The Mask wearer

1 THE BAY OF CAVERNS

The realm of Omain was a magnificent place. A dark-stoned castle overlooked a small city with tidy streets. High above, mountains whose tops were covered in perpetual snow encircled the kingdom. From these snowy tops, a wide and winding river cascaded down the slopes and ran directly to the center of town in the valley.

There was also a small fishing seaport swarming with small and brightly colored boats. When the hush of nighttime fell over the fish market, the citizens were lulled to sleep by the sound of the ocean waves. Every morning, dozens of fishermen followed the river, raising the triangular sails of their wooden boats and casting their nets and fishing lines into the cove.

The streets of Omain were unpaved. One traveled them either on foot or riding a donkey. Every inhabitant was poor, with the exception of Lord Edonf, who lived in the castle. He was the ruler of this little paradise and demanded that each family pay huge taxes for the upkeep of the kingdom. Each month, on the full moon, the lord’s personal guard came down to collect the tax money.

If a citizen was unable to pay, he was immediately thrown into an iron cage and exposed to gaping onlookers in the center of the market. Deprived of food and water, suffering from the cold, or from the heat and mosquitoes, the wretched person often stayed caged for days, even weeks. The town dwellers knew that being placed in the cage was usually a death sentence for the prisoner. So everyone tried to scrupulously pay Lord Edonf his dues.

Edonf was as fat as a whale. And with eyes that popped out of their sockets, a large mouth, and oily skin covered with pimples, he looked exactly like one of the huge sea toads that invaded the fishing village once a year in the spring. In addition to being frighteningly ugly, Edonf was said to have a brain the size of a tadpole’s. By the hearths in all the houses, the elders told the children stories about the incredible stupidity of their ruler. Of course, these tales were embellished over time, taking on new life depending on the talent of the teller, but they never failed to delight both young and old.

So it was that everyone in Omain knew the story of Yack the Troubadour, who had passed through town to entertain the villagers with his company of buffoons. He had pretended to be a famous doctor, and for nearly a month, Lord Edonf followed his advice. Yack made Edonf swallow lamb droppings coated in sugar as a cure for forgetfulness. Ever since, it was said that Edonf had totally recovered his memory and World never forget the fake doctor-or the taste of lamb droppings. The elders of Omain were now in the habit of telling their children that if they ever forgot to obey their parents, they too would get a taste of Yack’s medicine. Once they heard this tale, every child always had an excellent memory.

Amos Daragon was born in Omain. His father and mother were both craftspeople and had traveled for years looking for the ideal spot to settle down. When they discovered the lush land of Omain, they decided to stay, convinced that they would remain there until the end of their days.

But this honest couple made a serious mistake when they built a little cottage on the edge of the forest, not far from town, on land belonging to Lord Edonf. When Edonf heard the news, he sent his guards to pay them a visit, and ordered that they be caged and their house burned. In exchange for their lives and for the trees they had felled to build their humble house, Urban Daragon suggested that Lord Edonf allow him to work for his lordship without pay to reimburse his debt. Edonf agreed. Twelve years had gone by since that sad day, and Amos’s father was still paying by the sweat of his brow for his past mistake.

After so much time toiling on behalf of Lord Edonf, Urban was a pitiful sight. He had lost a great deal of weight and was wasting away. Edonf treated him like a slave, always demanding more of him. The last few years had been particularly difficult for Urban, as his master had started to cudgel him to make him work faster. The ruler of Omain took pleasure in beating Urban, who had no choice but to endure Edonf’s wrath. Every day Amos’s father came back home humiliated, his limbs sore. Since he didn’t have enough money to flee the realm, or enough strength to confront Edonf and break away from him, he left his home defeated every morning and returned bloodied every night.

The Daragon family was the poorest in the village, and their cottage was the smallest of all. Its walls were made of roughly hewed tree trunks laid on top of each other. To retain the warmth of the hearth, Urban Daragon had filled all the holes with hay and peat moss to make them airtight. The straw roof was fully waterproof, and the big stone chimney, huge compared to the size of the house, seemed to be the only sturdy part of the dwelling. A small flower garden, mostly shaded because of the big trees surrounding it, and a minuscule building vaguely resembling a barn completed the picture.

Inside the cottage, a wooden table, three chairs, and bunk beds were the only furniture. The chimney occupied almost all the surface of the east wall. A cooking pot was always hanging on the hook above the fire. Living here meant a constant battle against heat and cold, against hunger and poverty.

Since childhood, Amos had acquired many skills. He hunted pheasant and hare in the forest, fished in the river with an improvised fishing rod, and collected shellfish on the ocean shores. Thanks to him, the family managed to survive, even if on some days there wasn’t much on the table.

Over the years, Amos had perfected an almost foolproof way of catching edible birds. He used a long branch shaped like a Y, along which he slid a cord with a slipknot at the end. When he spotted a partridge, he stayed a good distance from his prey, only slowly moving the forked end of the branch toward the animal. Noiselessly, Amos would slip the knot around the bird’s neck and suddenly pull on the cord. In this manner, he often brought home the family dinner.

Amos learned to listen to nature, to blend in among the ferns, and to walk noiselessly in the woods. By the time he was twelve years old, he was familiar with the different types of trees and their fruits and nuts, knew the best spots for finding wild berries, and could track all the animals of the forest. Sometimes, during the cold season, he unearthed truffles, mushrooms that grow underground, at the base of oak trees. The forest held no secrets from him.

But Amos was deeply unhappy. Every day, he saw his father suffering and his mother declining in spirit. Always short of money, his parents often argued. They had sunk into a daily misery that they couldn’t get out of. When they were younger, Urban’s and Frilla’s eyes had sparkled, and they were always making travel plans, happy to be carefree. Now their eyes showed only sadness and exhaustion, and they never went anywhere. Every night, Amos dreamed of saving his parents and giving them a better life. He also dreamed of having a mentor who would explain the world to him; his parents were too poor to send him to school, and he longed for someone to answer his questions and advise him as to what to read. Every night, Amos Daragon went to sleep hoping that tomorrow would bring him a better life.

One beautiful summer morning, Amos went down to the beach to gather some mussels and dislodge a few crabs. He followed his usual path without much success. The little he had gathered sat at the bottom of one of his two wooden buckets; it wouldn’t be enough to feed three people.

Well! he thought. That’s all I’m going to find here. But it’s still early and the sun is shining, so I’ll go and see what I can find on another beach.

Amos was all set to go to an unfamiliar spot when he remembered the bay of caverns. It was a good ways off, but he had gone there a few times and knew that if he hurried now, and quickened his pace on his way back, he would be home before the end of the afternoon, as he had promised his father.

The bay of caverns was a place where the ebb and flow of the tides had eroded and hollowed the stones to form grottoes, ponds, and impressive sculptures. Amos had stumbled upon the spot, where he always managed to gather a large quantity of crabs and mussels. But the great distance kept him from going there regularly. With a large bucket filled to the rim in each hand, the way back home was never easy.

After a two-hour walk, Amos finally reached the bay of caverns. Exhausted, he sat on the beach pebbles and contemplated the low tide and the immense sculptures cut by the ocean that presided over the bay like petrified giants. Everywhere on the cliff, Amos could see the gaping holes created by thousands of years of tides, waves, and storms. The cool wind from the open sea caressed his tanned skin, and the high sun burned his nose.

“Now, Amos, let’s get started!” he told himself.

He quickly filled his two buckets with crabs. On the beach, dozens more had been overtaken by low tide and were trying to get back to the salty water. As Amos passed by the entrance of a grotto that was larger and higher than the others, he spotted a big black crow, dead on the shore. Amos raised his eyes toward the sky and saw at least twenty more flying in circles above the cliff.

That’s the way these birds fly when another animal is dying, he thought. They’ll feed on the corpse. Maybe it’s a big fish or a stranded whale. This dead crow wasn’t lucky. He probably broke his neck on the rock.

As he carefully looked around for a helpless animal, Amos saw three more crows at the entrance of the grotto, but these were alive. Their eyes seemed riveted inside the cavern, as if they were trying to make sense of something in the belly of the rocky wall. Amos was approaching to find out what was going on when he heard a piercing scream. It came from the depths of the cavern; the frightening sound paralyzed the birds. They fell dead on the spot.

Amos himself was knocked down-as if hit by a strong blow-by the intensity of the scream. He lay curled up, his heart beating madly. His legs refused to move. He had never heard such a noise. The scream, which seemed both human and animal, had to have been shrieked by powerful vocal cords.

Then Amos heard a woman’s voice, as soft as a melody, and he came out of his daze. It was as if a lyre, hidden deeply in the grotto, had begun to play.

“Don’t be scared, young man. I am not an enemy,” the voice said.

Amos raised his head and got back on his feet. He left his buckets where he had dropped them.

“I’m in the grotto. Come quickly; I am waiting for you. I won’t hurt you. I screamed only to scare the birds away.”

Gingerly, Amos approached the opening. The woman kept talking, her words sounding like a symphony of bells to Amos’s ears.

“Have no fear. I am suspicious of the birds because they are nosy and rude,” she said. “They spy, and they love to eat fish far too much to be trusted. When you see me, you’ll understand what I mean. I’ll tell you again that I intend no harm. Come quickly now; I don’t have much time left.”

Amos entered the grotto, feeling his way in the dark toward the voice. Suddenly, a soft blue light wrapped itself along the ground and uneven walls. Small puddles of water glistened. All the humidity of the cavern sparkled. It was magical. Each drop had its own shade of blue. This light filled the inside of the grotto, and Amos felt as if he were walking over a moving fluid.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” the voice went on. “This is the light of my people. Everyone where I come from can create light out of salt water. Turn around-I’m here, very close by.”

Amos turned. When he saw the creature, it took all his courage not to run away. In front of him, stretched out in a small puddle of water, was a mermaid. Her long hair was the pale color of the reflected light of sunset on the ocean. She wore an armor of shellfish on her strongly muscled torso, and Amos thought he could see a cloth woven of algae between the armor and her skin. Her nails were long and sharp. A huge, wide fish tail ended her impressive body. Close to her was a weapon, an ivory trident, probably sculpted out of a narwhal tusk, decorated with light red coral.

“I can see fear in your eyes. Don’t be afraid.” The mermaid smiled. “I know that mermaids have a bad reputation among humans. Your legends say that we charm sailors to lure them to the bottom of the sea. These legends are not true. It’s the merriens-sea creatures who resemble mermaids but who are repulsively ugly and brutal-who do this. The merriens use their voices to cast spells and ensnare seamen. Then they devour their victims, pilfer their cargos, and create storms to sink the ships that they use as dwellings deep in the ocean.”

As she spoke, Amos noticed large cuts in her armor.

“Are you wounded?” he asked. “I’m sure I can help you. Let me go to the forest. I know some plants that could heal you.”

“You’re kind,” the mermaid said. “Unfortunately, I am doomed to die soon. I was in a battle with merriens and my wounds are deep. At home, way down in the ocean, the war against these evil beings has raged on these last few days.” She paused and held up an object. “What I want is for you to take this white stone and go to Gwenfadrille, who lives in the woods of Tarkasis. Tell her that her friend Crivannia, princess of the waters, is dead and that her kingdom has fallen into enemy hands. Tell her also that I’ve chosen you as the mask wearer. She’ll understand and will act accordingly. Swear to me, on your life, that as soon as you can, you will leave to undertake this mission.”

Without stopping to think, Amos agreed and swore on his life. He took the white stone from the mermaid and put it in one of his pockets.

“Go quickly now. Run and close your ears,” the mermaid said. “A princess of the waters never passes away quietly. May the power of the elements guide you! And take the trident; it will be useful. Go!”

Amos grabbed the trident and hurried out of the grotto. As he covered his ears with his hands, he heard a mournful sound: a languid song, filled with sadness and pain, rang out over the whole bay and shook the ground beneath him. Stones began to fall here and there, and then, with a terrifying noise, the cavern where the mermaid lay dying collapsed violently. When it was over, a deep silence invaded the area.

Amos climbed up the cliff, the ivory trident slung over his shoulder, a bucket filled with crabs in each hand, and turned back to look at the collapsed grotto one last time. He knew that it was unlikely that he would ever see this bay of caverns again. As he gazed out, he saw hundreds of mermaids, their heads raised above the water, looking at the princess’s tomb. And when he was already a good distance away, Amos heard a funeral song carried by the wind. A chorus of mermaids was paying a last tribute to Crivannia.