyes briefly drift upward in search of a convincing lie.
“No,” she interrupts, banging a fist on his cell door. “You listen. You crashed one of our boats, Aurea spent the night fused to a barrel, our potion inventory is devastated, and don’t even get me started on Tonya and Sonya,” she rants, her rage becoming palpable. “So I don’t need one of Geist’s famous apologies right now, I need to know how you plan on paying for all the damages.”
“Relax, love,” he insists, reaching for his rupee pouch. “Relax,” he mumbles, when he cannot locate it. Dashing over to the lantern, he lifts it off the table to find nothing beneath it.
“Relax?” Abooru muses, lifting his missing pouch into view, producing an audible jingle of gemstones. “Forty rupees? You think this even begins to cover it?”
“Not sure why I expected to wake up with my wallet in a pirate den,” he quips to himself, reattaching the old lantern to his belt, allowing it to dangle on his hip. Indiscernible shapes swell and shrink within the slowly churning whirlpool of souls, the relic glowing too faintly to invite attention.
“You’re going to be working off this debt for a long time, reaver,” she nods with a cynical grin.
“Afraid not, lovely,” he smiles, his arm beginning to glow as he lifts it. “Exit stage left,” he smiles with condescension before snapping his finger. An ethereal doorway opens to his left, the rectangular prism reflecting the contents of the cell in an unnatural way. Promptly stepping through after an unenthusiastic, thespian bow, Geist vanishes completely beyond the inexplicable illusion of a door.
“What?” Abooru exclaims, thrusting a key into the lock and flinging the door open to give chase. “Wait!” Two steps into the cell, she sees nothing where the supposed doorway should have led. Something about her surroundings seems insincere, as if she is viewing them through an augmented lens. A reflection of a reflection. An instant later she slaps her own forehead and mutters in a whiny tone, “Guardians, what is wrong with me?”
“Too many potions will do that,” Geist shrugs, tying his rupee bag to his belt while haphazardly kicking the cell door shut behind him. A brief trot to the exit is interrupted by an appealing voice sounding from behind.
“Don’t leave me in here like this,” Abooru pleads, toying with the loose strands of her ponytail and wearing a pouty face.
“Fool me once, gorgeous,” he replies with a wink, flipping the key to the cell across the room like a coin. The hope in the woman’s eyes vanishes as quickly as it appeared as the tiny vestige of her freedom twirls past the cell and into the water with a barely audible splash. Passing through the door, and into the main courtyard of the complex, the magi cannot pull the door shut quickly enough as the scorned woman bellows for the aid of her fellow pirates.
“Everyone! The prisoner is escaping! Stop him at all costs!” She manages to shriek just before the door slams down, the ropes and pulleys vibrating within the metallic wall. Cringing and freezing in place, Geist waits in silence for any sign her announcement was heard. Opening a single eye, he sees no change, and wonders if luck could be on his side this day.
“There he is!” A voice calls from overhead, initiating an avalanche of sword-wielding women with their sights firmly upon him. The predictable outcome spurs a healthy dose of initiative into the reaver, and without a second thought, he dashes for the lagoon leading out of the area, the entire multilevel complex suddenly teeming with life. Rounding a corner, he dashes past a familiar Gerudo sitting depressingly atop a large barrel. Elbows upon her knees, her face lights up and springs from her hands as she struggles to turn around to face the pausing fugitive.
“Hey! I had to spend the whole night like this! You—“ she starts, nearly toppling over in her effort to maneuver the wooden container.
“A bet is a bet, sweetheart,” he laughs, ceasing his escape for the moment to saunter closer to her, palming the cylinder to keep it from tipping. “You ready to pay up?”
“Okay, okay,” she smiles, shooting him a learned smile, and reclining to prop her hands on the edge of the barrel. “You win.” Rolling his eyes, Geist quickly touches his glowing palm to the side of the barrel, freeing the poor woman’s rear from its overnight internment. “Oh, thank you. Thank you,” she practically whispers, thoroughly stretching her back with a loud groan.
“Afraid I’m dealing with something of a time issue, so if we could,” he begins to explain, briefly glancing around the corner he traversed to find the horde of women nearly upon him. His focus doesn’t return to the barrel girl a moment too soon, her scimitar nearly cleaving his head clean off as he arches his back with a look of disgust.
“Oi!” He blurts out, regaining his balance as the two share a glance of contempt. Her next swipe misses the mark as well, the Ikanian nimbly dodging past her, but allowing his hand to brush against the barrel once again. The sword chomps into the wooden drum in his wake, and in a flash of light, becomes mostly wooden itself as the sneering woman fails to retrieve it. “Have they no honor?” He asks himself aloud, eventually tripping to a stop at the edge of the short cliff leading down into the lagoon. Preferring not to swim back to civilization, he realizes he is short on options when an arrow very narrowly misses him. Turning back he finds the mob of witch-hunters closing in, and atop a nearby structure, Abooru is carefully lining up her next sh
ot. “Come now, this is madness!” Geist shouts, appealing to the leader of the angry women.
“There you are,” a pirate sighs, appearing next to her leader. “Something’s got to be done about those bees—“ she starts, only now taking in the scene. “Oh, what’s going on?”
“End of the line!” Abooru shouts, ignoring her subordinate.
“Hardly, love!” The magi shouts, his tattoo and lantern beginning to glow a deep blue as he points out over the bay. “Stage left, remember?” Suddenly, a large wave crashes, and subsequently freezes as the reaver dives off the cliff toward the newly created slide of ice. A single arrow zips through the spectacle, slicing through his rupee bag, and causing the few colored jewels to topple out. “No, no, no, no, no!” He cries, flailing after his departing money. Evading his grasp as he ceases falling and begins sliding, he watches in horror as the lone red rupee dips into the water, and is promptly gobbled up by a grotesque, worm-like creature. “Oh, come on!” He protests, clumsily climbing to his feet as his momentum carries him toward an approaching boat. The frozen surface beneath him becomes increasingly wet, two trails of water growing in his wake as a single naginata-touting guard steers toward him. Timing the