by E. C. Blake
While they waited for the water to boil, she brought out a plate of molasses cookies, and Keltan and Mara sat there and nibbled them (Mara thought they were excellent, though of course not as good as her mother used to make), and Mara very carefully did not say what she had come to say. Not yet.
“Now, then,” Filia said. “How old are you really? Don’t lie, this time.” She smiled as she said it to take the sting from her words. “Masking must really be close, now, isn’t it?”
I won’t get a better opening than that, Mara thought. “Well, Filia,” she said carefully, “despite what I said in the yard, the truth is we aren’t younger than I claimed last time . . . we’re actually older.”
Filia blinked. “What? But that would mean you’re . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Exactly,” Mara said. “We’ll both be sixteen this fall. Keltan has never been Masked. And my Masking failed.” She took another bite of the cookie. “These are really very good.”
Filia stared at her, wide-eyed. Then she burst out laughing. “You’re joking! I admit, you had me going for a minute.”
“No,” Mara said steadily. “I’m not joking. Nor am I lying. For once, I’m telling you the truth.”
Filia’s face turned white and she stumbled to her feet. “Get out,” she whispered. “You have to get out!” She shot a horrified glance at her Mask. “It could shatter—”
“No,” Mara said. “It won’t.” She’d been planning for this since the moment they’d sat down. She got up and went over to Filia’s Mask. This time the work was easier than it had been with Herella’s Mask. Drawing a modicum of magic from Whiteblaze, she had no trouble seeing Herella’s soulprint glowing through the clay of the simple Mask. She froze it as it was. No matter what Herella thought or did now, that soulprint would not change. Her Mask could no longer betray her.
Mara straightened and took a deep breath. “It’s done,” she said.
“What is done?” Filia said. She hurried over and touched her Mask gingerly. “Child, if you—”
“I told you, I’m not a child,” Mara said. “I’m unMasked. And I’m Gifted, Filia. I have a Gift more powerful than anyone else in Aygrima . . . including the Autarch.”
“You’re insane,” Filia snapped. She stepped back. “Get out! Get out of my house! If the Watchers—”
The door banged open. A bearded bald man filled the doorway, eyes wide behind his Mask. “Filia, there are Watchers riding toward the house. Whose horses are—oh!” He had suddenly seen Mara and Keltan. “You two? Are the Watchers after you?”
“Yellowgrass,” Keltan said to Mara. “Guess we can’t pass as children after all.” He glanced at Whiteblaze, who stood staring at the door, ears pricked, clearly hearing the approaching horses though Mara couldn’t, yet. “Or maybe it was the wolf.”
Filia turned on Mara. “What have you done?” she cried. “You’ve destroyed us!”
Mara took a deep, shaking breath. “No,” she said. “I’m going to save you. Whiteblaze, heel!”
The wolf gave her an interested glance, then followed her as she went to the door, pushing past Jess, who stepped back and out of her way. “Filia, Mask yourself,” he snapped into the kitchen at his wife.
Once in the yard, Mara could hear the Watchers clearly enough. The jingle of harness rang out through the still air, and a moment later the Watchers themselves appeared: two of them. They reined to a halt, but didn’t dismount. “You,” said one imperiously. “Girl. What’s your name?”
“Prella,” Mara said.
“Where are you from?”
“Riverwash.”
“And how old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
The blank black Mask turned toward Keltan. “And you?”
“Hyram,” Keltan said.
“Brother?”
“Boyfriend,” Keltan said.
“Also fourteen?”
“Yes, sir,” Keltan said. “You can see I have no Mask.”
“Indeed I can. And I can also see you look awfully big for a fourteen-year-old. You know the penalty for being unMasked after your fifteenth birthday?”
“Everyone knows, sir,” Keltan said.
The Watcher’s gaze slid to Jess. “Do you know these two?”
“They came by a few months ago,” Jess said. Mara could hear how carefully he was choosing his words, knew he was trying to ensure every word was true. “They said they were brother and sister then. The girl spent the night. Said she was lost. The boy came by the next morning, and then they rode off together.”
“So you either lied then, or you’re lying now,” the Watcher said, turning back to Mara. “Which is it?”
“We were lying then,” Mara said. “We went out at night to . . . be alone together.” She let herself blush. It wasn’t hard. “But . . . we had a fight, and I ran off, and got lost, and found the farm, and they put me up and then the next morning Hyram found me and we made up.”
“How old did they say they were then?” the Watcher said to Jess.
“Fourteen,” Jess said.
Don’t ask the next question, Mara thought, but of course the Watcher did.
“And when did they say their Masking would be?”
Jess hesitated, but he had no choice. “In a couple of months,” he said.
“And this was how many months ago?”
Jess sighed. “Five.”
The Watcher turned back to Mara. “Again I must ask, were you lying then, or are you lying now?”
“We were lying then, not now,” Mara said desperately. “I wanted them to think I was older in case they found out what I was really doing out at night.”
The Watcher looked at her for a long moment. “What’s the name of the Maskmaker in Riverwash?” he asked softly.
And that was that. Mara had no idea. “I . . . I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember the Maskmaker in a village of two hundred people?” the Watcher said. “You are a liar, ‘Prella of Riverwash.’ And you are under arrest on suspicion of being abroad without a Mask.” He turned to the other, hitherto silent, Watcher. “Take them, tie them. They can ride their own horses back to Yellowgrass. We’ll lock them up and—”
“No,” Mara said. “No, you won’t.” And just as she had with Ginther at the silver mine, she reached out to the magic inside them, disrupted the flow, adjusted their perception, changed their thoughts. Lady of Pain and Fire, she thought with a hint of self-loathing even as she did it, but that couldn’t stop her. Nor did that touch of shame overpower the pleasure she took in her power, in the flow of magic, in the way the Watchers suddenly froze in mid-action, then started to climb back into the saddle . . .
And then the one who had been speaking to them suddenly began to jerk uncontrollably. Limbs flailing, head snapping back and forth, he dropped heavily to the ground. Mara stared as he spasmed two or three more times: then his back arched, his head twisted back, he uttered a single, strangled gasp . . . and went limp. His horse, startled, galloped away, but his magic slammed into Mara.
She had not been prepared for his death, had not expected it, and it bypassed the black lodestone amulet. His soulprint felt muddied, confused, distorted. She lost control of the other Watcher’s magic, and he swore and drew his sword and drove his horse at Mara. The beast’s broad shoulder bowled her over. The sword whistled over her head. Filia screamed and ran back into the house. Jess dashed across the yard. Mara tried to gather her wits and her magic, but the deformed soulprint of the fallen Watcher rang discordantly within her and she couldn’t seem to grasp it . . .
Keltan grabbed the Watcher from the other side of his horse and tried to pull him down, but the Watcher’s left elbow drove savagely back into his forehead and Keltan reeled away. The horse reared, and Mara rolled desperately out of the way to avoid being trampled. Whiteblaze was snapping at the horse’s heels, forcing
the Watcher to struggle to control it, and she took her chance and scrambled away, first on her hands and knees, then into a stumbling run. At the corner of the house she turned. She reached for magic again, but again it slipped away from her. The horse landed a solid blow that sent Whiteblaze rolling across the yard, howling. Keltan was getting to his feet, swaying, blood streaming down his face. The Watcher saw him, turned on him, raised his sword to split Keltan’s skull like a melon. Mara screamed—
—and Jess drove the pitchfork into the Watcher’s back so hard the prongs burst through his belly.
The Watcher dropped his sword, arched his back, tried to scrabble at the protruding handle as Jess let go of it convulsively, and then toppled sideways and landed in the dirt next to the body of his fellow.
This time Mara was prepared, and took the magic through the amulet. She immediately turned it around and let it blaze out across the farmyard. The fallen Watchers vanished. So did the rearing horse, screaming as it was flayed from the outside in, skin and muscle and organs and bones appearing and vanishing into white dust in the same instant.
She dropped to her hand and knees and retched into the dirt of the farmyard. The twisted magic of the Watcher she had failed so spectacularly to turn to her will had nauseated her as it flowed in and out of her again, and hurt.
Booted feet appeared in her vision. She spat and wiped the back of her mouth with her hand as she reared back on her knees. Jess stood over her. His Mask was gone. It must have broken when he killed the Watcher, she thought. She expected to see fury and hatred in his face, but instead all he saw was awe. “What are you, girl?” he whispered. “And why have you come to us?”
“My name is Mara Holdfast,” Mara choked out. “And I’m here to ask your help in overthrowing the Autarch.”
NINETEEN
Keltan’s Masking
AFTER ALL THAT had happened in the farmyard, it seemed strange, ten minutes later, to sit once more sipping tea at the kitchen table. Mara had already mended and modified Jess’ broken Mask. Now the farmer and his wife were sitting across the table from her and Keltan, although they both looked as though they would have preferred to be anywhere else.
“Your Masks will protect you now,” she was explaining. “Those two Watchers must have told others they were following us, but you can say that you never saw them, or the boy and girl they were investigating, and your Masks will show that you are telling the truth. The Watchers will not question that. They can’t even imagine that someone wearing a Mask could lie to them. They’ll eventually find the horse that galloped away, and probably put the whole thing down to bandits.”
“How can you imagine such a thing?” Jess said. “How can you do such a thing?”
“I have an . . . unusual Gift,” Mara said.
Keltan snorted. “You could say that.”
She shot him a look to tell him he was being less than helpful, then turned back to the farm couple. “I still don’t know everything I can do with it . . . and can’t do with it,” she said. “I messed up out there. I thought I could easily influence both of them, get them to simply turn around and ride off and believe they talked to you and everything was all right. But something went wrong. The second Watcher . . . I couldn’t manipulate him the way I thought. He . . . twisted. It was like . . .” Epiphany struck. “It was like when a Mask fails,” she said, almost in a whisper, speaking more to herself. “The magics are related . . . Masks are failing more often, especially the ones for the Gifted, because the Autarch has changed the ‘recipe’ to allow him to better influence and draw on Mask wearers’ magic than ever before. Maybe they’re failing because some people, especially some Gifted, are simply harder to bend than others.”
“Be that as it may,” said Jess. “Do you really believe this unusual Gift of yours will allow you to overthrow the Autarch?”
“If it doesn’t,” Mara said, “then the Autarch will never be overthrown. And he may outlive this entire generation. He is using magic to prolong his life. He could live for decades more. If I fail, then there is no hope. And his tyranny will only grow. He needs more and more magic. The Masks will get stronger and stronger. If he is not stopped, eventually the people of Aygrima will be reduced to little more than cattle, milked for his needs, kept docile and obedient.”
“And how can we possibly help you in this impossible task you have set for yourself?” Filia said.
Here it comes, Mara thought. “I’ve met your son, Greff,” she said. “I met him when I was being held in the Palace. How would you like to have him back?”
Filia gasped.
“Impossible,” Jess said flatly. “He’s in the Child Guard.”
“What if someone could take his place?” Mara said.
Jess’ eyes narrowed. “You?”
“Keltan,” Mara said, “would you be so kind as to go fetch my saddlebags?”
Keltan nodded and went out without a word.
“Of course, me,” Mara continued. “Can you think of a better way to get close to the Autarch than infiltrate the Child Guard?”
“By taking Greff’s place?” Filia said. Her eyes still held doubt and fear, but also, just maybe, the beginning of hope. “But . . . how?”
Keltan came back in with the saddlebags from Mara’s horse. He slung them over the chair in which he’d been seated. Mara got up, opened the one hanging over the chairback, and took out the cloth-wrapped bundle inside. She placed it on the table and unfolded the covering. Silver gleamed in the lamplight. Filia’s breath caught in her throat. “A Child Guard’s Mask?” she whispered. “But . . . how?”
“I am the daughter of the Master Maskmaker of Tamita,” Mara said. “And as I’ve already proved,” she nodded at Jess’ miraculously intact Mask, “I have other skills with Masks beyond the sculpting of them.” Honesty compelled her to add, “And I had help from a very talented Maskmaker in Silverthorne.”
“A Maskmaker helped you . . . in your quest to overthrow the Autarch?” Jess said.
“Who knows the tyranny of the Masks better than a maker of them?” Mara said. “My father was the first to understand how the Masks had changed, and the first to act against the Autarch . . . and paid the price.”
Filia nodded. “I heard about that,” she said. “They hanged him, and in his death throes he still had power enough to tear down the city wall . . .” Her voice trailed off. “That wasn’t him, though, was it?” she said with wonder in her voice. “That was you. You said you were held in the Palace . . .” And then her eyes widened. “Oh, child,” she said, her voice suddenly full of pity, “did you witness your father’s death?”
Her concern, so warm and unfeigned, brought a lump to Mara’s throat. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, that was me. And, yes, I . . . I saw my father hanged.”
“You are very close to Greff in height,” Jess said. “He is not a tall boy. And with careful clothing you might pass as a boy in other ways.”
Thanks, Mara thought, but didn’t say.
“But how do you plan to make this exchange? And what assurance can you give us that Greff will be in no danger if it goes ahead?”
“As to the latter . . . none,” Mara said honestly. “Greff will be in danger. Terrible danger. As will I. But,” she added quickly as Jess opened his mouth to protest, “Greff is in terrible danger now. The Autarch is feeding on the Child Guard every day, drawing more magic from them than from any other source. If he is called upon to defend himself, it is likely he will drain the Child Guard dry and discard the husks. And even if all goes on as it has, Greff will be lucky to grow to adulthood. Many of the Child Guard do not.”
Filia’s hand went to her mouth. Jess looked grim. “Even if what you say is true,” he said, “I don’t see how you can hope to take his place.”
“I heard,” Mara said, “when I lived in the city, that it is possible for the parents of a Child Guard to visit that child, if the need is gr
eat enough.”
Jess nodded. “You can’t simply drop in on them,” he said, “but if it’s really important, there is a way. They give you ten minutes. We were also told not to contact Greff for anything less than a death in the family, so we’ve never tried.”
“What do you have to do?” Mara asked.
“You go to the Palace,” Jess said. “Main gate. You don’t go in, of course. There’s a kind of guardhouse out in front, on the right side as you’re looking at the gate.”
“I know it,” Mara said. “Petitioners go in there.” And some never come out again.
“Well, they told us you go in there, ask for a man named Prilk. Tell him you need to see whichever Child Guard it is. He arranges it. Could be hours before you actually meet, in that same guardhouse. Like I said, you get ten minutes. Deliver your message, get out. The Child Guard goes back into the Palace. That’s it.”
“Do you get ten minutes in private?” Mara said.
“Don’t know about that,” Jess said. “Might be Prilk is right there listening.”
“I can make it work,” Mara said, “if Greff will cooperate. I can get myself into the Palace and Greff out of the city and back home to you.”
“What good will that do?” Jess said. “We can’t hide him here for long.”
“Don’t even try,” Mara said. “Head northeast. There’s a pass through the mountains where the northern range bends around into the eastern one. Get over that pass, there’s a path. It will lead you to people who aren’t under the Autarch’s sway.”
“A desperate journey,” Jess growled.
“Less so in spring than winter,” Mara said, “and less desperate than staying here. The Watchers already killed your dog. The Autarch is slowly killing your son. Is your own illusion of security so important to you you’d rather cling to it than try to do something about the forces that threaten it?” That sounded like the Lady, she thought uneasily.
“No,” Filia said. The fact she answered, rather than Jess, surprised Mara for a moment, but only for a moment. From her first meeting with the couple she’d seen how Jess deferred to his wife. He did so again now, turning at once to look at her. “No,” Filia said, “it is not. If you can do this, we will be forever grateful. Even if we must flee into the Wild.”