“HYAH! ”

A dark shape slammed into the snarling creature and knocked it askew. Link strained his eyes, trying to look sideways as the two figures rolled wildly on the ground. One braced its legs and hurled the other off, and Link cringed at the sound of bones popping as it crashed into a tree.

Vitanre leapt to her feet, scimitar flashing in the late afternoon sun, and lunged for the stunned thing still crumpled at the foot of the tree.

It saw her coming and hissed menacingly, pushing off the tree to meet Vitanre’s charge. It nimbly dodged the hylian’s leading slash and pushed close to snap with those sharp fangs. Vitanre ducked the jaws and prodded at the creature’s ribs, gashing a shallow cut just below the ribcage.

In enraged fury, the creature suddenly swiped at Vitanre with fury-powered strength and sent the girl flying backwards to land in the stream. Vitanre groaned slightly as a sharp rock jabbed into her kidneys, and looked up to see the thing making one last charge. She shoved herself to her feet and lashed out.

The creature yowled for a split second, before Vitanre’s blade took its head from its shoulders.

Panting slightly and dripping, Vitanre sheathed her weapon and turned to Link’s still form.

“Well, I see you’ve met one of our least-liked creatures,” she said, coming to kneel beside him.

Link could only blink at her, and she sighed and shook her head.

“Don’t bother trying. For the next few hours you’ll be as stiff as ship timbers.” She paused, looking around a moment, before turning her attention back to Link.

“That was a syrin, nasty sort of thing. It’s uncommon to see them this far inland...they normally dwell on the sea shore. No one knows where they come from...most sailors say that when a woman dies on the sea, far from her home, her soul becomes a syrin,” Vitanre shook her head. “Horrible...horrible things, syrins. They prey only on males...” she pointed at her head. “Mind-things, they befuddle men and lead them away, then kill them. You’ve been infected with their venom, but it will wear off in a few hours...” Then, she looked at him with pity in her eyes. “You’ll be feverish and in pain, so I suggest we stay here for the night.”

She gently placed her hands upon his shoulders and tipped him sideways. Link’s legs stayed bent, his back stayed straight as a rod, and still only his eyes moved. Breathing was difficult, but eased slightly as Vitanre laid him on his side in the grass.

A heavy sigh came from above as Vitanre stood up and went to the horses. She dug around in her saddle bags and came out with a small leather bag, which she carried back with her as she sat down near Link’s head. She reached two fingers into the bag and pulled out a white bulb that was perhaps the size of her thumbnail. Crushing it between her palms, she held the oozing item beneath Link’s nose.The acrid smell of crushed vegetation stung his nostrils and burned all the way down into his lungs. He sputtered and coughed and his eyes began to water, and Vitanre quickly removed the bulb from his face.

“Take a few deep breaths...you should be able to speak now,” she said, dunking her hands into the stream and swishing them back and forth vigorously.

Link did so, and found that he was in fact capable of speech now.

“What was that?” he asked, the lingering scent of that bulb still in his nose.

“We call it a fume seed...its horrible smell makes your eyes water and makes you cough...a handy, partial cure for syrin venom; it gets some of it out of you quickly,” Vitanre said, leaning down so he could see her.

“I feel like a statue laying here...” Link grumbled.

Vitanre held her hands out helplessly. “I’m sorry, I can’t do anything for you at the moment...its too soon. All I can do is try to make you comfortable for the night.”

She hopped back to her feet and went to the horses once more. Epona nipped at her at first, then stood quietly as Vitanre removed the saddlebags from first her and then her own grey. Patting both horses, she allowed then to graze freely beside the stream, then bent to her bags. From inside them, she pulled a black cloak free and shook it out, then folded it quickly.

Returning to Link’s side, she slid this makeshift pillow beneath his head. He was going to be stuck on his side for a long time, but at least he wouldn’t have his face laying in the grass.

The hours passed slowly...Link found himself dozing off on occasion, for what else was there to do? Vitanre wasn’t being very talkative; in fact, she was stretched out beside Link, her hand resting on her scimitar in its scabbard, staring at nothing.

It was darkening quickly, but Link detected a faint light coming from somewhere in the direction of his feet.

“What is that?” he asked finally, giving up on forcing movement to look for himself.

Vitanre’s eyes briefly flicked over that way, then back to her aimless gazing. “It’s the moonlight reflecting off the surface of the sea...it’s ungodly bright in the Shrine on nights where there’s a full moon.” She shifted, rolling onto her side to look at him. “Besides the obvious, are you alright?”

Link frowned. “As best as can be imagined, I suppose. It is not a chill night, and the evening has passed without incident.”

Vitanre frowned and sighed. “That’s what I fear, though...it’s been too peaceful.”
After that, neither talked.When Link awoke the next morning, he was stiff from laying in the same position for a prolonged period of time, but was able to move normally again. He sat up, stretching and grimacing as aches made themselves known, and took a deep breath.

Vitanre was stretched out beside him on her back, one hand thrown over her head while the other rested close enough to the scabbard upon her belt to draw scimitar if the need arose. Her chest rose and fell gently, a somewhat troubled look upon her face as she slumbered. Link was about to reach out and tap her when, as though she hadn’t been asleep at all, she opened her eyes and they focused on him.

Hastily, Link drew his hand back as she sat up and then stood.

“We should be going,” was all she said, picking up her saddlebags from where she’d left them the night before. She took a few steps towards the horses, and then noticed that there were no ‘horses.’ Epona was there, but her grey was missing.

“Haka...” she growled, raising two fingers to her lips and blowing. A shrill whistle cut through the morning silence, and a nickering sounded from just beyond in the trees.

Haka the grey trotted out of the trees and clomped across the stream to Vitanre. The hylian gave the horse a clout between the ears and slung her saddlebags back onto the beast. She turned to find Link ready and waiting for her.

A quick check of the map, to set themselves on the proper ‘path,’ and then they were off once more.

Hours later, just past midday, they reached the end of the path. Before them was pile of rock set against the side of a small hillside.

“This is the place marked on the map...” Vitanre said, dismounting and approaching the rock pile cautiously. She kneeled and passed a hand over the stony surface, closing her eyes.

Link came up behind her, and she turned to him.

“I feel magic pulsing beneath...” she said.

Link kneeled beside her and studied the rock. “Then this must truly be where the medallion is secreted.” Then, he looked at her, brow furrowing in mild surprise. “You can feel magic?”

Vitanre turned from him, face reddening ever so slightly. “Yes...I always have. There has to be a fair amount of magic in an item for me to sense it though...like, your ocarina,” she said, pointing to where it was stuck in his belt. “And your sword, of course.”

Link nodded thoughtfully. “A useful talent...”
She shrugged, still a bright red.

“Now...to budge this pile of rock...I’d stand back if I were you,” Link said, pulling a bomb from his pouch and setting it within the jumble of stones. It hissed madly as it prepared to go off, and Link and Vitanre both stepped back several steps.

One explosion later, an opening disappearing down into the earth was revealed. Link walked to the opening, seeing that a stairwell started two feet before the hole he’d made, and then went forward six feet before curving around a corner from sight.

He dropped down and walked over to look around the corner. As far as he could tell, the stairwell continued on, curving again...it was most likely a spiral staircase carved into the natural stone of the land. Facing him now was a deep inky blackness, from which he could distinguish nothing that was further than four feet infront of him.

“We’ll need a light,” he said, turning around to see Vitanre drop in behind him. She nodded and reached into her smock and pulled out a gnarled stick. She gave it a crack over her knee and snapped it in half and instantly, the immediate area was flooded with light.

Shielding his eyes from the sudden brightness, Link squinted at the glowing thing Vitanre held. “What is that?”

“Fire coral sticks,” she said, covering the glow with a hand so that it was not so painful to the eyes in the enclosed space. “Fire coral is deadly while still alive in the water, but when bits of it break off in bad storms and wash ashore, you can gather it safely and dry it. As you can see, they make for handy lanterns when you crack them.”

Link nodded, thinking he would have to get a few of those himself, and then headed down the stairs. Vitanre followed close behind him, holding out the coral stick, but pointing it at the ground so she did not blind herself or Link. They went around and down the stairs, spiraling downwards for quite some time before they came to an iron-bound wooden door.

Vitanre stepped past Link and touched the door, then shoved it open. Groaning open on long unused hinges, the door swung open slowly and gave the hylians a view of the room beyond it.

It was a rough rectangle, with a single door in the entire room. Large clay pots stood in every corner, three a piece, and the walls were made of brick-like stones. Link stepped back infront of Vitanre and walked in cautiously, sword now drawn.

Vitanre stuck the coral stick into her belt, lighted end pointing towards the floor, and drew her own weapon as she took three steps and crossed through the doorway. Without warning, the door swung shut behind her, just clipping the heel of one boot. Vitanre pulled at the handle, but couldn’t budge the heavy door; even when Link pulled with her, the door remained shut.

Vitanre’s eyes suddenly widened as the hair rose on the back of her neck. Both she and Link turned back to face into the room, and saw a great black specter hanging in the air before them.
The specter made no move towards them, but simply floated and stared. It appeared as though someone had tossed a black cloak into the air and it had simply decided to hang there. A cowl was drawn forward and hid the face (if it had one) and its ‘body’ shimmered in the air around it.Boldly, Vitanre stepped towards it, meeting the gaze of the faceless being.

The specter raised a handless arm to halt her movement.

“I am the ghost of Tsuko, the sorceror who created the Spirit Medallion,” the thing rasped in a voice that literally was painful to listen to. Vitanre covered her ears, her teeth gritted, and even Link found himself hunching his shoulders in a futile attempt to block out the horrible voice.

“Thy seek my medallion, and I offer you the warning I have offered many in turn,” it went on.

“If thy be evil, and hold ill intentions within your mind and soul, you shall be killed before you reach your prize. Only pure of heart may overcome the many safeguards I have set upon this place to protect my creation. Hold you the truth of justice and right within yourself, and rest assured that thy shall pass through to the medallion. You have been warned.”

And with those last words ringing in the air, the specter disappeared.

Link stared at the place the specter had been last, then blinked as he saw Vitanre cross to the door and place a hand on its handle.

He hurried up and made it to her side just as she pulled the door open. It too moaned open, and Vitanre stepped inside. Link followed, then staggered as soon as he crossed the threshold. Thinking he had tripped, Vitanre began to turn back to him when a rustling sound made her snap her attention back to in front of her.

A perfect copy of herself stepped forward, grinning nastily. Behind the real Vitanre, Link had dropped to one knee, his mind reeling.

Vitanre looked from first Link to the copy back to Link, and whipped her scimitar out.

“Syrin...” she growled, taking a step forward. Then, from the shadows beside the first one, stepped another Vitanre...and then another one. All three were perfect copies of the real Vitanre, and all three were concentrating their effort on disabling Link.

Vitanre took a step back and looked behind her. Link was on all fours, eyes squeezed shut as he fought to throw off the influence of not one, but three syrin minds. Her eyes narrowed in determination, and she gave Link a rough kick that sent him flying out into the first room, then she elbowed the door shut.

Before her, all three syrins pulled out identical scimitars and held them in identical battle stances.

Vitanre glared and dropped into her own battle stance. “Very well then. You can copy my form, but can you copy my skills as well?” she growled as the three leapt for her.