Faces

by E. C. Blake

  ...and she also remembered what the Lady had done to the unMasked mine workers—and what she had said to Mara afterward.

  And that memory, and the fury and fear it engendered, gave her back control of herself. She had fallen to the tiled floor of the foyer, curled into a ball, shaking and weeping. Whiteblaze stood over her, eyes wide, whining and trying to lick her face. She pushed him away, then forced herself to get to all fours, then to her knees, one thought repeating and repeating in her head. I have to stop the Lady. I have to stop the Lady.

  She was just struggling to her feet when Keltan burst in through the magic-shattered front door.

  TWELVE

  Desperate Measures

  “MARA! Are you all right?” Keltan reached her in an instant. His arms encircled her. He smelled of smoke and sweat. Blood smeared his face, but she didn’t think it was his.

  “No,” she gasped, clinging to him as her knees threatened to give way. “I didn’t know . . . she blocked my memories . . .”

  “Didn’t know what?”

  “The Lady. She’s not rescuing the unMasked. She’s killing them. Draining them of magic. Storing it up for her assault on the Autarch.”

  Keltan stared at her. “What?”

  “At the ravine . . . what did she say? What did she tell you had happened to the unMasked?”

  “She told us you killed them,” Keltan said.

  “What?”

  “Unintentionally, by failing to control your magic. She told us she had blocked your memories to keep the horror from you, and we could not say anything to you about what had really happened for fear of what the knowledge might do to you. Chell and Antril remembered entering the cavern . . . and that was all, until they woke to find both the Watchers and the unMasked dead.”

  Mara shook her head miserably. “She lied. She killed the unMasked. And she’s going to kill all the unMasked in this camp, too, unless we stop her.” The room swayed and she gripped his arm. “Have you opened the longhouses?”

  “No,” Keltan said. “The villagers won’t let us. They’re standing guard. ‘The Lady commands,’ is all we can get out of them. They seem . . . bewitched. In thrall. Short of killing them . . .”

  “They are bewitched.” She took a deep breath. “The Lady is in the mine. We have to get there.” And do what? a part of her wondered. “You will never be what I am,” the Lady had told her in the ravine. How well she remembered it now, remembered the contempt in Arilla’s voice. “You will never even be what I was, when I fought the Autarch as a young girl. . . .”

  How many unMasked had Arilla already slain, in the depths of the mine? How much magic had she absorbed?

  And what would she do with it?

  She’s making herself so powerful she can destroy the camp, the unMasked Army, Chell’s men . . . all of them. She will descend on Tamita like a hurricane and suck its inhabitants dry to defeat the Autarch . . . and when he is defeated, she will set herself up as a tyrant a thousand times worse. She won’t need the Masks. She can do what the Autarch does without them. She already is, with her villagers.

  But she still needs me. She remembered the Lady’s strange words about Mara’s “final fate,” and something about “preparing the way” just before she obliterated Mara’s memories. Does that mean she won’t kill me? At least, not right away?

  A slender thread on which to hang the hope of survival, but it was all she had. Perhaps it would at least give her time to mount some kind of attack before Arilla crushed her.

  Even Mara’s youth would give her no advantage in a direct confrontation, since the Lady had counteracted the effects of the passing years by drawing magic from her villagers. And Arilla had decades’ more knowledge and experience than Mara . . . and quite possibly a stronger measure of the Gift. I can’t hope to defeat her.

  But she still had to try.

  “We have to get to the mine,” she said. “I have to get to the mine. Get underground. Try to stop her . . . save as many as I can.”

  “The mine is guarded by both of her wolfpacks,” Keltan said. “Human and canine.”

  “You have to clear me a path,” Mara said. “You and Edrik and Chell. I have to get down there.”

  Keltan looked at her, nodded. “All right,” he said. “Wait here.”

  Mara shook her head sharply, feeling the dead, accusing eyes of Mayson staring at her even though she wasn’t looking in his direction. “Not here,” she said. “I’ll wait on the porch.”

  Keltan hesitated. “There could be more—”

  “The house is empty of Watchers,” Mara said. “I can feel it.” She could sense people cowering in rooms at the back of the house, but none were Gifted. They were almost certainly servants.

  Keltan nodded again. He dashed off. She walked outside and sat on the steps of the Warden’s house. Whiteblaze plopped himself down beside her. She put her arm around his warm furry shoulders and pressed her cheek against him. The only magic she had left was what she could draw from him . . . and what she had taken from Mayson and the other dead Watcher.

  It wouldn’t be enough. It couldn’t possibly be enough.

  Her breath caught. And she wouldn’t even have Whiteblaze if she descended into the mine. He couldn’t possibly negotiate the man-engine.

  Well, neither can the Lady’s bloody wolves, she thought savagely, but it was cold comfort. The Lady was stripping magic from unMasked. Arilla would have all she could possibly need.

  And yet, Mara had to try. There was no one else who could even hope to stand up to the Lady.

  How could I have been so blind? How could I have trusted her?

  There had been hints from the beginning, more hints along the way, outright warnings from Keltan and Chell. But Mara had ignored all of them, pushed aside her own doubts, because she had been so thrilled to find someone in whom she could confide, someone who fully understood the nightmarish Gift with which she had been cursed, who knew what it was to draw magic directly from the living . . . someone who had also struggled with its addictive power.

  The Lady had told Mara she could control that deep, soul-devouring need to draw more and more magic. She had told her the amulet she had crafted for Mara could help. But now Mara knew her initial doubts about the amulet had been well-founded, if only she had listened to them. The amulet did nothing to control the need for living magic—it only made it easier to feed that need by removing the agonizing effects of drawing raw magic directly into herself.

  The magic from Mayson had bypassed the amulet. The pain of that impact still echoed through her body, as though tiny creatures were clawing her nerves. But the worst of it was she could feel Mayson’s presence, as if he were sitting beside her on the steps, as he had once sat beside her on the walls of Tamita, gazing down at the Outside Market.

  I killed him, she thought again, the agony of that thought worse than the agony of the unfiltered magic she had taken in from him. As surely as if I had pushed him to his death from the wall when we sat there together as children. She pressed herself so hard against Whiteblaze that the wolf whined. Ethelda, you warned me. I have become a monster.

  Though not as much of a monster as the Lady.

  Yet.

  Clash of steel, cries of pain. She looked up to see, by torchlight, the villagers guarding the bridge fighting with Chell’s men. One crumpled. The other, closest to her, dashed away into the darkness, heading toward the towering bulk of the waterwheel—and beyond it, the minehead.

  A few minutes later Keltan, Chell, Hyram, Edrik, and a dozen fighters, some Chell’s men, some she recognized from the unMasked Army, arrived at the Warden’s house. She stood up, trying to hold on to her dignity, trying not to openly weep. They watched her warily, all except Keltan, who came forward to offer his arm. She brushed it away. She didn’t want to show weakness.

  “What’s going on?” Edrik demanded. “The villagers
who were fighting with us against the Watchers have suddenly started fighting against us. They killed several of our men before we could strike back. They’re still fighting outside the walls.” He grimaced. “And because of that, several Watchers have escaped. They’ll bring the main force down on us from the Secret City. We’re going to be pursued all the way to Tamita.”

  “The Lady is controlling the villagers with magic,” Mara said. “All of them, now, not just her Cadre. She has been drawing magic from them to keep herself strong and to keep them docile—just as the Autarch has been doing in Tamita. She killed the unMasked laborers at the ravine and drew on their magic to strengthen herself even more. Now she is killing the unMasked in the mine. When she emerges, she won’t need the villagers or the unMasked Army or Chell’s men any longer. No Watchers will be able to threaten her. Nothing will be able to stand against her.”

  Edrik’s face glistened with sweat or blood: in the red light of the torches lighting the porch, it was hard to be certain. “Can you stop her?”

  No, Mara thought, but, “Yes,” she said aloud. “Maybe. If I can trap her in the mine. But I have to reach her while she’s still underground. And the mine is guarded by members of her Cadre, just like the bridge was.” She looked from Edrik to Chell. “I need you to help me get into the minehead.”

  Edrik’s eyes narrowed, but then he nodded, once. “How do we get there?”

  “Over the bridge. South side of the stream. There’s a door into the minehead close to the south wall. You can approach it directly along the wall, or along a boardwalk along the south side of the trench containing the waterwheel.”

  “A single door,” Edrik said. “Easy to defend. We’ll never get you through there in time.”

  “Are you sure that’s the only way in?” Chell said.

  Mara started to nod . . . and then stopped. “Maybe not,” she said. She was remembering the first time she had gone underground, walking along the boardwalk, looking down at the massive reciprocating beams, driven by the waterwheel, which in turn powered the man-engine that took workers up and down the main shaft. “There are beams,” she said. “Stretching from the waterwheel into the minehead. They pass through an opening in the wall at the bottom of the trench. It might be possible to get in that way.”

  “So we need to get you to the bottom of the trench without you being seen,” Chell said. He glanced at Edrik. “We’ll need a direct attack as a diversion.”

  Edrik nodded.

  “Do you know how to get into the trench?” Chell asked Mara.

  She shook her head. “Not exactly. But there must be a ladder near the waterwheel. They’d have to have some way to get down there for repairs and maintenance. But I can’t go that way. I have to have Whiteblaze with me. I need his magic.”

  “He can’t possibly descend into the mine with you,” Chell protested.

  “I know that. But I may need him in the minehead just to get to the man-engine . . . or after I emerge.” If I emerge.

  “I’ve got rope,” Hyram said. “We can lower the wolf . . .” He glanced at Mara. “If he’ll let us.”

  “To stay with me, he’ll let you,” Mara said.

  Edrik nodded. “Hyram and Keltan will go with Mara,” he said. “The rest of us will mount a diversionary attack. Circle around and come along the wall.”

  “Not everyone,” Chell said. “There could be archers on this side of the trench.” He looked around. “Antril?”

  The young lieutenant stepped forward. “Sir?”

  “Pick four men. Clear out any villagers you find on the north side of the trench. Be as noisy as possible. We want to draw attention.”

  “Sir!” Antril turned and pointed. “You, you, you, and you.” Four of Chell’s sailors stepped forward.

  “The rest of you,” Chell said, “are under Edrik’s command.”

  “What about you?” Edrik said.

  “I’m going with Mara,” Chell said.

  Edrik hesitated, then nodded. “All right,” he said. “With me, you lot.”

  He moved off into the night. Chell nodded to Antril. “Off you go,” he said. “No need to wait. Make some noise. Draw their attention. Kill any you can. That’ll help Edrik surprise them from the other direction. And meanwhile we’ll be taking the back door.”

  If it exists, Mara thought. She thought there was room to get past those beams. But she couldn’t be sure until they got there . . . and first they had to get there.

  Antril headed toward the waterwheel. They gave him a couple of minutes, then moved toward the bridge. “If there’s a ladder, most likely it comes down from the boardwalk on the south side of the trench,” Mara said.

  Chell grunted. “And most likely there are at least a couple of the Lady’s Cadre on that boardwalk.”

  They reached the bridge. The torches had been extinguished when the villagers guarding it had been killed. The only illumination now came from the stars, and the stray light from a handful of torches burning here and there around the compound. From the south came shouts and the clash of steel, as villagers continued to fight the unMasked Army and Chell’s remaining men.

  The boardwalk began at the bridge and stretched to the east, past the giant rumbling waterwheel. Two torches burned far down along it, their circles of light showing only bare wood. “Any guards will be hiding in the shadows,” Chell said. “The torches are only to confuse the eye. But it works both ways: they can’t see us, either.”

  “This way,” Mara said, and led them to the steps that went down to the boardwalk. Chell and Keltan walked in front, Chell with his sword drawn, Keltan with his crossbow at the ready. Hyram served as rear guard.

  Off to their left, shouting and the clash of steel shattered the night. A man screamed hoarsely. “Antril has attacked,” Chell murmured.

  Mara, trying desperately to pierce the darkness ahead, said nothing. They had almost reached the waterwheel. Its rumble shook the boardwalk, and the white splash of the water pouring over it gleamed like a pale ghost in the starlight.

  Ahead, a figure appeared, silhouetted just for an instant against the nearest torch. Keltan’s crossbow sang, and the man tumbled over the edge of the boardwalk, the sound of his fall lost in the rumble of the waterwheel. Mara pulled his magic into her amulet as he dropped out of sight. Every little bit helps.

  “I’ve found a ladder,” Chell said. Mara could just make him out, crouched by the side of the boardwalk. Keltan stood a little farther along the walk, silhouetted against the torches, reloading his crossbow. More shouts echoed from the far side of the stream. Something moved on the fringe of the pool of light ahead of them. Keltan fired again, and the dim shape jerked and vanished. No magic rushed to Mara; the man still lived. Keltan reloaded.

  And then more shouting erupted, this time coming from the direction of the minehead. Swords clashed. Footsteps pounded along the boardwalk, heading away from them. “Edrik’s attacking,” Chell said. “Quickly! Mara, help Hyram sling the rope on Whiteblaze. Keltan goes down first. Then Mara. We lower Whiteblaze and come after you.”

  Hyram was already pulling a coil of rope from his pack. Mara, fumbling in the dark, helped him tie it around the wolf, who stood quietly, trusting her. “You follow,” she whispered to Whiteblaze. “I need you.”

  His tail wagged and he licked her face. Grimacing, she wiped her cheek. Wolf breath was no better than dog breath. She turned toward the ladder, where Keltan already waited to descend. “Go,” she said, and he disappeared down into the trench.

  Mara followed, on rungs made slippery by the cold spray from the turning waterwheel so close at hand. At the bottom she found herself on another boardwalk, running alongside the pool into which the water tumbled. The stream flowed out of the pool along a channel dug into the north side of the trench, which took it around the minehead at the far end and out of the compound. The center of the trench was taken up, she kne
w, by a series of upright posts, each of which had a giant bolt driven sideways through it at the top. Centered on each bolt was a shorter upright beam, able to swing freely, which in turn was attached at both ends to the massive beams, each longer and thicker than the masts on Chell’s lost ships, which rocked back and forth with the turning of the wheel.

  The noise was deafening this close to the waterwheel and the reciprocating beams. Mara turned and stared up the ladder. The earlier cloud cover was beginning to clear, patches of stars showing through, and against that starlight she saw the shaggy silhouette of Whiteblaze as he was lowered to her. She untied him the moment his paws touched the planks, and gave him a quick hug—and got a lick in return—before moving aside.

  Chell and Keltan joined them a moment later. “Fighting still going on at the entrance to the mine,” Chell said. “And up there.” He gestured, barely visible, at the other side of the trench. “Everyone’s busy. They won’t be looking down here.”

  “I hope so,” Mara said. “Let’s go.”

  They trotted along the boardwalk. As the noise of the waterwheel fell behind them, they could hear the sounds of battle above and to their right. To their left, Mara heard nothing. She hoped that meant Antril and his men had cleared away all the villagers from that side. Antril had impressed her in the short time she’d known him. Despite his youth, he did what he had to, time and time again. Like her, she supposed, except unlike her, he tended to succeed, whereas she always seemed to fail.

  Not this time, she swore to herself. Neither Antril nor anyone else would be “all right” if she couldn’t somehow stop the Lady.

  They were almost to the minehead. Torches inside the building cast a dim yellow glow through the opening through which the massive beams slid back and forth. It was nothing more than a slit, framed with large timbers. The bottom of the opening was a good six feet above the boardwalk, which formed an L-shape at its end to run along the base of the minehead. Within the opening, it looked like there might be four feet of clearance beneath the lowermost of the restless timbers.