Chapter 17: A Good Story

The bell jingled flatly when I entered the cramped space of the shop. A gust of dry air that smelled strongly of glue and plaster wafted into my face. Small as I was, there was barely enough space to stand before the counter. With the proprietor nowhere in sight, I allowed my gaze to wander over the heavily laden walls. My heart hammered in my chest.

I was alone but watched from all directions.

Carved face mannequins made of wood were glued to the walls, each sporting a mask. There were masks of every colour, for every occasion. Masks of lace and linen for brides, rough masks of canvas for funerals. Small grey mask caps for children, and frilly silk masks with satin ribbons for merchants. In the centre of the northern wall, however, was one mask different from the rest.

It was a mask of gold, like the nobles wore, but it was a full mask that covered the mouth and continued down to the lower jaw. It had no gemstones, or adornments, or a family sigil. It was a youthful woman's face, complete down to wiry eyebrows, and small, pouting lips. The eye sockets and nostrils were left empty.

I took a small step towards it. Something about that vacant stare felt familiar. The beautiful face was framed by gauzy gold ribbons as its hair. The mask showed nothing of human emotion, no pain, fear, or regret. Not the slightest will for vengeance.

I reached my hand out to touch it.

"You do not fear death, girl?" asked a voice behind me.

I whirled around, clutching my hand behind my back guiltily. Papà explicitly told not to touch anything in the shop. 

There stood the mask maker, teak skin like wrinkled autumn leaves and cobweb hair hanging all about her shoulders, loose as if she were a Lady.

I was afraid to blink lest she see into my soul.

"The Sciurid of Ansi in the jungles of the Toles used to wear masks of spectres during the longest night celebrations, pleading with the gods to set the land free of the spectres. They believed that all the spectres were the ghosts of wronged maidens. To break the curse of this land, one must right the wrongs of the past, and ask forgiveness of the young girls who were taken before their time."

"Used to? Why did they stop?"

The mask maker walked from behind the counter and picked the golden mask off the wall.

"Why, indeed?" she said, handing me the mask.

It was lighter than it looked. I didn't know what to do with it, so I held it up to my face.

"The gods didn't listen, and these masks of death scared the people. Fear is not useful in the midst of winter."

"And if the spectres were ghosts," I said, moving the gold mask from my face. "They'd want revenge against whoever wronged them. That's not how the spectre looked..."

"You've seen a spectre, then?" The mask-maker's eyes gleamed when she watched me.

"When loony old Arnithra took off her mask. Papà and some other men tried to wrestle it back on her. But she was crying and struggling, asking for it to stop. And then it came. I got a good look at it."

"It didn't frighten you?"

I squared my shoulders. I was nine and always told that I was clever for my age. "No," I said pointedly.

"And your papà, he's the vintner, yes?"

I nodded, disappointed that the mask-maker's interest shifted away from my fearlessness.

"He sent you to pick up his order?"

I nodded again, handing back the gold spectre mask.

"I have it here, it's ready." The mask-maker was reaching under the counter.

"They say—" I began.

"Who says?" interrupted the mask-maker.

"Papà and... mamma, and some others, they say that it's strange..."

"What's strange?" A brown wax-paper packet tied with string was placed on the counter.

"That it's strange that someone like you chooses to live here, in Thalmina. They say, with your skill, you ought to be living out of the hand of a Lord."

"Oh, so you're curious to know why I came here, vintner's daughter? Why didn't I choose to bask in the glory and riches of my profession?"

I nodded my head slowly, sensing that there was some kind of trap in her question.

She smiled as she handed me the package. "You're right, child, it is quite the puzzle."

***

Shana was trembling and continued staring at me in disbelief. Then she wiped a tear off the corner of her mask. "But child...what has happened? How..."

I was on my knees next to her, and doing everything in my power not to collapse. She cringed when I tried to take her hand, and I moved away, rising to my feet.

"You—you...you even look like them," she mumbled, gesturing with her hands at me. "Your parents, and your sister...the vineyard is abandoned. No one understands what has happened. Where is your sister?"

I shook my head. "The less you know, the better," I said, keeping my voice a whisper. "Mistress, I'm...I'm trapped."

"There were men," Shana said. "Men at my door. Come asking about you. I let them in the shop, in my house, I let them search the cellar and the attic. I told them that you vanished on the night of the weddings, as you had."

"What masks did they wear?"

"Blank iron masks, the kind one would make to hide a soldier's colours. They wore cloaks to hide their clothes. But I saw a sleeve on one. He had it embroidered with a sigil."

Shana had taught me attention to detail. She missed nothing, and to be praised by her, I had to match myself to her standard. "Which sigil?"

"An animal of some kind. I saw only a part of it. A round ear and eye of either a lion, a tiger or a bear, in silver thread. A simple design. Cheap."

The lion and the tiger were both sigils of the Fel family, the lion belonged to Eloroan, and the tiger was of the Somaer. But the bear was the sigil of Kiri, the main branch of the Usi family, rulers of the state of Bestoria in West-Genalia.

"You must leave Thalmina," I said. "Tell no one where you go. Change your name."

"I...see. I thought as much, the moment I saw you."

"I'm sorry..."

"It wouldn't be the first time, child. This is the life of a mask-maker. Will you be staying here?"

"So, that's why you were in Thalmina." I purposefully avoided her question. "I always wondered why you were there. Did you get mixed up in the Lords' intrigue?"

"Intrigue is always my most loyal lover."

I laughed, a true and honest laugh, one that came to me across the divide from my old life. "He's not as loyal as you think. I found him in my bed, too."

And at that, even Shana laughed, but her smile was wiped away quickly. "I have so many questions...but you'll answer none, Yael?"

I shook my head. "Forget my name. Forget me."

"Never."

I hiccuped. I would not weep. There was too much pain in my chest from the serum already, I could not stand any more. "Please let's make the plaster, mistress."

"We'll make two."

"Two?"

"One for the mask of a hawk, and one will be for me, to have a memento of you."

Wiping away errant tears, she got to her feet. I helped her unpack the cart. There was a box of plaster bandages, cut into small strips to fit the crevices of the face more accurately. I took out the jar of thick petrolatum, a substance we prepared out of wax and oils, to be applied to the face and prevent the plaster from sticking to the skin and eyebrows. I unfolded a clean head-sack, roomy enough to allow the mask-maker to work on my face beneath it, but good enough to hide my face from the spectres.

Soon, we soaked the bandage pieces in water, rubbing them to my petrolatum-coated face. It was quick and quiet work. She didn't speak, and I couldn't.

When the second cast was drying on my face, she moved aside towards the further wall, where she leaned against it to weep.

I washed the remnant of petrolatum and dusting of plaster from my face at the water basin, as the mask-maker wrapped up the newly made casts in cloth and packed the cart. She hugged me and kissed my cheeks. "The mask will be ready tomorrow," she said. "But I will not be here myself to deliver it."

"Mistress," I said. "I must ask you something..."

She paused with her hand on the handle of the cart. "Do you know if there was anyone in our village...anyone odd? They would have been there when I was very young, and would have appeared...youthful and healthy, but in an unusual way..."

It took her only a moment to ponder this. "Have you forgotten? That man who lived in a cottage right outside the village. No one liked the looks of him. Why, I believe even your father had petitioned Lord Aspertin to remove him from our midst? Do you not remember? You always disobeyed me, and he let you play with a knife. I would've wrung his neck myself if you would've ended up cutting your fingers..."

"Do you mean Pyren?"

"No one complained when he died. It was a great relief to be rid of him. Especially when it came to you."

"He never harmed me. I know how men look when they're hungry for a woman and he didn't look at me that way. And I only knew him when I was older. This would be someone else..."

"No, it was him alright. When you were seven or so. You ran off. You scared your poor parents, your mamma who had just lost another baby. You ran off and the whole village was on its feet, searching for you. Then, come dark, it was thought you were dead. And he came, that man, carrying you in his arms. You were fast asleep. Not a bruise to you, but still, something felt ill. Why do you ask this now?"

My mouth was dry. I couldn't remember ever running away from my parents. I had no memory of Pyren before I was thirteen. "I guess I was starting to remember something," I said, because it was an answer I could make, and the truth would never help Shana.

She shook her head, she could always see through my lies.

We stood there, looking at one another in silence. I didn't want her to go, I wanted to cling to her, to follow her, as I had been following her for these past seven years. I wanted the life that had been promised to me, with her as my teacher.

"You've always been a wild little thing, Yael," she whispered, laying the palm of her hand over my cheek. "But you tried with all your might to tame yourself for me. You've a good heart, child, even if good hearts can take wrong turns. A lot of who we are is the mask we put upon our face, it's the story we tell ourselves about ourselves. Remember to tell a good story, child."

The tears I was trying not to cry filled my eyes.

She smiled at me, a smile that showed me her love, sadness...and something like remorse? "Tell a good story," she repeated. "One with a happy ending."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ah, now wasn't that refreshing? A little look into Yael's past, with only the tiniest mystery in the corner. We really did need a change of pace. I really enjoyed writing this. On my outline, this marks the end of Act I. We'll see how that goes. I'm a plotter, but my plots usually trick me into believing I'm in control, when actually it's the forces of evil who guide me.

As always, I love your comments. So, pretty please tell me what you think? Look, I'm listening:

❤️
Einaty