The Mask Wearer (2 page)

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.

A
mos arrived home in the late afternoon. To his great surprise, Lord Edonf was there, accompanied by two guards. In front of the cottage, Amos’s parents, their heads lowered in submission, were listening to their ruler’s abusive words. The fat man was red with anger and threatened to burn down the house. He was scolding the couple for having worked his land without permission and for having hunted shamelessly on his domain. What was more, he claimed that the family had a donkey that was his. The animal had apparently been stolen from within the walls of his castle.

On this point, Lord Edonf was right. During a short nighttime visit to the castle, Amos had kidnapped the animal to spare it from the bad treatment it endured. He then told his parents that he had found the donkey in the forest and that the animal had followed him to the house. Now Edonf was requesting a large amount of money to forget the wrongdoing,
and Amos’s parents, unable to pay, did not know what to say or what to do.

Panic-stricken, Amos crept unnoticed into the cottage. He could no longer bear to see his parents humiliated in this way. Things had to change for him and his family, and it was up to him to do something. He needed to act now. But what should he do? How could he and his parents hope to flee this kingdom that had become like a prison? He looked around, hoping to come up with an idea, a trick that would allow him to get rid of Edonf once and for all.

While waiting for him to return, Amos’s mother had put some water in the pot above the fire. Frilla Daragon had looked forward to making a soup with whatever her son brought home. Amos had an idea, and he plucked up enough courage to act. To avoid burning himself, he wrapped a thick cloth around one of his hands, then grabbed the big pot by its handle. Unobserved, he went out to the garden, not far from Edonf and one of his men. He put the pot on the ground, took a dead twig in his hand, and began a strange ritual. He danced as he whipped the side of the pot with the twig.

“Come to a boil, my soup! Come to a boil!” he repeated with each blow.

Consumed by anger, Edonf did not pay attention to Amos right away. Only after the seventh or eighth “Come to a boil, my soup! Come to a boil!” did Lord Edonf stop his ranting long enough to watch what Amos was doing.

“What are you up to, you stupid boy?” he yelled.

“I’m boiling water for dinner, my good lord. We’ll make
a soup from stones!” Amos answered, somewhat proud of himself.

Intrigued, Lord Edonf looked at Amos’s parents, who just smiled slightly. They knew how quick-minded their son was and that he was cooking up something other than soup.

“And by what miracle can you make soup from stones?” asked Lord Edonf.

Amos had just hooked a big fish with his bait, and he wasn’t letting it go. His trick seemed to be working only too well.

“It’s very simple, my lord,” he said. “With this magic wand, I’ll bring the water to a boil and it will be warm enough to melt stones. When the mixture cools off, it will be smooth and deliciously creamy. This is the only nourishment that my parents and I have had for years.”

Edonf laughed heartily. He raised one of his shirtsleeves and rapidly dipped his hand in the water to check the temperature. As soon as he felt the burn caused by the intense heat of the liquid, his face became livid and he removed his hand in a shriek of pain. The water was truly boiling! His hand as red as a lobster, Edonf jumped up and down as he cursed all the gods of heaven.

“Quick! Quick! Some cold water!” he shouted, stamping his feet violently. “Quick! Some ice water!”

One of the guards, who had gone off to inspect the little barn, ran out to help his master. Without hesitation, he took hold of Edonf’s arm and, thinking the water was cold, dipped his hand in the pot again.