The Mask of the River King Read online

  As they came closer, it seemed that the jungle had crept up the river to sprout exuberantly throughout the gorge that divided the city; the ravine was lush with twining creepers and switchtails, slumped rattleburr trees drooping with more luridly marked birds. The icebergs that slid out from the flourishing shade came freighted with fallen leaves and disoriented monkeys.The road ended opposite a drawbridge that stood lifted on the other side of the river, the platform tilted vertically to allow the icebergs to pass. A tarnished gong hung between stone posts at the edge of the ravine and Niran banged it forcefully.

  “Password!” A soldier bellowed from the far bank as a helmeted head poked out from the guardhouse.

  “There is no password!” Niran yelled back over the noisy wash of the river. “And how would you hear if there was?”

  The guard shook his head and repeated, “Password!”

  “I was here three days ago!” Niran shouted. “There was no password then!”

  “Things change!” The guard yelled back cryptically before retreating from view.

  Niran tipped his head back and wrung the nape of his neck. “I was just here,” he muttered. “The stone right under my nose.”

  The far side of the ravine looked nearly deserted, a fact that both troubled and relieved him. It would not do to reveal himself as an optifex to the whole city, he knew well, reaching into the black pouches once more, but if the guard alone witnessed his powers, such things were easily dismissed as heat or drink. His hands brimmed with emerald light as he angled a beam at a wispy cloud out over the savannah and watched it come scudding towards them like a woolly and obedient pet.

  Its shadow fell across them as it came, and then another, darker one was summoned from higher up. The air around them suddenly warmed and then cooled, the breeze smelling of certain storm. War broke out between the clouds now, with blinding hooks of lightning surging back and forth like tridents, crisscrossing the ropes that restrained the bridge. A blinding flash and one side gave way with a snap, the platform canting dangerously, the whole thing threatening to collapse. The clouds crackled formidably once more and the other rope broke loose, sending the bridge creaking over to slam down in front of them with a rattle of splitting planks.

  Niran nodded, satisfied, as he put the light away and Frey leaned forward to ask, “Could I learn to do that, too?”

  “I will demand it of you, eventually. But now is not the time,” said Niran, with a warning nod at Ashur. With that, he spurred Madoc cautiously across the unsteady bridge, glancing back to encourage Umsu, who looked adamant about staying on solid ground.

  “The Umuqu are not terribly fond of heights,” Niran explained, waving impatiently at Umsu. “It’s hard to blame them, really. Living on a world where everything’s ten times heavier than here, you’d probably have seen some spectacular landings.”

  Umsu’s pony, too, seemed to have gone as skittish as its owner and knocked its knees fearfully. At last, Niran brought out the light with a sigh and prodded the clouds until they produced an ear-splitting jolt that sent the pony galloping to rejoin them.

  Past the guardhouse, which now stood unmanned, they took a street that wound along the city wall and brought them to the lower end of town, its buildings of baked river clay the color of dried blood under the noon sun. Farther up, domes and minarets of an older style were stacked up on a precarious outcrop hanging over the deep gorge; the Raja’s stronghold, Niran guessed.

  As they passed a sagging inn, Umsu’s feet hit the cobblestones and he hurriedly tethered his pony; a moment later, Niran understood why, catching a whiff of spicy smoke coming from inside the place. Throughout the last leg of the journey, Umsu had unexpectedly joined sides with Ashur in complaining about meals. Niran gestured for the others to climb down and glanced warily up and down the deserted streets.

  “Where do you suppose they’ve all gone?” Niran asked Umsu, who had his hand against the door.

  “All the more reason to go in and find out,” said Umsu, nostrils now flared like black bells.

  Niran surveyed again the vacant scenery and reluctantly dismounted. Inside, the inn was nearly as desolate as the town; amber light fell through narrow windows onto empty tables. The innkeeper, an elderly woman in leather apron, seemed startled by their entrance. She appraised them sluggishly, her expression souring in distaste at the sight of Frey, who slid behind the others.

  “So he’s allowed an early lunch?” asked the innkeeper, reaching to tamp a pot of gangling octopi.

  Niran removed his hat and placed it on the counter. “We’ve only just arrived. Where is everyone?”

  “Surprised you didn’t see them dredging the river,” she answered. “Giant fool’s got the whole town out looking.”

  “Where might I find your Raja?”

  “Which one? We’re under new management,” the innkeeper spat. “Stinking Balagnar came through the nexus day before yesterday, decided the town needed tidying up, threw our proper Raja in the lockup.”

  “Hammerheads,” Umsu lamented, throwing his hands up in disgust.

  “What does that mean?” Frey asked.

  “Several things,” Niran said suspiciously. “I won’t know until I talk to him.”

  “What about us?” Ashur demanded, so sharply that Niran wondered again at his real motive for tagging along.

  “I’ll sit on the hatchlings,” said Umsu, who had wandered off and was busy snatching cushions from the chairs. Piling them haphazardly, he propped himself up at the head of a table and announced, “We’ll just have to feast in the meantime, as long as it takes.”

  Niran sighed and placed a heap of dalders on the counter, the slippery buttons shining as brightly as the innkeeper’s face. Then he stalked out into the empty street, his eyes fixed on the high keep ahead, his thoughts clouded with questions. Why, he wondered, had a Balagnar chosen to depose the ruler of some backwater planet? It was possible that the creature had discovered the stone’s location, he hypothesized, or perhaps the relic had summoned the beast by its powers, reaching out through the waters to distant worlds. For a moment, Niran suspected that he himself had been drawn in the same way and laughed at his own complicity. As he mounted Madoc, he was certain he heard Umsu call out, “Your finest qmira, good lady, and don’t let the bottom of the glass see daylight.”

  Chapter 3: Soulstones

  By evening, Frey’s uneasiness had turned to real fear. Night was coming and there was still no sign of Niran. The inn had begun to fill up with townspeople, muddy and irate from the chores set upon them by the mysterious Balagnar. As he listened to their conversations, Frey learned that they fiercely detested the new Raja, and that they were only slightly less hostile towards the drunken Umuqu on the premises who had taken to bellowing out his national anthem while banging a mug arhythmically against the table.

  Frey slumped lower in his chair, not deigning to join Ashur and Ratface in this most recent of Umsu’s attempts to educate them in the ways of his species. Earlier efforts had focused on a smattering of grunted phrases that Frey was fairly certain would get him either beaten or betrothed. As Umsu thundered to another disastrous finale, his wooden cup rattling the piles of empty dishes in front of them, he roared for more qmira.

  “If you want to teach us something,” said Ashur, sliding the qmira cask at him, “how about showing us how to make those lights.”

  Umsu’s eyes, which had been growing steadily larger as the daylight faded, now twinkled at the idea. Then he frowned and said, “Too dangerous.”

  “Afraid we’ll show you up?” Ashur insinuated.

  “Not so much that,” Umsu slurred, “as I’m afraid you’ll boil your brain in its casing and every one will want a slice.”

  “Niran probably knows more anyway,” Ashur went on.

  “Stop it,” Frey told Ashur, though he avoided his furious glare. “What we don’t need is more attention.”

  “Kolya said people would pay to find out about Niran and Umsu,” Ratface added gravely.

  “Not to fear, hatchlings,” said Umsu, reaching for one of the pouches that lay on his belly. Frey tensed as Umsu clumsily worked the fastener and drew out, not light, but an egg. All three gasped at the familiarity of it and Ratface was first to say, “I’ve seen one of those!”

  “Don’t doubt you have,” said Umsu, cupping the thing in his hand. “Those mines were probably rotten with them.”

  Frey stared at the glittering purple sphere and remembered a glass-encased scarab on Kolya Malin’s table, it and dozens like it over the years.

  “Finding them’s one thing, knowing how to use them’s another. This one’s lilax,” said Umsu, holding it up to torchlight to show the curled flower preserved in its heart.

  “What are they?” Ashur asked. Frey was suddenly aware of how close the older boy had edged towards Umsu, near enough to grab the ball out of his hands, and so moved forwards to ward him off.

  “It’s a soulstone,” Umsu whispered reverently. “Pilu uqnu, in Umuqu. Ampules, they used to say, back in the Hegemonic Overunity. Anyways …”

  His padded fingers closed around the soulstone and he seemed to drift off for a moment, then roused with a huffing snort. Fumbling again with the clasp, he returned the flowered stone to its place before reaching into the other pouch. The second stone was yellow and oblong, Frey saw, and it held a vibrating insect with iridescent wings.

  “This one’s witchneedle, our sacred animal,” said Umsu proudly, as though showing off a newborn. “Made in the foundry at Andul, long may it stand, in the Great Nexus. Tell me you never heard of a nexus.”

  “It’s a door that takes you to the next world,” Ratface offered.

  “But how do you get glass through it?” Ashur interrupted. “I thought a nexus only lets in living things
, turns everything else to dust …”

  “It’s not glass,” Umsu corrected him. “This little fellow’s right out in the open like we are, but his space is just …”

  “Inside out!” Frey answered brightly. “So the soulstones are made of qmira!”

  “Somebody was paying attention at the river,” said Umsu, with an earnest and sloppy grin. Using his free hand, he took another pull from his cup. “Worlds can overlap in qmira space that are a far piece apart in our space, see, so it does funny things to time.”

  All the lecturing had apparently given him a thirst, for Umsu discarded his cup and drained the cask to the dregs. He waved it at the serving girl, who pretended not to see him, and then furrowed his face before picking up the trail of his thoughts again.

  “Upshot of it is, this one,” said Umsu, holding up the yellow stone, “thinks it’s in the future and the other’s in the past, but,” putting away the yellow and holding up the purple, “this one thinks it’s in the future and that one’s the past. Doesn’t much matter until someone holding this one,” brandishing the flower, “also grabs hold of this one,” reaching for the imprisoned insect.

  “Umsu, no!” Frey hissed, too late, as the room erupted in dazzling brightness. A commotion followed immediately, frightened shrieks and overturned chairs and broken dishes, a condition that only intensified when the table suddenly ignited, clouding the place with smoke and the smell of burnt fur. Through the blaze of flame and qmira light, Frey saw Umsu’s horned head lolling heavily against the table and feared the worst until, under the squealing pandemonium, he heard the buzzing undertone of the creature’s snoring.

  “Take his right hand,” Frey told Ratface, who seemed as panicked as everyone else. Together they carefully approached the sleeping Umuqu with his fists still full of light and pried open his fingers. Frey saw the purple soulstone fall to the floor and the indigo blaze evaporate, though the fire on the tabletop continued to grow. Gingerly picking up the stone, Frey stuffed it in its pouch and then did the other, while Ratface used a water jug to douse both the flames and Umsu, who grimaced in his sleep. Then both slowly turned to face the crowd that had gathered around them.

  “Spicy food,” Frey explained, fanning himself with his hand. With the help of Ratface, he hoisted Umsu from his seat and dragged him away from the table, neither of them expecting him to weigh as much as he did.

  “Where’s Ashur?” Ratface asked quietly, looking around. Frey scanned the room, too, finding no trace of him, but met, in the process, the innkeeper’s malevolent scowl.

  “Is there enough money left for a room?” Frey asked hopefully.

  “Hardly,” said the innkeeper, staring now at the smoldering destruction behind them.

  “Can you tell us how to find the Raja, then?” Frey asked.

  The innkeeper tightened her face still more. “Made himself right at home in the high keep. Why don’t you go burn his place down instead of mine?”

  Frey smiled guiltily and pulled Umsu, who was now fidgeting in his sleep, out the door and into the dark street. The pony was still there, prancing excitedly at the sight of its owner, but slinging Umsu across its back was like lifting a sack of rocks out of Kolya Malin’s deepest mine.

  “What now?” Ratface asked, peering into the flickering shadows of the torch-lit city.

  “We’ll have to find Niran,” said Frey, before sighting a patch of lights that towered over the rest of the buildings. “Probably up there somewhere.”

  Ratface nodded and loosened the pony’s reins. They were just starting up the narrow street when the pony stumbled on a loose cobblestone, evoking weird gargles from Umsu. He started to mutter, continuing his lecture where he’d left off.

  “But the important thing about soulstones …” Umsu began, and promptly drooped back to sleep.

  Towards the center of town, the buildings leaned together in crooked rows, with the winding alleys between them occasionally producing hard faces full of suspicion, while other villagers jeered after them from vined balconies above. Coming around a hairpin bend, Frey heard other voices chattering in the darkness, including one he recognized: Ashur’s.

  Ratface heard it, too, and was already yanking at the reins, steering the pony into a nearby alley. Frey dashed after, the two of them withdrawing into the shadows as Ashur flashed by, deep in conversation with two cloaked men, both bald, one bearded. The menacing trio stalked past, heading in the direction of the inn, when Umsu suddenly stirred.

  “Very important, you know …,” he grumbled loudly, until Frey clamped a hand over his mouth. Umsu immediately bit him and went on, “Never the other way. Always a flower left.”

  Frey jerked his hand away and swallowed back a yelp. Outside the alley, the clatter of footsteps stopped. Ratface leaned over Umsu, firmly patting his fur until the creature nodded off once more. Frey held his breath, squeezing his throbbing finger, and heard the scuffle of feet in the street beyond, resuming their way down the hill.

  “Nice work, Ratface,” Frey said through clenched teeth.

  “Listen,” Ratface said hesitantly, “what do you say I won’t call you Frog anymore if you don’t call me Ratface?”

  “Oh, right,” said Frey, chagrined. “Then what …”

  “It’s Rana. It’s a girl’s name.”

  “I knew that,” he admitted. Her face seemed remade as he looked. “I’m really Frey.”

  “I knew that, too,” said Rana, smiling gratefully.

  “Well, then,” said Frey, feeling an enormous weight fall away from him, “come on, Rana, let’s go have a look at a Balagnar.”

  With that, they emerged into the street again, the pony ambling along behind them, with its passenger babbling fitfully. Slowly they made their way to the wide courtyard that encircled the keep, the looming peak ringed with torches like a fiery crown. Coming nearer still, Frey heard a strange snarl coming from the shadowed entryway and then saw Madoc the paleohippus poke its head out into the uncertain light. Umsu’s pony nearly broke loose from Rana’s grip in dashing towards its companion, taking them to the door of the tower much sooner than they had wanted.

  “He’s here, then,” said Frey, the feeling of relief quickly replaced by anxious thoughts of entering such a sinister place.

  “What should we do with him?” Rana asked, meaning Umsu. Clutching the Umuqu with both hands, she tried to shake him awake, but the effort only made Umsu snore more loudly.

  “We can’t leave him out here alone,” said Frey. “You stay with him. I’ll go.”

  “Then you’d better take these,” said Rana, holding the soulstone pouches by the twining vine that joined them. “Maybe you can get them to Niran, wherever he is.”

  Frey picked up the pouches as though he was carrying a pair of rats by their tails. Then he mugged courageously at Rana and turned towards the forbidding entranceway, feeling for a moment that he was back in the mines, stealing a visit to the well. Two immense wooden doors groaned as he pulled them open, revealing a stairway of worn timbers that angled steeply into the gloominess above. Frey climbed steadily upwards, gripping a pouch in each hand, and braced himself before shouldering through the door on the next floor.

  Taking a step inside, he had the briefest moment to recall what Umsu had said about the Balagnar, and Frey knew instantly that this was the creature he now saw, for the gigantic shape that fell towards him looked just like a hammer striking at the head of nail.

  Chapter 4: Prison of the Balagnar

  Niran hit the dungeon floor on his back and struggled to rise. Already the Balagnar, satisfied that it had flung him far enough, had backed through the prison door and shut it with a thump. Staggering towards the exit, Niran found that the door was in fact an enormous uprooted tree that the Balagnar had wedged between makeshift walls of mud and boulder. Torchlight crept in the cracks around the edges and through a crude bolt lock that pierced the solid trunk and Niran shouted into the keyhole at his captor.