Bruce Cordell: Spinner of Lies

“And it’s going to tell me what?” Demascus asked.

“It’s going to tell you how your precious office has been manipulated. How fate itself was denied-altered-for the selfish gain of an evil entity. And how you were the instrument of that alteration.”

Goose bumps swept his arms. That was a considerable claim. “Someone manipulated me? Who? Just tell me!”

“You won’t believe me.” She folded her arms.

Demascus realized he wasn’t going to escape the cellar without speaking to the painting. It might be a setup, sure. But he had to know.

He looked around to Jaul. “Well, how’s that sound? Are you willing to let me have a look at that thing before you cart it back to House Norjah?”

“Yeah, sure. Of course!” Palpable relief loosened the muscles of the young man’s face. He began to set the painting down.

“Get down from that first, why don’t you?” said Madri. “It’s dangerous.” She pointed at the small hillock.

Jaul sidled forward, leaving a clear boot print in the dirt. Demascus wondered what had Madri so spooked about heap of soil. She wasn’t telling him something. Which was worrying. Maybe he’d ask the Necromancer about that, too. A bonus question.

Jaul leaned the painting against the cellar wall. He played with the broken mask in his hands, nervously transferring it from hand to hand. Madri raised a hand and opened her mouth as if to tell Jaul something, but Demascus was already uncovering the canvas. The portrait was made up of disparate scenes stitched together with embalming thread. Each pane was a tiny vista of undeath, agony, and sundered sanity. And the scenes made up a terrible face. Mismatched eyes swiveled to meet his. The painted mouth heaved against the canvas, as if it vainly sought breath in an airless void.

The Necromancer’s regard was a psychic kick, as Madri had warned. Demascus sucked in a breath. He, or at least his former incarnations, had parlayed with avatars of gods, and perhaps even gods themselves. Though the entity staring at him was the scion of the Binder of Knowledge and a demigod, it was trapped in paint. It wouldn’t cow him.

“Necromancer. What does Madri want you to tell me?”

The two-dimensional mouth squirmed. The painting whispered, “… the Sword is vulnerable to those who can bend Fate, or deceive it with a tapestry of interlocking lies …”

“Explain,” he said, annoyed the Necromancer didn’t just get to the point. What was it about artifacts that made them babble most of the time? The painting was hinting at something monstrous, but hints could be interpreted any old way, depending on the desires of the listener.

“… sometimes a lie can shift reality, forcing Fate to adjust, instead of the other way around …”

“Yes, yes. That sounds very fancy. Just tell me: who’s lying?”

“ I can tell you that, Demascus,” said a new voice, one whose depth and clarity sent shivers down his spine. “Turn, face me.”

Demascus looked round.

Madri had clapped her hands to her mouth and was pointing at Jaul.

The boy wore the burned half-mask.

THE CITY OF AIRSPUR, AKANUL

22 LEAFFALL, THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)

"Hello,” Jaul said. “I never get tired of it, how vivid the world is through living, mortal eyes.” The mask’s mouth was moving, but the voice was not Jaul’s.

“Fossil?” said Madri, her voice quavering. “Is that you?”

“Just so,” Jaul’s mouth quirked, in perfect lock step with the half-mask’s rubbery contractions.

Madri whirled to fix a scared gaze on him. “Demascus, the mask was a dead angel; I thought I destroyed it!”

Jaul-no, Fossil-shook its host’s head. “You almost did. But you should have destroyed all the pieces.”

“What’ve you done with Jaul?” Demascus asked. If anything happened to Chant’s son … Demascus didn’t want to think about it. His friend would never forgive him.

“Jaul?” said Fossil. “He’s not far, nor as pure as you assume. I can see right into his mind.” A hand rose and tapped Jaul’s forehead. “In fact, why don’t I let him tell you what he’s been up to?”

Jaul spoke again, but this time in something much closer to his regular voice. “Hey, Demascus. Yeah … I’ve been sort of a bad boy.” Then he giggled.

It sounded like Jaul … but a Jaul hyped up on about five kettles of tea. “Take off the mask!”

“Nah. I don’t think so. I’m seeing things a whole new way.”

“Because you were stupid enough to put an evil relic on your face. It’s messing with your perception. Take it off!”

Madri interrupted, “Jaul, what did Fossil mean when he said you’re not so pure?”

Jaul laughed, and it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Fossil meant the Necromancer. I wasn’t actually going to return the painting to House Norjah. I just said that because you caught me. No, I’ve been keeping Master Raneger apprised of everything you’ve been up to. See this tattoo?” Jaul pointed with one hand at a tattoo on his opposite wrist, depicting a dagger suspended in a crashing wave. “It’s Raneger’s sign. Means I’m pledged. I told Raneger about the Whispering Children while you were off chasing drow in the Demonweb. He was delighted to learn about the Necromancer. So he sent me to steal it. And you know what? I was happy to do it. Serves the old man right if House Norjah comes looking for him.”

Disappointment on Chant’s behalf stabbed Demascus. It was plausible … and explained how Jaul had found his way here. Raneger’s sizable criminal network had supplied the address. The little snot had betrayed them. And now Jaul had been snagged by something even worse than Raneger.

“Fossil, let Jaul go!” Demascus said.

“Fossil isn’t doing anything I don’t want it to do,” said Jaul. “ I’m the one wearing the mask, you dolt.”

“Try to take it off then, and we’ll see who’s got who.”

“You think I’m that stupid? Go piss in a dragon den.”

Demascus had hoped Jaul would at least try. He edged forward. If he could jump the kid, maybe he could wrench the mask off him …

“Hey, watch it. With this thing on my face, I don’t miss a thing. And I can tell you’re going to do something stupid. Don’t, or you’ll be sorry.”

“Sorry how?”

“Sorry that you didn’t learn all the secrets this relic mask knows about you because you made me too angry to share. Fossil said it could see into my head? Well, I can see into what passes for its mind, too. And you figure prominently.”

Jaul raised his hands in a gesture of reconciliation. “I know things you need to know.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the true origin of …” Jaul cocked his head, as if trying to recall a half-forgotten fact. “… of Kalkan Swordbreaker. He wasn’t always your nemesis, you know. He was created after you manifested in Toril.”

“How do you know that name?”

“Fossil knows,” Jaul said, smiling like the drake who ate the cat.

Madri murmured, “Demascus, Fossil is a liar and works for a liar. Anything he says might be-”

“Created by whom?” interrupted Demascus. Madri scowled at him. Anger made him not care about her feelings-she should have warned him about the mask!

“By the gods,” said Jaul … but the voice was no longer that of Chant’s son. The intonation had returned to that of the relic angel. Fossil continued, “They feared you, a creature with a mortal’s mind-set from another continuum. An entity who’d been granted more power than a being of your station should ever possess. So they fashioned a keeper, one who could manage you, and then snuff you out whenever your power grew too great. To reset you, as it were, and rub out any particularly embarrassing memories you might carry that could implicate even a god.”