Movement in the other room caught his eye. The door opened. In walked the healer, and behind her, another. The young man looked somewhat familiar, but he had trouble seeing the spirits of the mask through the gull’s eyes.
“Maybe he can help you,” said the healer. She stepped aside and retreated back to the other room. The other came near.
“Elu?”
So, he knew his name, whoever he was. His voice….
“Elu, is that really you? The healer says it is, but,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “I think she may be a little crazy, because to my eyes you look like a bird to me.”
Lo. His smaller brother. Not so small anymore. His mask—a tanner apprentice’s mask. Elu opened his beak to speak, but no words escaped, just a ragged screech.
“Remember the last time we were here? You carried me and I was maskless? How the healer scolded you so?” Lo laughed. He reached up to the back of his head and turned. “Look. See the scar? It never quite healed.”
Elu had carried a maskless Lo to the healer, and now he himself stood maskless on the healer’s table. But not maskless—only to Lo’s eyes. His mask had simply been transformed. Hidden.
“Our mother never let me explore with you after that. I was angry with her. But she knew better. I’m an apprentice now, see? I work with the tanner—an honorable man. I cure all the hides he brings me, and he teaches me to work the skin into suitable leather for clothes and shoes and masks. It is good work and I like it.”
So he found his craft. His purpose. Elu wondered at how simple it seemed for Lo. Why couldn’t it be so easy for Elu? He just wanted to run.
“Our father cried, you know. When you left. He didn’t think I saw, but I did. He cried for the dead maskmaker. But I think for you too, because you left.”
Not just because he left. His last moments in Gheb came back to him now, the stinging parting words with his father. Then may you go there soon, he had said. To that other world. He had not meant it of course. Maybe he did at the time, but no longer. Does that matter?
“Can you change back, Elu? Did someone do this to you? The magistrate talks of sending for a wizard to come and change you back but the healer doesn’t think that will be necessary. She just sent for me instead. I wish you’d come back.”
Lo sat with him awhile. Elu crouched back down onto his underside and waited, searching for the power to change back. He reached inside the mask with his mind, but it seemed as if the spirits themselves slept.
After a time Lo departed, leaving Elu alone on the table. Dark thoughts clouded his mind. Thoughts of Thora. Of his old master, Goshorn, who tried to stop her. Of Zand. And now Elu was back in Gheb. He could not hide from Thora forever—she would find him here, eventually. And she could kill Lo, his mother, his father. She would not stop until her sense of justice was appeased—a sense that seemed insatiable.
He glanced over to the healer’s desk. She had removed his masks and they lay now next to the satchel. The Guardian mask. The adventurer’s mask. His child’s mask. The maskmaker’s apprentice’s mask, and finally, the maskmaker’s mask itself, which he had taken unceremoniously from Karna, the usurper in Ri Illiath. He fixed his eyes on this final one, its bold, painted blue wood adorned with all kinds of small jewels and pieces of metal and glass—the materials of the maskmaker. The Guardian’s mask eclipsed it in presence and power. It seemed to radiate light: the emerald shone like a living verdant shield and the white and yellow gold sparkled in the sunshine now slanting through the window.
He knew he didn’t deserve it, this treasure that nameless servant bore all those years ago. He sacrificed himself to save all those threatened by the Terror, laying down his life so that those less deserving of life might keep it. Elu was not he. All he had cared about was adventure. The thrill of discovery. He had sworn his duty to Goshorn, but cast it aside to explore, just as he had with the potter. The wyvern, Brea Indys, was right. Pride consumed him, and he placed his own will above that of the spirits, those ancients that knew his destiny.
But maskmaking—that was an adventure of service, at least. He remembered the homeweavers in Ri Illiath who had come to him for their children’s masks—their gratitude to him for his service. He wanted that. As the maskmaker he explored the spirits, pushing the materials to their limits, wearing different masks, even masks of power, to learn their natures and abilities. He longed for that again.
Elu looked down. His limp legs hung off the table and his shaking hands rested in his lap.
Removing the shapechanger’s mask from his face he walked over to his other masks. His hand rested on the Guardian’s mask. It was time, he thought. Time to stop the Terror. Even at the risk of his life, he was ready. The Terror mask must be destroyed. And there was one sure way to do that.
The Terror had to die.
He held it up to his face, but paused. Once it was on, she would immediately sense his presence, and he must be far from Gheb when that happened. He lowered it, putting it once again into the satchel. He slipped the maskmaker’s mask over his head, gathered the rest, and headed for home.
Chapter XII
Pursuit
THE SUN DIPPED BELOW THE horizon when he approached his mother’s house. His breath caught when he saw the door open. The teacher, his father, stood in the doorway. Elu dropped his head and approached. He was of age now and practiced a respected craft, but he still felt sheepish, the shame of his final conversation with his father still fresh on his mind. Will he have forgotten?
Of course not.
“Father, I—”
His father pulled him close in an embrace and Elu fell silent, surprised.
“You’ve come back. I thought I would be dead before you returned,” the man said in Elu’s ear.
“Of course I’ve come, father. Where else would I run to?”
“Run?” The man pulled away and studied his son’s mask. “Still running away, I see.”
“I only just escaped with my life. But my friend lost his. Death seems to follow me these days.”
“Come inside and tell me all.” His father led Elu into his mother’s house and closed the door. Sitting on the floor by the teacher’s lectern the man motioned his son to sit as well.
“Mother?”
“With the cooper’s wife,” the teacher answered.
“Does she know I’m here?”
“No. Only Lo and I. The healer and the magistrate too.”
“Good.”
“You do not wish to see her?”
“I do, but not yet. I must tell you all.”
Elu hadn’t planned on telling anyone his plight, but as he looked up to his father he began to understand the spirits of the teacher’s mask, and why they chose his father as the teacher. They greeted him kindly, but sternly. He felt their power of discernment, as if he could tell them no lie, but felt their immense wisdom. Teachers of the village of Gheb had worn that mask for hundreds of years, always the wisest man receiving it from the one before. He felt safe speaking, and somehow knew his father would have an answer for Elu’s predicament.
He told his father all. The wandering while in the service of the potter—which his father already knew—how he still found excuses to do so as an apprentice to the maskmaker. Thora, and her father and the innkeeper and Thora’s face. The forbidden barrows. The masks. The Terror. Everything.
The teacher nodded serenely throughout the telling, not interrupting except to clarify points of the story. The only reaction that broke through his calm demeanor was his eyes opening wide at the mention of Brea Indys, the wyvern woman.
Elu fell silent.
“Is this all?”
“Yes, father. I was hoping you would give me wisdom—such as your mask can give you.”
The teacher regarded his son. The spirits of his mask told him everything Elu should do, everything that would solve the problem and send the Terror back to the abyss where she had been imprisoned for so long. They told him all, leaving the man to figure out how to teac
h it to his son.
“Why do you think the Guardian mask would not have you as its bearer?”
“I don’t know, father. Its spirits recoiled at me. All the time I wore it, they railed against me.”
“Tell me about Karna.”
“Karna?” Elu looked at his father in surprise, then looked at his own hands, thinking. “Karna? He was a usurper. He obtained the maskmaker’s mask somehow, probably through some ill-gotten scheme.”
“Probably. Tell me more about him.”
“He, well, he was a poor man, a beggar if I remember Derry correctly. When I challenged him, I removed his mask in the inn and saw his face had been scarred by pox and disease—”
“You removed his mask?”
“Yes, father. He was defiling it. I saved the mask from him. And him from the mask.”
“But you demasked him in front of the other men of the inn?”
“Yes. He quite deserved it.”
The teacher stared at him, the spirits within the mask raising their voices in an inaudible chorus at Elu, making him feel simultaneously ashamed and confused.
“Go on.”
“He covered his face and ran out. I don’t know what became of him.”
The teacher stroked his mask’s chin, considering his son’s words.
“To defeat Thora, you must master the Guardian’s mask.”
“How?”
“You are the maskmaker. This is your trade and your lore. How does a mask choose its bearer?”
“It chooses kinsman. Peers. Those who are filled with the same qualities of the mask.”
“So the Guardian seeks a worthy bearer. Are you that bearer?”
“I—I don’t suppose I am.”
“No, you are not. The man who shamed Karna is not the Guardian. But, my son, people change.”
Elu considered his father’s words. He had treated Karna justly. But poorly. His thoughts turned to Zand. To the wizard’s friend who had trespassed against him. Justice would have taken that man. Thora would have burned his mask to the man’s face. Zand would have been a better Guardian. Elu should have given the mask to him when he was still alive.
“I should have—”
“Elu!” his mother shouted, sweeping in through the door. She descended on him and swatted him with the small bag of bread she carried, and he held up his arms to defend himself.
“Mother! What are you doing?”
“Thrashing you, that’s what, you disobedient miscreant!” She flailed him a few more times before he got to his feet, and she dropped her bag and pulled him close, weeping against his chest.
“Good to see you too, mother.” He stood, allowing her to fawn over him, noting his bruises and cuts.
“Wife. Please bring broth. Elu has travelled far to come back to us, and will be leaving soon.”
She pulled away in shock. “So soon? I’ve only just seen you! You! You and your adventuring! Your running! Why can’t you stay put? Settle down? Accept the roles given to you!”
“He has unfinished business, wife, that he must settle. He is a maskmaker now. See?” The teacher indicated Elu’s mask.
“Well! I hope whoever gave you that mask knew what they were doing!” And she hustled to the other room to warm the broth.
“Do you know what to do, son?” The man said.
“I—I think so. I will find her, father. I will stop her.”
“Good.”
In the morning, Lo bade him goodbye.
“Father says I should see you off. He says one never knows when a departure leads to that other world, or just another step in this one.”
“His teacher’s mask chose well when it picked him,” said Elu.
“Where do you go?”
“I think I’ll go east. To see a friend. I may need his help in my journey.”
“I could go with you, you know. Like I used to.”
“No. Mother would not have it. You are not yet of age.”
“Father could convince her.”
“No. I will not ask him. My path ahead is dangerous.”
Lo shrugged. “Very well, brother. May we meet again soon.”
“Yes, Lo. I hope so.” He placed a hand on Lo’s forehead, at the top of his mask, and held it there a few moments. Lo did the same. Deep and abiding friendship. They were brothers.
Elu had removed his maskmaker’s mask and now wore the shapechanger’s mask. Elu studied his brother’s. A tanner. Honest, earnest, and fair. He had found a good trade. Elu turned from his brother and thought of the sky. He longed for it, and soon, he sprouted wings and soared into it, flying high above the elmore forest surrounding the village of Gheb.
He flew for over an hour. He intended to find Derry again, for having heard the story of the Guardian mask he knew he might need assistance in destroying the Terror when he made his move. As he flew, however, his thoughts turned to Zand—of that last, horrible fall. Why did he now think to bring Derry into harm’s way as well? Much could go wrong.
Changing his mind, he alighted on the ground in the middle of a vast wind-swept field. After changing to his regular form and removing his mask, he reached in his satchel for the Guardian mask. His fingers brushed up against it, and now the spirits within did not recoil. They accepted him, tentatively. He had realized his brash arrogance in his dealing with Karna and resolved to be like Zand, and with that repentant resolve came acceptance by the mask. They considered him a worthy vehicle for their power. For now, at least.
He placed it on his face. It was time.
As the Guardian, he could sense the Terror’s existence in the world. She was somewhere far in the south of Terremar, but the instant he felt her he perceived that she moved.
She approached. She felt his mask, now that he wore it, and considered it a challenge to her. She came to return the challenge.
He would meet it.
He reached out to the spirits of the mask and summoned them to him, submitting his will to them to gain their favor. You used us before, they said. You used us, and only received but a part of our power. Now we give you all of it. Use it well. Guard the people. Stand between them and the Terror which awaits.
I will, he thought, and he felt the power and confidence surge within him. In his mind’s eye, he had always seen the mask shine, and indeed it had when he confronted Thora in Ri Illiath, but that light was as the glow of the moon. Now, the mask seemed to rival the sun itself, as if Eldrin had made a third hole in the mask of heaven.
He felt her approach. She travelled quickly, covering the vast distance between them as if she were the hangra fish in a mountain stream jumping in and out, travelling more through air than water.
But there was something now uncertain about her movement, as if she hesitated. Still she approached, but slower. What was wrong?
At last she appeared, at the other end of the field, towering high over the waving grass, which now started to brown in the chill of late fall. She regarded him. He looked into her mask and saw uncertainty. Doubt. Fear.
He jumped out of existence and landed just a few paces from her. She shrunk back a few steps.
“You’ve mastered your mask, brother. Again,” she said, her voice wavering ever so slightly.
“I have. And now justice has caught up with you. Again. Or rather, mercy. Mercy for the people you torment.” The words came almost unbidden as they had before with the innkeeper.
“Fool!” she said. “You’ll have to catch up to me first.” And she disappeared.
Elu chased her. He flashed and disappeared, jumping far over the plain and the forest beyond, south to where he sensed she had jumped. He landed, looked around himself, and felt her just over the hill near a small river in the distance. But she leapt again and disappeared farther to the south.
He gave chase for over an hour, jumping great distances over land and sea. Every time he appeared in a new place, he sensed she had just left moments before, always one step ahead of him. This won’t do, he thought. He stretched out his mind
to her mask, the power of the Guardian’s spirits reaching out to study hers. He discovered her, noted her location and discerned her next movement. Guiding the power of his mask, he jumped, the same time as she did, and met her where she landed.
He grabbed her arm and pulled. Yelling, she swung with her free arm, catching him in the side of the head and sending him careening into a nearby tree. She disappeared again in a flash, a look of desperation on her countenance. Elu groaned in pain, but smiled. At least now he had her on the run.
He had changed the game.
Outside Londu’s hut, Derry sat by the stream on a rock, his spear hovering motionless over the surface of the water.
“Hello, friend.”
Derry looked up, startled, and fell off his rock into the water, drawing a laugh from Elu.
“Elu! You’ve come back! Well met, friend!” Derry splashed through the water and up the other side of the bank, into the arms of his friend.
“And Londu? Where is she?”
“Oh, she’s helping the neighbor woman with her sick child. And you! Where did you go? Did you manage to defeat that thing? The Terror?”
“Alas, no. That is why I return. I am not sure I can defeat it on my own.”
“I will help,” said Derry before Elu could even ask. “With both of us working against her, she cannot stand.”
Elu laughed. He had missed the brashness of his friend. “Very well, Derry. In the meantime, let me tell you all about Hartree, for that is where I have spent much time. And you may not believe me, but I’ve talked to a wyvern!”
“Tell me everything,” said Derry, and handed Elu his extra spear. They fished as they had many times months before, and Elu recounted all his experiences, dwelling on the encounter with Brea Indys and the chief judge, for he saw that the tale enthralled Derry.
“Always have I wished to see a wyvern. And you’ve ridden one, no less! When Londu hears this….” He trailed off, shaking his head.
Elu kept the Guardian’s mask donned, for he wished to stay apprised of Thora’s movements and intentions. He could sense her still, but she was far to the south again, farther than she had been before. Through her he felt the terror she brought among the inhabitants of that land, yet for the moment he could not help them. But soon he would find her. And stop her.
FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy Page 276
