Jala's Mask

by Mike Grinti

  A shadow crouched in the doorway. “My queen,” it hissed.

  Trying to stay calm, Jala peered at it through the gloom. It was the man she’d seen them drag away, the thief the old man had called Askel. Water ran in heavy rivulets down his face and arms.

  No one’ll hear if I cry for help, Jala realized. She stood slowly, feeling behind her with one hand to try to get a grip on the stool. “What do you want?” she said.

  Askel lowered his head to the ground. “Please, my queen. Please help me. They hunt me day and night. I eat bugs when I can’t steal anything better.” He looked up. “I have work I should be doing, great work. Take me with you. I’m a greater sorcerer than he can ever be. I’m not afraid of power the way he is. I can help you.”

  Jala made herself take a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. “Even if I wanted to, how could I? I have only a few men with me. I can’t risk their lives for you.”

  “My life is worth a hundred of theirs, my queen. I promise you.”

  “They’re family,” Jala said. “No outsider is worth more than family.”

  “Perhaps you need a demonstration,” Askel said. “Something to make you believe how dangerous I can be.” He grinned, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He moaned. Then he straightened, and in the dark he suddenly looked less withered than he had before. The way the shadows fell across him made his arms and chest seem to be knotted with muscles that hadn’t been there, and the raindrops turned to steam when they touched him.

  Next to her Iliana stood, too. “My queen, we should call for the captain.”

  Then Kade stirred, and Askel ran, vanishing into the storm.

  Jala let him go without protest. She’d come here for information, not to step in the middle of a sorcerer and his rival. She went to Kade. “What did you see?”

  The old man took a shaking breath and blinked several times as though he couldn’t focus. She thought she could see new lines on his old, weathered face.

  Finally, the old man spoke. “An ocean, not of water but of sand, along a great river. There is a city there, and seven people in masks, with brown skin instead of black. I heard them in my dreams, and they called themselves the Hashon. I followed the river for many hundreds of miles, until it split off and became a brook, and then a mountain stream. And in the mountain was a hidden city overlooking a sea. The Hashon kept a book there that told of the world’s beginning, but the book was gone, the city in ruins.” The old man shut his eyes and breathed deeply. “You stole it, didn’t you? The book is sacred to them, as sacred as the shipwood is to you. They won’t stop. Hundreds died to bring these ships here, and they died willingly. More ships will come.”

  “Can you use your magic to stop them?” Jala asked.

  “Can you stop a wave by throwing rocks at it? You think because you manage to steal some scraps from the mainland that your people matter, but you’re nothing more than flies to them. Or you were. Now you’ve bitten them and they mean to swat you for it.”

  Iliana bristled. “How dare you insult us like that? Our grayships are feared up and down the mainland coasts. There is nothing these mainlanders don’t have that we couldn’t take.”

  “Shut up and listen, both of you,” Kade said. “Understand, for once, how small you are. Among their empire, your entire race could disappear. Even if I sacrificed whole islands, I would be powerless against them.”

  “Then what do we do?” Jala asked.

  “Don’t you understand? Do nothing, for all I care. It’ll all be the same in the end.”

  It can’t be that bad, Jala told herself. He’s trying to scare you. Well, it had worked. She couldn’t help imagining more ships heading toward them even now, filled with living warriors instead of the dead and dying. Living warriors, or worse. But they’re not demons, not the way Lord Inas thought. They’re people. Or at least they were before they sailed. She had to remember that, no matter how much they scared her. People could be bargained with. She just had to reach them before they sailed, that was all. There had to be a way.

  The old man shut his eyes, and Jala thought he was going to fall asleep again, but then he grabbed her arm. “Help me up, island queen.”

  Jala pulled him up carefully. He stared out into the darkness for a minute, then sighed. “I suppose you and your people can stay until the storm passes. But after that, you’ll take your ships and leave. I wish you luck, though I have no love for you, little queen. I need to be alone now. I will take you to Yambi’s home. She’ll stay awake and make sure that the thief doesn’t bother you again.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he walked out into the rain. Jala hesitated a moment, then followed him. She stumbled immediately, buffeted by the wind. One hand trying to keep her dress under control, Jala held out the other for Iliana. The woman took it, and together they followed the old man. He swayed back and forth slowly as he walked but otherwise didn’t seem to feel the wind at all.

  They were soaked by the time they reached the nearest hut. Yambi turned out to be the woman Askel had kicked, and she stood as they entered. She exchanged hushed words with Kade, gave them a sour look, then took up the spear resting on one wall.

  “You may sleep,” she said. “I will watch over you.”

  Satisfied, Kade left, and the woman said nothing more. Jala and Iliana sat down on the floor together, wet and miserable.

  “I don’t know how he expects us to sleep after what he told us,” Iliana whispered.

  “We had to learn this sooner or later, though. If we even believe him.”

  “I believe him,” Iliana said.

  Jala sighed. “Me too.” She made no move to try to fall asleep, though she knew she must have drifted off eventually because she didn’t remember night falling, nor the storm easing into steady rainfall. The next time she woke, it was to a sunbeam in her eyes. The storm had passed, and the new day was rising brilliant and orange out of the Great Ocean. Natari came to her and told her that they were ready to sail again.

  The storm had been severe enough that they’d been forced to beach the ship and take cover on land. Now the sailors pushed it out into the water with Jala and Iliana on board. One by one they climbed into the ship, then set sail.

  A cold, steady wind blew across the water. It would have made for quick sailing had they sailed with it, but it happened to blow from the First Isle, and so they zigzagged into the wind in order to keep moving. The journey back took longer than the journey there had, and the wet night had left everyone tired, but the sailors seemed more at ease now that they were putting the fire mountain behind them.

  “Did you find out what you needed to, my queen?” Natari asked Jala after a while.

  “I learned a lot,” Jala said. “But I don’t know what good it’ll do us.” She hoped Azi would know what to do.

  She went to see him as soon as they landed on the First Isle, not even bothering to change her clothes. By now there must have been news from her family. She knocked on the door of his room.

  “Come,” he said, his voice faint.

  She opened the door and saw him pacing up and down the length of his room, his face twisted up in obvious worry. He looked up at her and stopped.

  “Jala. You’re back.”

  Something was wrong. Something had happened while she was gone. Her throat felt tight, and she could hardly get the words out. “My family. Has something happened to them?”

  Azi shook his head. “No, no, they’re fine. You even have a message from your friend. What was her name again? Marjani? The bird is waiting in your room. Did you find out anything useful from the people on the Lone Isle?”

  They were safe. Marjani, her mother, her father. They were all safe. But Azi’s smile looked forced. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Azi looked away, toward the window that looked out on the coast. “It’s the Gana, my mother’s family. We’ve had no word from them. I’m sending a ship to find out what’s happened. Maybe it’s the storms. Sometimes birds do get lost or just
slowed down. It could be anything.”

  “It could,” Jala agreed. The last thing she wanted was for him to leave her behind, but she’d be useless if there was fighting. And just like she’d had to go to the Lone Isle, he had to do this. Even if she’d only just gotten back. Even if all she wanted was to ask him to hold her and make all of this go away. But she didn’t ask.

  “Go, then,” she said. “Call back the ships you sent to my family, but don’t wait for them. Take all the Kayet ships, take Captain Natari’s ship, and go. And hope it isn’t too late.”

  “Land,” the lookout cried from the front of the ship. Then, “Fire!” Azi followed the lookout’s gaze, but it took him a several moments before he could clearly make out the thick column of dark gray smoke rising high into the air.

  “Maybe the lightning set something on fire,” Azi said.

  “Hmm,” Captain Paka said, standing beside him. He was a tall, broad man who seldom used his deep voice when he didn’t need to.

  “Even if these invaders, these Hashon, landed on the Fifth Isle, we don’t know how things went,” Azi said. “They might be burning the bodies. The ships too.”

  “Too much smoke,” Paka said. He fingered the hilt of his sword.

  Soon Azi could make out a sliver of beach beneath the smoke, the white sand turned gray from the ash. He resisted the urge to ask the captain how much longer before they landed. He’d sailed on ships all his life; he knew how far away they were. The beach and the smoke seemed to draw closer impossibly fast.

  Once you pass the reef, they’ll look to you. On the water, a ship’s captain was king, but inside the reefs he was their king. At least they were all Kayet soldiers. They trusted him and would probably obey. In a way, though, that only made it worse. Their lives would be in his hands. And if the mainlanders really did land on the Fifth Isle, you might not be able to hold on to them all.

  He wanted to curse Jala for making him send away half his fleet to protect her family. True, the Bardo were closer to the Gana, but it would take time for the bird to find them. How long before they arrived to help? A day? Two days? They had no way of knowing. What would you have done, if it was your family? He wanted to curse her, but he couldn’t. She was there with you on the beach, ready to fight if she had to. Ready to lead.

  The single plume of smoke soon became many. Off to their left, some fishing huts lay burnt and smoldering. Bonfires raged in a few spots on the beach, and smoke rose from the trees farther back. Some kind of debris lay all over the beach.

  “The rain should have put the fires out,” Paka said. “They’re setting new ones.”

  There were figures on the beach. They flailed about, swinging their long arms at the ground. Azi saw flashes of metal. “Can you tell who they’re fighting?”

  “Ghosts?” Paka said.

  Azi couldn’t tell if the captain was joking. “I’ve never seen anyone fight with a sword in each hand before. What are they doing?”

  The lookout made a choking sound. “Bodies. Those’re bodies all over the place, and they’re . . . they’re attacking them. Why would they attack them if they’re already dead?”

  The island was coming fast now, and Azi could see it for himself, though he didn’t understand any more than the lookout. They were hacking at the bodies with their swords. Quick, steady overhand chops. He scanned the beach until he spotted the Gana manor, situated farther back from the water. He squinted, and a movement caught his eye. One of the invaders was pacing on the roof.

  Azi pointed. “They’ve taken the manor.”

  Paka nodded. “We’re passing the reef now, my king. Do we anchor and wait for the other ships to arrive?”

  Azi turned to look at the man, but his face was unreadable. Was this a test of his courage, or was the stone-faced captain truly unsure, maybe even afraid? I know I am.

  “No. We won’t wait while they do such things, while they crawl like vermin through our cousins’ homes. We stop them now.”

  Captain Paka nodded. “Yes, my king.” Then in his booming voice he cried out, “Swords ready! Landing, full wind.” All around them sailors and soldiers loosened their swords and grabbed hold of the bulwark to brace for the impact. Azi did the same. Full wind. They weren’t dropping sail but beaching the ships at full speed. The maneuver always made Azi sick. Judging by some of the ashen faces around him, he wasn’t the only one. A sailor on each end started signaling the other ships, but the nearest had heard Paka’s voice clearly and passed the message along.

  The beach grew larger and larger. Azi had a dizzying view of bodies and blood-caked sand and debris, of the invaders turning to look at them, pointing, running. One of them was ankle deep in the water, directly in front of their ship. The man shouted something, brandished his swords. Azi could see his lips moving but never heard the words. He saw only a final glimpse of the man’s face, a zigzagging pattern burned into the cheeks and forehead. Then the man was impaled on the grayship’s razor-sharp hull.

  The ship smashed up onto the beach, sending sand and bits of coral flying in all directions. The impact jerked Azi hard against the bulwark. The ship and the beach all seemed to shake, as if the fire mountain were right under their feet instead of miles away, and he clung to the bulwark to keep from being thrown overboard.

  The screams of the invaders hit him even as his head was still reeling from the impact. He pushed himself up, swayed a moment, then drew his sword. “Blood!” he shouted, jumping off the side of the ship. “High tide!”

  Other sailors took up his cry, landing all around him, but it was drowned out by the invaders. The invaders screamed wordlessly at them, their faces contorted with what looked like . . . joy. Blissful joy. The same zigzagging pattern was drawn or burned onto their faces. The burns were still raw and red, as if they’d been burned since they landed. Flames. The patterns look like flames. None of the other invaders he’d seen had anything like that on their faces, but he only had a moment to wonder what this meant before the invaders were on them.

  Azi brought his sword up moments before a wide, reckless swing could dismember him. The clang of metal cut through the screams of men, and the battle was joined.

  With the ship at their back, Azi pressed forward with the other Kayet soldiers on either side of him. The first few invaders fell quickly beneath their blades. But they were only the first. More arrived, and soon Azi was stepping back, barely avoiding the wild attacks.

  Some of Azi’s sailors yelled threats meant to intimidate merchants and local militias and guards. But this wasn’t a raid, and these invaders showed no fear. Next to him one of the Kayet sailors screamed and fell to the ground. More screams, again and again. Each time, he wondered: Was that Kayet or invader?

  Azi jabbed forward with his sword, catching his opponent in the side, but another blade came down on his arm as he pulled away. His blood ran down his hand and spilled on the ground. He stared at it stupidly. The pain hit a moment later, so cold and sharp it numbed his brain and dimmed his vision. He kicked out wildly, connected with something, then stumbled backward. Captain Paka stepped in front of him, cutting down Azi’s opponent with a quick slice.

  Azi took the moment of respite to look around. The invaders were dying, but so were his men and women. They’d barely made it twenty steps toward the manor.

  He looked down at his slashed arm. Greater men had died of lesser wounds than this. It occurred to him briefly that if he called the retreat now he might seem like a coward, running because of his injury. Well, so what if they did think that, and so what if he was? If they stayed here much longer they’d have no chance at all.

  “Retreat,” he cried, as loud as he could, again and again. “Push the ships back to the water, before it’s too late. Retreat!”

  For a moment it seemed that the battle was too loud or his voice too weak. No one moved to obey. But then a few sailors broke off and ran to the ship. The rest tried to follow. Ignoring the pain in his arm, Azi stuck his sword back in the sash around his waist, found
a spot and pushed. Sweat streamed down his face. He put his shoulders into it and shut his eyes. Any moment now I’ll feel a sword in my back, and then I’ll fall, and it’ll be over.

  Water sloshed around his feet. A hand grabbed his shoulder. He jerked away, but it held him fast. “My king,” Captain Paka yelled. “Get up now!”

  Azi wiped the sweat from his eyes and shook his head. “We’re not far enough out yet. The wind will blow us back onto the beach.”

  There was a deafening roar, and a rush of hot air engulfed him. He spared a moment to look back. One of the grayships hadn’t made it off the beach, and the torch boy had lit the keg of oil and alcohol. The fireball hung in the air for half a moment before dissolving. The ship burned bright and hot, adding its own smoke to the distant fires.

  Grayships were never to fall into mainlander hands, but it had been seasons since any Kayet ship had gone up in flames. Damn it. Damn it, damn it all . . .

  The fighting was up against the ship now. Kayet sailors climbed up the side of the ship using the pitted coral as hand and footholds where it had been sanded down, choosing the right ones without thought after years of practice. The coral was less forgiving of the invaders, cutting and tearing their hands when they tried to follow. Screaming, they fell back, only to be cut down by the Kayet men still on the beach.

  The water was up to Azi’s knees, his thighs. Far enough, he thought.

  “Everyone on board,” someone yelled. “Now, my king!”

  Azi put his hands up to climb, afraid his arm wouldn’t hold him, but then strong hands grabbed him and pulled him up. He fell to the deck, dizzy with loss of blood. He hardly felt it when someone took his arm and bound it tightly to stop the bleeding.

  The ship rocked violently as the sail turned and caught the wind, and then they were away, the last of the invaders falling away screaming. For a while there was no sound in the ship except for a few moans from the wounded. Azi sat up, nodded thanks to his saviors, and counted heads. Seventeen lost on this ship, the entire crew of another, and who knew how many on the other ships. This is my fault. Why didn’t I just wait?