by Liv Daniels
The pass itself was an odd place. The narrow path that ran between two craggy cliffs might have looked ordinary enough at its entrance, but those who were fated to enter did not have the comfort of a familiar sight when they emerged. On one side were the fragrant purple lavender fields, still in bloom, that characteristically surrounded Cavlin, sloping gently away to the sea. But on the other was… nothing. The Desert. The pass was unnatural, some said, but somehow at the same time there could be nothing more natural. Division. Opposites vying for mastery. Such things had always been.
For days no one passed. Of course no one in Cavlin went to the Desert willingly. The people there knew the legends better than any, and they had routine personal experience to confirm the truth in these tales. Leina didn’t know why anyone stayed in Cavlin, with the sea as their only escape. Willingly wasn’t the only way to go to the Desert.
On the fourth morning that Leina watched, at last, she saw a band of monsters headed to Cavlin. She watched them silently from above. As soon as they came to the end of the narrow pass, they left the path, trampling the delicate flowers as they went. Leina noticed for the first time that many such paths had been plowed through the flower fields in tasteless spiderwebbing patterns.
Judging from the raid schedule that Leina had seen once, Cavlin was Dangerman’s favorite place to raid. And why wouldn’t it be? It was so near to the Desert that it was practically a waltz out of his front door. It was a convenient source of food, slaves, supplies—anything he needed, really. In other words, Cavlin was afflicted.
The monsters didn’t return until the sun was high overhead, and this time they weren’t alone. They brought with them a solemn line of prisoners, tied together around their waists, and a stolen cart full of goods. Time to act.
Leina dropped to the ground in front of the caravan. She had been practicing the stunt for the last few days, and now she could do it effortlessly. As she touched the ground, she flung her cloak open. She could immediately feel an intense presence of heat and light around her. The metallic jumpsuit that she was wearing under the cloak was blindingly reflecting the light of the sun. A design flaw, maybe, but today it was a useful one.
The monsters, especially sensitive to light, roared in rage and threw their arms to their eyes to avoid being blinded. Leina knew that she didn’t have long, so she rushed toward the prisoners, talking rapidly in as loud a voice as she could muster.
“I’m here to save you. Run home, quickly!” She pulled out a knife and slashed through as many of the prisoners’ bonds as she could, but some of them started to run off before she reached them, tied as they were.
As soon as all of the prisoners were fleeing, Leina turned to face the monsters. But, to her surprise, they were running back toward the Desert whence they came.
“Huh,” Leina grunted to herself.
She knew that the element of surprise wouldn’t work forever. Sooner or later they would come to expect her. But she wasn’t complaining in the meantime. She hoped that she would at least have a decent reputation by the time it wore off.
She called after them, “Tell your master that the Masked One is at hand!”
Chapter 9
Leina did not build a fire that night. There were sounds in the woods that made her desperately want one, but it was because of them that she could not.
As she lay in the dark under the shelter of the ancient tree’s roots, she wondered what she should do next. Sam’s words rang in her ears. You can’t play games like this forever.
And yet what else could she do, really? She could aggravate Dangerman, and maybe bring people hope, but in the end that would mean nothing, if all was lost. She had left the Agency because she wanted to do more. And maybe she was. But it still wasn’t enough. She needed to find some way to stop Dangerman, but how could she ever do that on her own? Laughable as he was, Dangerman had an imposing fortress, an army of monsters, and countless slaves. All Leina had was a mask. Perhaps she should have considered things like this before she left the Agency. At least she wasn’t a danger to them now.
Suddenly realizing that she hadn’t eaten since that morning, Leina groped for her bag. Inside, she felt only a single sliver of dried meat.
For tomorrow, at least, her question had been answered. She would have to go to Cavlin.
***
According to legend, Cavlin was older even than the Desert. Now Leina believed it. The mossy cobblestones of its streets were uneven and as smooth as glass, and the stone steps in front of many of the houses sagged with the weight of countless years. There were ships at the harbor, but they were all docked. The people of Cavlin preferred to bear their troubled existence alone, when they could.
Besides the must of age, the place smelled purely of honey and sea-salt—and lavender. Stalks of the purple flower were everywhere; it was impossible to escape their fragrance. Even the people were like the lavender: quiet, delicate, and willing to stand in their place no matter what came upon them. Even if they were trampled for it.
The city showed signs of the constant abrasion that the people of Cavlin had come to accept. Windows were boarded up and anything not made of ancient stone showed unusual signs of wear. All around her, Leina saw people hammering and sawing, taking down doors and walls that were beyond repair and building replacements. They did so with practiced hands, with a hardness on their faces that sought to deny that they were bothered. To deny that they could not withstand every affliction that was hurled at them. It did not fit them, lavender people as they were. Even toddlers that could barely balance on two feet helped by salvaging nails from fragments of wood and handing them dutifully to their parents. Cavlin was like a city in rapid development. The activity was the same; the only difference was that its purpose was not improvement, but survival. If the people did not always rebuild, they would be ground out of existence in a matter of weeks. And so they rebuilt, like a resilient feeding source for the malice that preyed upon them.
Leina walked in to a shop and refilled her bag with food. She looked carefully around the shop for books, but found nothing even faintly resembling one. In fact, it was difficult to find anything that didn’t involve lavender. There was lavender soap, lavender salts and dyes in jars, lavender grinders, lavender candles made from beeswax, lavender tea, and of course an ample supply of dried lavender stalks for those who had still different ideas about how to use the fragrant purple flower.
The shopkeeper regarded Leina with silent awe as she handed him a handful of coins that Sasha had given her. Leina smiled and tried not to laugh. She had left the Agency in such a hurry that she had forgotten to bring any clothes but the ones on her back, so now she had to wear her Masked One costume wherever she went.
“Do you have any books?” Leina asked the man once she had paid.
“Books?” the man looked at her as if he didn’t know what the word meant.
“You know, the paper things that you read.”
The man nodded slowly. “Oh, yes. Very rare things. Haven’t seen one in years. Not very useful, anyways. Unless you know how to read them, maybe.”
Despondent, Leina returned to the street. She passed through a lane lined with small wooden hutches. A constant buzz filled the air here, and abundances of bees flew to and from the hutches. Here was the source of Cavlin’s famous lavender honey. Even Leina had tried some of it before. It had occasionally come in the boxes with her books. Her mouth watered as she remembered the taste of Cavlin honey scraped over Grandmother’s fresh bread.
A beekeeper, his face guarded with a net that hung from a wide-brimmed hat, approached one of the hutches and slid out a rack of honeycomb. He held a smoking torch under it to calm the bees. The rack was crawling with the insects, but the succulent sweet smell of honey wafted from it. However, even with the smoke, some of the bees were disturbed, and in an angry swarm they barreled in Leina’s direction. She hurried on, not eager to have a run in with bees.
Close to the harbor Leina found a smaller shop in the front r
oom of someone’s house. The cramped room was filled with trinkets and oddities. Leina perused them in search of anything that she could read.
“You are looking for something?”
Leina turned. The shopkeeper, a young woman probably not much older than herself, had come up behind her and was watching her curiously.
“Yes. I’m trying to find a book.”
The woman furrowed her brow. “One moment. I may have something for you.”
She disappeared into a back room, the rotting floorboards creaking under even her small weight. When she returned she was brushing dust off of a thin volume. Leina took it eagerly and flipped gently through its flaking pages. It was a curious book, unlike anything she had seen before. A faded silver title was engraved on the cover: The Sign of Que’ttal.
She flipped to a page near the beginning, which began, Long ago, in ancient times, (when they still used apostrophes in the middle of words, Leina thought) there were the Que’ttal. I walked as one of them for years beyond count.
Was this a story? Or was it some kind of historical account, such as were rare beyond imagining? Whichever it was, it was singularly odd. The first chapter was particularly strange. It read:
Rule 1
How to Tear Down a Strong Wall
Gravity is a force that will always be. Those who fight gravity are futile. The wise make those things that they cannot defeat work for them. Make gravity your slave. Why tear down a wall brick by brick? This is not only futile, but the builders of the wall will scorn you for it. Instead help the wall to destroy itself. Carve out the bricks from the bottom at night, and watch it crumble before all during the day. Then, when you are on the other side, rebuild it, and it will never fall again at the hands of your enemies.
Never expend more energy than you have to. The energy is before you; you just have to know how to use it. Anger, uncertainty, emptiness—all can be redirected. Such emotions are always searching for an object of blame. Give it to them, and they will show their power. Do nothing yourself. The energy and the force are there. You must only direct them.
Leina read the passage several times. It disturbed her faintly, but she could not understand it. Why would anyone start a book like that? At last she dismissed it and turned her attention to a faded parchment tucked in-between two of the pages.
It was a folded map, more detailed and vast than any that Leina had ever seen. It stretched long past the borders of the World that she knew, and there were no blank spaces like in the maps that she was used to. Her breath came rapidly as she traced her fingers over places that she had never known. To the north there were great forests and mountains, away beyond the sea were whole new lands, and—nobody cared. Here, Leina thought, this invaluable thing which might be the only of its kind was only an oddity, tossed away among other things that no one could find a use for.
Leina noticed that the map was divided by thick black lines into six different areas, each marked with a number. The Desert was number one, and the area surrounding Estlebey was second.
The woman who owned the shop was still watching Leina. “You are… you are the Masked One, are you not?”
Leina looked up from the book. “Yes. That is what they call me.”
At that moment, there was a great shattering sound. Leina whirled around and saw that a monster had leapt through the shop’s front window. Leina groped for her knife, but remembered that she hadn’t brought it. Foolish, foolish. Always bring a knife.
“Two days in a row?” Leina bemoaned.
“Come,” said the shopkeeper, tugging on Leina’s cloak. “I know where we can hide.”
Leina shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m tired of hiding. Save yourself! I’ll be back for the book!”
With that, Leina barreled out the door before the ravaging monster could react. Outside, the streets were in an uproar. Leina wished desperately that she had thought to bring something—anything—to defend herself. As it were, there was very little that she could do on her own. There was only one other thing to do.
Leina ran down the street in the direction she had come, dodging monsters and the townspeople that fled from them. A passing monster clamped its clawed hand onto Leina’s arm, but she delivered it a savage kick that sent both of them sprawling to the ground from the impact. Leina jumped up and kept running.
Ahead, an old man had stopped in the middle of the street to catch his breath. Glancing around to ensure that the immediate area was safe, Leina stopped for a moment.
“Who’s in charge of this city?” she demanded.
“The governor,” the man said, panting. “He lives in the old estate on the hill past the docks, over there.”
Leina nodded, taking note of where the man pointed. “Thanks.”
The governor’s house was not yet being attacked when Leina arrived there, but several husky men were hauling wooden racks of honeycomb and stacking them in front of the door and windows.
“What are you doing?” Leina asked them, dodging a pair of perfectly trimmed topiaries.
“Governor’s orders,” said one of the men. “It’s to protect him.”
Leina narrowed her eyes. “He’s not being attacked.”
The man shrugged. “I don’t make the orders. Now—“
“I need to talk to him.”
“That won’t be possible. I need to get back to work.”
Leina brushed past him and began yanking racks away from the front door. They were heavy, still laden with honey.
“Excuse me, miss,” the man protested, but Leina paid no attention. She strained to push aside the last crate, then shoved open the door and went inside. The posh entryway was empty.
“Governor, where are you?” Leina called.
“Who is this?” a trembling voice responded. It came from inside a closet nearby.
Leina tugged on the patterned bronze doorknob, but it would not give. “Please come out,” she said. “I’m not a monster. I must talk to you.”
The door opened a crack, revealing the shape of a small, frightened man with a wispy moustache. He let out a terrified gasp at the sight of her, masked and cloaked. “What do you want?” he said.
“I think we can continue this conversation in your office,” said Leina, tightening her grip on the door against the governor’s frightened tugging. “I assure you that you are perfectly safe.”
***
The governor had calmed down somewhat by the time they reached his office, richly carpeted and hung with pastel paintings of lavender fields. Leina seated herself in a polished wooden chair on one side of his desk, and noted the name on the bronze nameplate: Governor George Florenzo.
“Governor Florenzo,” said Leina, “why do you hide when your people are in trouble?”
A spark appeared in his bloodshot eyes. “Because there is no hope. The best service that I can do to them is to stay alive.”
“You can do more than that.”
The governor ran his hand along the surface of his desk. “You are the Masked One, are you not? The legendary hero that everyone refuses to stop talking about?”
Leina nodded hesitantly. “The legendary hero part was a bit of a mistake, and I’m still learning how to be one. But yes.”
“Then go stop the monsters yourself, if you are so confident.”
“I can’t do it alone. If only you could get your people to organize… the monsters are not as unbeatable as they seem.”
There was a creaking from outside, and the governor let out a ragged breath. “They are coming.”
“It’s fine. Stay where you are,” Leina pleaded, but the governor had already torn back to his closet and shut himself in. Downcast, Leina followed more slowly, peering cautiously at the door as she stepped back into the entryway.
The door began to open, and Leina hid herself behind a tall potted plant. But it was only the man who she had talked to outside.
“I was listening to you,” he said, spotting her before she revealed herself. “You speak the truth.”
Leina glanced at the closet. “He won’t listen.”
“Look, my name is Lucian. I will help you if I can. But you must understand. We are peaceful seafarers and flower cultivators and beekeepers. We don’t know how to fight.”
With an impish smile, Leina glanced out a window, which was still obscured by a mound of honeycomb racks. “You don’t have to. You just have to be clever about it.”
Chapter 10
A group of townspeople were thickly clustered at the center of Cavlin’s central square, behind makeshift wooden blockades. They were a ragtag group at best, old fishermen and farmers and tradespeople wielding worn rakes and fishing poles, but they were ready.
The square was tightly fenced by storied houses, with only a few narrow alleys in-between them. That was important.
A monster came, tearing through one of the alleys like a rabid animal, its mind wholly consumed by the order that it had last been given. To destroy. But then it saw a sight that it did not expect. Townspeople yelling, jeering, letting lose at last the pent up rage of those who suffer endless years of abrasion.
The monster fled.
Several fishermen, with exhilarated whoops, sprang forward to follow, but Leina’s voice stopped them, calling from somewhere unseen. “Stay. There will be more.”
And there were. They came all at once, emanating in hordes from every alley that surrounded the square. The townspeople who had been battle-hungry minutes earlier shrunk back in fear. Maybe the monsters had never met such opposition before, but they knew how to quell it nonetheless.
Leina was prepared. From her perch atop the thatched roof of one of the storied buildings, she raised her arm in signal. Perfectly in sync, her companions, also atop the roofs, released their hold on the heavy racks of honeycomb. Down into the alleys they fell. The moment seemed to be suspended in time, and then the thunderous impact came. The monsters didn’t see what was coming until they were struck. In an instant, those that survived were in an uproar, monstrous eyes darting rapidly left and right in uncertainty, many-toothed mouths roaring their confusion. Then there was a great cheer among the townspeople, and they came upon the monsters, brandishing their pitchforks and fishing poles so fiercely that one would have thought they were warriors of the most frightening kind.
