Nabooru’s Fight
She had fled. It was the only choice left to her if she was to survive.
When she turned back briefly all she saw were great waves of light that crackled in the air and rose up as a serpent would, striking ferociously in all directions. There was nothing she could do presently to find her way back to her King and ensure his safety. Her own survival, tentative as it was, was her only present focus.
The field had proved invaluable when it came to fleeing her attacker. Once the two women had entered the tall grass, Nabooru took advantage of the environment and quickly hid from her assailant.
It was no secret that the Sheikah and the Gerudo were sworn enemies. While the Hylians were a race that the Gerudo envied, the Sheikah had been the people who received their outright antagonism.
The old witches of the Gerudo tribes would often tell the tale of the War of the Mists, a calamity that visited both races two hundred years before the birth of Ganon. In those times the Sheikah lived along the coasts of the Gerudo deserts, dwelling in caves that rested by the oceans. They worshipped the mists and the foam of the sea, and it was often that an immense fog would roll in after they completed a secret ritual.
The Gerudo traded with them, for a time, but it wasn’t long before the tribesmen of the different kingdoms felt that the Sheikah, who were devoutly loyal to the Hylian people, should leave their lands. Negotiations barely rose to a whisper before blades were drawn and war was declared. The battles began when the Sheikah camps were invaded in the night and hundreds of their people were butchered by Gerudo assassins. The sea was red for days from the torrents of blood that ran out of their caves in a steady stream.
The Sheikah were quick to retaliate. The battles raged for a year, with neither side showing any advantage over each other. After one particularly gruesome battle, the Sheikah attacked with a force as of yet unseen. They summoned massive, dense mists that swarmed the Gerudo cities and blocked their sight. Thousands of Gerudo died at the hands of Sheikah assassins, their heads placed on spikes. It was rumored that only ten assassin’s were responsible for the entire massacre.
Afterward the battles ended and the desserts turned still and quiet once more. The Sheikah became nearly mythical, fading into a seclusion of their own design. Their camps were impossible to find and their people were kept to intentionally low numbers so they could remain unseen. To encounter a Sheikah after that time was either a stroke of luck or a terrible omen, depending on whoever made the discovery.
In that moment there was no delight in Nabooru for having encountered the woman who now hunted her relentlessly.
There was a whistle that sang out as the steel of Impa’s knife flashed in front of Nabooru’s eye. She barely moved in time, the tip of the blade opening a tiny gash above her left eyebrow. She had been found.
Again their blades met in the dark, and again sparks flew as the intense speed and force of their communion made the song of battle. Impa’s eyes were deadly with intent as she rolled the knives effortlessly in her palms and pulled her arms back and forth in a violent and unstoppable barrage.
Nabooru matched the intensity of her rage, and felt it growing still. Her own sword was a curved and razor sharp strip of metal that cut a hollow, moaning hiss through the air. She felt her muscles tighten and burn as she pulled every nerve and tendon to match the Sheikah’s speed and precision. Her own skill had never been outmatched, but this combatant made her feel like an amateur in battle.
Blood sprinkled the blades of grass as Impa slashed a mean cut across Nabooru’s right arm. Another stroke brought a twin gash. It made an x across her arm that would likely seal and scar over time if she lived beyond that night. Nabooru didn’t scream or cry, but only held a deadly gaze ahead at her skilled rival.
