Jala's Mask (29 page)

Jala stepped closer to Boka and took his hand. “I know, my friend,” she whispered. “I'm scared too. But the wind's blowing too hard for us to turn away. We can only see where it takes us.”

Boka's hands shook as he repeated Jala's words. She could see the translator's eyes following Boka's hands with ease, but then the woman asked Boka to repeat himself. When she turned back to translate to the masked lords, she acted confused. Jala thought she could almost guess what the woman was saying.
I can't understand this islander, this one must have been hit on the head too many times. I'll ask again, but it's like talking to a fish.

Well, maybe he wouldn't have said fish. She hadn't actually seen a lot of fishing along the riverbanks. Too many boats.

She shook her head, forcing herself to pay attention again. The translator was signing and talking to Boka, but in the midst of asking him to repeat and explain she flashed a new sign, one Jala didn't recognize.

“What's going on?” Jala asked. “Can you make her understand or not?”

Unlike the translator, Boka seemed to be genuinely confused. “No, she seems to understand, but she made the sign that means she has a better offer for us. I think she's working for someone else, not just these Hashon lords. Someone else who wants the book.”

Jala glanced at the translator, and the woman met her eyes for a moment. Then she turned back to the masked lords, made some more apologies, and signed at Boka again.

So the woman was only pretending not to understand. “Boka, what the hell is going on? What sort of better offer?”

“She says that if you remain here, it will be easier for her master to meet with you. She says they'll help us escape.”

Jala stared at the translator again. Her head ached. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been given any water. Before they were stuffed into those carts, probably. She wanted to feel clean, to eat, to make sure Marjani and the rest of her people were safe. “This is some kind of trick. Tell her to repeat exactly what I said before.”

Boka did as she asked. The translator shot her a hard look, as if to tell her that this second, secret conversation wasn't over yet. A moment later the masked lords left, taking Boka with them. She was alone again, wondering if the translator had passed on her message. Would they come back with one of the sailors? With Marjani? She wished Azi were with her, which was such a selfish wish.

But when the soldiers returned, none of her people were with them. They motioned for her to get up, without yelling at her or hitting her, and led her out of the dungeon and up into the palace itself.

Jala was taken to a room in the palace with a shuttered window facing the river. Looking through the slats in the shutter, she saw ships being built on the riverbank. They were slow, heavy barges not unlike the ones that had landed on the islands. She counted twenty. There were probably more. Were they preparing for another attack?

She pulled on the shutters half-heartedly, but they'd been nailed shut, and the wood was strong. And where would she go, with no ships and nothing to trade? She couldn't even speak the language.

Someone knocked on the door. The door only locked from the outside, so they could have just entered.
I guess they're being polite, for now.
But when she opened the door, it wasn't one of the Hashon servants. It was Marjani.

“You're all right!” Jala said just as Marjani cried out, “Jala!” They hugged each other tightly.

“When they took you away, I—”

“I didn't know where they took everyone, and I was afraid—”

They stopped and laughed nervously. Jala straightened her dress. “How do I look? Like someone you'd want to make peace with?”

Marjani's smile faded. “So there's no peace yet? When they took us up to these rooms, I thought maybe things had gone well.”

Jala shook her head. “Not yet. We're their guests for now, that's all. I think we'll be safe for a few days. But they'll have to come for me soon if they want their book, right?” Jala smiled for Marjani's sake. “I don't think we'll be stuck here for too long.”

Marjani squeezed Jala's good hand. “You look lovely,” she said. “Especially when you lie.”

“It's not a lie. I just . . . I'm scared. Not just for myself, but for everyone. For you, for Captain Natari, for poor Boka, for all those sailors. I keep thinking, did I really need thirty sailors? Couldn't I have taken twenty? Fifteen?” She sat down on the soft bed. “Are they all here?”

Marjani shook her head. “I don't know. They took us up into the palace, then brought me here.”

The door opened again. It was Boka. Behind him stood the translator and two Hashon servants, all dressed in the same plain white robes.

“They're taking you to dinner,” Boka said. “That's what she said, at least.”

“Where is everyone? Are they treating you well?” Jala asked.

Boka shrugged. “They took everyone to different rooms all over the palace and put guards on the doors. As far as they're concerned ‘guest' just means we get beds and maybe some food now and then.”

“All right,” Jala said. “That's something, anyway. Just give me a moment.” She hugged Marjani one more time, then touched her earring for luck. It was heavy and annoying sometimes, but it helped her feel like a queen, and it was her last connection to Azi. It was hard to feel queenly when your kingdom was a world away.

The palace itself was unimaginably huge. Though she tried, Jala couldn't keep track of the passages they took, the identical halls lined with smooth green stone, the many gates and doors, the tapestries and lamps and paintings. Even here she could hear the sound of the river flowing through the walls and under her feet.

Finally they reached a large hall, magnificent in its height and decorated with precious stones. Daylight streamed through the tall windows set in the walls and ceiling, and the entire hall sparkled with reflected light. But more precious than stones was the food laid out on one end of a long table. Jala's stomach growled at the sight.

The masked Hashon sat waiting for her at the other end of the table. They didn't look so frightening in the light. She could see which of them was short or tall, which one had a large gut, which were women and which were men. All of it reminded her that beneath those masks they were still people, and people were willing to make trades for what they needed.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Jala said.

Standing nearby, Boka spoke with the translator, then said, “You are welcome, island queen, as a guest of the Hashon. We invite you to sit at our table, eat our food, and drink of our river.”

“You're sure they said guest?” Jala said.

“As sure as I can be.”

“In that case, have you eaten, my friend? Tell them you'll sit and eat by my side while we talk.”

Jala sat and ate with Boka while the masked figures watched. They seemed to have no interest in eating. Only their translator seemed restless, standing beside the table and shifting from foot to foot. To fill the silence, and to show how unconcerned she was, Jala asked about the food. There was horse meat in a sauce made from oranges and dried grapes served with rice. There was also beer that she was expected to drink with a reed, so thick it was as much a meal as a drink.

When she was finished, Jala waited for the table to be cleared, then addressed the masked Hashon. “You already know my name. Perhaps you would honor me with your own names before we begin.”

The translator pointed to each of the masks and spoke their names.

“Lord Mouth,” Boka said. “Lord Eyes. Lord Hands. Lord Empty Face. I think she means mute and blind. Lords Far and Near. Lord Stone.” Boka hesitated. “She also says that Lord Stone can't be trusted. At least that's what I think that sign means.”

Jala stared. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“It's what she said. How can I tell whether they're mocking you when I can only get it second-hand and they always wear those masks? Maybe the masks are a joke, too.”

“All right.” Jala cleared her throat and spoke to the Hashon. “It's a pleasure to meet you, my lords. I'm truly glad you have accepted us as guests, and I hope that in your wisdom you will also accept my proposal.” She spoke slowly and clearly, with a forced smile on her lips.

Boka translated. The masks listened, and Lord Mouth spoke. Their translator made a single gesture, one fist slapped twice into her outstretched palm. “Make your offer,” Boka said.

“This is my offer: the book, the Anka, was taken by mistake, and the Gana, the family that took it, has paid in blood.” This was a lie, but Jala figured they wouldn't really know the difference between one island's family and another. “They are no more. We'll return the Anka to you and pledge peace with the Hashon. Our ships will leave your caravans and your villages alone. We'll trade with you. We bring many things from the far corners of the coasts to the Constant City, and of these you'll have the first choice as long as I am queen.” Jala waited for Boka to translate, then went on. “In exchange, you will pledge peace with us. You will stop the invasion and return our ships to us. You will give us supplies and allow me and my people to leave unharmed, as guests and friends.”

Jala wished she could see the faces behind those masks. They spoke in whispers among themselves, but she couldn't tell anything from their flat, even voices.

“How can you guarantee such a deal?” Boka translated.

“By marriage,” Jala said. “One man or woman from each family of the Five-and-One will travel here to marry the noble sons and daughters of the Hashon, and people of the Hashon will travel to the islands to marry into each noble family. Through marriage and trade, our two peoples will be joined and ties of peace will replace bloodshed.”

She listened, her heart pounding, as Boka passed on her message, as the white-robed translator spoke to the masked lords, and as the lords conferred. They spoke in a dull monotone. Jala wondered if they cared at all.

They're just trying to unnerve me. They want their book back. They'll bargain for a while, but sooner or later they'll have to say yes.
She just wished they would hurry, before her heart exploded or she passed out or started screaming. What was taking so long?

The voices stopped. Jala held her breath.

Lord Mouth spoke a single word. “
Osh.
”

Jala stared at their translator. The woman seemed surprised by their response, but when she spoke to the masked lords, Lord Mouth simply repeated himself. The translator punched her palm once, then slashed her hand sharply through the air. The answer was clear even without Boka's help. “No. They refuse.”

“Mountain's piss,” Jala whispered to herself, feeling suddenly faint.
What have I done?
She opened her mouth to speak, but she had no words left. She had nothing.

Lord Mouth was speaking again, but Boka wasn't looking. Jala grabbed his shoulder and shook him, pointing at the translator.

“You and your people will be treated as guests until the guestrite passes. Then you will be displayed, tortured, and killed. Blood . . . I think it's blood, it's hard to understand,” Boka stammered.

“Tell me. You know what she's saying,” Jala said, trying to keep her voice firm.

Boka nodded and took a deep breath. “Blood pays for blood. I think that's what she said. She could be lying to make us sorry we didn't take her offer earlier. Who knows what they're really saying? For all we know
osh
means yes.”

Jala stared into the masked faces. She tried to keep her voice from shaking. “I don't think she's lying about their answer. Ask them what they want. Ask them how we can make peace. There must be something.”

“I'll try.” His speech and hand signaling was hesitant still, and he spoke with the translator for several minutes, clarifying what Jala wanted to say. When the translator was satisfied, she spoke in her own language to the masked lords.

As they did, Jala stepped closer to Boka. “Do you need to sit down?”

“No, my queen. I'll finish.”

Jala put a hand on Boka's shoulder. “I'm sorry I brought you here, my friend. I truly am.”

Boka shrugged off her hand. “You'll be my queen until I'm dead, which shouldn't be long now. But you're not my friend.”

This time it was Lord Stone who spoke, not Lord Mouth.

“For ten days the river flowed red with blood,” Boka translated. “Many died to feed the magic, but you and your king still live. Your ships still sail the endless waters. The guilty must pay.”

Then Lord Mouth spoke again. Jala didn't bother listening to him. The meaning would filter through eventually. Why would they sacrifice so many to reclaim this book, this Anka, only to give it up again? Maybe it wasn't what they wanted all along. Maybe revenge was all they cared about.

“Give us the book,” Boka translated. “Then maybe we'll show mercy. Perhaps the girl you brought doesn't have to die. Perhaps we'll let some of your people return home.”