Jala's Mask

by Mike Grinti

  When she was finished, Jala waited for the table to be cleared, then addressed the masked Hashon. “You already know my name. Perhaps you would honor me with your own names before we begin.”

  The translator pointed to each of the masks and spoke their names.

  “Lord Mouth,” Boka said. “Lord Eyes. Lord Hands. Lord Empty Face. I think she means mute and blind. Lords Far and Near. Lord Stone.” Boka hesitated. “She also says that Lord Stone can’t be trusted. At least that’s what I think that sign means.”

  Jala stared. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

  “It’s what she said. How can I tell whether they’re mocking you when I can only get it second-hand and they always wear those masks? Maybe the masks are a joke, too.”

  “All right.” Jala cleared her throat and spoke to the Hashon. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lords. I’m truly glad you have accepted us as guests, and I hope that in your wisdom you will also accept my proposal.” She spoke slowly and clearly, with a forced smile on her lips.

  Boka translated. The masks listened, and Lord Mouth spoke. Their translator made a single gesture, one fist slapped twice into her outstretched palm. “Make your offer,” Boka said.

  “This is my offer: the book, the Anka, was taken by mistake, and the Gana, the family that took it, has paid in blood.” This was a lie, but Jala figured they wouldn’t really know the difference between one island’s family and another. “They are no more. We’ll return the Anka to you and pledge peace with the Hashon. Our ships will leave your caravans and your villages alone. We’ll trade with you. We bring many things from the far corners of the coasts to the Constant City, and of these you’ll have the first choice as long as I am queen.” Jala waited for Boka to translate, then went on. “In exchange, you will pledge peace with us. You will stop the invasion and return our ships to us. You will give us supplies and allow me and my people to leave unharmed, as guests and friends.”

  Jala wished she could see the faces behind those masks. They spoke in whispers among themselves, but she couldn’t tell anything from their flat, even voices.

  “How can you guarantee such a deal?” Boka translated.

  “By marriage,” Jala said. “One man or woman from each family of the Five-and-One will travel here to marry the noble sons and daughters of the Hashon, and people of the Hashon will travel to the islands to marry into each noble family. Through marriage and trade, our two peoples will be joined and ties of peace will replace bloodshed.”

  She listened, her heart pounding, as Boka passed on her message, as the white-robed translator spoke to the masked lords, and as the lords conferred. They spoke in a dull monotone. Jala wondered if they cared at all.

  They’re just trying to unnerve me. They want their book back. They’ll bargain for a while, but sooner or later they’ll have to say yes. She just wished they would hurry, before her heart exploded or she passed out or started screaming. What was taking so long?

  The voices stopped. Jala held her breath.

  Lord Mouth spoke a single word. “Osh.”

  Jala stared at their translator. The woman seemed surprised by their response, but when she spoke to the masked lords, Lord Mouth simply repeated himself. The translator punched her palm once, then slashed her hand sharply through the air. The answer was clear even without Boka’s help. “No. They refuse.”

  “Mountain’s piss,” Jala whispered to herself, feeling suddenly faint. What have I done? She opened her mouth to speak, but she had no words left. She had nothing.

  Lord Mouth was speaking again, but Boka wasn’t looking. Jala grabbed his shoulder and shook him, pointing at the translator.

  “You and your people will be treated as guests until the guestrite passes. Then you will be displayed, tortured, and killed. Blood . . . I think it’s blood, it’s hard to understand,” Boka stammered.

  “Tell me. You know what she’s saying,” Jala said, trying to keep her voice firm.

  Boka nodded and took a deep breath. “Blood pays for blood. I think that’s what she said. She could be lying to make us sorry we didn’t take her offer earlier. Who knows what they’re really saying? For all we know osh means yes.”

  Jala stared into the masked faces. She tried to keep her voice from shaking. “I don’t think she’s lying about their answer. Ask them what they want. Ask them how we can make peace. There must be something.”

  “I’ll try.” His speech and hand signaling was hesitant still, and he spoke with the translator for several minutes, clarifying what Jala wanted to say. When the translator was satisfied, she spoke in her own language to the masked lords.

  As they did, Jala stepped closer to Boka. “Do you need to sit down?”

  “No, my queen. I’ll finish.”

  Jala put a hand on Boka’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I brought you here, my friend. I truly am.”

  Boka shrugged off her hand. “You’ll be my queen until I’m dead, which shouldn’t be long now. But you’re not my friend.”

  This time it was Lord Stone who spoke, not Lord Mouth.

  “For ten days the river flowed red with blood,” Boka translated. “Many died to feed the magic, but you and your king still live. Your ships still sail the endless waters. The guilty must pay.”

  Then Lord Mouth spoke again. Jala didn’t bother listening to him. The meaning would filter through eventually. Why would they sacrifice so many to reclaim this book, this Anka, only to give it up again? Maybe it wasn’t what they wanted all along. Maybe revenge was all they cared about.

  “Give us the book,” Boka translated. “Then maybe we’ll show mercy. Perhaps the girl you brought doesn’t have to die. Perhaps we’ll let some of your people return home.”

  At least that would be something. The book’ll be lost in a few days anyway, and worthless. I could save Marjani. But for what? So that she could die in the next invasion? Well, if Lord Stone couldn’t be trusted, what about the translator? If that was a trick, it would have to be a pretty bad one to make their situation any worse.

  “Tell the translator I want to meet with her master. If they have a better offer, I’ll hear it.” She waved a hand at the masked lords. “Tell them I need time to think about their offer.”

  Boka started to sign, then stopped. He stood straighter. “No. I won’t say it. Just give them back their damned book. There’s still a chance they’ll let us go home that way, and that’s better than nothing.”

  “Haven’t you seen their ships?” Jala said. “Do you close your eyes every time you visit the Constant City? We’re fish trying to make peace with a killer whale. All of the Five-and-One are at stake. Your family, my family . . . do you want to live just to see them all die? Are you that much of a coward? Tell them.”

  Boka’s hands stayed at his sides. “What if this new offer never comes? Then what?”

  Jala shut her eyes. “Then I’ll give them the book. I swear it.”

  “Thank you, my queen,” Boka said, and he told them. “They say you have two hours to make your choice. And she says her master will meet with you soon.”

  Hashon soldiers led Jala back to her room. Marjani looked up from the bed, and her face fell as soon as she saw Jala. “They refused, didn’t they?”

  Jala nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She walked over to the bed and sat down beside her friend.

  Marjani took her hands. “You’re shaking.”

  “There’s still hope,” Jala said. “I think there is, anyway. The translator said someone else wanted the book, someone who might be willing to trade for it instead of the Hashon. There’s a chance that whoever she’s working for can get us out of here. It’s not much. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry I ever brought you here. It was so stupid of me. So stupid and selfish. Whatever happens, I promise I’ll try to keep you safe.”

  “Don’t be silly, I had to go. I didn’t know if you were ever coming back. But, seeing as we might be dead soon . . .” Marjani leaned forward and kissed Jala on the lips. She pulled
away before Jala had a chance to react. “Sorry. I wanted to do that, just one more time, before you went away to live on the First Isle. Before you got married. I wanted to the night we snuck out to go swimming, but I was scared.”

  “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Jala said. She poked Marjani’s arm. “Though I hope the thought of our impending death is a little scarier than the thought of kissing me.”

  “I’m still sorry,” Marjani said, and her smile was sad. “Azi should have been the last person to kiss you.”

  “Then I’ll do my best to make sure he is.”

  “I know,” Marjani said. She hugged Jala, not like someone who wanted to kiss her, but like someone who needed a friend. She wasn’t the only one. Jala hugged her back.

  “Did you hear that?” Marjani said, pulling away suddenly. “It sounds like . . . someone shouting. There it is again.”

  Jala listened. Marjani was right, someone was shouting. Are they coming to kill us after all? But the sound was coming from outside. Jala rose and walked over to the window. She peered out through the shutters, and for a long moment she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. There were flames, people running this way and that. One of the barges was on fire.

  “What’s happening?” Marjani asked.

  Before Jala could reply, a whistle cut through the shouts. A moment later, the nearest barge exploded, sending a ball of flame high into the air. The heat blasted Jala’s face, and she turned away, shielding her eyes.

  Marjani rushed to Jala’s side. “Are you all right?”

  Jala coughed and rubbed the tears out of her eyes. “I’m fine. Something is happening down on the streets. Some kind of riot, I think. There’s fighting, and some of their barges are on fire.”

  There was a scream somewhere outside their door, but it was cut off. “We have to block the door with something,” Jala said. “Help me push the bed.”

  But it was too late. The door swung open, and three figures entered the room, all of them wearing the white robes of the Hashon. All but one were stained with blood. Each of them held a long, curved knife, and Jala stared at the bloody steel for a moment before she could force her eyes up to their faces.

  She didn’t recognize the two men, but she knew the woman who stepped forward. It was the translator. She stuck the knife into her belt, then held up a mask decorated with blue waves.

  “Who are they?” Marjani asked, her voice so quiet it was almost inaudible.

  “Hope, I think,” Jala whispered. She craned her neck to see past the men. “Where’s Boka? Didn’t you bring him?” The two men in bloodstained robes just stared at her. Damn it, I should have had Boka teach me some of the trade language on the way. Why didn’t I think of that? She made exaggerated signing motions with her hands. “Boka! Why didn’t you bring Boka?”

  The translator slipped the mask on over her face. Suddenly she seemed to fill the room with her presence, and when she spoke her voice sounded stronger, deeper than the translator’s ever had. “I am Lord Water,” the woman said in the language of the Five-and-One Islands. “You will take us to the place where you hid the Anka, island queen.”

  “In exchange for what?” Jala asked.

  “For your lives,” Lord Water said. Who or what was Lord Water? Had the mask transformed the translator into something else through some kind of sorcery? Maybe the Hashon were so fixated on masks because they had power and magic. She didn’t know, but she knew the woman behind this mask wanted to make a deal. She’d asked for this meeting.

  The men behind Lord Water shifted, and Jala couldn’t help glancing at the knives they carried. “What about my people? Free them and I’ll give you the Anka.”

  “Some have already been freed. They will distract the misled while we make our escape. The rest will be released once I have taken the deceiver’s place. If you had remained in the lower palace, all might now be free. The lives lost today are on your hands, island queen. Do not delay and waste yet more.”

  “How do you know she’s telling the truth?” Marjani said, coming up behind Jala.

  “You can hear the chaos outside,” Lord Water said. “Lord Fire runs wild. This is the only chance you’ll have, island queen.”

  “And if I take you to the book, what then? What promise could you offer me that you’ll keep your word?”

  “None but that Lord Stone is my enemy, and once I have the book, he will fall. The city will be mine. It was Lord Stone who sent ships to kill your people. And it was your people that gave me this chance. I have no need, no desire, to make war on you. What other promise could I give?”

  Jala took a deep breath. This strange masked lord would help her because they had a shared enemy. That she could understand. “All right. You’ll have the book in exchange for my people’s safety and freedom. And we need the sorcerer, Askel. We can’t find the Anka without him.”

  “He will be waiting for us,” Lord Water said. She said something in the Hashon tongue to one of the men, then turned back to Jala. “There are few safe places in the city tonight. Your friend will stay behind with Sadiki. He will protect her until we return with the Anka.”

  “But I’m coming with you,” Marjani said.

  Jala reached for her friend’s hand and nodded. “I’m not leaving her behind.”

  Lord Water shrugged. “Then we don’t go. You have something of mine. I will keep something of yours until our deal is complete. A guarantee of good intentions.”

  “How can you ask me to leave my closest friend behind, alone, in a strange city, with a stranger?”

  “I’m not asking,” Lord Water said. “She will not be harmed so long as I return with the Anka.”

  Marjani squeezed Jala’s hand. “It’s okay. You’ll be back soon and we’ll all go home. The sooner you leave, the sooner we can get out of this place.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No. But it doesn’t sound like we have a choice.”

  Jala closed her eyes. Marjani was the only thing she had left. Marjani could get her through anything. Lord Water knew that. And she had something Lord Water needed. “If I don’t make it back, will you still honor our deal?”

  “As long as I have the Anka, our deal will stand. Now come. There is much to do, and the fire spreads quickly.”

  “Then let’s go.” She gave Marjani a quick hug.

  “You’ll be back,” Marjani said quietly. “And I’ll be fine. We both will.”

  Jala nodded, not trusting herself to say anything else. She couldn’t cry, not now. There would be time for crying tomorrow, when they were on their way home.

  Sadiki bowed and led Marjani away.

  Then Lord Water removed the mask, and the person standing before Jala seemed to shrink into herself. Jala couldn’t say how she sensed it, but she knew the woman was no longer Lord Water, no longer full of strange power and intensity. The translator drew her knife and waved for Jala to follow. Jala followed, with the bloodstained man close behind her. As they walked, quickly and silently, Jala heard more shouts, screams, and the screech and clang of steel. At one point a Hashon man half-dressed in armor stumbled into them, and the translator cut his throat. Watching him choke to death on his own blood, Jala gagged, but the bloodstained man pushed her onward.

  They went down a set of stairs, into the dungeon, then through a gate that had been left unlocked. The sound of running water was almost deafening. The river had to be nearby somewhere. The translator pressed her hand against the stone wall and felt around for a moment, then wedged her knife into one of the cracks. One of the stones came loose. She pulled it out and set it on the floor, then reached into the hole and pulled out a small tin lamp.

  The translator lit the oil, and the lamp gave off a small, weak light. The river flowed through a wide channel only a few feet away. The water churned against the stone walls, foaming as if in anger. Then the woman covered the lamp with her robes for a moment and flashed a signal. At the other end of the tunnel another light flashed.

  Along th
e walls on each side of the canal was a narrow walkway, barely wide enough for a single person to stand on, worn smooth by the river and covered in slime. They walked along it, hugging the walls, the small lamp lighting the way. Jala’s foot slipped and she almost fell in, but the man behind her caught her arm and yanked her back. The sound of rushing water swallowed her cry. She moved with extra care after that, but her heart was in her throat the entire time.

  Not long after that, the lamp went out. Jala felt a brief moment of panic, and then she saw the night sky ahead of her, full of moonlight and stars. Over the roaring water she thought she heard the neighing of horses.

  They were waiting outside the tunnel, six horses held by a man wearing robes so dark he blended into the night. He nodded once at the translator and disappeared into the shadows like he’d never been there at all. Askel sat, shivering, on a stone nearby. When he saw her, he smiled an ugly smile. “Hello, oh queen. Have you made your deal?”

  “Something like that,” Jala whispered, sitting down beside him and trying to catch her breath. The sorcerer looked thin and skeletal in the moonlight. She started to tell him what was going on, but then the bloodstained man said something to her and pointed at the horse.

  “I think they expect us to ride,” Askel said. “I tried to explain, but that one just kept threatening me with his knife.”

  Jala shook her head. “I can’t. I’m sorry, I don’t know how.”

  The translator was already on one of the horses. The woman motioned Jala over to her own horse, indicating she should sit behind her. One of men knelt in front of Jala and laced his hands together for her to use as a step.

  “I’ve never ridden one of these before,” Jala said nervously. The horse was looking sideways at her in what she was sure was a threatening way.

  The Hashon were growing impatient with her stalling.

  Jala glanced at the horse, then down at her dress. That wasn’t going to work. Before the kneeling man could stop her, she took his knife and cut her skirt down the center. Then she dropped the knife in the sand and put one foot in the man’s hands. The translator took her hand, and Jala felt herself lifted up. She swung one of her legs around the horse, tearing the dress further, and wrapped her arms around the other woman.