Jala's Mask

by Mike Grinti

  “I’ve traveled on raiding ships before, Captain,” Jala said. “My father made sure I knew my way around a ship.”

  Natari only smiled at her. “Raiding ships, perhaps. But you’ve never been on my ship.”

  Iliana emerged from the manor carrying a large basket on each shoulder, followed by two other women who brought small casks of wine. Iliana set the baskets on the ground near Jala. “Food enough for several people. Where are we going?”

  “The Lone Isle,” Jala said.

  Iliana’s easy smile disappeared. “My queen, perhaps I might stay here? The mountain’s been angry lately.”

  “You’re needed, I’m afraid,” Jala said. “Whatever we learn there, you can tell the Kayet and they’ll believe you.”

  Iliana looked around to the women who’d come with her, as if they could get her out of this somehow, but neither of them met her eyes.

  “I don’t look forward to being there either,” Jala said. “We won’t stay long.”

  Iliana took one last look behind her at the Kayet manor, as if she wanted nothing more than to flee. But then she lifted up the baskets of food again, and jerked her head over to the ship, signaling the women with the wine to follow. They sloshed through the water while Jala took off her sandals. The sailors took the supplies from them, then lifted Iliana aboard.

  Jala hiked up her dress until it hung about her knees, then walked across the sand, shivering as the cold waves slapped against her legs. A wind blew from the ocean, spraying water into her face, so that by the time she reached the boat her dress was wet and her lips tasted of salt. Captain Natari helped her onto the ship.

  “Thank you,” Jala said as she straightened her dress. She looked around at the crew. “I’ve brought food and wine from the king’s personal store. The sooner we get to the fire mountain, the sooner we can open it, my friends.”

  Captain Natari called for the ship to be pushed out. Oars were dropped into the water, and the ship jerked forward. Once away from the shore, they raised the sail. The wind, which had felt pleasant on the island, battered the sails, and the First Isle receded quickly. The ship rocked as it broke over a wave and landed hard in the water, and the shipwood trembled under her feet.

  Natari grinned widely. “How do you like the Burst Hull, my queen? Is she fast enough for you? It may be a rough trip back if we get caught by the storm.”

  “As long as we make it back in one piece,” Jala said. “And by then someone should know what’s happened on the Second Isle.”

  “I hope so. I wish I was heading back myself.” Natari shook his head. “I hope you find some answers.”

  Behind them, two of the sailors began arguing loudly.

  “I told you they found men made of gold in there, but the damn Kayet don’t want to tell anyone so they can keep it all for themselves.”

  “What about those two old mud-sailors they brought out? Didn’t look gold to me.”

  “I didn’t say that was all they found, did I?”

  “It’s demons they found in there. I heard one of the Kayet talking about them.”

  “Demons and invaders, it’s all to keep anyone from getting on those ships and taking the treasure.”

  Jala wished the ships had contained treasure. If they had, would anyone have told her? Azi would have, she knew that much. Jala turned her attention away from the sailors’ conversation and saw a thin column of smoke rising from the top of the fire mountain. “Looks like she’s awake today, Captain.”

  Natari nodded. “Let’s hope she isn’t angry, as well.”

  One of the sailors brought out a small hand-drum and started a quick, bouncing rhythm. “What tale should we tell on this long trip?” he asked, and the other sailors took turns calling out stories to the beat. The drummer rejected each, usually insulting whoever had suggested it in the process: “Too long for you, you’ll be retired before it’s through” or “We’ve heard it too many times, but then, our brains don’t leak like yours.”

  “The Thoughtless Boy and the Fire Mountain,” Jala called out on the beat.

  “Ah,” the sailor said, nodding his head to her, “as every storyteller who still has a head knows, it pays to oblige a queen.” As always, the story started out “There was a boy who couldn’t remember his own family’s name, who thought little and then only of himself.” But from there the storyteller did what he wanted. This time the Thoughtless Boy was captain of a rowboat, and he traveled the islands trying to remember what his favorite foods were and finding adventure instead. One day he found the Lone Isle, and he climbed to the top of the fire mountain where a piece of cork had been set into the mouth. A tree grew from the cork, and on that tree was the fattest, juiciest mango the Thoughtless Boy had ever seen. It was, in fact, one of the fruits that could make a man immortal if he ate it, and it had taken root in the cork when one of the Four Winds spat out a seed on his way to the mainland.

  The Thoughtless Boy tried to take one of the mangoes, but the fruit wouldn’t come off, so he pulled and pulled even though the tree begged him not to. Until, finally, he pulled out the cork, and the fire mountain exploded with a thousand years of pent-up fire, creating more islands in the process. The Thoughtless Boy was burned all over, and he would have died, except that in his greed he’d eaten the whole fruit before he even realized he was on fire. The liquid fire of the mountain burned away his immortality, but he survived. The fruit of immortality, he decided afterward, was his third-favorite food in the world.

  “Luckily our queen has brought us food from the king’s own table,” the storyteller said, bowing again, “so we shouldn’t have that kind of problem.”

  Jala clapped with the others and waited for more. In this way the time passed, if not quickly, then at least steadily. When she remembered to look back at the Lone Isle, she found the fire mountain looming ahead of them, the smoke that had seemed a thin wisp before now a great black cloud above them. By the time they actually reached the island, her body was stiff and aching from standing for so long, and the first storyteller had long since stepped down and been replaced by a drummer, and then by another storyteller.

  The captain called out, interrupting their diversion. “Landing, sails at half.” One of the sailors let the sail go slack. The rest got out the oars. “We’ll come in slow and row down to that village.” Natari pointed, and Jala could just make out a cluster of grass huts and some fishing boats. Large turtles sunned themselves on the beach’s black sand.

  As they neared the shore, a small crowd gathered to watch their approach. “Don’t draw your weapons unless you have to,” Natari said. Then he and his men jumped over the side, splashing into the shallow water at the shore. They helped Iliana down, then Jala.

  Jala walked slowly through the water. From the First and Second Islands, the fire mountain had always been something of a comfort to her. Mysterious and awe-inspiring but also familiar and safely distant. Standing beneath it was different. The mountain’s shadow lay dark and oppressive over thick jungle, and the heavy black smoke pouring out from its mouth was stark even against the storm-gray sky. How could anyone stand to live under that presence? But then, the people living here had no choice, did they? It wasn’t as though her own family was offering them a home among the Bardo.

  Men and women armed with spears and clubs stood in a semicircle on the beach ahead of them. From the way people talked about the fire-islanders back home, Jala had almost expected to find everyone running around half naked, chanting and casting spells. She might have been walking into a Bardo fishing village, if you didn’t count the weapons. And of course she wouldn’t have needed an armed guard to visit a fishing village.

  An old man led the group of fire-islanders. He walked with a bent back, and his face and arms were covered in burns, angry patches of pink bright against his dark skin. “And who are you, girl, that you come armed to our village?” he asked. “Or have you been brought here? The daughter of some lord who’s afraid of the voices that speak to you?”

 
; Jala cleared her throat and tried to sound, if not like a queen, then at least like her mother. “I am Jala, queen of the Five-and-One islands. I’ve heard that the people who live on the Lone Isle are sorcerers. I need knowledge that only sorcery can give me.”

  “Hello to you, Jala who calls herself queen. My name is Kade. As for sorcerers, well, maybe some of us are. Maybe I am. But sorcery has a price. You won’t get any easy answers this way.”

  Jala felt her put-on queen’s voice slipping. “I wouldn’t have come if we’d any other choice.”

  The old man scratched the rough hairs on his chin. “Well, I admit I’m curious, so perhaps I’ll hear you out. I don’t promise anything more, though. Come, we can sit inside and talk. Bring a guard if you must, but more than one won’t fit in my cottage.”

  The old man turned and walked away from the beach.

  Natari touched Jala’s shoulder. “I’ll come with you.”

  “No,” Jala said. “It has to be Iliana.”

  Natari started to speak, but Jala said, “If they want to harm me they will, whether you’re there or not.” She felt more at ease commanding her father’s men. Her father’s will backed up whatever she said, so they were inclined to listen. Jala wondered who they would obey if her father contradicted one of her commands.

  “I would feel better by your side,” Natari said. “I’ll stay close with the rest of the men.”

  Jala nodded thanks, then hooked her arm around Iliana’s and followed the old man. Once past their armed reception, Jala saw that huts and cottages lined the end of the beach and back into the thick jungle that ran up the skirts of the fire mountain.

  “My father told me you can sometimes feel the mountain breathing,” Jala said. “That the whole island shakes.”

  “It’s true,” the old man said. “She hasn’t breathed for months, but I remember when she breathed many times a day.” He stopped and pointed. “You see, there? Where all the trees are missing? Fire rolled down the hill, burning everything it touched. Luckily it rained, or we’d have all been burned. It’s happened before. Likely it’ll happen again.”

  Jala shivered. “I hope I won’t need to wait that long for answers.”

  The old man snorted, then gestured at a small cottage. “This is my home, come inside and sit. It’s not like the grand halls you’re used to, and I’m sure our food won’t be to your taste, but we live simply here.”

  He was right. The cottage was cramped. Clay jars stoppered with leaves filled the shelves that lined its walls. A table and two chairs took up the middle of the room, and against one wall was a fire pit lined with clay bricks. A bed of dried grass filled the far corner.

  “Your girl is welcome to sit on the bed, if she likes. I don’t think it has any bugs, but I don’t have much use for it these days.”

  Iliana glanced at the straw and quickly shook her head. “I’ll stand.”

  Jala sat down at the table. “You said these were your people?”

  “They listen to me, sometimes, so right now I speak for them.” The old man lowered himself into the chair. “Tell me what you want, little queen.”

  “There was an invasion,” Jala said. “Or an attempt, anyway. Their ships sailed on fog, above the water. It could only be sorcery. The men inside the ships that reached the First Isle looked like they’d been dead for years, but some of the other ships had live men or things that were no longer men at all. We don’t know who they are or if they’ll come again or how many there might be.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps I can help you answer these questions,” Kade said. “But to bring ships and men across the Great Ocean without shipwood to guide them . . . such power is never free. It would have cost many lives, and it’s clear they still couldn’t control all that power they called forth. The dead men on those ships were probably young and strong when they set out, till the magic sucked the life right out of them.”

  Jala shivered. “We’d guessed as much.”

  The old man’s gaze wandered out to the beach. “Have you brought anything of theirs?”

  With a sinking feeling, Jala shook her head. “I didn’t know I had to.”

  “My queen.” Iliana stepped forward. “I have something. It isn’t much.” She reached inside a fold in her dress and pulled out a clump of white hair. She set it down on the table. “It’s from one of the prisoners. Some of the sailors have been selling it, and my mother asked for some.”

  The old man picked up a strand of hair and inspected it. He smiled, and Jala was surprised to see that he still had all his teeth. “Yes, very good. This will do nicely.”

  “Thank you, Iliana,” Jala said with relief. She didn’t ask what Iliana’s mother had wanted the hair for. She decided she probably didn’t want to know. “So do you think you’ll be able to tell us anything? We should hurry.”

  “You can hurry if you like, but it’ll take me time to prepare. And before I do that, we still need to talk about the price. Not the price the magic takes from me, but my price for helping you.”

  Jala nodded. “Tell me what you want. If your requests are fair, the king will pay.”

  Kade smiled. “I want spices from the mainland. Fish and birds and roots get old even faster than I do. And wine, too, anything not made from grass or coconut. Something new to wake an old tongue.”

  So little? She nodded again. “Of course. We’ll bring you casks of our best wines and enough spices for everyone living here, if you plan to share.”

  “Then we have a deal.” He grabbed a clay jar and poured a heap of finely ground meal on a wide leaf. “Stone root,” he explained. “You can find it near the top of the mountain if you know where to look. It doesn’t burn, you see. Not easily. Nasty, bitter-tasting stuff, though you get used to the taste eventually.”

  “Why eat it at all, then?” Jala asked.

  He grinned. “It coats your tongue and throat. An unpleasant feeling, to be sure, but the potions I make can burn away a man’s voice and tongue. Because I like to talk, I put up with the taste.”

  They said nothing for a while. Jala tried not to think of her throat being burned away. Suddenly the silence was broken by shouts, and then a scream. With surprising speed the old man was out of the cottage. Jala followed. Nearby, a woman held down a stick-thin man with a patchy beard on his face and leaves and grass in his hair. His skin was blotchy with scars and old burns. He struggled in vain against the woman’s grip.

  “I found him skulking in your garden, Kade,” the woman said.

  The thin man stopped struggling. He smiled up at the old man, revealing cracked teeth. “I helped plant that garden. I have as much right to it as you, and I need supplies for my work.”

  “Piss on your work, Askel,” Kade said. “You were spying.”

  “Who is he?” Jala asked.

  “No one. A petty thief.”

  Askel snorted, then looked at Jala. His pupils were too wide, and she found his stare uncomfortable. “He lies, my queen. I can help you. He’s frightened of the fire mountain, frightened of my power, of what I could do if I didn’t have to spend my days in hiding.”

  “Shut him up,” Kade said.

  The woman pounded her fist against Askel’s head. He grunted and then hung limp, his eyes glazed.

  “Good.” The old man waved a hand dismissively. “Hang him over the mountain.”

  The woman nodded and dragged Askel away. But before she’d gotten far, Askel twisted and slipped down through her arms. He kicked her in the stomach then ran. A few fire-islanders gave chase, but the thin man was faster than he seemed and disappeared into the jungle before any of them were even close.

  Kade cursed loudly and ran to the woman to make sure she was all right. When he and the woman had yelled and cursed long enough, he returned to Jala.

  “Just a thief, was he?” Jala said. “Nothing else?”

  “Our island isn’t your concern. Don’t you have more important questions? Come.”

  Jala and Iliana followed the old man back into the cottage
. Kade took four jars down from the shelves along the wall and brought them to the table. Using a smooth stone and a wooden bowl, he ground the ingredients together with more stone root. He built a small fire in the brick hearth and set the bowl above it. The flames licked at the wood, the bowl smoked, and the ingredients hissed. The cottage started to reek, and Jala was grateful for the wind that blew through the uncovered doorway and windows.

  Kade added the invader’s hair last, then poured a dark liquid over it. It foamed, spilling over the lip of the bowl. He picked up the concoction and drank.

  “Now we wait,” he said in a hoarse voice. “It shouldn’t be long. The recent past is usually the easiest to see.” He coughed, then gasped and doubled over, clutching his sides. Jala dropped to her knees beside him and slid an arm around his back to hold him up. She could feel him struggling to force air into his lungs. Her mind raced. Had something gone wrong? She’d have to make him throw up. She’d seen it done before, just stick a leaf or a finger down his throat.

  “Iliana, help me.”

  The old man tried to push her away. “Be silent . . . I need to concentrate, or I’ll forget everything I see.” He held out a shaking hand. “Take me to my bed, then leave me be.”

  For what felt like a long time, Jala and Iliana sat at the table, with only the sound of his shallow breathing and the patter of rain outside for company. Captain Natari came to see if Jala was all right, and she told him she was. The old man still looked like he was dying. His skin had turned a sickly gray, and his face was sweaty and tense. Eventually he fell asleep.

  “Should I wake him?” Iliana whispered.

  Jala shook her head. “Let him sleep. Natari will want to wait for this storm to end anyway.” They sat together at the table. The drumming of the rain made Jala sleepy, and she found herself nodding.

  A soft rustling near the door made her sit up with a start. The wind whistled as it blew through the cottage, and the sky was dark, though Jala didn’t think it was night yet. Rain lashed against the walls of the cottage and sprayed in through the door and windows. The old man was still asleep. Iliana dozed as well, leaning against a wall with her knees pulled up to her chest.