looks at the large brown box with unenthusiastic eyes before climbing out of the bed. “She was wearing an engagement ring,” he laughs, shaking his head. “I usually catch that stuff right away. I’m losing my touch.” The early morning sun peers through the single window of the room as he lifts the package onto the bed and tears away the ordinary brown paper. Upon opening the equally mundane box within, the reaver’s eyes light up as he can’t help but exclaim, “what is this?”
Strutting through the lobby with more confidence than usual, Geist adjust his new coat, shooting the innkeeper a wink before proceeding through the exit. A pair of fangs hand in his field of vision, the wolfos head fashioned into a hood, while the arms serve as furry sleeves, the trench coat rather unnecessary on this mild day. Clock Town seems to dance with life, the inhabitants quite cheerful as the magi makes his way to the trading post to thank the man he would not have guessed was a gifted tailor. An unshakeable sense of nostalgia overwhelms him as he makes his way past the pair of jugglers, diligently practicing for the fast-approaching festival. Everything about his own actions seem unsettlingly familiar as he enters the shop and approaches the smiling man behind the counter.
“Greetings, squire. I love it,” he grins, pulling at the lapel and resting a forearm on the counter. “You really outdid yourself my friend.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean,” the friendly man responds with a pleasant smile.
“You,” Geist starts, noticing the man’s full head of hair and completely reversed demeanor. While he is certain the man behind the counter shares the same face as the man who sent the coat, the similarities end there as the salesman’s cheerful smile is becoming unnerving.
“I’m afraid you may have been dealing with the guy next door. I’m told we look alike, but he’s an unsavory character. I kid you not!” He explains, briefly scratching at his back. “Can I interest you in anything?”
“No,” the reaver retorts after a moment, still profoundly suspicious. “If you see that guy around, tell him I said thanks.”
“Certainly, thank you for stopping by,” he concludes, busying himself with arranging his inventory on the shelves behind him as Geist makes his way back outside.
“What in Termina was that about?” He ponders aloud before his stomach reminds him of his rupee situation. “Guess it’s time to pay him a visit,” he thinks aloud, emphasizing ‘him’ as he ponders where the bizarre character might be this time of year. Something about this particular day has the magi feeling uneasy, though he cannot seem to put his finger on it as he makes his way eastward. Traveling through a treacherous ravine, growing steadily closer to the borders of the now-ancient Ikana Kingdom, he effortlessly avoids the plethora of hazardous terrain and dangerous wildlife preventing the majority of Terminans from exploring. Moments from deciding he must be in the wrong area, a cackling voice sounds from overhead.
“Eee-hee-hee! What are you doing in a place like this wolf-man? Surely you don’t—” a thin figure in a hooded robe announces theatrically, his practiced voice deflating when he recognizes the approaching man. “Oh, it’s you.” His feet dangling over a ledge high above, he twirls his walking stick in his palm, climbing to his feet and awaiting his friend. Briefly rolling his eyes, Geist summons a vortex of wind just powerful enough to lift him up onto the ridge, stepping onto level ground with the shadowy figure.
“Are you serious with that routine—“ the reaver starts, shaking his head.
“Ah! Let’s keep it professional. If I have to call you Geist,” he muses, pronouncing the name condescendingly. “Then you can refrain from spouting my name for all to hear.”
“All to hear?” The magi scoffs, looking around the desolate area.
“The Garo have become rather active since the boy arrived,” he points out, glancing over his shoulder toward the Stone Tower.
“Boy? What boy?”
“I was sure you followed him here. You just missed him. Persistent little guy. I told him I wouldn’t let him through unless he got a special mask from those rancher brothers,” he explains, shrugging in disbelief. “Figured it would get him out of my hair for a while. Not much of a conversationalist.”
“Why would the ranchers give him a mask?”
“They’ll bet anything on a horse race. The kid had a cute little horse so I figured I’d get my cut of the rupees he lost later. Problem is, he won,” he laughs, quickly sensing his friend doesn’t find the situation so humorous.
“What kind of mask?” Geist asks, his tone growing very serious.
“Take it easy. I was just about to go check on him when you showed up,” he asserts, growing defensive.
“What kind of mask?” The reaver repeats more slowly, his eyes conveying the gravity of his emotion on the matter.
“They made Garo-looking masks for,” he starts, unsure how best to explain their purpose. “The just made them, okay.” Without another word, Geist immediately begins trekking into the canyon, determined to find the foolish boy before it is too late. “What are you getting so worked up about? Have you been through here lately? The kid has nowhere to go,” the poe collector insists, struggling to keep pace with the determined magi. Finally reaching Ikana River, the collector’s words become apparent, the topography having changed drastically since Geist last visited his home. A massive cliff face hangs over the river, the steep, rocky crag having too few protrusions to even consider climbing. Nearby an odd man prances about, clearly lost in his own world as the duo approach.
“Good day, good sir,” Geist greets, surprised when the man stops his extravagant frolicking to speak with them.
“Hello,” he greets, seeming to be friendly enough.
“Did you see a kid in green pass through here by chance?” The poe collector inquires.
“Sure did. He’s up there,” he points out, thrusting a finger upward.
“How,” the reaver starts, falling silent when he cannot find the words.
“Couldn’t tell you, but the little guy is fast. By the way, that is one niiice coat,” the man purrs, leaning in closer the magi would prefer.
“Thanks,” he suspiciously retorts, backing away from the man.
“So long,” the man concludes, shrugging and resuming his antics as he assumes the conversation finished.
“You believe this guy?” Geist asks after the pair are out of earshot.
“Well,” the collector starts when a waterfall suddenly spills over the cliff face and into the river. Showing no sign of stopping, each of the men exchange confused glances.
“It was Sharp who cut off the stream,” he states more than asks.
“That’s a nasty spook too. He’s not one to be reasoned with,” his friend agrees, leaning on his walking stick casually.
“Who is this kid?” He blurts out in frustration, holding out his arms in disbelief.
“He reminds me of,” the collector mutters, suddenly lost in thought. “That kid from Hyrule. He was about that age—“
“You never talk about Hyrule,” Geist interrupts, shooting the hooded man a subtly confused, but mostly concerned look.
“No reason to start now,” he chuckles, proceeding toward the river. “Come. You want to catch this kid or not?” Fading away like a phantom, the poe collector reappears atop the daunting cliff moments after his friend has ascended with the help of the elements. The traditionally bleak area takes on an almost chipper ambiance, the sound of carnival music filling the air as the duo approach a peculiar house in the center. Decaying structures and severely dehydrated trees litter a small collection of ledges cascading up into a featureless mountainside, and at the center of it all, the clear origin of the music, an absurdly colorful house resembling a phonograph. Proceeding alongside the freshly flowing river, the baffled tourists catch a glimpse of the boy, rapidly covering ground as he advances toward an unknown destination above them with a fairy following close behind. Before either of the men can utter a word of p
rotest, the tunic-clad child has leapt into the well of the former royal district, his long, fluttering cap vanishing beneath the lip of the grey cylinder.
“Gods, how does he remain a step ahead of us?” The magi exhales, crossing his arms and shaking his head in disbelief.
“We’re not very good at this,” the collector adds, casually leaning on his cane once again.
“What good are you? Just stay here.” He retorts with a quiver of irritation, marching along the streambed with determination. “I doubt I catch him at this rate. I think it’s time we find out what he’s after.” A small cavern of colorful stalagmite serves as the origin of the water outside, a steadily churning pool of spring water pouring up and out of the cave. Carefully surveying the damp grotto, the reaver feels the presence of a spirit all too soon.
“Dreadfully popular today aren’t I?” A deep, yet smooth, gentlemanly voice asks rhetorically. “I do not concern myself with the affairs of mortals,” he explains, a reflective sort of melancholy clinging to his tone. “Be gone from this place.”
“I may not be eternal, but no mere mortal, Sharp,” the magi declares, watching the composer idly tumble his baton between his ghostly fingers.
“What manner of sorcery is this?” The poe demands, spinning around to face the intruder. “An Ikanian still walks amongst the living. Preposterous!” He booms, rising to the