Derry treated him as a brother. They fished together when not busy with their craft, and Elu assisted Londu with her household duties, having become intimately familiar with them while in the service of the maskmaker. It surprised him how quickly his friendship with the pair grew, and he often found himself in deep conversation with the wizard as they waited for the fish to swim near enough to spear.
“Did your master teach you much lore?” said Derry, standing poised, motionless on a rock in the middle of the stream.
“Some. Mostly of maskmaking, and little of legend and myth. Did yours?”
“Quite a bit. A wizard’s trade is mostly in the great stories, anyhow. Why waste your power on spells when you can spellbind your audience with the great tales of bravery and heroes?” He laughed easily, and Elu joined him.
“Tell me of them, then,” said Elu, balancing on his own rock, staring intently at the water.
Derry paused momentarily, then began the tale of Coron Indibar the enchanter, the wyvern tamer, his voice dropping in tone and becoming more solemn.
“He was the chief wizard of the highest house of the land of Varnor, in the time when the countryside was beset with wyverns, which had fled the destruction of their own land far in the northeast, over sea and mountain. The king commanded Coron to stop them at all costs, promising Coron half the kingdom if he found success. He judged ruling half a kingdom better than losing a whole one, for the wyverns attacked the people mercilessly and the blood of his armies ran freely, they being powerless against the infernal beasts.”
“Coron, realizing he could no more slay one wyvern than he could slay fifty, began weaving a spell of enchantment to ensnare but one of them. No wizard had ever enchanted a wyvern before for wyverns are creatures of great power that wear a living mask. If a wyvern were to be unmasked before a mortal man, he would shrivel into ashes within moments, so incontestably powerful and brilliant is the true spirit of a wyvern.”
“But Coron chanted night and day, for three days, unceasingly, drawing the spirits of the earth into himself, channeling their power through his art and mask, and when a wyvern passed too near, he ensnared it. He forced his will upon the creature and made it his own, causing it to do his bidding, as he desired it. It struggled mightily for a time, but Coron proved to be too powerful: finally the beast submitted to his will, and so Coron earned the name Indibar, the wyvern master.”
“He mounted the wyvern, and flew straight at the other passing beasts, forcing his own to spew fire and embers at them and conjuring the illusion of an army of a hundred more wizards mounted on wyverns rallying behind him, and they pursued the host of the wyverns back to the ocean where they flew into the east, not to be seen again in Terremar for hundreds of years—”
Derry jabbed at a fish in the water, spearing it through the gut and raising it triumphantly over his head.
“Can you show me better, friend?” he challenged Elu.
“I’ll show you far better than that.”
Elu concentrated on the water below him, and asked, “And the wizard, Coron, did he receive half the kingdom? Was the king true to his word?”
“Alas, no. The king was treacherous, and paid another wizard to break the enchantment over the wyvern, even as Coron returned home triumphantly from the chase. Then a true battle began, the likes of which has not been seen in the world since the ancient times. Still riding atop the wyvern, Coron sensed it passing out of his control and he leaped from the beast, transforming himself into a great eagle. They tangled in the air, caught together in wind and war for days, and when the two fell from the sky injured and bleeding, he changed back to the form of a man and fought the beast on land too, wielding a sword he gathered up from a fallen soldier. The sword danced with fire and magic, fracturing the wyvern’s armor and tearing open mortal wounds. And alas for both the wyvern and the wizard, Coron struck the beast’s face, and through the wound, a portion of its true essence shone forth, stunning Coron to the point of motionlessness as he sank into a stupor. The beast lurched to and fro but soon collapsed dead, killing Coron as it fell, and the two lay there lifeless, a wonder to behold for all the people who gathered near to see the outcome of the great battle in the sky.
“The wizard’s body was demasked and carried to the tomb of the kings below the great city of Akalei where he was laid to rest among the most honored kings of old. His mask, infused with power from the essence of the wyvern and hallowed by the king’s master maskmaker was hidden deep within the tomb, for the king feared that others would steal it and have power over him. And the sword that slew the wyvern was placed over the throne, so that all approaching the king would know of his greatness and remember him as the great deliverer that drove the wyverns out of the land.
“But his pride proved to be too much, for the spirit of Coron Indibar, before he left for that other world caused the fasteners holding the sword aloft to weaken, and it fell, cutting the king asunder in front of the court, and all took it as an evil omen. His line failed and was replaced by a new line of kings who ruled more wisely than he.” Derry paused, deep in thought. “For a time, at least.”
For a time. After which they most assuredly succumbed to the temptation of absolute power. Such was the story of all men in the tales Elu had heard.
“In all the lore your master taught you, did he ever mention of the Terror?” asked Derry.
Elu started, and nearly fell off his rock. He could not speak. Derry could not know of Thora. How could he? He must not let him know of what happened. Surely his new friends would shun him if they found out.
“He mentioned it once. Towards the end of his life,” he added. “But he did not get the chance to tell me the tale in full.”
“Oh, I only know pieces of it. I just thought you might since it is mask lore. I am eager to learn more. Will you tell me?”
Elu hesitated. “I’d rather not. Maybe some other time.”
Derry cast a sidelong glance at him as he swayed on his rock, then, losing his balance, he tumbled into the water.
Elu laughed. “It appears the sorcerer needs to practice his balancing spells.”
Derry splashed water onto Elu as he emerged from the stream and climbed the bank. They lay among the tak-weed in the warm sun to dry off, and Elu could feel the free spirits of the weed sing to his mask. They were wild and stubborn, but adventurous and rather shy. He thought they might make a fine addition to an adventurer’s mask, for the right bearer. The thoughts of tak-weed drew his mind to Thora and her girl-child’s mask, and Elu, hoping to ensure the subject did not return to the Terror, began another tale.
“Surely you’ve heard the story of Eldrin and the making of the earth and sky?”
Derry nodded, “Of course, from my master, yes. But I’ve never heard a maskmaker tell it. Do go on.”
Elu cleared his throat. “The sky was dark, and the earth void and empty. Formless. Shapeless. Then, the highest god of all the gods came down from that other world, the world of deathless light, and saw the void. He wanted another world, like his own—filled with light and wonder—and so he spoke the first words of power, and the sky became light—filled with his power and spirit. The entire sky was one continuous fiery curtain. He spoke other words of power and the shapeless, formless earth became intricate and jagged, full of mountains, hills, rocks, and valleys.”
“But both the sky and the earth were barren. No life came to inhabit the earth and the highest god of gods became concerned, worried that his wondrous creation might be wasted. So he called forth two of the spirits of man, the two most potent, powerful spirits of man. Eldrin the first, and Sipora, his companion.
“The highest god of gods placed them on the earth and they very nearly died, for the heat and power of the sky scorched their skin and burned their eyes. But before they succumbed, Eldrin uttered new words of power, words not given him by the highest god, but by another spirit that had found its way into the new world—a foreign spirit that knew not the highest god but sought to dest
roy all his work and hide his glory. With the words given him by the malevolent spirit, Eldrin reached toward the pure light of the sky the highest god placed there and he masked it. The mask covered the light and a great darkness fell over the land. But he didn’t cover all, for Eldrin, being the wisest of all the spirits of men, left holes for a portion of the pure light to descend upon the heads of his children. The largest hole he called the sun, the smallest pinpricks he named the stars, and a third hole, a restless one that continually changed according to the days and the seasons, he called the moon. And thus Eldrin frustrated the plans of that spirit of malice, using the evil words of power for good.”
“Sipora, seeing the earth about her feet, thought it unattractive and ugly, being but a dull mass of dirt and rocks. Another spirit from the other world found its way to her, this one the companion of the highest god of gods who saw the mischief in the malevolent spirit’s face, and whispered other words of power in Sipora’s ear. She spoke them, and with their power wove a fabric of life that masked the barren earth, adding to it and beautifying it, forming lakes and streams and trees and birds….”
He trailed off, distracted by the billowing clouds sailing overhead. He found shapes there that showed the story as he told it.
Derry grunted. “It is different coming from a maskmaker. My master always simply said that Eldrin spoke words of power from our craft and created the sun and the moon, and that Sipora, the first witch, formed all life by the power of her magic. Nothing about masks.”
“That is to remind us of our own masks. As Eldrin masked the sky to shield its true power from our mortal eyes, so we must mask our true selves from each other. Just as the unmasked wyvern could kill a mortal man with its unconstrained glory, so is it dangerous to behold each other unfiltered, uncovered. And just as Sipora masked the earth to give it variety and glory and beauty, so do our masks add to us, to give us power and variety and beauty.”
Derry considered this, and nodded his approval at the wisdom shared. The sun neared its setting and the two young men gathered their fish and spears and joined Londu in the house where she had prepared refreshment for them.
The next day, Irwo, a widow homeweaver came to Elu with her mask, seeking repair.
“All in my house has come to naught since I had it fixed last time by Karna. My children fall ill constantly. The roof springs leaks with every rain….”
Elu decided to go have a look at this Karna for himself and confront him in his deception. Did this man not have any understanding of the forces with which he trifled so arrogantly, having no knowledge of the harm he could bring to others, and himself? If not, Elu would teach him.
He found Karna in the inn, a half-empty basin of beer in front of him on the table. A middle aged man, he appeared still older than his years, and feeble, as if those years had not been kind. But the maskmaker’s mask on his face was unmistakable. Newer than Goshorn’s, this one had not so many stones and jewels adorning it but still looked lordly and elegant. But, still wearing his apprentice mask, Elu saw through the deception. With the eyes of his craft he saw rot. The spirits within it railed against the wearer, appearing twisted and angry to Elu. The man’s eyes, unfocused in his drunkenness, reeked to Elu of desperation and pride.
“Karna!” he sternly addressed the man, though he was surely less than half his age. “I am the maskmaker of this town. What possesses you to continue in your deceptions? Why do you usurp a mask unfit for you?”
The man sneered. “Usurp? Ha! It’s mine by right.” He tilted the mask aside and gulped more beer. Wiping his mouth, and plainly under the influence of the beer’s spirits, he went on. “And who are you to do anything about it? The magistrate gave me this mask. It is mine and I will do with it as I please! Leave me!”
Elu spoke sternly. “I will not. And you will learn one way or another.” He spoke with power, and he found the words were not quite his own, nor was the chant that now came from his lips, nor did he understand the unnatural light that now began to shine from the man’s ill-gotten mask. Elu could feel the heat coming from it, and for a moment he feared that the Terror had returned. He looked left and right, but realized that the power gripping the man’s mask came from his own.
Karna fell from his chair and screamed, ripping it from his face, revealing cheeks ravaged by pox and disease and unforgiving time. His sunken eyes and curled lips trembled, and he covered his face in shame before the youth standing over him.
“What have you done?” the old man said, sobbing into his hands.
“Setting things right,” Elu replied, picking up the mask where it had dropped.
“How shall I make my living? What will I eat? I’ll wander the streets, as I did for years before this mask.”
“A better life than what awaited you had you continued to abuse this mask. For as you misused it, it misused you, and you would have become a shadow of a man.” He looked sidelong at him. “More of a shadow than now, I should say.” Elu’s disgust grew as the man’s weeping grew louder.
Karna stumbled to his feet and fled from the inn with his face still covered by his hands, and Elu did not see where he went for the mask now in his hands held him entranced. He knew at once it was his. The spirits greeted him as an old friend, and those in his apprentice’s mask bade him farewell, as if they knew their time together now came to an end.
Hastening to the stream flowing past Derry and Londu’s house, he immersed it once, letting it linger in the water to remove all traces of its previous bearer, and brought it out, fresh and reborn, ready to resume its life’s work. Derry remarked as he returned to the house, “Tis almost a mask of power indeed!” for the mask nearly shone as he presented it to his friends. He turned his back to them and replaced the apprentice’s mask with that of the maskmaker, and straightaway felt the difference within it and himself.
He was older. Wiser. These spirits were more potent and the elements and materials of maskmaking would respond in kind. He foresaw with glee the masks he could make—oh! The masks he would make! What new forms and shapes might follow? What new wood, new metal, bones, stones, and feathers might he combine together, materials that had never been joined together before in endless combinations?
And in that instant also, a terrible unease overshadowed him. He turned left and right looking for anything amiss but nothing appeared out of place. Did he leave the mask in the water long enough?
He lay down on his bed but presently a cry in the night awakened him. Londu, often prone to nightmares, called out to her husband who comforted her, and she soon stopped screaming but continued to moan and the two shared worried whispers.
Elu slept little after that for his dreams too turned dark and unsettled. Nameless fears called out to him from dark corners in his mind and he awoke several more times in a cold sweat, absolutely sure he had just heard voices calling him in his sleep, but upon waking he found the room cold and still.
Just before dawn Londu awoke again but Derry could not console her, and even his voice sounded disturbed to Elu. Their talking became more heated, and one of them conjured a magelight, which brightly illuminated the two rooms of the small house.
The unease of his dreams now stayed with him in a waking nightmare. He could not fathom why, but his neck hairs rose, tingling, and dread thoughts filled him. Had she found him? What would she do to him? He arose from his bed and stepped into the other room, seeing the frightened couple sitting upright on the bed holding each other.
“Elu! What is this dread fear that has overtaken us?” said Derry.
Elu looked at Londu, who quivered in her husband’s arms. What would the Terror do to his new friends? He had no master here to protect them. No master to know what to do. Was the Terror even here?
“I do not know,” he murmured. But he knew. He was sure now. He stepped to the door and opened it.
Thora, the Terror, stood still as a statue on the hill not fifty paces from the house.
Chapter VII
The Guardian
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br /> AT FIRST SHE DID NOT move. He was not sure why, but her inaction terrified Elu more than the uncertainty of her presence moments ago.
“Who is it?” whispered Derry in his ear.
“The Terror.”
Both Elu and Derry looked back at Londu, who had answered the question.
“The Terror has come. My nightmares have come to pass. I … I …”
“She is right. It is the Terror and we must leave,” said Elu in a rush.
Derry shook his head. “Leave? No. I am a mage and my mask is one of power. As is Londu’s—she possesses greater potency of magic than I. And you! I perceive that you have no small power yourself. If it is so terrible, then should we not stop it?”
Elu shook his head, keeping his eyes fixed on the unmoving form of his childhood friend, now possessed by an ancient spirit of malice. “This power is greater than us. It is an ancient evil, in an ancient mask. A mask of legend. The mask of Terror. I … I unleashed it months ago and now it has found me. I will run and try to draw it towards me. I think it is me she wants. You take Londu and run when you can.”
“You never told us any of this,” whispered Derry.
“I know. I am sorry. I was ashamed. But there is no time now. Derry,” he gripped his friend’s arm in his hand, “you have been a good friend. Thank you. I will never forget you and Londu.” Elu made to leave the house, but Derry yanked him back and threw him towards the bed.
“You are right. You will never forget us. Especially not after what you’re about to see,” he said with a wide grin visible on each side of his now transformed wizard’s mask, which flamed as with the heat of a blacksmith’s forge. His eyes began to smolder red as he nodded once to Elu, and he turned and ran towards the Terror who still stood motionless on the hill.
“No!” said Elu, but Derry ran quickly and was halfway up the hill before Elu could even cross the room to the door. He watched as the young wizard raised his arm as he ran, chanting something in a loud, confident voice, and the magic flames rising from his mask leapt higher. His fist transformed into a ball of fire, and he threw it. It sailed through the air over the steps remaining between him and the Terror, growing quickly as it flew, until just an arm’s length from the unmoving figure it halted suddenly, colliding with an unseen wall. It burned brighter and brighter, searing the grass below with intense heat before dying to a whimpering flicker, and then extinguished completely.
FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy Page 268