Bryan Perro - The Mask wearer

“This hiding place is safe-no one will find us here,” he said. “Welcome to my father’s lair. He was a fanatical reader. Always studying. You’ll find books on everything. Some are written in strange languages that I can’t understand. Feel free to look at them. As for me, I’m dead tired and I’m going to sleep. If you want the fireflies to turn off their lights, you just have to grunt three times. Good night, Amos.”

Beorf had barely lain down on the floor before he started snoring. Amos walked around the room, looking at the books. There must have been more than a thousand. Some were old and dusty; others seemed more recent. Amos noticed that one book was sticking out from one of the shelves. It was an old book, transcribed by hand; its title was Al-Qatrum, the Territories of Darkness. Amos took it, sat down at the desk of Beorf’s dead father, and started to read.

The book talked about a region located on the Hyperborean border, a world hidden in the earth’s belly, where the sun never shines. It was the lair of the creatures of night, the birthplace of a race of monsters who had dispersed on the earth’s surface.

To his great surprise, Amos came across a drawing representing the exact creatures Beorf had described at the inn. They were called gorgons. Their origins seemed to date far back in time. Long ago, Princess Medusa, a lovely young woman, had ruled over one of the islands of the Hyperborean great sea. Her beauty was such that Phorcys, the god of the waters, had fallen madly in love with her. Ceto, Phorcys’s sister, wanted to keep her brother’s love for herself and transformed Medusa into a repulsive and dangerous creature. To be sure that Phorcys would never meet Medusa’s gaze again, she gave the princess the power to transform into stone any living being that looked into her eyes. Each time one of Medusa’s snake-hairs bit her, the drop of blood that fell on the ground immediately became a snake that years later would change into a gorgon. It seemed that Medusa’s beautiful island still existed and was inhabited by stone statues.

Amos closed the book. Now that he knew the history of these monsters, he had to find the reason why they were attacking villagers within the realm of the Knights of Light. No doubt Beorf’s father had been trying to clear up this mystery before his death. If the book had not been put back in its proper place, it was probably because he had looked at it recently. Searching the desk drawer, Amos discovered Mr. Bromanson’s notes. On a sheet of paper, he saw a drawing of the skull pendant worn by Yaune the Purifier. Wishing to further his research, Amos continued to read.

According to Beorf’s father, Yaune the Purifier had stolen this sacred relic in his youth. At that time, he was called Yaune the Agitator. In a faraway land, he had attacked a village of sorcerers with his knights and had stolen this valuable object of black magic from a sacred temple. The pendant belonged to a cruel magician of darkness, who had been looking for it ever since. Only one of the Knights of Light had returned safe and sound to Bratel-la-Grande-none other than Yaune. He had set out as Yaune the Agitator and had been renamed Yaune the Purifier after boasting that he had vanquished all his enemies. As Yaune the Purifier, he had also been designated lord and ruler of the capital.

Everything is clear, Amos thought. Barthelemy’s father must have died during this battle. The gorgons are at the service of this magician of darkness, and as long as he does not get his pendant back, the city and its villages will remain in danger. I understand now why Yaune burns all magicians caught by his knights. He’s afraid. He knows that he does not have what it takes to fight the sorcerer.

Amos felt as if someone were watching him, and raised his head. In the darkness of the trapdoor, close to the ladder, he saw the blind cat looking at him. The animal took a few steps back and disappeared into the shadows.

Amos had a hard time falling asleep. The gorgons, the skull pendant, Yaune, the cat in particular-all of them swirled in his head and made him think somber thoughts. When he woke up in the morning, he saw that Beorf had laid out breakfast on his father’s desk. There were nuts, honey, wild fruit, bread, milk, and cakes. A soft light came into the library through a round window in the ceiling. Amos could not believe his eyes.

“Where did you find all this?” he asked.

“I’ve got my hiding places,” Beorf answered as he swallowed a big piece of bread dripping with honey.

Amos took his first meal of the day with his friend. He explained in detail what he had discovered in Beorf’s father’s work. Then he told him about what had happened at the bay of caverns, his departure from the realm of Omain, and his journey with his parents to Bratel-la-Grande. Amos took the mermaid’s white stone out of the little bag that served as a pocket inside his armor. He placed it on the table.

“Look, I must go to the woods of Tarkasis to hand this stone to someone named Gwenfadrille. I’m supposed to tell her that her friend Crivannia, princess of the waters, is dead and that her realm has fallen into the hands of the merriens. I must also tell her that Crivannia chose me to be the mask wearer. If only I knew what that means. I don’t understand any of it.”

Just as Amos finished talking, the blind cat jumped from the highest shelf of the library and landed directly on the table. He grabbed the stone between his teeth and rushed toward the exit.

“I’m going to reduce you to pulp,” Beorf shouted after it. “You creepy animal!”

He morphed into his bear form and set off in pursuit of the cat, who shot up the ladder and slipped through the trapdoor. Beorf fell twice as he tried to climb after it. The first time, he fell on his backside; the second time, on his nose. The third time, he made it. Amos quickly grabbed his belongings, stuck the book Al-Qatrum, the Territories of Darkness under his arm, slung his trident over his shoulder, and climbed the ladder himself. Once outside, he followed Beorf’s pawprints. The trail led straight to Bratel-la-Grande.

To Amos’s surprise, the portcullis that protected the city was still open in spite of the mid-morning hour. But there were no peasants in the fields. Immediately Amos expected the worse. When he entered the capital, his fears were confirmed. He was aghast to see that all the dwellers had been turned to stone. The curse had spared no one.

Amos ran toward the Shield and the Sword. On his way, he met only petrified beings, their faces marked by fright. At the inn’s door he was confronted by a painful sight-a motionless Barthelemy. Amos looked in vain for his parents. He kept hoping that he would find them safe and sound: Urban and Frilla knew the power of the gorgons and had no doubt escaped in time. But when he heard the shouts of a bear in distress, he remembered Beorf and hurried in the direction of the marketplace.

The humanimal was the prisoner of huge roots. They were wrapped around his paws, body, and throat. Amos didn’t understand what had happened. How could roots have grown so fast as to immobilize his friend? Taking hold of his trident, Amos tried to free Beorf, when suddenly the voice of an old man stopped him.

“It’s no use trying to liberate your friend, Mr. Daragon. The strength of one root is equal to the power of the druid who made it grow. And although I don’t want to brag about it, a dozen or more woodcutters using heavy axes would not be able to cut these roots off.”

Amos turned his trident nervously toward the man. His challenger had a long and dirty gray beard. His hair was also very long and tangled with twigs, dead leaves, and hay. He was wearing a brown robe, stained and threadbare. Wooden clogs, a belt made of braided vines, and a long twisted walking stick completed his attire. A huge red mushroom was growing from his neck, and his hands were covered with the kind of moss that usually covers boulders. The blind cat was at his feet, rubbing his head against the man’s legs.