Jala's Mask (33 page)

Some rose again to follow her. Some remained on the bank, crying fitfully. Some drowned rather than feel the burns again, and their sacrifice gave her strength. For an hour, for two hours she walked through the city, collecting the people who were not yet too burned to follow her.

“Lord Stone has done this to you. Lord Stone will break,” she cried, and the people cheered for her. A madness filled them still, Jala thought from the small place in her mind, but not the kind that burned.

Palace guards stood to block her path, but when they saw her and saw the Anka, they lowered their weapons and stepped aside.

Jala heard the voices of the other masked lords as she walked through the palace, carried on the waters of the Hashana that flowed through the walls and beneath their feet.

“He is here,” said Lord Near, the Close Seer. “He carries the Anka.”

She was remembering things she'd never known. The names of the masked Hashon lords, their voices and their domains. She tried to tell herself it was Lord Water's knowledge filling her head, but she felt as if she had always known these lords and this place.

“He wears down the mountain,” said Lord Far, the Distant Seer. “He puts out the flame.”

She'd known they would see her. But it didn't matter. Let Lord Stone see her coming now that it was too late.

“The red poison spreads far and wide, and the living ships no longer hear their heartsong,” said Lord Empty-Face, the Never Seer, who only saw things that had not happened yet and might not happen ever. “The great fire stirs in its sleep, awakened by the silence, and the islands burn. The leviathan lifts his bulk, and the god-waves break on stone and shore. The king takes a new queen, and the old burns in the desert.”

Lord Never Seer's words were about the islands, about her home. What if something terrible was going to happen? What if it had already happened? What did he mean about the king and a new queen? But the islands were far away, and small. She didn't need them now that she had the Anka. Jala held it out before her, and though she had brought only a few of her followers with her, the palace guards let her pass. She was Lord Water. They saw her and they believed. Only the fire and Lord Stone would dare touch her now. But water had put out the fire, and water would wear down the stone.

When she reached the secret room where the seven Hashon lords met, she waved a hand, motioning her people to wait. She went in alone.

The room was lit only by a single lamp, with seven shadowed alcoves where the masks were sometimes kept when their vessels succumbed to the weaknesses of living flesh. Lord Stone stood behind the lamp, waiting for her. The three Seers stood on either side of him, Near and Far on his left, Empty-Face on his right.

“You choose a strange vessel,” Lord Stone said softly.

Jala laughed. “The river does not always run straight. The fire almost took me and the Anka, but the fates are, as always, on my side.”

“This isn't fate,” Lord Stone said. “Your puppets stole the Anka. You woke the fire. You almost destroyed the Anka, the people, and yourself.”

“That's not the story the people will tell,” she said softly. “I didn't steal the Anka but brought it back to its rightful place. I will bring healing where you brought only death and flames. Your people have abandoned you.”

She reached over the lamp and grabbed Lord Stone's mask with both hands. She pulled. It was like trying to break a boulder with her bare hand. Like trying to pull up the root of the mountain. But even the largest boulder can be moved by flowing water, even the deepest mountain roots eaten away by hidden lakes and streams. Cracks formed on the mask's surface. Lord Stone grasped her wrists, but there was no holding on to water. The man behind the mask screamed.

Slowly, slowly the mask came free. The man fell to the floor, sobbing and gasping for breath. The air around the mask hummed.

“Go back to your mountain,” she whispered. “Flee back to your holy city. I will tend to the heart of the people.”

Jala took the mask in both hands and broke it with a resounding
crack!
Splinters rained down on the stone floor at her feet. The broken man touched what was left of his mask, of his god, and sobbed.

Jala reached out and drew a knife from the belt of a nearby soldier. She knelt beside the man and held the knife out to him. “You may follow him, if you think he'll have you.”

Tears streamed down the man's face, and he shut his eyes. With a trembling hand he took the knife and cut his own throat.

It started as a single shout when a Kayet sailor found the guards in the cellar bleeding and unconscious, and from there the commotion spread through the entire manor and out into the nearby villages.

Lord Mosi had escaped.

From his window, Azi could see lamps and torches bobbing in the distance as they searched the beach, the forest, and the villages for signs of Jala's father.

Azi belted on his sword and knife, then reached up and pulled the King's Earring out of his ear. He set it down on the table and walked out without looking back. He'd had everything ready for a few days now. All he'd needed was the right time to slip away, and this distraction was too good an opportunity to pass up. By the time his uncle realized he was gone, they'd be too far away for any other ship to catch them.

Nobody paid much attention to him as he made his way through the manor and out onto the beach. The grayships were lined up along the shore. The ship he meant to take was at the far end, as far away from the bonfires and merriment that accompanied a new raiding season as possible.

Azi looked around and spotted Captain Darri. He touched the woman's shoulder then leaned in to whisper. “We're going. Gather your sailors.”

It wouldn't take long. They were only taking ten sailors, just enough to get Azi to the Constant City. The trade fleets would be there. He'd borrow one of the traders to translate for him. Surely there was some news of Jala. Any news. He had to know for sure. After that . . . well, after that he'd figure out what to do.

For her, Uncle, I'd throw away not just a throne but my life. It's no less than she's done for me.

Azi reached Darri's ship and climbed aboard, landing on the deck with a dull thud. He knew everything was ready, but he couldn't help checking anyway, just to have something to do. He was too anxious to just sit.

Something moved on the deck. He squinted, trying to make his eyes readjust to the darkness, when the sharp point of a knife dug into his back and an arm snaked around his neck. “Make a noise and you die,” someone whispered in his ear.

Four men rose from the shadows. “Dry hells. What do we do with him?” one of them hissed.

“Just give him a tap on the head and dump him in the brush,” another said.

“It's too risky. We need to push off before someone realizes what's going on.”

“Greetings, my king,” the fourth one said, coming closer. He was a thin man, his hair unkempt and his eyes wild in the moonlight. But Azi recognized the voice. It was Lord Mosi. “You know, when my friends here freed me, I'd wanted to find you and your uncle. They convinced me it wouldn't be wise. I let myself be content simply to take this ship, so conveniently placed away from all those lights. But it looks like I'll be able to kill you after all. How nice for me.”

The other men glanced at each other. “My lord, we don't want any killing. And this is the king. Freeing you is one thing, but killing a king is war.”

“Don't think of it as killing a king,” Lord Mosi said. “Think of it as killing the man who stole my daughter from me. Who made her betray her own father, her own family, and then threw her away to die on the mainland.” He reached out and took the knife, then held it against Azi's throat.

“Wait,” Azi tried to say, but the moment he opened his mouth he felt the blade bite into his skin.

“Quietly, my king,” Lord Mosi whispered. “Speak your last words quietly, so I don't have to interrupt them.”

“As if I could make Jala do anything,” Azi said. “She gave you the choice to back down, and you spat in her face. You made her choose between being herself and being nothing but your mouthpiece. What was she supposed to do?”

“She was supposed to choose to be my daughter,” Lord Mosi growled. “She was supposed to choose her family.”

“You could have chosen your family,” Azi said softly. “And you made the same choice she did.”

Lord Mosi glared at him, then shrugged. “Maybe you're right. She turned out stronger than I thought. You, on the other hand . . .”

Azi's heart raced. Where was Darri? He had to buy some time. “Fight me,” he said. “Kill me honorably, in the wind-dance, like a man instead of a murderer.”

Lord Mosi stared at him. At any moment Azi expected to feel the knife cut out his throat. But Mosi smiled. “I accept, my king. But know that if you make a single sound, my men will kill you.”

Azi nodded slowly. Lord Mosi pulled the knife away from his throat, and the man behind Azi stepped back into the shadows.

“Give us a beat, my friends.”

The men glanced at each other. Then one of them began to slap the bulwark lightly with the palm of his hands. The rest did likewise.

“It's been a long time since I danced the wind-dance to the death,” Lord Mosi said as he took off his robe and jumped over the side of the ship, landing lightly and immediately moving to the soft beat.

Azi took off his sword and knife and held it out for the man behind him to take, then stripped down as well. In the days before steel from the mainland became a man's weapon, nobles settled their scores inside a ring of chalk or sand. But that was a long time ago. When could Mosi have possibly fought to the death?

As he climbed down, he wondered if he could make it if he ran. The man with the knife jumped down after him and stood tensely, tossing the knife from one hand to the other. How well could he throw that knife?
Just stall him until Darri gets here. It's the only way you'll be able to find Jala again.

He dropped his center down and began to let the rhythm move his arms and legs. They circled one another. He could only see Lord Mosi as a moonlit outline, arms moving back and forth, feet sliding across the sand.

Then Lord Mosi jumped and kicked. Azi flung himself back, then spun into a kick, but Mosi had already moved aside. Another kick, another dodge. The man was too fast. His hard, wiry muscles were taut, and his face was lit up with bloodlust. He looked ten years younger, and far more dangerous. When they'd danced together the night he met Jala, it had been performance, but this was something else entirely. Lord Mosi danced closer to him, almost seeming to mock him. Then Azi saw an opening. He spun and kicked, expecting his foot to connect with the side of Mosi's head. Instead, his foot swished through empty air, and Mosi's foot caught him in his calf.

He fell onto his back, the wind knocked out of him. The stars came into focus, and he rolled, just managing to avoid Lord Mosi's heel as it came down hard in the place his head had occupied only a moment before. As Azi rolled to face the sky again, sand hit him in the face, blinding him. He scrambled up again, spitting sand, spinning round and round trying to find Lord Mosi.

It was no use. He couldn't win this fight. He stopped and forced air into his lungs. “I didn't throw her away,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “She wanted to go. I'm going to find her. She has to be somewhere out there.”

Lord Mosi danced in front of him but didn't attack. “You're king. You can't just leave your throne. Your uncle would never allow it.”

“My uncle can rule if he wants,” Azi whispered. “I'm going to find Jala.”

Lord Mosi stared at him, then turned his head sharply as though he'd heard something. “Tell your friends to stop where they are.”

Azi held up a hand. “Wait,” he cried as loud as he could manage. He risked a glance back. “My crew. Just enough to get me to the Constant City. If you love her, if you ever loved her, let me go and try to bring her home.”

Lord Mosi stopped, then. He laughed. “Mountain's piss, I never thought she'd have that kind of fire in her. I thought . . . well, I thought a lot of things that don't matter anymore. Lord Mosi is dead now. But he did love her once, even before he imagined that she might be queen.” He gestured at the men up on the ship. Azi heard soft thuds as they jumped down. “Board your ship, Azi of the Kayet. Bring her back if you can.” Then Lord Mosi turned and ran lightly across the sand, vanishing into the night.

“What was that about?” Darri asked.

Azi shook his head. “It doesn't matter. Let's hurry and push off before anyone wonders what we're doing.”