FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

  The Terror turned to regard the man charging up the hill and with a slight inclination of its head he flew high into the air, struck by some unseen force. He landed hard on the ground.

  “No!” Elu shouted again. He stopped, having only made it a few steps out the door. The Terror turned to him, ignoring the prostrate moaning man several paces away. It snapped out of existence with a flash and reappeared just out of arm’s reach from Elu, who fell backward in shock.

  “I told you I would return,” she said. It was Thora’s voice. But not Thora. It dripped with pride. At once both icy and full of passion. And it filled him with dread.

  “Wh—what do you want, Thora?”

  “You tried to stop me. You brought him to me. Your master meant to destroy my mask. To destroy me. He failed miserably, of course—no one can destroy me. No one can rob me. I am justice to my enemies, and my enemies are,” she paused, “numerous.”

  “Thora, you can stop this. Take the mask off. You do not have to do this. The mask is not you. It cannot control you if you do not let it!”

  “Of course it’s me, you fool! You say I am not my mask, but you are wrong. I am me and my mask. We are one, together.” She began to pace. “I never knew it could be this way. I never knew a mask could not just hide my disgrace but also endow with righteous power. I can’t take the mask off. Because it is me, and I am it.” She stopped and looked down at him again, eyes locking onto his.

  Elu saw movement behind Thora, and without breaking eye contact with her he noticed that Derry silently approached, arms raised in the act of conjuring great power. He must keep her talking. Keep her distracted.

  “What do you mean you cannot take it off? Is it … stuck? I could help with that. I am a maskmaker now, you know.”

  She paused, as if considering his words.

  But she was not focused on him. An invisible force grabbed Derry and thrust him high into the air. The fires extinguished from his mask and he wheezed, as if an invisible hand squeezed the life out of him.

  “Don’t you touch him!” Londu screamed from behind Elu, and with one stomp of her foot a wave of earth spread out from her, rippling like an ocean breaker towards the Terror, knocking Elu aside, and enveloping her. For a moment it looked as if she was trapped under a mound of dirt.

  But Derry hung still in the air, gurgling and coughing.

  The mound burst open and the Terror stepped calmly out of the hole. Vines sprouted up from the mound and wrapped themselves around her, only to shrivel and wilt on contact with her skin. With a quick thrust of her arm, a force leapt out that sent Londu flying back into the house, crashing into the wall and onto the floor, motionless.

  Elu sprang to his feet. Something must be done, he thought. He would not permit this. He would not lose his only friends in the world. He would not be the cause of their deaths. He bolted into the house and lunged for his satchel next to the bed. He pulled the strange mask from it and ripped his maskmaker’s mask from his face. The peculiar mask tingled beneath his fingers—he could feel the power, and the danger.

  But he had no choice. From outside, Derry’s coughing grew fainter. Londu stirred on the floor, arm waving faintly in the air, but did not stand up. He had to act.

  He strapped it to his face, pulling the leather cord taut.

  And he knew what to do.

  Crossing the threshold of the house, he called out to the Terror, “Sister. I warned you to leave the mortals be. At least for a time.”

  Her head snapped to him, and for a moment she cowered. But she straightened her back and laughed.

  “You, brother! Always meddling in the affairs of justice.”

  “And this here, what you are doing now, this is justice?”

  “Yes, it is justice! They are mortal, and all mortal beings do evil, and so I am justified in purging them.”

  Elu, feeling the power within himself to do it, stretched out his arm and with his will and power released the Terror’s grip on Derry and lowered him gently to the ground, where he gulped deep breaths of air and clutched at his throat.

  “And what, precisely, have these two done?”

  “Does it matter, brother? If they were murderers of children, you would permit me to do it, no doubt. But what if they were murderers of vagrants? Is that less evil? Or what if they had their way with beggar girls in the street, taking them home to commit unspeakable crimes? What if they do what my father did to me? And the innkeeper? What if they simply steal the widow’s food? What if all they do is spit in their neighbor’s eye? Just one of those things makes them evil, and I am justified. Stand aside.”

  Elu’s head swam with a mixture of his own thoughts and the spirits of the mask of legend on his face. They were potent, filling his mind with images and words, but it was muddled. All he knew was that her reasoning was skewed. Unbalanced. And that though he knew his power matched hers, he was not sure how to stop her. And still he felt the foreignness of the spirits. They mocked him. Railed at him for presuming to unite with them.

  Derry had recovered somewhat, and now wonder filled his face as he saw Elu, whose mask shone brightly, illuminating the grassy land around them.

  “The Guardian,” he murmured, before catching sight of Londu on the floor inside. He sprang to his feet and dashed into the house.

  Elu sensed the Terror’s power coming after Derry, but with a word and his will, the power was checked. Thora laughed.

  “You cannot shadow me forever, watching my every move. Policing every action I take.”

  “I do not have to,” he said, and lashed out at her with his mind. She flew backward, but landed in a crouch on her feet. She matched his power with her own and he felt the wind knocked out of him as he sailed through the air, landing on the grass next to the house. He gathered up a hand and thrust it into the air, thinking of Londu’s earth magic, and a giant fist of dirt sprung up out of the ground under Thora’s feet, knocking her several paces away. Elu brought the giant clod of earth down on her, and held it there, firmly. He felt her struggle against it, but its position was fixed and he would not permit it to move. Powerful magic swirled around him and he startled to see her flash into being just a step away. She grabbed his arm and flung him towards the house. He crashed into it, splitting one of the corner beams as he struck, but the power coursing through his body from the mask of legend, the Guardian’s mask, protected him.

  He did not know how this would end. She seemed invincible. At some point, either Derry or Londu would be standing in the wrong place and one of them would die. The realization dawned on him that he could not win. Not here and not like this. Not with his friends in danger. He decided to run.

  “Come get me, you fool!” he cried, and mimicking her, he willed himself to shift to a spot fifty paces away. Feeling himself jump across the distance, he stayed there just long enough to be sure that she saw him, and shifted again, this time to inside the house next to his bed. He reached down and grabbed his satchel, and for just a moment paused to bid his friends goodbye.

  “Farewell, my friends.”

  Derry started to answer, but Elu flashed to a point across the river. He felt her following him. Good. He led her north, making sure he never got too far ahead to lose her, but never allowing her within striking distance. For hours they travelled this way and along their journey the people cried out in great fear, feeling the passing of a terrible shadow and weeping for reasons they could not understand.

  Flashing in and out of the fabric of the world allowed them to cross great distances, and many kingdoms and lands passed in and out of Elu’s view during that day and night. But all the while he felt the Terror’s smoldering anger pursue him and he frantically searched within himself for a strategy, a plan. He looked to the west and seeing the snowcapped mountains glinting under the beams of the full moon, he quickened the pace to the north.

  They flew hundreds of leagues. Thousands. And by the middle of the second day Elu found himself passing through a land of snow and jagged ice. Further an
d further north he went and the terrain turned snowier, harder, rougher, until there was nothing but hard ice all around, covering the mountains and the plains. Looking south he saw the midday sun hanging low in the sky, casting weak rays of warmth from that other world down onto the frozen landscape.

  This is far enough, Elu thought, and concentrating, feeling the Terror’s wrath just behind him he focused his thoughts on a city he had passed late in the day before. He willed himself to be there, gathering up all power of the mask about him, and caused it to be.

  He blinked, and found himself in a sunny marketplace amidst the shouts of merchants and customers, the bleating and neighing of animals, and the music of a handful of bards. He quickly removed his mask, conscious of all the people around him who might catch a glimpse, but he preferred they see his face than the glory of the Guardian’s mask, as Derry had called it.

  And possibly the Terror might not be able to see him clearly across such a great distance without his mask on. He rummaged through the satchel, groping for the adventurer’s mask his master had made for him, to the dismayed stares of passing strangers. Finding it, he placed it on his face at once.

  He looked all around himself in a panic, his eyes searching the busy crowd for any sign of his pursuer. Someone bumped into him from behind and he whirled on his feet to face the threat.

  “Excuse my clumsiness, traveller!” said a man in a strangely painted mask.

  He continued looking this way and that. Was that her in the distance, next to the vegetable seller’s stall? The mask looks bright and … no, it is just a blacksmith’s mask reflecting the noonday sun.

  “Sir, are you well?” The man stared at him. “Do you require my assistance? I can take you to the healer’s guild if you so desire.”

  She had not come. His gamble paid off—she could not track him without the mask on his face. Unless she was hidden in the crowd—he strained his neck over the heads of those around him … but no. He felt at peace. Calm. Not the awful foreboding that preceded her coming in Ri Illiath. He was safe. For now.

  “Sir?” The man extended a hand to Elu’s shoulder and gently shook it. The motion summoned Elu back to the present and his eyes focused on the man.

  “Yes! Yes, I am well, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  The man squinted his eyes ever so slightly and stroked the chin of his mask.

  “Are you sure? You seemed quite unwell just moments ago. I knew I hadn’t jostled you too hard. I thought you were ill, or that an evil spirit had usurped your mask.”

  Elu straightened his shirt and his mask, which he had strapped onto his head slightly askew in his haste. “Yes, sir. I am well, I assure you. I was simply looking … looking for a friend. I had lost her in the crowd, and I worried for her.”

  “Oh! Well then you will permit me to assist you in finding her? What a terrible thing for a young woman to become lost in the marketplace.”

  “No, I think she will find her way on her own.” His nerves no longer tingled and he offered his palm to the man. “My name is Elu. From the town of Gheb, south and west of here among the foothills of the mountains.”

  The man placed his palm on Elu’s in greeting. “Dilly’s the name. From, well, from right here, the city of Glendon. You’ve travelled far, my friend. What brings you so far to the north, adventurer?”

  “To seek my fortune. I was apprentice to the maskmaker of Gheb, but he made for me the adventurer’s mask, seeing within me the spirits of exploration and restlessness. I came north, hearing from a friend of the goodness of this land and its people.”

  “Your friend knows the land of Varnor indeed! Our songs and chants are old, our warriors and kings stern, but our people kind. Come! Allow me to show you the city,” he said, taking Elu by the arm. He thought about protesting, but the man seemed jovial enough.

  He still couldn’t identify his mask. Without his own maskmaker’s mask on, he could only faintly discern the spirits within, and it was clear the man was some sort of apprentice—which made no sense, for a bush of white hair sprouted above the mask and he spoke in the husky voice of an obviously middle-aged man. Rich, bold colors graced its surface, as the magistrate’s mask back in Gheb, but it did not look quite so lordly.

  The spirits within it spoke to him of fairness. Of competence, temperance and patience, and oddly enough, of tension. They saw within Elu and scolded him lovingly for his misdeeds, his guilt, and he worried that the man saw through to him as well, but Dilly led him down the streets of the vast city, speaking to him of its layout and governance, its various markets and guilds, and of the work a traveller like him might find in such a city of the north.

  “And that, my friend, is the Corundum Tower. The seat of governance of our king, Lord Drevellian. It is the oldest building in all of Varnor….”

  Elu remembered the tales of his friend, Derry. “Is it the hall that houses the sword of Coron Indibar, who tamed the wyvern?”

  “It is not. That is the stronghold of Akalei, further to the north, though our land suffered under the wyverns as well in that time. The sword still gleams high in the king’s hall. I have been there once or twice—”

  Hours passed as Dilly showed him most of the city. Elu’s feet dragged and his eyes grew heavy and he remembered that he had been travelling halfway across the known world since the previous morning.

  “Excuse me, sir. I have travelled far. Is there an inn where I might rest?”

  The man grabbed a handful of white hair. “Where are my manners? Of course, not far from here, in fact. I’ll show you the way.” He led Elu down several more streets to a humble looking building—compared to the rest of the dwellings in that quarter of the city—but which appeared palatial compared to any house in Gheb. “Rest, friend, and tomorrow afternoon come find me at the hall of justice and we will talk more then.”

  “Justice. You are a judge then?” Elu began to understand the man’s mask.

  “Judge? No. I am the first apprentice to the chief judge of the city.”

  “I thought your mask looked like an apprentice’s. But, you are … not young,” stammered Elu.

  “Very astute, traveller, what gave you that idea?” he said, running his hand through his white hair. Elu’s face grew hot with embarrassment and silently thanked his master for making his mask so wide.

  “Forgive me, sir, I—”

  “Peace, son. I am only having fun with you. Yes, I am an apprentice. But the chief judge is a very old man and when he dies I will become the chief judge, with the consent of Lord Drevellian of course. And when that happens my apprentice will become the apprentice to the chief judge and he will take on his own apprentice.”

  Elu’s mind spun with fatigue and the description of such an odd arrangement of work. “That is—I had never heard of an apprentice having an apprentice. It reminds me of an onion—each layer has one below it.”

  Dilly laughed hard and slapped his back. “An onion! I love it! You have insight, young traveller. I shall have to tell it to the chief onion tomorrow when I report for duty.”

  Elu’s face burned red again. He was still not sure if the man mocked him or genuinely tried to be his friend. The judge’s mask peered into his own, and he felt its prying eyes, looking for evidence of wrongdoing. Signs of guilt. Why had Dilly invited him to the hall of justice tomorrow?

  “Thank you again, sir. I shall come tomorrow as you ask. Good day.”

  Elu watched the man walk down the street until he disappeared around a corner, and breathed a sigh of relief. The man’s mask made him increasingly nervous. Everything in Dilly’s manner suggested joviality and good will, but the spirits within his mask unnerved him. Gheb did not have a judge, but the magistrate along with the teacher, the weatherweaver, the maskmaker, the presbyter, and the healer formed a tribunal when a crime of serious magnitude required it. But common, petty cases of conflict in the town were simply handled by the magistrate, or sometimes Elu’s father would mediate a dispute himself.

  Time would tell, of co
urse. He would go to the hall of justice and see what Dilly wanted of him. Just to talk most likely. To show him the hall of justice and the seat of government of the fiefdom. Joke and laugh. Dilly was just being kind. His hand reached into his satchel searching for a coin to give to the innkeeper, and a finger brushed up against the Guardian mask.

  He could leave. He could vanish out of sight and reappear anywhere he wanted. He could go home. The memory of the pained look on his father’s face as he left called him to return and make amends. The last words he spoke stung him now more than he intended them to hurt his father.

  No. He must not use that mask again, unless Thora came again.

  Thora. She was right, he thought. She claimed to be one with that cursed mask, that her actions were not just those of the mask but hers as well. She took full responsibility for them. He felt no sorrow for the slavers that were lost, but he boiled when he thought of his dear master laying in a heap next to the wall, straining to breathe. Thora did that. The mask enabled her—and surely encouraged her—but she did it. She owned that action.

  Was it because of her face, that she had so much anger? What she had hinted that her father had done? The innkeeper struck her often, that was sure, and Elu felt he understood her targeting of him, but why anyone else? He knew that the entire town of Gheb thought her a wild girl, unfit for marriage and undesirable as an apprentice. Did such rejection settle beneath her skin, only to be brought to the surface by the power of the mask? The temptation of power?

  Or maybe the Terror was in complete control. They sent the spirits into that barrow and told him how to find it, and when Thora drew near it ensnared her. There was nothing she could have done.