Stories - 7

We drove in silence for what seemed like hours. I kept waiting for her to say something, but she stared straight ahead, clucking at the oxen occasionally to keep them from straying after the lush grass that lined the road. Finally, my curiosity got the best of me. “What’s he doing?”
“Do you know what a Mask is?”
“Of course.”
“So?”
“The Masks are Mora’s servants. They are the keepers of secrets. They can speak to each other’s minds across the Reia and the Weald, and they speak in a language that no one else can understand.”
She giggled. “That’s what they want you to think, anyway.”
I huffed. I didn’t like having a girl laugh at me. “So what do they do?”
“You’re mostly right. They are Mora’s servants, at least most of them. Some of them serve silver drachms more than they serve Mora. They are the keepers of secrets, and the oracles of Mora, but they can’t actually speak to each other’s minds. They have trained pigeons that carry their messages. One of their pigeons can fly from Aster to Norwood in three days. The messages that the birds carry are written in the language of the Masks. I’ve heard people say that once upon a time, some Masks could speak the language, but that time is gone. Now, it’s only a written language, and even that is hard to read.”
“Oh.” I knew that she was trying to answer my question, but I still wasn’t making the connection. “So, what’s he doing?”
Her exasperated sigh told me that she thought the answer was obvious. “He’s reading, or trying to read. And he’s probably writing a response, too.”
Once the silence was broken, talking became easier. As Sal rowed the sun toward its resting place, she told me about the birds, how they were trained, and what I would have to do as the Mask’s bird keeper.
“Why doesn’t he have you do it?”
She greeted my question with a long silence, and a wistful smile. “It’s different in the city.” Gesturing toward the trees of the Weald, she continued. “Out here, and in the villages, men and women work together. Nobody gives me a second glance, or even a second thought if I’m helping my father. In the cities, though, I can’t be seen helping with things like this. It would be unseemly.”
“So, what do you do in the city?” In my mind, a city was just a big village. I couldn’t imagine a place where women weren’t out helping the men with the crops or the herds.
“I sew, I read, I clean our house, and I prepare our meals.”
“What about your mother?”
“She died a long time ago. I don’t really remember her.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Her smile in return was sad. I looked away, staring into the shadows.
In my mind, I relived the moment when Mora’s thread had turned my life. The gleaming black mask glared at me again over the wattled wall of the corral. Its deep voice shouted at the hapless boy scrabbling at his feet. “A trade,” it shouted, over and over again.
“What if I’m not good enough?” I whispered.
I didn’t think my voice would even carry to where Lena was sitting, but it did. “You will be,” she reassured me. “Mora will teach you.”
“Couldn’t Mora teach him, too?”
Her face went hard. “He wasn’t Mora’s.” She spat the words. “He wasn’t even sure whose he was. He was born to Festian, but he liked Sal better.”
Again, I didn’t know how to reply. I couldn’t imagine someone trying to choose who his ara would be. Lena noticed my dismay. I felt her touch the back of my hand. “You’ll get used to it. You just have to let people go their way, and make sure that you don’t lose yours.”

The big ger, a nearly-empty bird hutch, a bookcase full of ornately bound books, and the rugs and pallets that had been scattered about the ger all went into a large wagon with a brightly striped cover. There were carefully designed trunks and boxes for everything. “A place for everything, and everything in its place,” the Mask sang out, as we began packing.
His daughter, Lena, saw me running my fingers over the book bindings, and asked, “Do you read?”
“No. Do you?”
“Yes. My father taught me.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who could read. A lot of the people in my village could do figures, but there’s not much call for reading.”
“Would you like to learn how?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know where I’m going from here. My village is gone. My brother’s dead. My parents probably are, too. They were in the battle. I could probably get a farmer to take me on as a farm hand, but I don’t have anyone to vouch for me as an apprentice . . .” My voice trailed off as I realized how precarious my situation was, and I felt myself tearing up, but Lena was kind enough not to notice when I sniffled and wiped my nose on my sleeve.
“Don’t you remember? You’re supposed to learn to be my father’s bird keeper.”
“I am?”
“Yes, that’s why he traded for you.”
For a moment, I was thrilled, but then I remembered what had prompted him to trade for me. “What if I don’t do a good job?”
She looked like she was about to reply, but then I saw the Mask looking our way, and I cut her off. “We better get to work. There will be time to talk on the road.”
We had just finished hitching the oxen to the wagon, and tying the riding pony to the ring on the back corner of the wagon when a fluttering pigeon landed on the seat. The Mask beckoned to it with a strange warbling call. It hopped over to him, and he turned to Lena. “Get us on the road while I find out what the king has to say. The Weald seems to be deserted, so we’ll be safe to drive all night. Have Ian spell you when you get tired. I have a feeling that we’re going to want to get to Belkeep much faster than these oxen can take us.” With that, he disappeared into the wagon, drawing the flaps of the cover tightly behind him.

They let me out of my bed two days later. When I walked out of the ger, what I saw amazed me. The buzzing city of tents was gone. In its place, a crazy maze of mud and grass crisscrossed a large meadow. In the distance, the Dina’s offering to Tor, a tower of bodies topped by a large banner bearing his symbol, marked the location of the battle. I gazed out at the emptiness, wondering.

“Who were the peasants?”

The Mask’s question surprised me. I hadn’t even realized that he was standing next to me. “I didn’t know all of them. Some of them were the people of my village.”

“The call to arms was raised about an hour after you fainted. The King’s Cavalry took the left flank. The Dina took the right flank. Archers and infantry made up the center, with pike men at the front, archers just behind them, and heavy infantry in the back. The cavalry herded all of the peasants into a mass in the center, and pike men pushed them forward. Because of that, our archers were able to rain destruction down upon the Heffian front ranks while they were trying to defend themselves from the fear-crazed peasants. Those peasants won the battle for us, but I don’t think a single one of them survived.”

“Most of them belonged to Mora. Doesn’t the khasar fear her wrath?”

“I am the khasar’s mask, Ian, not his mind or his soul. I don’t know what he fears, but I’m not sure that he even believes in Mora.”

My mouth must have looked unhinged when he said that. In my village, everyone belonged to Mora, except the smith, of course, who belonged to Festion. I knew that there were people, like the Dina, who belonged to Tor, but I had never heard of anyone who didn’t fear the gods. Everybody believed in Mora. Didn’t they?

I felt the Mask’s hand on my shoulder, steering me back toward the tent. He sighed. “Don’t worry. Mora always gets her due. We have to get on the road. We’re supposed to catch up to the khasar before the army reaches Belkeep.”

Dim light filtered through the wall of the ger. My eyes felt sticky and heavy. In the distance, I could hear the roar of charging men, the clash of weapons, and call of the clarion. I stirred, and tried to get up, but a hand pressed me back down. I slept once again.

A man in a golden mask with birds at his feet stood talking to a boy, my brother. I wanted to run to him, to tell him that I thought he was dead, killed by the Dina, but somehow, my feet wouldn’t move. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but occasionally, they glanced my way. Finally, the boy reached up and took the mask off the man’s face. He played with it for a moment, holding it up to his own face, and then dropped it on the ground. It shattered, scattering pieces of gilt plaster across the stone floor, and startling the birds into flight.

He turned, looking at me with his funny half-smile. I wanted to talk to him, to apologize, to tell him that I didn’t know, to say that I wouldn’t ever throw rocks again, but when I spoke, I couldn’t hear myself, and he made no sign that he could hear me either. He just smiled at me, and glanced up at the man who stood beside him. Following his gaze, I looked at the man’s face for the first time. I stepped back in horror, and found myself falling.

And woke. I sat up, panting, drenched in sweat. The tent was dark except for the dim light of a candle in the next room. I started when a cool hand touched my head. A soft, feminine voice called out, “He’s awake, and his fever seems to have broken.”

A shadow crossed the candlelight, and a big man entered my room. He spoke softly. “Thank you, Lena. See if you can do something for the king’s birds. I have a message, but I have no bird. Mora, curse that boy.”

A girl slipped from the room, and the man took her place on the chair beside my pallet. “Well, boy?”

“My name’s Ian,” I replied.

“So, Ian, you killed your brother.”

“No!” A pause. “Well, yes.”

“How did you kill him?”

“The Dina came through our village. They chased him down and killed him.”

“Is that the whole story?”

“Yes.”

“So, how did you kill him?”

Then the story, along with my tears, came out. I told him about my rock, the clang of the shield, the chase, and the sight of my brother spitted on the cavalier’s lance. He listened in silence. When I was finished, he sat without speaking for several minutes.

“Whose are you?” His question surprised me.

I answered automatically. “I am Mora’s.”

“Then Mora will guide your brother home. Do you know who I am?”

“No.”

“I am the khasar’s mask.”

Sighing, I picked my way through the crowd to where I could collapse against the fence of our corral. I was filthy, covered in mud and the detritus of walking behind horses for more than a hundred miles, but somehow, that didn’t matter. According to the old man, I was going to be herded like a human shield in front of an army, but I didn’t care. I was so hungry that my stomach was eating itself, but that made no difference to me. Sleep. I just needed sleep. Sinking into the mud at the edge of the corral, I slept.

Something crashed into the fence just behind me. Startled, I jumped to my feet. I craned my neck to see over the wattle wall of the corral, and found myself staring into the hooded eyes of a black fullface mask.

He bellowed, startling me further, but his rage was not directed at me. A boy, two or three years older than I, was wrestling with a large basket. In his haste, he dropped it again, and the masked man shouted, “Stop! That is enough. Just stop! Get out of here!” The boy turned to leave, but the masked man grabbed him by the arm and said, his eyes fixed on me, “No, wait. I have a better idea.”

He marched over to the gate of our corral, stopping in front of the guard who stood there. Presenting the boy, he spoke. “A trade. This boy for that one.” He pointed across the paddock to where I stood, petrified.

“But sir . . . ”

“I know.”

The guard inclined his head. “Yes sir.”

He turned and yelled to me. “You, boy, come here.”

I found myself walking toward him, scared and unsure. Was I jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire? The gate opened just wide enough for me to squeeze through, and I stood there, dazed by what had just happened.

The man in the mask grabbed me by the hair and wrenched my face upwards. Turning my head, he examined me, then spoke to the guard without looking at him. “This will do.”

I think that he was going to march me off to carry the basket, but at that point, my strength gave out. My vision seemed to blur, then it narrowed and went black. I collapsed in a heap at his feet.

If I hadn’t been so tired, I would have gawked like a fish at the sight of the armies massed at the front. I’d never seen so many people in my life. Some loafed around outside their tents, cooking over small fires, telling stories, oiling armor, and sharpening swords. Others rushed around on seemingly urgent errands. Tension hung like smoke over the camp, visible even in the most relaxed soldiers.

The Dina paraded through the camp, banners held high, dragging us behind them. Just outside a large ger, a peacock of a man dressed in blue velvet stared haughtily at the Dina as they approached. Contempt dripped from his voice when he spoke. “Where have you been? The khasar was expecting you three days ago.”

The commander rumbled his reply. “I will speak with his majesty alone. I do not treat with flunkies.”

The little man set his jaw and disappeared into the tent, scowling. When he emerged several minutes later, he swept the door open, and bowed. If a bow can be sarcastic, his was. “His majesty will see you now, Dinar.”

The commander swept by him without even deigning to glance at him. He straightened, scowling, and then, pointing to us, with as much disgust as he could muster, said, “what are these?”

One of the Dina answered him with one word. “Gum.”

Gesturing with a jeweled staff, the chamberlain grinned, “take them over there.”

Once again, they dragged us through the camp, finally driving us into a large corral where several hundred other prisoners squatted miserably around a sullen fire. When they opened the gate, a prisoner yelled at our captors, but he ducked behind his neighbor when the soldier raised his sword.

When they had gone, I turned to an old man hunched nearby. “What are they going to do with us?”

He looked at me with listless eyes. “They’re going to herd us. Drive us in front of them. Use us as shields when they attack.”

“Why?”

He looked at me incredulously and shook his head, shuffling away from me as quickly as the press of the crowd would allow.

Since I know how much Pete loves stories that don't get finished, I decided to post the beginning of a new story. If you hate stories that don't get finished, you probably shouldn't read any further, because I will not guarantee that this will be finished.

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