Jala's Mask (36 page)

“Who are we supposed to be protecting them from?” Azi asked.

“Islanders,” the old sailor said, with a laugh.

They left the next morning, just as Azi had wanted. The journey was a long one, strange and boring at the same time. They ate what they were given as payment, sparing their own limited supplies. When they talked among themselves, the merchants and other guards gave them strange looks, so they talked little.

For a while, the caravan drove them closer to their goal. But eventually they turned down a road that led away from Jala. Then Azi and the other sailors left in the middle of the night, taking some of the better food with them. No caravans wanted anything to do with a group of armed, road-spattered men and women, and none of the sailors knew enough of any common language to convince the caravans otherwise. They walked alone, the food supply slowly dwindling.

One night, they were attacked by bandits, men that looked even hungrier than they did. They fought in the night by the light of a dying fire, both sides shouting curses their enemy couldn't understand. Two sailors died and three bandits. The rest fled into the night.

“There's no water here, and we can't take them with us,” Azi said, looking down at the bodies of those who had died for him. “What do the mainlanders do with their dead?”

“Bury them in the ground,” the old sailor said. For all his talk of being old, he'd managed to escape the fight with only a shallow cut across his arm.

They didn't bury them. It didn't seem right for a sailor to be trapped in the earth. Overhead, birds were already circling, so they left the bodies there to be eaten. There was nothing else to do. The next morning, they pressed on.

Finally, Jala's severed finger led them to the great wide river the Bardo sailors had spoken of. They had no one who could speak the language here, but these people were sailors too, of a sort. Once they had made themselves understood, they managed to get work rowing on a barge heading up river.

They worked and ate and slept and stayed silent.

Sometimes as he rowed or laid on the deck watching the stars and waiting for sleep, Azi listened to the foreign language whispered around them. Most of it was meaningless, but a few words he thought he recognized. One of the words for water was close to the island word for fresh water. The word for palm was practically the same. Their word for rain was nearly the island word for a clear sky. Maybe the speaker had only meant to be sarcastic.

Azi had been to the mainland many times, but he'd never listened to the people there. Of course, mostly they yelled or screamed or cried.

Now, they talked and argued and laughed. The next time the river-sailors played one of their gambling games, he watched. The next night, they offered to let him play. He did, and laughing they won his dinner, his shirt, and his sword. The next night he won them all back, along with a few battered coins. They laughed at this, too, and shared their wine with him.

When they asked where he was from, he told them he was from the Constant City. He knew enough sailors' stories of the place to pass off as his own, but his attempts to tell them mostly led to mockery. His accent was thick, and he didn't know the words for simple things. But he told the stories anyway, gesturing and laughing with them, and whenever they understood what he was speaking of they taught him the Hashon word for it.

By the time they saw the city in the distance he was able to speak well enough to trade with some of the fishermen, and he turned his winnings into some rope and a hook, and then he paid the man to shave their hair with a clean, sharp knife so that they wouldn't stand out so much among the straight-haired Hashon.

They were close to her now. Azi could feel her nearness when he held the withered finger hooked around his own.

They entered the city among the fishermen and farmers and traders and travelers. In an alley behind a tavern, an old man drunk on wine Azi bought for him told stories about the palace. He'd been a rat-catcher, a kitchen boy, servant, now a gardener—or at least that's what Azi thought he said. His speech was slurred and it made him even harder to understand.

“Tell us—where—” Azi waved his hand in front of his face, trying to act out the word for mask. “Tell us where. A map.”

But the old man hardly seemed to be paying attention to them. “My favorite garden. Little, hiding in the corner. Why even build it? Lords never go there. But the island queen does. Her favorite goes there too, sits and looks up at the stars.”

“Island queen?” Azi asked, his heart suddenly beating so fast he could hardly breathe. “Where is the garden? Show me. Map.” Then Azi took the man's hand and pressed one of the last silver coins they had into it.

The old gardener stared at it for a moment as if not understanding, then he laughed and spoke words Azi didn't know and began to draw in the dirt.

They waited for a moonless night, when the streets were dark and the stars clear, then gathered in an alley across the street from the palace walls. Captain Darri was with him, and the old sailor, dressed in rags like a beggar so he could go unnoticed and act as lookout.

Every few minutes a pair of guards passed by the wall. Both wore tall helms with eyes painted on. They had long knives at their sides and clubs in their hands. One of them carried a torch. Azi had to turn away and shut his eyes to keep from being blinded and losing his night vision.

Azi waited for the guards to pass several times, counting the seconds between rounds, letting them settle into the night's routine and hoping Jala hadn't come and gone already. Finally, as the torchlight disappeared around a corner, Azi and Darri ran to the wall. Azi threw the hook up. It scraped against the top of the palace walls, then fell back down with a crack. They stood still, breathless, but no one came running.

Darri counted softly under her breath. “Forty-five. Fifty. Fifty-five.” Azi threw again. It held for just a moment, but when he tried to pull himself up it slipped.

“Back!” Darri hissed.

Azi gathered up the rope as quickly as he could, then together they ran back to the alley and waited for the guards to pass once more. This time when Azi threw the hook it caught the first time and held his weight. There were iron spikes at the top of the wall, but they seemed to be more decorative than anything else. Azi ducked and waited for Darri to climb up after him. Then he pulled up the rope and tossed it to the ground on the other side. It landed with a soft thump just as the light from the guards' torch appeared again.

Azi quickly slid down off the wall, catching himself with his fingertips for just a moment before letting go entirely. His hands and feet slid over the stone, and then he hit the ground and rolled. The ground was soft here, but the fall still winded him.

When he could breathe again, his nose filled with an overpoweringly sweet scent. A flower garden, just like the old man had said. He was in the right place. It was a small nook, half the length of a grayship and just as wide. At one end was a plain wooden door. Flickering yellow light seeped out from between the door and the frame.

Darri was already by the door, listening, a knife in her hand just in case. Of course, if she had to use it, the whole thing was almost certainly lost. Even if they managed to kill a guard without him shouting, they had no way to hide a body. But no guards came. In the thin light Azi managed to make out the shape of a tree. It was shorter than the palm trees of the island but was covered in thick leaves.

Azi climbed up into the tree, high enough that it would be hard to see him from the doorway. Captain Darri followed after him and found her own branch.

They waited, perched awkwardly, trying not to cause too much rustling.

Azi held the severed finger in his hand. The pull was strong here, but he couldn't tell if it was coming any closer or not. He hoped she hadn't picked this day to skip visiting the garden, that she hadn't felt ill or gone to sleep early. He'd go looking for her if she didn't come, though he had no idea how he'd avoid being found out then. But it had always been a fool's plan.

He was halfway to falling asleep when the door opened and light spilled out into the garden. He blinked at the two shapes—a woman in a guard's helm, holding a lantern and armed with the same long knife as the guards outside. And beside her . . . was a girl that wasn't Jala. His fingers dug into the bark of the tree. He felt like screaming. So close!

“I will wait here for you, little queen,” the guard said, bowing her head slightly.

“I'm not a queen,” the girl said in Azi's tongue. “And it's stupid to guard me like a prisoner when Jala could send me home any time I want.”

Then Azi remembered. Of course it had to be Marjani, Jala's friend, the one who'd stayed behind with Jala. He'd met her, spoken to her a little. He remembered the way Jala's face had lit up, like a beam of light after a storm, when she was with her friend. He felt stupid for not recognizing her sooner, selfish for being angry that it had been her and not Jala walking through the door.

The guard looked at Marjani patiently and clearly had no idea what Marjani had said.

Marjani sighed loudly. “Thank you,” she said in very broken Hashon, then shut the door in the guard's face. She stood for a moment, staring at the door and breathing slowly. Then she turned around and walked over to the bench. She sat down and looked up at the sky.

“I see you up there,” she said. “So either the king of the Five-and-One Islands suddenly fell from the sky . . . or I've lost my mind. I suppose you could also be some kind of demon, but you're not wearing a mask, and that seems to be how they do things around here.”

It took Azi a moment to find his voice again. “I'm real,” he whispered. “I'm here for Jala. And you, of course. I'd come down and prove I'm real but . . .” He pointed toward the door.

“Don't worry about the guard,” Marjani said. “She's used to me talking to myself out here. I tell myself Bardo stories so I don't forget them. Anyway, she leaves me alone when I'm out here or in my room, so it's safe for you to come down.” She looked away again and up at the stars burning bright above them. “But I understand if you don't. It's not even like I mind so much that I'm seeing things, because at least it feels like there's someone here to talk to.”

Captain Darri shifted slightly on her branch. “You're starting to make me wonder if he's real,” she said softly. Marjani started at the new voice, then found the source and laughed. “Beautiful women are falling from the sky too? Now I know this is a dream. I must have fallen asleep outside. I hope I don't wake up too soon.”

Darri's mouth twitched as though she might smile. “My king, I think you better prove to her that you're real, and that she's finally going home,” she said lightly. But she looked at Azi, and he heard the words Darri wasn't saying. Marjani was barely holding it together.

Azi dropped down as quietly as he could next to the bench. He froze and stared at the door. When he turned to look, Marjani was staring at him, her hands holding tight to the bench.

Azi held out his arm, and slowly, tentatively she reached out and touched him. Her finger was cool against his skin. She stared at the point where it pressed into his arm.

“You are real,” she said calmly.

“I'm sorry I couldn't be here sooner,” Azi said. “Where's Jala?”

Marjani pulled her hand away, and then she threw her arms around him and held him tightly. “You came for her,” she said. “I didn't think anyone would ever come. I thought we were alone.”

Azi wrapped his arms around Marjani and hugged her back. “And you stayed for her. Thank you. I won't forget you did this.”

Marjani sighed and pulled away. “Thanks, but I don't know if it helped. She's gotten so . . . quiet. She hardly ever takes the mask off now, and when she does, it's like she's not even there. Like she's getting smaller and smaller to make space for Lord Water. She thought that you'd abandoned her.”

Captain Darri had climbed down from the tree to stand beside them. “You will see her again, yes? Tell her he's come, bring her here, and leave the guards. We have rope. We'll leave the same way we came in.”

Marjani shook her head. “I don't think she'll believe me. She hears things. Or at least, Lord Water lets her hear things. She heard you talking to that other girl, telling her you love her and you'll make her queen.”

“What? I never said that,” Azi hissed.

“It's what she heard, and it's what she believes. She needs to see you when she isn't wearing the mask.” Marjani tapped her fingers against her temple. “When Lord Water isn't navigating.”

“She must take it off when she sleeps,” Azi said. “Maybe . . . maybe we can sneak through the palace and get to her now.”

But Marjani was shaking her head. “She's surrounded by guards most of the time. And . . . I don't think she sleeps much anymore. Or maybe she sleeps all the time, while she's wearing the mask. It's like she's sleepwalking.” Marjani shook her head again. It was like she was trying to drive out weeks of fear, of watching her friend slip away from her. A moment ago Azi hadn't imagined there was anything worse than his slow, plodding trip across the mainland, not knowing what he'd find at the end . . . but now he thought maybe he'd been lucky. He'd had the finger. He'd had some hope.

“I'll fight through every guard in the palace if I have to,” Azi said. He smiled grimly. “But I don't think I'd make it very far.”

“My king, I won't risk my life or my crew unless there's at least some chance,” Captain Darri said softly. “There must be some way to get you into the queen's presence. Some chance, however slim.”

Marjani closed her eyes and nodded. “We still eat together, whenever she remembers to eat. The guards wait outside. She hardly eats nowadays, but when I urge her . . . she has to take off her mask to eat. All we have to do is get you in there. All we have to do is make everyone think you're me.”