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Come to the surface. It is time for your ascension.
Zelda squeezed her eyes shut to protest her sudden return to consciousness and yanked her blankets over her head.
The land needs you. You must claim your place.
She took a deep breath in as silently as she could, held it for a few seconds, and let it out slowly.
Come to the surface, Zelda.
That would be the end of her sleep for tonight. Zelda threw off her covers, swung her legs out of bed, and tiptoed out of the room, shutting the door as quietly as possible to avoid waking Karane.
Once she was out, Zelda didn’t bother to be quiet. She lit a fresh candle, retrieved the key from behind the flour crock in the kitchen – perks of being the headmaster’s daughter – and unlocked the closet in the hallway. Her project was right where she’d left it, rolled up and nestled between her weaving loom and the wall.
It was too bad she didn’t have any weaving left to do. The endless repetition, over, under, over, under, did wonders when her mind buzzed with a voice that didn’t belong to her. But the embroidery she’d been working on over the last few days had worked almost as well, and she still had to finish hemming the edges. That would have to suffice.
Zelda spread the project out on one of the dining hall tables and stood back to look at the finished weave. It was a white linen canvas sailcloth with a blue crest in the center, surrounded by embroidered clouds and feathers. It had taken her several tries to get the weave just right – she had never woven anything before. But now, all she had left to sew was a quarter of the binding around the hem. Zelda threaded her needle and set to work.
She’d been offended, and then bitter, at first, when she’d been appointed to represent the Goddess at this year’s Wing Ceremony. After all, it meant she wasn’t allowed to participate in the flying ritual itself.
But that was before the voice, and, along with it, the constant desire to work on this sailcloth.
That blue crest, especially, gave her shivers. Some of it resembled the Goddess Crest at the top of the Statue, but that was as close as it got to any symbol Zelda had ever seen. She hadn’t designed it beforehand. She’d woven it in out of some unexplained instinct. Yet, as unsettling as that was, its presence also felt completely right.
The candle on the table next to her was half its original size when she finally tied off her thread and leaned back in her chair. She hung her head back, stretching the ache in her neck, and stared across the room, letting her eyes relax.
She’d woven this sailcloth together from scratch, carefully embroidered all its embellishments, and sealed off the edges. All that was left to do was waterproof it, and it would finally be ready for its ceremonial duty.
A small storm bubbled up deep in Zelda’s chest. Without looking, she took up part of the cloth, rubbing it between her fingers. Would it be good enough?
Her wandering gaze landed on an owlish face peering in through the kitchen doorway and she jumped, lurching forward. “Father!” she whispered, gripping the edge of the table. “What are you doing here?”
“Investigating my sleep-resistant daughter.” Gaepora strolled in, eyeing her handiwork. “You’ve finished it?”
Zelda smoothed a hand over the sailcloth. “Yes, at last. I think this one should be suitable.”
“I should certainly hope so.” Gaepora’s eyes twinkled in the candlelight. “This is, I believe, your third attempt.”
“Fifth,” she muttered.
“Well, if you are satisfied, I suggest you head off to bed. I do believe in only a few short hours, Henya will be wanting her kitchen back.” He placed a hand on her shoulder.
Zelda leaned her head on his hand, staring at the sailcloth. Yes. Bed would be good. The voice had stopped bothering her, and she’d reached a satisfactory milestone. She would work on the weatherproofing tomorrow, and next week, she would watch this blue crest drift smoothly down to the ground, bearing its precious cargo safely.
Probably. Assuming she’d done well enough.
She sat up straight again. “I’ll go in a few minutes. I want to look it over.”
“You can look it over in the morning,” Gaepora said gently.
“Not if I want to sleep tonight,” she insisted. “When Link – I mean, when the winner”- Her father was chuckling, and she lifted the edge of the sailcloth to cover her flushed face.
“Now, now, my dear, it won’t do to play favorites,” he chided.
“That’s not it,” she whispered. “I feel like... no, I am sure Link will be the one to use this sailcloth. And it’s not just because... because I...” Well, there was no need to say it out loud. She assumed everyone with two eyes and a brain knew about her feelings for Link. Even Groose probably suspected the truth deep down.
But she meant what she said. She couldn’t shake the certainty that Link would need the sailcloth – and not only for the ceremony.
Gaepora patted her shoulder. “You didn’t hear this from me,” he said conspiratorially, “but I suspect you are correct. And I also suspect your work will still be here in the morning. You’ve done a fine job, Zelda. Now, go to bed.”
“But”-
“Zelda.” He was using his Firm Father Voice now, tugging the sailcloth from her grasp. “Bed.”
She slowly let go. “All right.”
The voice left her alone for the rest of the night, but she still didn’t sleep.
Hot breath brushed the back of Link’s neck, making him twitch. At first, he thought his Loftwing must be there to drag him out of bed again, but then his other senses joined him one by one.
The smell of smoke and burning fabric. Muffled footsteps and a faint, ever-present roaring. A sandy, burnt taste in his mouth.
Link opened his eyes. They stung of ash and grit. He blinked painfully a few times, shifting, and registered he was lying face down on packed dirt. His jaw ached, and he reached up to find it was swollen. As he pushed himself to a sitting position, every muscle he used screamed in sore protest. How did he get here?
He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve and tried to make out his surroundings through the hot, dirty haze that hung all around him. He was in what seemed to be a small cave. A couple of pots sat to his left. To his right and behind him, a patch of volcanic grass sprouted up stiffly around a barrel and another pot. And then there was the issue of the thick steel bars directly in front of him. Not a cave, then – a cell.
The pieces were coming together now. He remembered the plume of hot air and sparks that had rushed up to meet him as he was diving into Eldin. He’d been blown off course and right into the side of a cliff, which he’d bounced off, tumbling down neatly into the center of a bokoblin camp. He’d barely gotten to his feet when his jaw was met by an uppercut with a wooden club. Then it was a rush of attacks from all sides. Someone had yanked his shield from his back and-
“Fi,” he croaked, reaching behind him, but of course the sword was missing, too. He snapped his hand to his hip. No adventure pouch.
He’d been robbed blind and captured by a bunch of bokoblins.
Link inched his way to the wall and sat against it, planting both feet in front of him. He let his head fall back against the wall and stared up at the ceiling, watching smoke and dust swirl in lazy circles.
He’d really thought he could do this. After running around all over the surface collecting tablet pieces and sacred flames, purifying the sword, and cutting down countless monsters along the way, Link had actually started to believe he might be the chosen hero of the Goddess after all. That maybe he could find the Triforce.
That he could keep Zelda safe.
He supposed she was as safe as she could be, sealed away in that crystal, guarded by Impa – and Groose, of all people – but without the Triforce, she would never wake up.
Something whitish in the grass caught his eye. He scooted forward, reaching, and his fingers closed around familiar rough canvas.
The sailcloth.
He stood and shook it out. It was rumpled, dirty, and covered in dusty red footprints, but still in one piece. The bokos must have thought it was useless and tossed it in the cell with him. Link ran his fingers over the crest woven into the center and checked over all the edges. Not a hole or tear to be seen. Zelda had outdone herself.
He sat down again, crumpling the canvas in his hands. He wished he could see her. He wished he could hold her.
Fi wasn’t there to make any wry comments. Link buried his face in the sailcloth and took a deep breath through the nose.
It didn’t smell like Zelda any more.
His eyes stung again.
Over by the barrels, dirt started flying. Link jumped to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain in his knees. He scooped up the pot that was next to the barrel and hefted it over his head.
The dust cleared, revealing a Mogma poking halfway out of the ground with its claws in the air. “Ta-DAH! I’m here to save the day!”
Link lowered the pot.
“Long time no see,” the Mogma was saying, and then he tilted his head, squinting up at Link’s face. “You all right there, fella? Lookin’ a little watery.”
Link swiped a knuckle across his cheek. It came away damp. “It’s the smoke.”
With a final wave and a promise to come back with Gaepora, Groose and his Loftwing took to the sky. Zelda lifted a hand to wave back, watching the black bird grow smaller and smaller until they finally disappeared into the blue.
She clasped her hands together, taking in the view: the courtyard with its pillars, the two trees and beyond them the Goddess Statue towering over them, framing the still blue sky. It was all so familiar, staged exactly as it had been on Skyloft, except here, the ground beneath her feet stretched forever in all directions.
She cast a look back through the gateway to where the Sealed Temple sat, empty but for the sword Link had left there both hours and eons ago. The temple had been her slumbering place for ages. She looked at her hands. Human hands, attached to wrists encircled by goddess bracelets.
A soft brush of a hand on the back of her arm. Zelda turned to look up at Link, who was standing close by, sliding his hand up her back and across her shoulders. Link, who she’d thought of every hour since she’d fallen from her Loftwing. Link, who she hoped would stay by her side every day from now.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
Zelda let her gaze wander. What could she say? Tired, despite her ages of rest? Missing Impa as though the old woman had been a physical part of her? Ready to run from this place and never return?
“Normal,” she said eventually. “It’s hard to believe I’m hundreds of years old now.”
He laughed, and her stomach felt lighter. A breeze danced into the courtyard and lifted her hair.
“And how are you feeling?” She eyed him. “You’ve been through... well, I don’t even know.”
Link shrugged. “Normal.”
“Hmm.” Zelda stepped around him, prodding his shoulder, his back, his side. He flinched at what must have been a tender spot on his left forearm. “I doubt that,” she concluded.
“I have a few scrapes,” he admitted. “I mean everything’s okay now. You’re back.”
She was back. She was awake, unscathed, standing on solid ground, and looking into the eyes of her best friend. She found she couldn’t hold his eye and dropped hers, a smile spreading unbidden on her face.
Something was tucked into Link’s belt on his left side, under his arm. It was rolled and bunched up in a specific way so that four corners stood up and out – some sort of dusty brown fabric. Zelda poked it. “What’s this?”
Link lifted his arm. “You don’t recognize it?” He stepped back and whipped the thing free of the belt, holding it up with both hands.
Even under what must have been several layers of dirt, there was no mistaking: It was her sailcloth.
“You still have it.” Zelda took hold of one of the sailcloth’s edges.
Link nodded. “Take a look. It held up pretty well.”
She took it from him and turned it over in her hands. The fibers were still tight and even, but the corners were starting to fray where Link had presumably held onto them during his descents. Nonetheless, it had worked. The sailcloth had borne him all over the world and back.
The sailcloth Zelda made, not Hylia.
She tried brushing dirt from its surface but only succeeded in transferring some of the grime to her hand.
Link scratched the back of his neck. “I haven’t had a chance to wash it yet. Sorry.”
“That’s okay.” Zelda folded it up into a neat square and held it back out to him, one hand on top. “You took good care of it.”
He grabbed it, but she held on so he would look up at her. His brow was streaked with dirt and sweat, and there was something new behind his eyes. He was older, maybe, or wiser. He was the chosen hero of the Goddess. And yet, he was still her Link.
“I’m really, really glad you’re okay,” she whispered.
He beamed, let go of the sailcloth, and wrapped her in a tight hug.
In the year since the Isle of the Goddess fell to the surface, a lot had changed.
A small settlement popped up in a wide plain Groose had found north of the Sealed Temple. A handful of new graduates from the Skyloft Knight academy moved to the settlement, taking it upon themselves to patrol the perimeter of the little town, garbed in red tunics and hats. And while Loftwings were still the adults’ transportation mode of choice, children living on the surface found themselves more drawn to horses.
What had not changed was the expression Link’s Loftwing gave him as he finally stumbled out of bed this morning. The occasion, too, was all too familiar: Link was late to meet Zelda.
Link leaned into his Loftwing as the two glided southeast, coasting over the Sealed Temple and crossing into Faron territory. He hadn’t meant to sleep so late today of all days.
Not that the day was particularly special. Zelda, he assumed, thought they were meeting to go fishing. But that was just the excuse he’d come up with last night when he’d asked her to meet up with him.
He guided his Loftwing into a smooth arc around the Great Tree, at which point the viewing platform came into view. There at the front edge was a glint of gold that could only be Zelda’s hair. Link waited until they were flying over the platform to jump down, whipping out his sailcloth with practiced ease.
“Right on time,” Zelda called from below, leaning against the platform’s railing.
She was wearing a blue dress the same exact shade as her Loftwing’s feathers, and her hair was in two long braids over her shoulders. Link thought it was a bit unfair that she should look even more beautiful than usual on this particular day, when all the effort he’d had time to put into his own appearance was to run his hands through his hair on the flight over here.
She stared at him expectantly, arms crossed.
The smirk on her face was so quintessentially Zelda that there was absolutely no need for him to be so nervous, yet when he opened his mouth, a frightened laugh spilled out. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. He fidgeted with the sailcloth, which he still clenched tightly in both fists.
Zelda pushed off the railing and swaggered closer. “Oh, I suppose I can find it in me to forgive you.” She nodded at the sailcloth. “That looks clean.”
Another thing that had changed: Link had finally made time to wash the now-aggressively-used sailcloth just the night before. “Oh. Yeah.”
She swiped the cloth from him and held it up in the sunlight, tilting her head left and right to look it over. “Very nicely done. Ah, there’s a bloodstain here, but I suppose you couldn’t do much about that.” Zelda bunched it up in her hands and pressed it to her face, sniffing deeply. “Mm. It smells like you. Same soap, then.”
Link’s heart was currently trying to exit his body through his mouth. He nodded.
She peered at him, two big blue eyes over the bundle of cloth. Then, lowering the sailcloth, she stepped in toward him, one step, two steps, three, until he had to step back himself lest she bump right into him. His heels thudded against the bird statue. Zelda moved right up against him.
She examined his face. “Are you okay?”
She was far too close. Link nodded in time to his jumping pulse. “Yep!”
Zelda narrowed her eyes. “It’s just that you haven’t said more than five words since you got here. You’re sure you’re feeling all right? Your face is all red.”
He opened and closed his mouth a few times; it was dry. He jumped on the excuse. “Just thirsty.”
Her eyes dropped to his mouth for a fraction of a second before she stepped back. “Oh! You didn’t bring your waterskin?” She pulled hers from her hip and held it out. “Here.”
Link grabbed it from her with a bit more energy than he meant to and took a swig. When he swallowed, he found Zelda was watching him, so he went for another sip. Better than trying to come up with something to say.
He had not anticipated this quest being so difficult. In all the time he had spent alone with Zelda, he had never been this tongue-tied before. It was as though his body was actively trying to sabotage him. If he didn’t find a way to loosen up and fast, all he’d have to show for the day would be fish.
Which was what everyone was expecting them to return with. Everyone except for Groose.
It wasn’t that he’d dared Link, exactly. It was more of an exasperated ultimatum. If Link didn’t tell Zelda how he felt before the end of the following day, Groose would tell her for him. In the middle of the short argument that followed, Link stumbled into the truly amazing realization that Groose was right for once. Not that it was “manlier” for Link to confess to Zelda himself than by proxy – though, to be fair, it almost certainly was – but that Zelda deserved everything, and Link wanted everything with her, and it was far, far past time for him to tell her as much.
“...I think that would be a good place to start,” Zelda was saying, folding up the sailcloth and handing it to him.
Link accepted the cloth, trading her waterskin back to her. “Sorry, where should we start?”
She shook her head, smiling. “The waterfall. Pay attention, silly.” She lifted the waterskin and took a drink from where Link’s mouth had been not a minute before.
It was the same way they’d been sharing almost everything since they were kids, but today Link couldn’t help but think of something Cawlin had said about an “indirect kiss” last week. He smacked himself in the side of the head.
Zelda spluttered, almost dropping the waterskin. “What was that for?”
“Nothing,” Link said. “Let’s go.”
“Zel.”
Zelda snuggled in deeper to her bedclothes, taking a sleepy moment to appreciate how warm and soft it was, and how Link was easing into her dreams, as he often did.
“Zelda. Wake up.”
A comfortable rumbling accompanied his voice. She opened one eye just enough to register she was wrapped up with her husband of two days. She closed her eye again and buried her face in Link’s chest, humming contentedly.
“Zelda,” he said again, with a hint more urgency.
She did not think this was necessarily called for. It was still dark out. Here they were all bundled up safe and warm, freshly married, with the sound of rain hitting their windowpanes. It hardly ever rained back on Skyloft – what they did get was more like a mist. This real precipitation was something else to behold entirely. And, she noted, moving a leg to twine over Link’s, the sound always put her right to sleep...
“Zelda, we’re being rained on.”
They were what?
Zelda propped herself up on one elbow, blinking at the foot of their bed. Sure enough, a steady dripping of rain was happily beating away at the corner of the mattress.
“Bwuh- how?” Zelda swiped strands of hair away from her face. “We just built this roof.”
“Yeah, four years ago.” Link scooted off his side of the bed. “I just want to move the bed and put a pot under the leak. We can deal with it tomorrow.”
“Mmm. Fine.” Slowly, Zelda extracted herself from their warm nest of marital bliss and crouched, bracing against the middle of the bedframe. “I’ll push and you pull?”
Together they heaved the bed away from the leak, which Zelda then dodged to fetch a pot from the kitchen. She slid it under the leak and stood back, sighing, to inspect her now-damp nightgown.
“You don’t need that, anyway,” Link assured her.
She shot him a sly glance. “It’s cold.”
“And?”
A brief creaking noise, and the ceiling split open, dumping a torrent of water over them both. Zelda ducked, tossing her arms over her head, but it did no good. The freezing rush swept down her arms and back and, subsiding, pooled at her feet.
She and Link stared at each other over the sopping disaster that was their bed. Rain was falling freely now, defiantly forming a puddle where Zelda had just placed the pot, which had been swept halfway across the room.
“You know what?” Link put his hands on his hips, nodding appreciatively. “The nightdress is good. You keep that on.”
Zelda laughed and blinked up at the gash in their ceiling. “I guess our roof-building expertise is no match for surface weather.”
“We’re going to need a bigger pot,” Link agreed.
Thankfully, despite the force of the shower they’d just been given, the hole in the ceiling wasn’t all that big. Wringing out her skirt, Zelda picked her way across the wet floor and took the sailcloth down from where it hung next to the door.
Link was already rummaging around collecting a hammer and nails, so she was surprised when his reaction to her sailcloth presentation was an alarmed “No!”
Zelda huffed. “And why not? I made sure to weatherproof it. You took it into an active volcano and it survived.”
“It’s not that.” Link looked down at the hammer and nails in his hands. “I don’t like the idea of putting holes in it.”
“I can patch it up.”
“It’s special,” he said. “It’s all I had of you for weeks. I don’t want to ruin it.”
Zelda looked at her husband, standing there with slumped shoulders and his hair dripping water into his eyes. Her heart melted. She tossed the sailcloth up and over them like a tent, lifted onto her toes, and kissed him.
“It did its job,” she said. “You have me now. And we have our future. And,” she added, lifting the edge of the cloth to survey their rainy house, “we might still have all of this if we put some nails through this thing.”
Link plopped his head down on her shoulder. “It’s just sad.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his neck. “I know. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll fix it. After we fix the roof.”
He slid his arms around her and sighed. For a moment they just stood holding each other, listening to the rain.
“Okay,” Link said finally, “but you stay inside and dry off. I’ll patch the roof.”
She straightened up to glare at him. “Are you thick? You’re soaked, too.”
“What’s a little more water?” Link pulled the sailcloth off them and bundled it under his arm. “Stay here. Please? It’ll make me feel better.”
“Fine,” she conceded. “Someone has to clean up, anyway. But don’t spend any more time out there than you have to.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Deal.”
And so, on the third night of their marriage, Link hammered their sailcloth over the hole in the roof, and Zelda used every towel in the house to mop up the floor.
The next morning, Groose and Pipit fixed the roof while Zelda snuggled up with a very sniffly Link by the fire. They mended the sailcloth together.
Link tried to ease the front door open. It obliged with a painful squealing noise. After six years, it desperately needed some grease.
He glanced back at the bed. The only movement was the subtle rise of the quilts that signaled Zelda’s breath. Link turned back to the door and pushed it open the rest of the way. It made a quick, sharp, skrrrk! and fell silent.
Cradled in his left arm, his ten-month-old daughter blew a raspberry.
“Sssh,” he told her. “This is a secret adventure. Remember?”
Jira just burbled at him and squirmed, no doubt wishing she were free of the three layers he’d bundled her in.
Link tugged his hat down over his ears, stepped around the door, and pushed it shut. He pulled Jira closer to his face. “Ready?”
She shifted to try to take a bite out of his nose.
He turned her around so she could see their neighborhood.
Every inch was swathed in a layer of white. Their meager front yard, the hedges Zelda had planted along the footpath, the row of little houses that lined up leading to the pumpkin patch – they all looked like they’d been transformed into giant cakes dusted repeatedly with powdered sugar. The clouds had drifted away, leaving the sky a sleepy early morning blue, clear enough to see all the way to Eldin Volcano.
Jira fell silent, wide blue eyes taking it in.
Link took hold of the outermost layer he’d wrapped around her and pulled it farther over the top of her head. “Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” he whispered. “Where I’m from, we never got weather like this. It got cold, to be sure, and we did get a little snow, sometimes. But I never knew it could pile up this much.” He carried Jira over to the hedge row, scooped some snow off the top, and showed it to her.
She opened her mouth and planted her face in the snow, only to immediately recoil, looking stunned.
Link laughed. “It’s cold, huh?” He wiped her face gently with his sleeve.
Jira looked as though she were not sure whether she should cry or not.
“Aw, it’s all right,” he cooed, snuggling her closer. She whined in protest.
The door squealed again. Link turned to find Zelda standing in the doorway clad in nightdress, shawl, and boots, her hair mussed up and her hands tucked under her armpits.
“Look at that,” he said to Jira. “We woke Mother.”
“What are you doing?” Zelda groused.
“Showing Jira the snow.” Link shuffled back over to the door and put his arm around his wife. “Feeling okay?”
Zelda laid her head on his shoulder. “It’s cold,” she complained.
“And amazing,” he said. Then, to the baby, “That’s what we decided, right?”
“Muh buh bwuh,” Jira put in, evidently distracted from her distress by Zelda’s appearance.
Zelda lifted her head, fixing her eyes on Jira. “Wow. You really wrapped her up.” She pinched the outer layer between her thumb and forefinger, angling it to examine the worn embroidered feather. “Is this our sailcloth?”
“It seemed like the right idea at the time,” he said ruefully. “It hasn’t failed me yet.”
Zelda took the baby from him, looking her over. “No, you’re right. If anything will keep her dry, this is it.”
Jira opened her mouth in a wide smile and hollered loudly, kicking her legs.
Link winced. “And if anything will wake up the entire neighborhood, it’s that.”
Zelda laughed and gave her a big smooch between the eyes. “Well, I’m definitely awake now.” Hugging Jira to her, she lifted her chin and swept her gaze over their quiet settlement. She sighed. “This place is beautiful.”
Link shifted to stand behind her so he could wrap both arms around his family, resting his cheek on Zelda’s hair, and looked over the settlement himself. Behind the empty pumpkin patch was a square of farmland where they hoped to plant carrots in the spring. Next to that stood the stables that had just been built that past summer. Beyond those was the wide empty plain, stretching for miles, interrupted only by what Link knew was a grove of apple trees, which led up into the foothills that eventually merged with a great dense forest, and Eldin next to that.
Curving over it all was that calm morning sky. Somewhere up there, too high to see even on a cloudless day, were the islands Link used to know. His Loftwing seemed to like it better up there.
Jira squirmed again and the sailcloth brushed up against the edge of Link’s hand. Zelda murmured softly, bouncing the baby. Link squeezed them both tightly to him.
At last, everything felt right.