Sword Mountain (15 page)

The other eaglet stepped forward and gave her a delicate hug.

Dandelion stumbled back, startled.
Did she just call me “miss”?
“What have I done?”

Even Olga was really affable. “You won!”

“Since Tutor Simplicio has left, we decided to hold our own celebration during the hour of study tomorrow,” one of the eaglets explained. “Remember the paintings? Well, our class voted this morning on our favorite model during the summer term, and you won by a large margin. You even beat the queen!” It caught Dandelion unawares, but they were not finished.

“I hope our winner will accept this invitation to a masquerade tomorrow morning,” the other female eaglet said, drawing from the pocket of her dress a card bedecked with bows.

“Please say you'll come, Dandelion,” begged Olga. Dandelion was not sure if she felt embarrassed, shy, or dazed.

“What's a masquerade?” she said.

“A fun party where birds dress up and wear masks.”

“I don't have a mask.”

“You don't need one!” One of the eaglets giggled.

“Really, it doesn't matter,” said the other eaglet. “Be yourself. All we want is you. And it'll be really entertaining. There'll be cake and pie.”

“And caviar,” added Olga.

Dandelion was at a loss for words. She saw no reason to refuse. “Yes,” she said.

Try as she might that night, Dandelion could not keep her eyes shut. “
Our favorite
.” The words were like the smell of freshly baked bread.

 

Masks cannot hide the expression of eyes.

—
FROM THE
B
OOK OF
H
ERESY

I
n the morning, Fleydur asked to see Dandelion at noon in his study. She would go after the party, she decided.

As Dandelion hurried down the hall, she saw Cloud-wing.

“Are you going to the masquerade?” she asked.

Cloud-wing shook his head. “I'm visiting the old mine today with my father. He's overseeing the removal of debris to find out if the mine could be reopened.” Cloud-wing paused, a troubled look in his eyes. “The masquerade … it won't be much fun. Don't go, Dandelion.”

“But they invited me,” she said. It would be rude to not show up after she had agreed.

She smoothed the folds on her garments, hoping that neatness would make up for the simplicity of her clothes and that she would not seem too out of place.

When Dandelion arrived at Simplicio's room, her beak dropped open at the scene.

Along the table, there were little silver cups almost the size of thimbles, and by each cup, a miniature spoon. There was a black gel-like substance in the cups; that must be the caviar. One eaglet picked up the tiny eating utensils and proceeded to nibble daintily at the caviar, a claw nail in the air.

But Dandelion could only gawk at the partygoers themselves. The eaglets were gesturing theatrically and chatting in singsong voices. They wore elaborate coats and gowns of silk, satin, chiffon, or velvet. One bird had such puffed sleeves they kept dipping into cups and knocking over glasses. Another's dress had layers of ruffles upon ruffles, which swept the floor like a broom when she walked. Ribbons of every color swirled from headdresses. Buttons of every size and shape gleamed in long rows.

Everybird stopped talking and looked at Dandelion. That was when she saw their masks, beautiful, beaded, feathered, and sequined. They dazzled her.

“Oh, Dandelion! It's good you came,” said the creature with the sweeping ruffles. Her mask was purple and pink and silver, with bits of colored tinsel sticking out like passionflower petals.

“The party was getting dull,” added another creature through his polka-dotted mask. They laughed, rustling their costumes. “Now we'll
really
have some fun!”

The creatures held Dandelion's wings and led her into the center of the room, and giggling, they twirled her around and around. Without warning, five of the eaglets linked wings in a circle, with Dandelion in the center. More creatures formed a bigger ring around them, and still others made an even bigger ring enclosing them all. They swayed and ran in circles, holding wings, around her.

At first she laughed with them. It seemed to be a lighthearted little game. She tried to break out of the circles, but each time the tittering creatures jostled her back into the center.

By and by she stopped enjoying herself, and she looked with a small frown at the twirling figures. They kept moving in on her, closing her in. She tried again to burst free, in earnest this time. Great Spirit, they were persistent. The pushing and shoving got rougher as they danced, still laughing like before.

Dandelion shoved back, not feeling playful anymore. The creatures resisted her attempts, lifted talons, and started poking and plucking her feathers. Smarting from the pain, Dandelion pushed once again. This time the creature with the passionflower mask blocked her path.

“Let go of me. Let me out!” Dandelion shouted.

Perhaps they weren't smiling as they sang and laughed. They might have never smiled. It was only their masks that made them look happy. It was only the masks that made them feel daring and strong.

She reached up, caught hold of the passionflower mask, and yanked.

She heard the string break with a snap, and then a mortified cry. Somebird abruptly tripped her. Dandelion landed hard on the floor, banging her head. What were the rules in this game they played? The rings finally broke apart; the creatures grew silent. They stopped prancing and regarded her, while their maskless companion scurried off and took cover behind them, hiding her face.

Dandelion could feel a bump rising on her head. She let go of her trophy, trying to get up. Then the bird in the polka-dot mask bent down toward Dandelion. For a moment she thought he was aiming his crooked foot at her face, but he was merely extending talons to help her.

She stood, blinking. “Oh, Dandelion, all right, all right,” said Polka-dot Mask. “We were just having fun. That's all.” And the others suddenly grew friendly and cheerful as before, joining in the laughter, patting Dandelion's back. Somebird leaned down and picked up the passionflower mask, passing it back to its owner.

“Are you okay?” said Polka-dot Mask. “Are you ready for some more fun?”

“I'm so, so sorry, I didn't realize you didn't know how to play,” trilled another.

“You didn't hurt your head
that
much, did you?” asked a third.

They apologized profusely, and then showered her with more well-meaning inquiries.

Why is it that when they are so polite, they seem so cruel?
Dandelion thought. Her cheeks trembled and ached, and to her shock her eyes grew moist.

“We've a nifty surprise for you,” Polka-dot Mask said. “No more dancing,” he added.

“Come, Dandelion! Come!” the masked creatures cried, and the next moment, they crowded in and threw her onto their shoulders, securing her ankles. Carried along by the surge of the crowd, Dandelion bounced and tipped from side to side. “Set me down,” she yelled, batting at the masks with her wings. Her voice was drowned out by the crowd's cheers. They crossed a threshold.

“All right,” said Polka-dot Mask. Dandelion jumped off at the first opportunity and glanced around. She was standing in a gallery of canvases. Paintings of her, from Simplicio's class days ago. Only something was terribly wrong about each and every painting, terribly wrong with the whole masquerade. “
Our favorite,”
they had said. They did not mean it, not at all. She looked over her shoulder. They were standing there, anticipating her reaction, waiting for the thrilling finale they had so painstakingly planned.

So many sequined faces, staring at her, with angelic expressions glued on.

Somebird said something. She did not catch what was said. She just blocked it out, kept her face stony. And the laughter that followed? She didn't know why they laughed, but it was the ugliest sound she'd ever heard.

“Leave me alone!” she shouted.

They slipped away behind her, leaving her to face all those grotesque images of herself. In one she resembled a dung pile with a mold-colored beak. In another she was drooling and had fleas.
A foolish, clumsy, dirty bird, a bumpkin here for entertainment
, those canvases whispered to her. She wanted to push down the easels. Angry tears welled in her eyes. And they'd had the nerve to invite her to a party in her honor! She sent the wooden easels toppling, but her satisfaction gave way to a more acute pain, because she was not hurting the other eaglets by destroying their canvases. The irony made her blood boil inside.