Unmasked (Rise of the Masks Book 1)

by Kaplan, EM

  The delegation advanced slowly. At about 20 paces into the cavern, Ott had a sickening sensation. He heard a sound behind him and saw the trogs leap into motion at the same time. "Wait. Stop. This is wrong," Ott started to say at the same time an arrow took one of the trogs in the throat and dropped it.

  An arrow? And one that had come from behind Ott?

  A whistle cut through the air, interrupting him before he could form any words. Had he imagined that? Then he heard the clatter of wood against the rock floor just a few steps ahead of himself. It sounded like the handle of a shovel hitting the rocky cavern wall. He hadn't seen any tools in the cavern. He felt as if he were seeing only half of what was unfolding before him. Then Guyse uttered a guttural shout. Ott couldn't make out what he said. Mel's mother and father suddenly pushed Ott back, knocking him back a few steps. They shoved him solidly, using their preternatural strength, retreating back into the tunnel from which they had come.

  The trogs crossed the cavern toward them now, leaping on all fours like great cats, bracing their hands to spring off the rocky cavern floor. Ott scrambled to get his feet under him. When his legs cooperated, he ran with the others back toward the tunnel. He had the fleeting impression of other people ahead of them in the tunnel, but that couldn’t possibly be right. Trapped from behind and more ahead? They scrambled and clawed, but they made it back to the tunnel, plunging into it without encountering anyone. He must have been mistaken. He turned his head, trying to see how closely they were being pursued.

  "Get them between us!" Guyse bellowed at him, pointing at Mel and her parents. Between the dimness and the confusion of cloaked bodies coming back up the tunnel toward him, Ott couldn't see a damned thing. He heard and felt the swirling cloth of their cloaks and had the heavy smell of dust and sweat in his nose. Shuffling footsteps told him there were more bodies crowding the mine shaft than just their own. The stench turned gamey and sweaty; it mixed with dust that clouded his eyes and coated his throat. The narrow tunnel filled with guttural grunts and hoarse breathing—the trogs were inside it with them. Red vision flaring, Ott put out an arm and shoved one of the Masks back behind him. The handle of a shovel hit him in the jaw as he reached for the other Mask. He grunted from the impact, and then pulled the second Mask behind him as well, batting the wooden handle away as it almost hit him again. The Mask, Mel's father, was gripping the shovel tightly.

  "Keep your bloody shovel. Just get behind me," Ott grunted and turned, coughing and squinting in the faint light for Mel and Guyse. He held up his ridiculous wood axe, balanced in two hands and ready. The tunnel was obscured by the dust of their hasty, shuffling footprints.

  Oh, no. Ott’s mind caught up to his eyes. That was no shovel that had been in Mel's father's hands. On the fabric of the man’s cloak, a dark shadow soaked his midsection where his hands grasped the protruding wood. What Ott had thought was a shovel was the haft of a spear. The whistling noise he had heard earlier suddenly made terrible sense. Mel's father had caught a spear that had narrowly missed Guyse and Mel.

  Guyse cursed loudly and then shouted again, "Get back! Go back." His looming form suddenly emerged from the dust cloud, running at full speed. He waved his arms at them, striating the smoky dust with his choppy arm slashes. "The trogs are collapsing the tunnel. They ripped out the supports. It's going to—" His words were cut off by the deep rumble of the tunnel behind him. A thicker cloud chased him, threatening to swallow him up. There was no way he and Ott could both fit through the tunnel. They were both big men, too big to pass each other in the narrow tunnel.

  "Where's Mel?" Ott screamed at him over the sound of the cave collapsing. Guyse's rough hands shoved him off balance, pivoted him, and propelled him back toward the branch. Ott tried to dig his heels in, struggling to stop. "Stop! Where's Mel?" he bellowed again.

  "Move. Or we're going to die," Guyse barked.

  Ott didn't care. He struggled to turn back, trogs be damned, but Guyse lowered his body, shoved his shoulder into Ott's ribs, and drove him across the mine floor back to the branch. Ott’s widened eyes saw the two Masks in front of him reach the greater mine shaft just before he was pushed through by Guyse. He turned to attack Guyse, to demand that they go back, when a huge plume of dust exploded from the tunnel they'd just left.

  Ott heard a hoarse scream piercing two octaves and then realized one was his own while the other came from Mel's mother. He wrenched his face around just in time to see her take an arrow through the chest. He threw an arm out as if to stop it from happening though he was half the distance of the tunnel away. The arrow pierced the fabric of her cloak below her left shoulder. She fell back, arms out straight, and hit the mine floor from the force of the arrow. She bounced once and scattered the loose rock. Then, she lay still.

  Ott swiveled toward the tunnel they had not taken. He saw a human archer nock another arrow and take aim at him, Ott clearly in his sights. Ott raged, anger and frustration overwhelming him in a bloody, crimson wave. He charged, wielding the axe with both hands in an arc over his shoulder. Then he sprang, hips connecting to taut thigh muscles, corded to knees and shins. His calves pistoned down to ankles and feet pounding the dirt, releasing the coiled spring of his body and he flew fully splayed and horizontal through the air to take down the archer. The terror on the man's face was bathed in red, the last sight Ott remembered.

  Chapter 49

  Guyse saw nothing but Ana. He held her in his arms after gently removing her veil and pushing back the cowl from her soft hair. Had his dreams ever come true, it would have been her veil on their wedding day that he pushed back.

  She was dying, and Guyse had no words for her. Nothing would come out of him; it was all trapped where he'd hidden it for so long. Volumes and volumes of words in the endless library of his soul. For her alone. He stroked her cheek with shaky fingertips and held her hand as she struggled to breathe. He murmured wordlessly as her eyes sought his face. No, not his face. He took a gasping breath himself, stilled himself, and gave her the only thing he had left to give her. He shifted, pushing outward with his energy, forcing it to mold the surface of his skin, and assumed the face of his blooded brother Ley’Albaer who lay leaking his own life’s blood onto the cavern floor.

  Guyse leaned down so that Ana could see him and could focus her dimming eyes on the face of her beloved. With the voice of Ley’Albaer, he spoke soft words to her, words of love and everlasting devotion. The voice was his brother's, but the words were his own. She relaxed and a small sigh escaped her mouth. Her heart slowed, and he listened to it closely, with head bent low, memorizing each last beat. He regretted that she was the healer among them. He could do nothing for her except to hold her and pretend to be the man she loved. He pressed his lips against her cheek, her forehead, and, after her eyes slowly closed, her lips.

  He embraced her after she was gone.

  He sat for hours, surrounded by the bodies of his brother, Ana, and the unconscious, but still-living body of his daughter's chosen mate. Mel, his blooded daughter, was also gone, swallowed by the mine. Remains of the archers, their human attackers, lay in tatters around his daughter's mate; it had been a gruesome slaughter. Looking upon the bodies now, there was no telling how many of them there had been. Ott sprawled among them, unconscious but breathing and drenched in the fluids of those who had died at his hand. Guyse could hear Ott’s breathing and feel the beat of the sleeping warrior's heart from across the cavern.

  What kind of beast was this boy who wore the skin of a man, yet attacked with the ferocity of a mindless devil? Who was the man his daughter had brought to them? A savior, but too late for his Ana. Most likely too late for his daughter. Guyse had promised Ana with everything in him that he would protect Mel. He would avenge them. But now, he did not want to go on. Not without Ana. Without her he was nothing. By the grace of God, he hoped that Mel was dead already and not suffering in the hands of the trogs.

  But it was too late for Ana.

  I'm not Guyse, he thought, as he reali
zed in his grief that he had reverted back to his natural shape, his skin that was not a skin. It was not a façade, but himself. His true self. He had not been without a disguise for decades. And now, revealed and raw, bared in the darkness of the cavern and utterly alone, without family and without love, he wept.

  Chapter 50

  "Wake up," Ott said as he roughly slapped the man's cheek with a filthy hand. Ott watched his hand capture the man's chin and yank it upward. Dried blood, caked solid with dirt, cracked across the knuckles wherever the skin bent or creased. Ott had awoken weak and exhausted in a pool of darkly thickening blood that wasn't his own, but was of his own making. He'd killed many.

  This morning, he had thought their enemies were trogs. After he got a long, hard look at the damage he'd caused, he wasn't sure who they were fighting. These bodies were humans. One of them was Haught the houseman, brother of Harro, Rob's trusted man. Haught was also tall and dark though clean-shaven while Harro was always grizzled and bearded. But it was sorry shape Ott had left him in, with limbs broken off, neck at a bad angle. Not that he remembered doing it. But who else was here to blame? Who else here looked like a bloodied sea creature in an ocean of gore?

  Ott shook his head to try to clear his thoughts. Haught had been close to Rob's father, Col Rob. The old man was always a schemer, always a vicious tyrant and ready with the switch where Rob was concerned. Was the old man still manipulating and trying to control things from his deathbed?

  "Wake up," Ott said again, jerking the man's chin. When the wiry man on the floor started to stir, Ott said, "Who are you?"

  The man blinked coal-black, weary eyes. He looked like Mel, slight of build and wiry, except male and a thousand times more worn out, a thousand steps older. "I'm Guyse," he said.

  "No, you're not," Ott told him, cracking the dried blood on his knuckles as he made a fist and narrowed his eyes. "I ask you again. Who are you?"

  The man sat up gingerly, propping a hand behind his slender body. "You know me as Guyse."

  Ott stared at him. And whether it was exhaustion in the wake of his departed battle haze or whether it was his remaining two bits of brain, Ott let himself believe the man. For one thing, the man was lying curled protectively around the body of Mel's mother. Their two faces, when combined together, even in repose or death, unmistakably resembled Mel. For another thing, Ott had no idea what Masks could do. He'd seen his intended—yes, he thought of her that way—taken away from him by beasts. Yet again. He'd experienced his own transformation into a berserker twice now. He could believe a Mask was able to change his physical appearance.

  "I need you to be Guyse," Ott said, determination sounding in his voice.

  "I'm not Guyse," the man said tiredly.

  Ott waved his hand derisively and began pacing. "I don't care who you are. I need you to be Guyse. Change back. Or whatever you do."

  "I can't," the man said. His eyes looked like Mel’s.

  Ott bent over him suddenly, grasped him by the front of his shirt, and hauled him to his feet. "You can. And you will. You've lost your . . . you've lost Mel’s mother. I realize that. And I can't imagine—" He steeled himself, staring directly into the man's eyes, almost nose to nose. He ground out the words, "I will not lose Mel. So, I need you to be Guyse. I need you to take the sled and go back to the big house and tell Rob what's happened. I need supplies. I'll take what we have now out of the sled. But I need more food. Water. People to help me dig out the tunnel." He left the fear unspoken that those at the big house had schemed to kill them, the delegation. Perhaps they would not be inclined to aid him now. He forged ahead, tamping down the anxiety, and willing Guyse to do as he commanded.

  The man's eyes widened. "You can't dig it out. You won't be able to. It's half a mountain in there."

  "I'll need at least ten people in rotating shifts. I can have some of them carrying out debris in wagons. We'll need shovels and pickaxes. More beams to shore up the roof, if possible. And I need some miners who can tell me how to do it. Get me miners."

  "We can't get her through there," the man insisted. "It's blocked. It's impossible."

  Ott glared, gripping the man's shirtfront tighter, pulling him closer. "I will not leave here without her." He dropped the smaller man on his feet and resumed pacing, thinking about the supplies and how much time it might take to re-tunnel through the ground till they found clear passage. They needed to haul these bodies out, which meant getting some hand carts. When he turned back around, he met Guyse face-to-face. The old Guyse. The big and gnarled one with the heavy brow, though he looked as if he'd aged thirty years in the last day.

  "I'll go," Guyse said brokenly, gently lifting Ana's body to take with him. "I'll clear out the sled for you."

  Ott watched him cradle the body of the woman he loved. Ott's mouth dried up. Then, he nodded curtly. "I'll start digging."

  Chapter 51

  Pain streaked across Rav's belly, lancing into her lower back, fiery fingers gripping her. She grunted wordlessly, pushing a thin tape of air out her mouth through her gritted teeth. A sheen of sweat covered her, and she alternated between flashes of heat and chills. Her belly, swollen with agamite poisoning, threatened to burst and rip her apart from the inside out. But it was too soon, she thought, feverish and hallucinating. Was she with child or not? No, she was not. Her keeper had not touched her, though she had expected it, braced herself for it. But then, he had not. She kicked off her fur coverings and curled tighter on her side. The pain slackened for a bit, leaving a sick feeling in its place. But she was helpless and getting weaker.

  Her keeper paced restlessly at the foot of the bed. What do you need? He asked her with his crude hand signs.

  She waved him off, gestured for him to go away, but he shook his great, coarse head and stared at her with eyes she'd grown to learn held some intelligence.

  I won't leave, he said. I'm not leaving you.

  She groaned and shut her eyes. If she had known any curse words, she would have used them now. But her people didn't curse. Whatever happened, it was as the Great Mother intended. There was no denying the fate of an individual person. It had all been told ahead what would happen. Her role was to accept her fate and move with the flow of time.

  Another spike of pain shot across her midsection, and she cursed loudly with the profane words she had heard spoken at the Keep.

  The big idiot of a male at her feet froze. He gripped one of his large hands in the other. She would gladly have given him even a fraction of the pain to hold for her. How can I help you? What can I do for you?

  Nothing. Go away, she replied glaring.

  The pain and fever took her again, and she imagined the horrible swelling in her belly to be a child. Surely, it was a child and she had merely blocked out the horror of its conception? He looked pained and confused, whether for the loss of her or for the loss of his offspring, she didn't know. But she was dying, she was ready to admit. And she was absurdly glad for his suffering, ready to laugh for the first time since she had come below ground. At last he understood things on her terms. Do you have a midwife? she tried to ask, but he only looked confused at the signs. She had to make it up because she didn't know how to sign it in his words. Do your people have a female who helps bring children into the world? She tried again as pain sliced through her.

  He still looked at a loss, his intelligent face contorted as he observed her pain. But he shook his head. She was about to try again when he abruptly signed, We don't have females of our kind.

  She was stunned into silence, into stillness, as his meaning took hold in her mind. He sank to his knees beside the bed, still looming, but more at the level of her gaze. He started signing rapidly then, so fast that she had to shake her head and tell him to slow down.

  It's our curse, he said, signing too rapidly for her to catch every word. It has to do with the beginning of my kind. We worked in the mines for generations. Forever. We were enslaved in the mines. Our suffering forced us to come below ground, to retreat where we
could live freely. But our curse is that we produce males only. We take females from above ground to mate. That is how we continue. We steal ones like you. He looked away from her and then apologized with a hopeless shrug of his heavy shoulders, skin like the gray hide of a desert plains animal.

  Rav closed her eyes. It was absurd that she should understand and commiserate with him. She was the victim. The hostage. The stolen good. The person who had been denied a choice. She was the one who was being physically torn apart from her womb outward. And with that, she buckled in the grip of a pain more intense than the others. Her vision went white with agony, and she felt the wetness leak from between her legs. She must have cried out, but all she heard was the frantic noise from her keeper as he rushed from their small chamber.

  Time passed. Hazy, sick time, laced with pain.

  She thought she had died and been called up to the Great Mother because there was a woman sitting next to her, comforting her, holding her sweat-drenched hand. The ache across her belly was terrible, the skin stretched tighter than the skin of a drum head. The imagined child inside her twisted and turned and writhed in discomfort, mirroring her own outward tortured display. The Great Mother's face was lovely. Sun-kissed. A halo of light-drenched hair around her face. Like her friend Mel. Rav gave in to the relief that washed over her and let go. She slept.

  Later, when she woke, she was astounded to find she was still underground, still captive in the dirt chamber of her beast-like keeper. He was no longer here. She looked around and discovered Mel sitting next to her, their hands wrapped tightly together, golden fingers meshed with Rav's dark ones.