SONG OF LOCKE (inspired by LEGEND OF ZELDA)

DISCHORD

"I'll go," said Locke.

The boy who ran from bugs.

As the Seer smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes bunched up. "I knew it. You're made of oak. I saw it the moment I laid eyes on you."

And Shilohe—hmm. Well-masked emotion filled her eyes, a whirlwind she couldn't fully hide. Was it jealousy toward Locke? Anger toward the Seer? Or some deeper tragedy?

"Then what would you have me do?" she asked.

"This will be difficult for you to understand, I'm afraid, but I want you to stay here."

Her lungs filled with air and a strong reply, but she bit her lip. Though I wished she'd just speak, I had to admire her decorum.

"I want you to keep charge of the records while I'm gone."

"But I can help," she said. "I need to help. It's what Numa whispers to me."

The Seer sighed.

"I'm qualified. I'm ready. I believe in the Kyrose."

The Seer turned toward Locke and stared from beneath those waterfall eyebrows, perceiving the implication in those words.

Locke swallowed and shrunk back, looking at the floor.

The Seer chuckled, but the laugh faded when he looked back at Shilohe.

"And I don't have banshe wolves after me," she added, shaking her head as if this were all so overwhelmingly foolish.

Locke perked up as the relentless monsters darted through our mind.

"Is it because I'm not physically strong?" she asked. "I'm as strong as he is. We can arm-wrestle right now," and she pulled up her sleeve, which gave Locke a pang of anxiety: She didn't look muscular, but she looked mad.

Locke was ready to bow out. He'd never wanted the job much in the first place. He inhaled, lifted a finger to announce an interruption, and opened his mouth to interject.

But then the Seer spoke:

"Shilohe."

That was all he said, just that one word, her name. But he said it with a gentleness that calmed us all. He put his hand on the side of her head with the affection of a father more loving than Locke's.

As she looked up at him, her eyes filled with submission.

"Yes, there are more logical candidates." He gave a sage smile. "But it's not about Locke. Or about you or me. It's much bigger than any of us. And certainly bigger than mortal logic."

Shilohe bowed her head.

"Magister Crowe and I see great things in your future. Great things. You are our most promising student. And with the order crumbling so rapidly, you're too precious for us to risk."

Her lips pouted as she fought to keep her emotions from showing. "All life is precious."

"But all life is not in equal peril," he said, so gently it could have stilled the wind. "After your speech, the danger increased. Stane surely heard your challenge through the lamp."

So there was something odd about that lamp. I wanted to ask whether it was a salaminde, and, if so, what happened to its kynde.

She shook her head, and the feathers in her hair waved back and forth. "But he wants the King, not me. He wants revenge."

"Maybe making you suffer will fulfill that."

"The King doesn't care if I suffer." She said it with hate in her voice—which surprised Locke and me. It seemed to have surprised her as well.

"But does the villain care?" asked the Seer.

"I don't know," she said, now with a more humble tone, as if to counter her last outburst.

The Seer looked at her as peaceful as a creek. "I promised both your mother and Magister Crowe that I would keep you safe. I intend to keep those promises."

Her sad resignation showed on her face. "But I promised our people. And I can't just let you do this thing." She said this last phrase as if to herself, in desperation, and the corners of her perfect eyes glistened with tears.

The Seer looked at her and bit his bottom lip. "I'm sorry. It's better this way."

"Why?"

"Because we both know this story won't end well."

They traded another knowing glance. Shilohe nodded and bowed her head, hair pointing at the floor NDK. She was grace coupled with majesty, and for a moment her presence tugged at our consciousness, while everything else fell toward forgetfulness.

There she was.

Right in front of us.

The paradigm of beauty, breathing the same air as us just a few feet away. A surreal presence, even if she was spoken for.

"Okay," she said, and her voice made it clear that tears would soon come. Her bottom lip firmed up in a fighting stance, and I wished that I could become her sylphe, to brace her up.

The Seer smiled at her with the hope of a bright future.

Shilohe nodded to the Seer, gave Locke a forced smile, and without a word walked from the room, Lonae flying behind her.

The colorful dress swished as she disappeared around the corner.

Then we heard her footsteps tapping a rhythm up the stairs.