12: The Tribe Beyond the Sands

“Where was she last seen?”

Zelda had been so careful, certain she wouldn’t be caught when she’d decided, once again, to slip away from her quarters. There was still so much of the castle she’d yet to explore, after all, and she’d grown bored with her studies. 

Of course, she’d been reprimanded by Impa before for sneaking away, but she’d already grown accustomed to her guardian’s lectures. Besides, all she’d wanted was to find one of the many hidden passageways she’d heard the guards mention in passing, and, as the future ruler of Hyrule, wouldn’t she need to know where such passageways were located if there was ever a siege?

Yet, the harsh whispers echoing from the library had stopped her dead in her tracks, her curiosity shifting abruptly, now satisfied with a new target. Someone had gone missing. Oh yes! This would be much more interesting than a hidden passageway or yet another droll hour spent stuffing her nose in a book. 

“The sentries said they spotted her horse heading west.”

“West? Towards Gerudo Valley? Surely she wouldn’t go there!”

“I’m afraid that’s exactly where she was likely headed. Her handmaiden said she’s been going on about a strange place called the Arbiter’s Grounds.”

“Is it on the map?”

“Not any that I’ve ever seen, but who knows what’s hiding in the Haunted Wasteland. Only the Gerudo would know anything about it if there was such a place.”

Zelda’s brow had furrowed, the voices fading into the background as she tried to piece together what she’d just heard. This wasn’t like the gossip and squabbling she’d typically overheard, such as who the guards had thought was the strongest among them or who could take down a Dodongo with their bare hands.

She’d always known very little about the western desert, though she’d have very little reason to visit even after she’d ascended the throne. Gerudo Valley served as its entry point, its rugged red cliffs the last sign of color one would see before they entered the wastelands. 

When she’d thought of those wastelands, Zelda could only imagine a sea of golden sand as far as the eye could see, glittering under a blistering, unforgiving sun. The days would only promise dehydration and heatstroke, while evening’s cold could freeze and kill just as easily. 

Only someone familiar with that terrain would dare charge off toward it in the middle of the night. For, even on the clearest days, the wind could transform the horizon in a matter of minutes, dunes growing in size or disappearing completely.

That was when she’d felt a chill surge down her spine. One of the voices had mentioned a handmaiden. Besides herself, only one other person in the castle would have had one: her mother.

If he’d seen her, Zelda’ s father would have once again scolded her for running, for he’d always viewed it as “unladylike.” Yet Zelda paid the thought no mind as she’d sprinted as fast as her legs could carry her, unconcerned whether her dress would get dirtied or frayed in the process.

Once she’d barged through the door of her mother’s bedchamber, she’d been both relieved and anxious to find both of her mother’s handmaidens, Romani and Cremia, whispering animatedly to themselves. At the sight of Zelda, the pair had frozen in place as if they’d seen a ghost.

“Your Highness!” they’d both dipped into hasty, clumsy curtseys, but Zelda had held up her hand, not interested in unnecessary formalities. 

“Where is my mother?” she’d demanded.

Romani had begun to visibly tremble, while Cremia’s eyes had darted between the two. Zelda had sighed inwardly, taking this as confirmation the pair’s discussion had been about this very subject before she’d interrupted. 

“A-a note, Your Highness,” Cremia had gestured to the queen’s writing desk, which held a single scroll bearing the queen’s seal nestled amongst a tidy, yet colossal, pile of books. Zelda had started toward it before Cremia could finish stretching out her arm to point at it, unfurling the scroll the second she’d grasped it.

Zelda had then placed all her focus into steadying her breath, for she couldn’t allow her vision to blur with tears before she’d finished reading her mother’s words. Just as the voice had said, the queen had departed and would explain everything upon her return. She’d also forbidden anyone from following her under any circumstances.

Zelda had hoped the explanation would have given her some form of relief. Yet, instead, it had only caused the cauldron of dread bubbling inside of her to erupt into a fountain.

“When?” Zelda had tried her hardest to speak clearly, but her voice shook terribly. 

“Last night, Your Highness,” Cremia replied in a gentle whisper. “She forbade us to follow her.”

“Where did she say she was going?”

“The guards and sentries saw her going west. For several nights now, she has spoken about a place called the Arbiter’s Grounds, but none of us in the castle has ever heard of it.”

Zelda had continued to clutch the scroll, its rough parchment nearly hot as iron in her hand, and every moment after she’d read her mother’s message had seemed to blur into the next. 

She’d remembered racing into the library every day that followed, hoping to find her mother leaning over her desk in deep concentration as she prepared to bury herself into a book she’d likely read twice before already. Yet, each time, no matter where in the castle she’d ventured, she’d never found any trace of her mother, and her father had refused to acknowledge her disappearance at all. 

Soon, Zelda had thought she might find a way to send someone forth to look for her if she didn’t find a way to go herself. Yet, deep down, she’d known that such a task would have been in vain. Who but the Gerudo would know where to look for such a place, and would the desert dwellers even allow them passage to begin with? 

So, Zelda had waited, and she prayed with all her might, refusing to give up hope that the queen wouldn’t at least send her a letter, but there would be nothing, not even a single whisper of her whereabouts. 

When her father had called her into his study, she’d known then that something terrible had happened. He had always towered over her, yet that evening he’d looked as if he’d shrunken to half his size and aged a decade overnight. The sight of him had terrified her. 

“Your mother…” the king’s voice was grave. “I am sorry, darling, but she has passed away.”

“What?” Zelda had drawn back, covering her mouth. Surely, she hadn’t heard correctly. “No, she can’t be!”

“I…do not wish to give you the details,” the king had tried to measure his words, though he’d never been particularly attuned to handling his daughter’s delicate emotions. “It is too soon after her death, and I do not want to upset you.”

But Zelda had been beyond upset. She’d been furious.

“You must tell me what happened!” she’d demanded. “I have a right to know!”

“Zelda, you must give it time…”

“You didn’t go after her! Nobody did! None of you cared where she went! You were too scared to go into the desert to find her and –”

“You will watch your tongue!” the king thundered, and it was if he’d grown several feet in an instant, his piercing blue eyes all the more pronounced against skin that was growing redder by the second. “You are a princess! I am the King of Hyrule! Do you dare take such a reckless tone in my presence?”

Zelda had then allowed her vision to blur with tears at last, for she’d had no further desire to see anything more. She’d thought she’d seen her father pause and lower his head before reaching out to her, but she’d already turned to start running. She’d kept running until she found herself in the courtyard by her mother’s favorite garden. There, she’d collapsed to the ground and wept.

It was there that Impa had found her. At first, Zelda had swatted Impa’s hand away each time her guardian had tried to stroke her hair, but she soon had little energy other than to continue sobbing. 

“Your mother loved you very much, Zelda…” Impa had finally said once she’d felt Zelda was calm enough to listen. “She would not want you to grieve like this.”

“Then where is she?” Zelda’s voice had broken, and the sound of it had startled her. She’d taken as deep of a breath as she could before speaking again. “If she loved me so much, why did she leave?”

Impa had paused as if searching carefully for what to say next. “Your mother, like so many mothers before her, wanted to protect you at all costs. You must always remember that.”

She had spoken in a tone one might use to close out a council meeting or conclude lessons for the day, and, to Zelda’s dismay, there truly was little else to be done after the queen’s funeral. 

From there, life had gone on as expected, one series of routines replaced by another, though Zelda had found this one a colorless custom. She’d done all she could to hold onto Impa’s words of encouragement, even as the pangs of grief never lost their potency. Questions would never have answers, and soon memories would become as distant as dreams.

Eventually, the days had become weeks, then months. Zelda had thrown herself into her studies, mostly to avoid her father as much as possible, and she continued to play at the pageantry required of royalty. Yet, it had all become meaningless, a hollow, wooden dance she deigned to perform until her mind finally cast itself into oblivion.

Then, one day, a man named Ganondorf appeared at the castle.

All in Hyrule had known the Gerudo to be a tribe of women, known for their thievery and mischief. They were dangerous, and they did not accept outsiders into their domain. However, once every hundred years, a male was born into the tribe.

Ganondorf had requested an audience with the king, and he had arrived alone, which Zelda found odd. Anyone who visited the castle normally arrived with an escort or small entourage, even the townsfolk. Who was this man, and why had he come?

Yet when Ganondorf had first entered the throne room, he’d had a companion after all, a sense of foreboding that fell upon Zelda like a cloud of flies. Unlike the Gerudo women, whose skin was darkened and bronzed by the sun, this man’s skin was the color of a dull olive. 

His hair, though much shorter than the women of his tribe, was red, though swept back like a furnace fire caught in the wind. But it was the eyes, those glowing, golden eyes, which had been the source of all of her dread.

“Your Majesty,” he’d bowed deeply, his eyes never leaving the king’s. “I am Ganondorf, chieftain of the Gerudo tribe. I have come to offer my condolences on the death of the queen.”

“Thank you, Ganondorf…” the king’s voice had been much tighter than usual, much unlike the polite-yet-neutral monotone he’d normally employed. “Such kindness does its part to help lift the pall of grief we still yet suffer.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Ganondorf continued. “The queen was known throughout the land for her great beauty and wisdom. Though in the end she and our tribe’s relationship had grown strained, she was still considered a Gerudo by many, myself included.”

Zelda had gasped, and Ganondorf’s eyes had landed on her immediately. She’d wanted to look away, yet it was as if he’d bespelled her with his gaze, her body’s movements no longer her own.

And he had smiled in response.

“She was not one of you!” the king had spat, straightening himself up to his full height, and his voice had seemed to break whatever spell Zelda had fallen under. “She was a Hylian!”

Ganondorf’s mouth had twitched ever so slightly before he bowed again. “Apologies, Your Majesty. I did not mean to offend.”

When he’d risen once more to address the king, his hand was now over his heart. “The war is over now at long last, my king. The Gorons, Zoras, and even the Kokiri swear allegiance to you and the royal family. I come as a representative of the Gerudo, offering to swear the same fealty if you would have it.” 

The room had grown completely silent, and she’d thought her father could have easily been mistaken for a sculpture. She’d never seen him so still, yet she’d also understood his dilemma. The Gerudo had never sworn allegiance to anyone but themselves, most of them never venturing outside of the harsh wastelands. 

If their goal was to truly break tradition and offer their loyalty, the kingdom would have certainly benefited from having allies in the west. The people of Hyrule would have also seen it as further evidence that this would be a time of peace and prosperity, that the dark days of war were behind them, perhaps forever this time. 

Except Zelda had known, even back then, that Ganondorf had intended nothing but harm for all except himself.

She opened her eyes as the memories settled into the back of her mind once more, returning to the present as her hood swept against her face. As far as she could tell, there would be no sandstorm to deal with as she made her way to the Desert Colossus that housed the Spirit Temple, yet she could still use the wind to her advantage. 

Even now, she was certain sentries were perched all throughout the Desert Colossus’ perimeter, vigilantly watching for intruders approaching from the Haunted Wasteland. After all, this had been the Gerudo’s original stronghold, and it was also their ancestral place of worship. Unlike the previous temples she’d navigated, she couldn’t afford to be caught, for the mad sorcerer would be alerted immediately.

As patches of sand billowed up and whirled all around her, Mison’s words continued to echo through her mind. Somewhere even further than where she stood was the place the Dark Interlopers had been banished. In all of her studies, she’d never heard of such a tribe, yet one had certainly existed, and their new home was perhaps beyond even the reckoning of time itself. 

Zelda rolled her shoulders before they had the chance to grow stiff. There would be time to ponder that later. Here, in the heartland of her enemy’s first kingdom, and in the place where her mother had undoubtedly drawn her first breath, she must find the Sage of Spirit. 

Then, she would find the location of the Arbiter’s Grounds, for she was confident the mad sorcerer’s minions knew exactly where the cursed mirror that had terrified the queen rested. 

Because she knew it was Ganondorf who had killed her.

• (Chapter 1)
• (Chapter 2)
• (Chapter 3)
• (Chapter 4)
• (Chapter 5)
• (Chapter 6)
• (Chapter 7)
• (Chapter 8)
• (Chapter 9)
• (Chapter 10)
• (Chapter 11)
• (Chapter 12)