Mistress Of Masks (Book 1) Read online

  “You say your power is given. Given by whom?”

  “Would you believe it came by the hand of the First Mother?” the white lady asked.

  “I would not. The Mother is a giver of light, and in you I sense no light. Your only concerns are for yourself.”

  The white lady arched a brow. “A half-wise fool is the blindest kind. You, child, walk as much in ignorance as in knowledge. Tell me, if what you say is true, why have I brought you to this place?”

  “You did not. It was the water creatures who carried us here in our boat. I have seen their kind before. I believe they must be of the same species as the green guardians of the sacred pool at Silverwood Grove. This is not the first time their kind has come to my rescue. I do not know why, but they take an interest in me.”

  “Your conveyance to my island is not the ‘why’ I referenced,” the white lady answered. “Ask yourself instead why I led you to this ring of stones? To this fountain?”

  Eydis eyed the fountain and said, “I see nothing special about it.”

  “That is because there is now nothing of significance to this pile of stones. But once the ancient inhabitants of the isle called it the Fountain of Life. They were a primitive people. Superstitious and ignorant in many ways. But they were correct in believing the water of this fount possessed mystical healing properties. If you valued the life of your dying dryad friend, you would bring him some of this water.”

  Eydis absorbed the unlikely information, unsure whether to believe anything from this source.

  “Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but the fountain is completely dry,” she pointed out.

  “Dry for others, yes. But not for you. Dip your hands in and see for yourself.”

  Doubtfully Eydis followed her instruction and went to the fountain, leaning over its crumbling edge. Scooping up a fistful of the dry dust layering the bottom, she let it stream through her fingers.

  “You see? No water.” The words had barely escaped her lips when she felt a change in the grit. Suddenly, impossibly, it turned moist, transforming into drops of cool clear water trickling from her hand. Amazed, she scooped up more sand, cradling it in her palms and watching it turn to water.

  “I don’t understand. How can this be?” she asked.

  The white lady came to look over her shoulder. She was close enough now that Eydis could feel the ghostly chill of the air around her.

  “For one who holds the life-touch,” the lady hissed, “the impossible becomes possible.”

  “Thank you,” Eydis forced herself to say, resisting the urge to flinch away from the ethereal lady. “What you’ve shown me here could save my friend’s life.”

  The specter inclined her head in acknowledgement. Then, with the hint of a smile on her pale lips, she faded away to nothingness.

  Eydis was alone. She almost called out for the white lady to come back, because she still had many unanswered questions. But now was not the time to ask them. Not while Geveral hovered on the brink of death. She looked around for a means of carrying the water back to camp, but there was nothing. So she ripped the sleeve off her tunic and soaked it in the water, before hurrying with it back to the temple ruins.

  There, she found Orrick awake and stalking around the perimeter of the camp, sword in hand. He looked relieved at her approach but only a little. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “Don’t you know I was about to abandon the boy to go looking for you? I thought those water creatures must have slithered into camp and dragged you away.”

  “Sorry I left, but it couldn’t be helped,” she said. “I met someone who told me a way to heal Geveral.”

  “Met someone? Where?” He scanned the shadows, alert.

  “Never mind, I’ll explain later. Right now I need to take care of Geveral.”

  She knelt beside the Drycaenian youth. His breathing was uneasy, his skin slick with sweat, and his forehead hot to the touch. When she pressed the wet rag against his neck, he moaned but didn’t wake. Wringing water from the cloth, she let it trickle gently over the bloody wound created by the hunger hound’s fangs, praying the mystical water would do its healing work. She suspected there were a great many areas where the white lady was not to be trusted, and could only hope this was not one of them. But the only way to find out was to wait.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Eydis woke to find the gray light of dawn pouring over the temple ruins. Rubbing a cramped muscle in her neck, she realized she must have fallen asleep slumped against a boulder during her nighttime vigil. Someone had covered her with a cloak. Rising to stretch out her sore muscles, she looked for Geveral. He had been beside her, but now the place where he had lain was empty. That was strange. Where could he have gone in his condition? She looked for Orrick, but the barbarian too was missing. Thinking of her encounter the previous night with the white lady, she feared the worst.

  “The Kroadian was awake at first light,” a voice said, startling her.

  She followed the sound and spotted Geveral seated atop a tall heap of rubble that might once have been a temple wall. He continued, “The barbarian stalked out of camp, saying something about finding food. If he does discover any, I suspect he’ll keep it all to himself. That’s who you were worrying about, isn’t it?”

  Eydis hastily scaled the pile of stones to join him at the top. “Actually, I was concerned about both of you,” she said, settling beside him.

  From this vantage point she had a view of the entire north side of the island, all the way down the grassy hill to where they had pulled their boat up onto the muddy shore. In another direction a stand of trees blocked her view of the stone circle where she had been last night.

  That reminded her. “It worked!” she said. “The water must have healed you, Geveral.”

  “I don’t remember any water,” he said, hesitating. “But something certainly saved me. What little I can recall of last night is a blur of pain and darkness, followed by the sense my life was slipping away. A fog closed in. Then suddenly I awoke, fully restored and feeling as if it had all been a dream. Only this remains to say it was not.”

  He peeled back his collar, stiff now with dried blood, to reveal a silver scar down the side of his neck, where last night there had been a gaping wound.

  Amazed, Eydis touched the restored flesh. It was smooth now, without the puckering or pinkness usually associated with a newly healed wound. The damage had simply disappeared, leaving in its place only a pale outline of where the hunger hound’s fangs had done their awful damage.

  She said, “Whatever the cause of this miracle, I’m glad you came through it. I couldn’t have forgiven myself if you had died as a result of my actions.”

  She explained the things he couldn’t remember from the previous night. How they had escaped the hunger hounds and their eyeless master. How the water maidens had ferried them to safety, and how the white lady had guided her to the mystical water that had seemingly brought Geveral back from the brink of the grave.

  He listened intently until she concluded with, “I swear it was never my intent to endanger you in this way. As soon as we get off this island I will fully understand if you choose to leave Orrick and me to our quest alone, while you return to your home. I hope that is not the decision you make. But if it is, I won’t prevent you or allow Orrick to do so.”

  He appeared to consider the matter, looking out over the scenery below. “Did you know this island was once home to a dryad colony?” he asked, changing the subject. “My people have a legend about it, a cautionary tale for new generations of Drycaenians. It tells how my ancestors became too attached to artificial comforts. They ceased to care for the fauna or to guide the weather. They hewed down trees and did not plant new groves. They hunted with greed, until there was little game left on the island. Eventually they had killed everything of beauty. There was nothing left but the rocks they could not destroy and the buildings they had made of them. That’s when they realized they had ruined the land they were supposed to tend. In their
shame and remorse, they then abandoned the island of the lake.”

  Eydis looked down on the waving grass and the green trees. “The place does not look spoiled to me.”

  “That is because new settlers came,” he said. “Lythnians, of the race of man. They farmed, planted new groves, and returned the land to its former state. Later, legend says they too were driven away. This time not by shame but by ghosts of their own making. After that, the island remained uninhabited.”

  “The dryads and their Drycaenian descendants never returned?” she asked.

  “I’m the first of my race to set foot on this island in centuries,” he said. “And I don’t believe that’s an accident. Fate brought me here, where the memory of my ancestors could warn me not to repeat their mistakes. Not to become so absorbed in comfort and safety that I neglect the greater responsibility of all beings who are part of Earth Realm. I have a duty to defend my world when darkness threatens. That’s why I will join you and the barbarian in your quest.”

  She frowned. “You are certain of this decision?”

  “I am. There is little left for me in Treeveil now that my brother and mentor are dead. One day I will likely return to see if Mage Jauhar has any wish to become my new mentor or whether all hope of attending academy is beyond me. But these are matters that must wait for another day.”

  Another day. If only what lay ahead was so short and simple, Eydis thought. But she could not tell him the magnitude of what he was committing to. She felt certain the oracle of Silverwood, were she here, would remind her that her duty to the First Mother and to Earth Realm was greater than whatever truth she owed Geveral. And so, she accepted his offer.

  “It is settled then,” she said briskly. “Now all we must do is find Orrick and get ourselves away from this island. Preferably before any more ghostly encounters.”

  He said, “Looks like we’ll get to fill our bellies first. It seems your barbarian friend did not forget to provide for us after all.”

  She followed his gesture to where Orrick appeared, returning to camp with a pair of skinned rabbits.

  * * *

  After the meal, they broke camp and went down to the shore, where the boat waited. To Eydis’s relief, they didn’t meet any ghostly apparitions along the way. If the white lady was watching their progress, she did so from a distance. The water maidens, too, were nowhere in sight. Their absence presented a problem, because without the ethereal creatures to propel their boat, it would be slow going to reach the far side of the lake.

  So there was a delay as Orrick walked up and down the shore, selecting suitable pieces of driftwood to serve as makeshift oars. The sun was high in the sky by the time their small party piled into the boat and shoved off from the island. They had lost time, Eydis thought, but at least they had not lost one another. Not yet anyway.

  Ahead, the far shore beckoned.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Parthenia

  The meditation chamber was so overheated the air all but scorched Server Parthenia’s nostrils as she stepped into the gloom and let the thick granite doors close behind her. Seated on her dais, the oracle did not look up at her companion’s entrance. But Parthenia had no doubt the Great One was fully aware of her arrival, as she wound her way past the glowing braziers and between the vents streaming their clouds of steam.

  “The catalysts’ party has grown to three,” the oracle said, when Parthenia stood before her. “In Treeveil they were joined by a mage of dryad descent. He travels with them now.”

  Parthenia concealed her distaste as the oracle’s snakelike eyes flicked over her. Sometimes it was difficult to remember the power bound within the form of this freakish-looking child. To disguise her discomfort, she answered, “Perhaps this dryad is the summoner of storms foretold?”

  “The White Lady of the Isle of Mists must believe so,” said the oracle. “She has saved the dryad’s life and aided the travelers on their way.”

  Parthenia frowned. “That is unexpected. The White Lady is no friend to the light. How is their quest to her gain?”

  “All creatures choose sides when war looms between light and darkness,” said the oracle. “If the coming days are as dire as has been foretold, we will soon see all manner of life drawn toward light or shadow. There will be no place for neutrality under Rathnakar’s reign. Perhaps the White Lady has foreseen the wane of her power should he come to rule.”

  That reminded Parthenia why she was here. “I have received reports from our spies of a sighting of hunger hounds in the Elder Forest. It seems difficult to believe such creatures could be running free in Lythnia, but my sources are credible.”

  “Doubt it not, Server Parthenia. If Rathnakar has returned, so too will his old minions. Naroz and his hunger hounds were ever the Raven King’s creatures. As were the Aviads of the Lostlands.”

  “Then the rumors are true? The birdmen did attack Treeveil?”

  “I have seen it,” the oracle confirmed. “After the attack, the Aviads returned to the Lostlands—for now. Their faith in their master has been shaken, and it may take Rathnakar some time to restore it. Eydis Ironmonger and her friends fled to the Isle of Mists next. I do not know what drove them there. Possibly Naroz and his hunger hounds.”

  “But they are safe for the moment?” Parthenia probed.

  The oracle’s hesitation was as good as an admission of ignorance. Her Greatness never liked admitting the limits of her knowledge. “They tread a dangerous path,” she said evasively. “Rathnakar and his minions are not their only enemies.”

  “Your Wisdom?” Parthenia queried.

  The oracle’s gaze was reflective. “I have become aware of a mysterious force, a minor wizard without name, who has been summoning fire scorpions between the coastlands and the rangelands. I do not know his allegiances, whether he works for our enemy or for himself. But he will bear watching. Send out word to our spies. I want to know who this trifling wizard is and why he sends fire scorpions swarming toward the baselands.”

  “You fear his scorpions will converge on the Asincourt seclusionary, where Eydis and the others travel?”

  The oracle’s gaze was reflective. “The future is unclear. I see only that danger hovers over the mistress of masks.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Geveral

  It was three days since they left the island on the lake. Three days of following the winding tributary river through the thick forest, hoping it would eventually lead them to the road Eydis was so sure was near. Three days of listening to Eydis and Orrick bicker over the map. But worst of all, three days without any decent food, except whatever small game they managed to trap along the way.

  This morning there had been no breakfast at all, other than a handful of berries harvested from the bushes along the river. By mid-day, Geveral’s stomach was rumbling and his feet were blistered from the brisk pace Eydis set. So it was a relief when a dwelling appeared in a clearing up ahead.

  “Perhaps we’ll be able to barter for food with the inhabitants,” Eydis suggested.

  “Food and a change of clothes,” Geveral reminded her. He had washed his blood-stained shirt in the river already, but it was still the worse for wear after his encounter with the hunger hound.

  Orrick said, “Our primary concern is survival, not comforts, boy.”

  For the thousandth time, Geveral resisted the temptation to remind the barbarian that he had a name and it wasn’t “boy.” But he let it go because they were nearing the holding and he saw Eydis was frowning.

  “Something’s not right about this place,” she said.

  Geveral followed her gaze but saw nothing suspicious. The millhouse and surrounding yard seemed pleasant and peaceful. The only noise that met his ears was the singing of birds in the trees, the sound of the river rushing past, and the rhythmic splashing of the waterwheel against the side of the mill.

  Eydis said, “At this hour the miller and his family should be busy about their chores. Yet nothing moves in the yard, and there
are no voices from the house.”

  She was right. The stillness did seem strange. The door of the millhouse stood wide open, as they neared, but no one stirred in or out. There was a chicken coop in the yard and a small livestock enclosure, but both stood empty.

  “There’s a foul scent on the air,” Orrick observed. “A smell of death.”

  Geveral sniffed the wind but smelled nothing but earth and pine. “Is it hunger hounds?” he asked, trying not to look as nervous as he felt at the thought of another encounter with the monstrous beasts.

  “No, this scent is… different,” said Orrick. “We’d best pass the long way around.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Eydis said. “We may not come upon another homestead for miles, and we need food. We’ll just have to approach with caution.”

  Orrick scowled but didn’t argue, only drawing his heavy sword and holding it ready as they entered the clearing. The dusty ground around the house was covered in tracks, large animal prints like none Geveral had ever seen.

  The barbarian’s face was grim as he examined them. “If these tracks were made by what I think they were, our miller is likely long dead.”

  “We cannot know that yet,” Eydis said. “I’ll search the house for signs of life. Geveral can check the livestock pens, and you, Orrick, can look at the outbuildings.”

  “We stay together,” Orrick corrected firmly. “We may need the advantage of numbers.” He strode off to the millhouse, leaving Geveral and Eydis to exchange glances, shrug, and follow.

  Geveral wasn’t sure if their footsteps, as they crossed the creaky porch, were actually loud, or if his hearing was only heightened by his unease. The front door hung crookedly open, affording a partial view of the house’s gloomy interior. When Orrick kicked the door off its single hinge, the noisy crash should have summoned everyone in the place. But there were no startled exclamations. No frightened miller and his family came rushing to see who was breaking into their home.