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Synopsis

The Masks of Aygrima is set in a land where people are forced to wear spell-imbued Masks that reveal any traitorous thoughts they have about their ruler, the Autarch.

Mara Holdfast is a young woman gifted with the ability to see and use all the colors of magic. Two other people share this talent: the Autarch, who draws upon the very life-force of his subjects to fuel his existence and retain his control over the kingdom; and the legendary Lady of Pain and Fire, the only person who has ever truly challenged the Autarch's despotic reign.

After a devastating battle that takes a dreadful toll on both the rebel unMasked Army and the forces of Prince Chell, their ally from across the sea, Mara and her fellow survivors have no one to turn to for help but the Lady of Pain and Fire.

As the Lady leads them to her haven beyond the mountain borders of the kingdom, Mara feels that she has found the one person who truly understands her, a mentor who can teach her to control and use her power for the greater good. Together, they may be able to at last free Agryma from the Autarch's rule.

Living within the Lady's castle, cut off from her friends in the village far below, Mara immerses herself in her training. Still, she can't entirely escape from hearing dark hints about the Lady, rumors that the Lady may, in her own way, be as ruthless as the Autarch himself.

Yet it is not until they begin their campaign against the Autarch that Mara discovers where the real danger lies. Driven by the Lady's thirst for revenge, will Mara and all her friends fall victim in a duel to the death between two masters of magic?

Excerpt

ONE

Shelter from the Storm

THE DEAD LAY ON THE BEACH, row upon row, the snow gently wrapping their disfigured forms in shrouds of purest white, hiding the horror, hiding all differences. Had she not known how they were arranged, Mara could not have told which were Watchers and which members of the unMasked Army.

Except for the smallest corpses. There had been no children among the Watchers.

She stood, Keltan to her right and the Lady of Pain and Fire to her left, on the hillside landward of the gathered corpses. Keltan's presence warmed her. No one else had dared come close to the Lady and the wolves clustered around her feet. The survivors of the unMasked Army... though "army" seemed far too grand a term for what had been whittled down to no more than eighty fighters and perhaps two hundred men, women, and children in all... huddled together in small groups across the rows of dead from the Lady. Edrik stood with his wife, Tralia, both of them supporting Edrik's grandmother, Catilla, commander of the unMasked Army. Hyram was there, too, his arm protectively around the shoulders of Alita, the dark-skinned girl who had been rescued with Mara from the wagon taking them to the mining camp. Two other girls who had been in that wagon, Prella and Kirika, held each other close. Chell's men who had survived... about fifty in all... stood with their prince and their captains on the seaward side, where the sinking sun turned them into faceless silhouettes as though they wore the black Masks that had crumbled away into dust from the Watchers' faces when they'd died.

Whatever words were to be said over the dead had already been said by the surviving members of the families... those families where anyone survived. Not far from where she stood, Mara saw three corpses gathered together: man, woman, and young daughter. An entire family wiped out.

A family like mine once was.

Among those corpses lay that of Simona, the baker's daughter who had been the fourth girl rescued from the wagon with Mara.

No tears dimmed her vision. Her ability to weep, like so much else, seemed to have been stripped away from her this day. Instead, her grief coiled, with her anger and fear, somewhere deep inside her, down where the nightmares lurked, the nightmares created in her mind whenever she used her Gift of magic to kill, whenever she absorbed the magic of those who died in her presence.

Though she had killed few if any of those on the beach before them now. The Watchers had killed those of the unMasked Army. And the deaths in turn of those Watchers, and the psychic burden they imposed, could be laid directly at the feet of the Lady in white fur by her side.

"The burial ceremonies are complete?" the Lady said now to Mara, in a voice only she--and the wolves; she saw their ears flick at the sound of their mistress' voice--could have heard. The Lady had stood upon the hillside, watching silently, while the corpses were gathered and laid out.

"Yes," Mara said.

"So." The Lady raised her hands. In Mara's Gifted sight, they began to glow brighter and brighter, until they seemed like twin suns come to the beach. She knew that those around her who were not Gifted, like Keltan, saw nothing at all. She still found that hard to believe.

The Lady made a pushing motion. Mara saw a ball of white fire spring forth from her palms, spread into a towering wall of flame, and sweep across the beach. As the fiery wave passed, the bodies vanished, dissolving into white dust that the flame pushed ahead of it into the sea.

One instant, the corpses were there. The next, they were gone, and the snow fell onto empty, level ground, already softening the human-sized blotches of bare stones where the bodies had lain an instant before.

Mara heard a kind of collective gasp from the unMasked Army and the men of Korellia, followed by renewed weeping from those whose loved ones' remains had just vanished. She'd gasped, too, but for a different reason: for the first time she had seen where the Lady obtained her power. This close to her, she had sensed its flow.

Most Gifted could only use magic collected and held in containers of black lodestone, the strange mineral that attracted magic to itself. But the Lady of Pain and Fire, the Autarch, and Mara herself could draw magic directly from other living things, including people, though the Autarch's power was limited in that he required those people to be wearing magical Masks for him to access their magic.

The Lady had just drawn magic from the wolves.

Mara looked down at them. They grinned back at her, tongues lolling.

"I see you glimpse the truth," the Lady said softly to her. "But this is only the beginning of your understanding. Once we reach my stronghold..." She looked out to sea, and frowned. "But first, we must reach it." She glanced at Keltan. "Boy."

"Keltan," he muttered, but she hardly seemed to notice.

"Tell Catilla we have to leave at once. The storm is returning."

"But you stopped it," Mara said.

"No. I only quieted it, locally, for a short time."

"But didn't you start it in the first place?"

The Lady shook her head. "The land of Aygrima has magical defenses, established centuries ago. That ancient magic created this storm. It will last for however long those who crafted that magic decreed it should last." She spoke to Keltan again. "If we are not off this beach before full night, there will be more deaths. We must move now."

Keltan frowned, glanced out at sea, froze for a moment, and then dashed off without another word. Mara followed his gaze, and saw what had given him pause.

The sun was vanishing, but not yet falling below the horizon: instead, it was being swallowed by a rapidly rising line of black clouds, whose towering peaks it outlined in flame as it disappeared behind them.

"I'm not sure they can be off the beach before the storm comes back," Mara said, turning to the Lady. "Can't you quiet it again, at least for a time?"

The Lady shook her head again. "I came down to the shore holding as much magic within myself as I could, and I drew much more from the dying Watchers, but I also used a great deal destroying the remaining Watchers and cleansing the beach." And destroying Chell's ships, Mara thought, glancing at the crippled Defender lying heeled-over and broken-keeled on the beach, and uneasily remembering the gleeful fury with which the Lady had savaged it. But she didn't mention that out loud.

"The wolves provide some, but they are not inexhaustible," the Lady continued. "No. I can do nothing more against this storm, or stop the rising seas that will soon lash this beach. But as I have said, I have prepared food and shelter a short distance away, to see us through the night. After that...." She pointed into the hills. "We are three days' journey from my stronghold, and that is three days as I travel. It may be a week with this ragtag bunch, and the journey is difficult."

Mara felt a surge of anger. "Then leave without us, if you're so worried. Save yourself. What do you care about this 'ragtag bunch'?"

The Lady raised an eyebrow. "I need them," she said. "I need people. And, as I have told you already, I need you in particular. If I--if we--are to overthrow the Autarch, then we must all help each other." She looked across the now-empty beach at the unMasked Army, and Mara, following her glance, saw Edrik already beginning to chivvy people inland. Beyond Edrik, the water, almost calm a few moments before, now tossed restlessly against the shore, and out to sea, the waves advanced in white-capped rows growing ever larger.

The final blazing sliver of sun vanished behind the rising clouds, plunging them into shadow. A wind even colder than before swirled the snow across the beach.

"I will use my magic as I can to make the journey easier for them," the Lady said, "but I cannot remove all hazards or discomforts."

Mara stared out across the beach, at the weary, crying children being urged to their feet, at the weeping widows and walking wounded turning their backs on the rising sea to start the long, uncertain journey inland. "Is there anything I can do to help? This suffering... it's all my fault."

"It is the Autarch's fault," the Lady said sharply. "Don't forget that. And don't forget that he will pay. Now that I have you, he will fall, as hard and fast as his father." She took a deep breath. "And, no, there is nothing you can do to help. I have no magic you can use, and I do not think you are willing to deliberately take magic from your companions."

Mara shot a horrified look at her. "I'll never be willing to do that. It's... I don't dare."

"Really?" The Lady smiled slightly, the expression revealing deeper lines in her face than were usually apparent, so that for the first time Mara had a hint of her true age. "I can see we have a great deal to talk about... and a great many misconceptions on your part to clear up. But all that must wait." The wolves, sitting or lying at ease all around them, suddenly rose to their feet as one animal. "We are moving at last, and I must lead the way." She turned, tugged the hood of her white fur robe into place, and strode higher up the hill. She did not move like a woman of at least Catilla's age, and as she stood, slim and erect, at the crest of the hill, waiting for those below to follow her inland, she might have been taken for no older than Mara. Like the Autarch, she seemed to have the secret of perpetual youth.

Like the Autarch, Mara thought, chilled by more than the wind. She knew how the Autarch had extended his life: by draining magic from the Child Guard and, through the newest version of the Masks, from many others. So how was the Lady achieving the same effect?

Mara had a lot of questions for the Lady of Pain and Fire. But first, of course, they had to survive the night. What did she mean, she's prepared shelter?How? And what kind of shelter?

Despite her questions, she didn't follow the Lady to the top of the hill. Instead, she went downhill, in search of Keltan.

She found him gathering the belongings of a woman who cradled a squalling infant in her arms. "Lost her husband," Keltan grunted as Mara came up. "Needs help."

Mara nodded, then turned to the woman. "Let me carry the child for you for a while," she said, holding out her arms.

But the woman glared at her, hatred plain on her face even in the fading gray twilight. "Don't touch her."

Mara gasped. "I--"

"Don't come near her, you... you monster!" The woman could barely choke out the loathing-filled words. She turned and strode blindly toward the hill where the Lady waited, clutching her infant to her breast.

Keltan, still carrying the woman's bundle slung over his back, paused beside Mara. "She didn't mean it," he said. "She's just upset..."

"She meant it," Mara said. And the worst of it is, she may be right.

"I thought you'd stay with the Lady," Keltan said. "What are you doing down here?"

"I don't want to walk with the Lady," Mara said. She wished she could take Keltan's hand, but they were both full. She contented herself with walking beside him. Side by side they trudged toward the hillside through the snow, the wind swirling it around their feet and biting through the flimsy coat she wore. "I want to walk with you. With someone ordinary."

Keltan shot her a glance. "Thanks... I think."

"You know what I mean." Mara sighed. "The Lady--she wants me for something. She wants me to become like her, I think. To help her overthrow the Autarch. But if I do what she wants... Keltan, I don't want to be a monster. I just want to be a girl."

"You are a girl," Keltan said. "I've kissed you, remember? Definitely a girl." He shook his head. "But if you mean you just want to be an ordinary girl... Mara, I'm sorry, but you can never be that. After what you've done... after what you've seen... you'll never be ordinary. You never have been."

Mara said nothing. Her life in Tamita, before her failed Masking, seemed as dim and distant as a pleasant dream, one that had vanished upon waking, leaving behind only a faint sense of well-being... and longing. Had she ever really been a carefree child, playing barefoot in the streets, sitting on the city wall and watching the crowds in the Outside Market, sneaking out at night with Sala for a secret swim, secure in the knowledge her mother and father loved her and she had a hot supper and warm bed awaiting her every night?

Now her father was dead, and maybe her mother, too. She'd seen so much death, had caused so much death, had done things she would never have dreamed possible less than half a year ago, things she wouldn't have believed if they'd been in one of the tales she'd enjoyed reading as a child. Everyone wanted to use her, to turn the powerful abilities she had never wanted to their own ends: the Autarch, Catilla, Chell, and now the Lady of Pain and Fire. None of them seemed concerned with what she wanted, or needed, or longed for. They just saw her as a tool, a tool they would use until it broke.

But if I break, she thought, with the power I have to rip magic from the living, to kill and destroy... how many more will die?

Keltan was still looking at her. "Mara, you're not a monster," he said in a low voice. "You never will be. You never could be."

How would you know?

The wind blew harder and harder, and the snow flew past more and more thickly. Never mind people dying on the beach, Mara thought. They'll be dying in their tracks if we don't find this shelter the Lady promised.

She couldn't really see anything at all anymore except the bent back of the man in front of her, carrying a huge bundle while his wife struggled along beside him with a toddler in her arms. The small boy's white face stared at Mara over his mother's shoulder. She knew it had to be her imagination, but it seemed as if he were blaming her for his misery.

They had been trudging away from the beach for half an hour, while the last light faded from the overcast sky, when suddenly the column stumbled to a halt. "What's going on?" Keltan asked Mara.

"No more idea than you." She craned her head to try to see, but the snow and darkness defeated her. But she heard shouts, being passed down the line, resolving, as they came closer and closer, into "Shelter to the right! Camp for the night!"

The man in front of them received the shout but didn't bother to pass it over his shoulder to Mara and Keltan. Mara heard it anyway, and felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Thank goodness," she said to Keltan.

Keltan didn't look convinced. "What kind of shelter could there be out here?"

They found out soon enough, as the column turned right. Beneath a tall bluff that blocked the worst of the wind, which roared through the trees at the top of the cliff, they found four long, low, windowless structures, with rough log walls and roofs of branches, ranged around and revealed by the flickering flames of a giant bonfire. Their shapes reminded Mara uncomfortably of the longhouses of the mining camp. Smoke from holes cut in their roofs mingled with the smoke from the bonfire, chased up the face of the bluff by tumbling sparks until the wind finally caught it and ripped it to shreds.

"How did the Lady do all this alone?" Keltan said. "Magic?"

But Mara, peering through the falling snow and flickering shadows, shook her head. "No," she said. "Or at least, not entirely. She didn't do it alone. Look." She pointed.

"Who are they?" Keltan said, voice suspicious, as he saw what Mara had spotted first: strangers, men clad in furs like the Lady's, though gray and black rather than white (rather like her wolves, Mara thought), some still busily chinking the gaps in the logs on the buildings with a paste of some sort, while a few laid additional boughs on the roofs.

"I don't know," Mara said, as surprised as Keltan. She'd somehow thought the Lady had been living in lonely isolation for all the years since she'd been driven from Aygrima--but why should she have been? Why shouldn't she have followers or subjects?

Or slaves? she thought uneasily. Does she draw power solely from the wolves?

That was an uncomfortable thought.

Already, people were beginning to divide up among the four long structures. Edrik, Tralia, Hyram, and Alita were in the thick of it, directing families and couples to two of the huts, single women (Prella and Kirika among them) to another, men to the fourth. "I'd better help," Keltan said. "And find the woman this bundle belongs to." He gave Mara a quick smile and hurried off.

Mara hung back, watching. It all seemed to have very little to do with her, though of course she needed someplace to sleep that night, as well. The thought of going inside the longhouse to face the accusing faces of the other single women, though--especially Prella and Kirika--didn't appeal to her.

Something nuzzled her gloved hand. Startled, she jerked it away, then looked down to see one of the Lady's wolves grinning up at her. It trotted a few feet, then turned and whined.

Hardly believing she was doing it, Mara followed the animal. It led her through the camp, children watching wide-eyed as she passed, men and women drawing back. Their hostile expressions gave her no hope of being forgiven by the bulk of the unMasked Army any time soon.

The wolf guided her between two of the longhouses. Behind them stood a large tent, its white walls flickering orange from a fire inside. Smoke rose from the center of its roof. The wolf pushed through the closed flap, and Mara followed.

She found herself in a cozy canvas-walled chamber, floored with rough-woven brown cloth, warmed by a fire in a stone-lined pit dug at the very center, and further lit by an oil lamp hanging from one of the two stout poles holding up the tent, each the trunk of a tree so freshly cut that sticky sap still oozed from where the branches had been stripped away. The fresh scent of pine mingled with the smoke.

On either side of the fire pit, bedrolls lay open on piles of green branches. At the far end of the tent, on a red-upholstered folding bench wide enough for two, sat the Lady, still wearing her white furs. The smoke rising from the fire half-shrouded her, and the heat made her appearance wavering and uncertain. Six of the wolves rested at her feet; the wolf with Mara made seven. She wondered where the other six were. The Lady's left hand rested in the ruff of the wolf at her feet; her right hand toyed restlessly with an amulet of gold and crystal hanging from her neck. She smiled at Mara. "I thought you might be more comfortable here with me than in the shelters with the others."

Mara rounded the fire, and as she did so, the wolf that had led her to the tent joined the others at the Lady's side. "Can you communicate with them?" she said, staring at the animals.

The Lady's smile widened. "Oh, yes. And see through their eyes." She raised her own eyes to Mara. The firelight struck red sparks from them. "How else do you think I knew the unMasked Army was on its way? I have long kept watch on Catilla's pitiful band of would-be revolutionaries. It has been clear for years... decades... that they would never pose a threat to the Autarch, though at least, I supposed, they have provided a refuge of sorts for those who somehow escaped Masking. But I admit I was startled when the Watchers suddenly descended on the Secret City and drove them out." She studied Mara. "I did not know, then, that it was your doing."

"I didn't--" Mara began.

The Lady raised a placating hand. "You didn't mean to. Yes, I know. And yet you did. And I am thankful for it, for it brought you to me." She ruffled the silver mane of the wolf at her side, whose red tongue lolled as it watched Mara through amber eyes. "Though for a time, I thought I had lost you. I knew you had left Tamita--in rather spectacular fashion--and knew you had fled to the coast with Prince Chell, but my lupine spies do have some limitations, and following a boat out to sea is, of course, beyond them. Once you sailed into the night from the village where you stole your craft, you were beyond my ken." Her hand tightened on the wolf's fur. "I was not happy about that, and so I was delighted when I saw you arrive among the remnants of the unMasked Army with the prince... and considerably less so when you sailed away again. By that time, of course, we were already on our way to the coast. My consolation, had you not returned, would have been that at least I would return home with the survivors of the unMasked Army. My village--the one that gave me succor when I made my journey through the mountains as a girl--is dwindling. An influx of fresh people is just what we need. But to my relief, you reappeared. The rest you know."

"The rest I do not know," Mara said. "How did you even know I existed?"

"The Secret City is not the only place I've watched closely over the decades," the Lady said. "The mine of magic is another. Aside from the handful of magic-collection huts scattered around Aygrima, it is the sole source of magic for the Autarchy. I have long understood that if I am ever to move against the Autarch, it is the first place I must strike. As it happens, I was not watching it when you arrived. I was watching it when it was almost leveled by an explosion--an explosion contained by magic. And I was watching as you returned to the Secret City. It was absolutely clear what had happened, crystal clear that you have been Gifted, as I have been Gifted, with the ability to use all colors of magic, and to draw magic from living things." Her left hand again caressed the mane of the wolf. "I knew I had a potential... ally, if only I could make contact with you."

"If you're so powerful," Mara said, "why didn't you just stroll into Aygrima yourself and present yourself at the Secret City?"

The hand in the wolf's fur tightened into a fist for a moment, then relaxed. "I cannot enter Aygrima," the Lady said. "The Autarch has guarded the borders against me. Or rather," her mouth twisted into a moue of distaste, "he stands on the shoulders of giants to do so. He has neither the skill nor the power to create such magics himself. But centuries ago, when magic first came to Aygrima and the first powerful Gifted arose, they learned much about its use that we have forgotten." Her right hand returned to the amulet at her neck. It obviously meant something to her, but Mara had no clue what. "Magic is in the very ground of Aygrima," the Lady said softly. "Diffuse, too diffuse to be of use even to me--to us. But black lodestone dust is everywhere, and even those minute particles draw magic to themselves. And taken in total, across all the miles and miles of plain and forest and mountain and valley that make up Aygrima, the power is immense. The ancients learned to craft that magic into vast spells that could be activated at need. The Autarch cannot create such spells himself--no one can in these days--but he knows how to trigger them. As I told you on the beach, it was such a spell that summoned the storm that prevented your prince from sailing away with the unMasked Army. No doubt the Autarch gave the means of activating the spell to the commander of the Watchers he sent north to the Secret City. A scout probably saw the unMasked Army boarding the ships and reported back, and the commander called up the border magic to ensure his prey did not escape.

"Sixty years ago, the first thing the Autarch did when he returned to Tamita after having forced me out of Aygrima was to aim the magic protecting the borders directly at me. If I enter Aygrima anywhere, by sea, by land--even by air, if I could manage such a thing--I will be struck down by the land itself, crushed in an instant as easily as you would slap a mosquito."

Mara shivered. "Then I don't see how--"

"The magic is not aimed at you," the Lady said softly. "You can reenter Aygrima. And at the place in the mountains where I will show you, you can destroy the ward that keeps me out. Then, together, we and my followers and the unMasked Army can march south to overthrow the Autarch."

Mara stared at the woman in the folding chair. "March south. Against all the Watchers he can throw at us, all the magic he has stored in the Palace? I don't know how many fighters you have, but the mighty unMasked Army is down to a few handfuls." She shook her head. "You're crazy."

The Lady's eyes narrowed and Mara shivered; it seemed the temperature in the tent had suddenly dropped. "You had best hope not. Because neither you nor all those with you whose survival now depends on my power and generosity have any choice in the matter." She straightened suddenly, lowering the hand that had been fondling the amulet. "You should sleep." She glanced to the right. "Your bed is there." She stood. "I will return later. I must ensure that all is well in the rest of the camp." Pulling her furs more closely around her, the Lady moved to the tent flap, the wolves rising as one animal to follow. They stopped and glanced back at the same moment the Lady did, one hand poised to push open the canvas. "Sleep well," she said to Mara. "If you can." And then she swept out.

The wolves trailed her one by one. The last of them turned and looked at her. Its amber eyes caught the red light of the fire, casting it back in red sparks identical to what she had seen in the eyes of the Lady itself.

If she's telling the truth, Mara thought, those are her eyes. Or can be.

And then the wolf nosed through the tent flap, the canvas closed behind it, and Mara was alone.

TWO

A Wolf in the Night

MARA, warm beneath wool blankets and exhausted beyond measure, fell asleep in moments. But in the middle of the night, the nightmares from which she had been blessedly shielded while at sea found her once more.

It didn't matter that she had seen them all before: that naked, headless Grute, the slaughtered Warden, the broken-necked Watcher, the blood-soaked Guardian Stanik, the ground-entombed horsemen, and her murdered father were all familiar sights. The horror they brought with them remained unabated, and she fought her way up from sleep like someone struggling through thick mud, carrying with her a scream that burst from her throat the moment that, at last, she woke...

...and found herself staring into the eyes of a wolf.

The fire in the tent had burned down to little more than embers, and so the light was dim and red, but there was still more than enough for her to see those eyes, the pupils so wide they looked pure black, and the shaggy, furred face that surrounded them. The wolf whined, then pushed its muzzle into Mara's side. She put a tentative hand on its head, between its ears, and the wolf, with a contented sigh, sank down onto its belly and rested its chin on her blankets.

Mara blinked sleepily at it, the terror already fading. Then she looked beyond it and saw another set of glittering eyes: the eyes of the Lady, lying wide awake on her blankets on the far side of the tent, surrounded by several sleeping wolves.

Mara slipped back down into slumber.

She had no more nightmares that night.

•••

When she woke, it was still dark in the tent, but not as dark; a faint gray light made it through the canvas, more than enough to show her that the Lady was gone, once more out and about in the camp, she supposed, her wolves at her side...

...though not all of her wolves. The one that had come to her in the night remained. Its head lifted as she stirred, and she found herself looking into its eyes once more. In the growing light, she could see that they were amber, the same color as those of the wolf that had guided her to the tent the night before and been the last to bid her farewell when the Lady had gone into the camp. Was it the same animal? She couldn't be sure, though it had a similar blaze of white fur on its chest. But she found its presence comforting: oddly enough, since it could rip out her throat anytime it chose.

"You wouldn't do that, though, would you?" she said out loud, rubbing the wolf's ears. It... he, she realized, looking closer... whined, and his tail thudded against the ground. "You're just a big puppy dog."

A big puppy dog full of magic through whose eyes the Lady of Pain and Fire can spy whenever she chooses, she reminded herself. But she was still glad the beast was there.

A few minutes later she pushed through the tent flap, the wolf at her side, emerging into a camp beginning to bustle as fires were stoked, breakfasts prepared, and preparations made for the day's journey. The snow had piled into deep drifts around the shelters and lay thick and white everywhere else, but the wind had died and the sky was a pale blue above the dark ridges of the forested hills all around. It took Mara only a moment to spot the Lady at the eastern edge of the camp, conferring with one of the men she had brought with her, presumably discussing the trail ahead. Like Mara, she had a single wolf with her; Mara wondered where the others had gone. Scouting, perhaps.

A little more exploration took care of the next important item on her to-do list: find the latrine. Much more comfortable, albeit considerably colder, she went in search of Keltan.

She found him kneeling beside one of the fires, toasting bread on a stick. "That smells wonderful," Mara said as she came up beside him. He glanced up, and flinched a little as he saw the wolf. She dropped a hand to the wolf's mane. "Don't worry, he's harmless."

"Right. Harmless." Keltan shook his head, then turned his attention back to the toast. "The bread is a week old. It smells better than it tastes. But if you're hungry, you're welcome to it." He took the stick out of the fire and held the bread out to her. "Alas, milady, I fear we're fresh out of butter and honey. No deliveries this morning."

Mara laughed. "I'll get by." She took the bread gingerly, tossing it from hand to hand to cool it. "But what about you?"

"I've already had one piece of stale bread. I'm fine."

Mara bit into the bread. It certainly was stale, but she was hungry enough not to mind. "Are we really that short of food?"

"Yes." Keltan glanced over his shoulder toward where the Lady still stood talking to her man. "Do you know where she's taking us?"

"A village of some kind. Up in the mountains," Mara mumbled through a full mouth. She chewed and swallowed. "Could be up to a week's travel, she says."

Keltan made a face. "Lots of really hungry people before we get there. Lots of really hungry kids."

The toast had never tasted all that great. Suddenly it tasted like sawdust.

"Did you... sleep all right?" Keltan asked softly.

Mara knew what he meant: he was well aware of her nightmares. She nodded. "Not at first. But then..." Her hand went to the wolf's fur again. The wolf rolled his eyes to look up at her. "The Lady sent this big fellow to me. And the dreams just... went away."

"I don't understand." Keltan regarded the wolf. "What are they? They're not like any wolves I've ever seen."

"I think the Lady... made them, somehow," Mara said slowly. "I don't know everything she uses them for. But I do know they hold magic--magic the Lady can use. And she says she can look through their eyes when she chooses."

Keltan's own widened. "You mean she could be looking at me right now?"

"She is," said a voice behind them that made them both jump. Mara turned to see the Lady of Pain and Fire staring down at them. "But not through the eyes of Whiteblaze there... this time." She chuckled. It sounded rusty, as though mirth were not something she was accustomed to displaying, or possibly feeling. "Mara, you and I will both walk in front today. I may need to use magic to clear our trail, here or there. I would like you to see how I do it."

"I'm coming with her," Keltan said, getting to his feet.

The Lady's silvery white eyebrow arched above her left eye. "Are you? And who are you, again?"

"His name is Keltan," Mara said.

The Lady's right eyebrow lifted to match the left. "Keltan? That's the name of the Autarch's--"

"It's not my real name," Keltan said wearily. "I don't use my real name."

"He's my friend," Mara said. She reached out and took his gloved hand in her own, giving it a squeeze. He squeezed back.

The eyebrows came down in a frown. "I see." The Lady stared at Keltan, her ice-blue eyes not that different in shade from those of the lone wolf still accompanying her. For three breaths she said nothing, then she suddenly looked away. "Very well, if you wish. Come now, both of you. Full day is upon us and we should already be on our way."

Despite her urgency, another hour passed before the ragtag column of refugees and stranded Korellian sailors left the campsite in the wake of Mara, Keltan, and the Lady. The Lady's wolves--and her villagers, a dozen sturdy men, armed with swords and bows and wearing metal-studded leather beneath their furs and cloaks--ranged ahead and behind, in the uneasy company of scouts appointed by Edrik from the ranks of the unMasked Army and sailors from Chell's contingent. Edrik, along with Chell and his captains, walked in the second rank behind the Lady, Keltan, Mara, and her new lupine companion, Whiteblaze. Catilla and the few other truly elderly people among the unMasked Army rode on toboggans pulled by dogs that had come with the villagers: ordinary dogs, not the wolves of the Lady, though the dogs themselves, with their sharp-pricked ears and curling, bushy tails, were definitely on the wolfish side.

Heavy snow clogged the trail, and the refugees made slow work of it, trudging up ridges, carefully descending slippery inland slopes. Always, the upward slope was longer and steeper than the downward. Children tripped and fell and cried. Men and women walked mostly in grim silence. The Lady's followers broke the trail ahead, so that at least there were footsteps for Mara and the Lady to follow, but the snow dragged at her booted feet nonetheless, and the wind bit at her cheeks. She tried to remember the date, and failed. Surely spring could not be far away... though, this far north and climbing toward the mountains, who knew how long it might be delayed?

Still, though they moved slowly, they moved steadily. As the day wore on, the new snow on the trail grew less. "Storms from the sea spend themselves quickly against the rising land," the Lady explained when Mara commented on it. "Even magical ones, apparently. By tomorrow, we may see no signs of fresh snow at all." She glanced up to the right, where the first peak of the all-but-impenetrable range that marked the northern border of Aygrima loomed. "The real hazard lies up there. This much snow, this late in the year... let us hope it stays in place."

They halted that evening in a small valley at the very foot of that towering peak. Here there were no prepared lodges, but fortunately the wind had calmed. As stars pricked the clearing sky, the refugees set about erecting whatever crude shelters they could, using the trees on every side and the tents and other materials they had brought with them from the Secret City.

Fires blossomed like red flowers, and soon the camp had settled into place. Before doing anything else, the Lady's select group of villagers had erected the tent she and Mara shared. Keltan had left Mara to help Hyram set up the tent they shared... though watching Alita with Hyram, the way they touched at every opportunity, the way they spoke softly, heads close together, Mara suspected Hyram wished he was sharing with Alita and Keltan was on his own.

It made no sense to be jealous. Hyram had made it clear he felt nothing for her anymore, not since her foolish actions had brought the Watchers down upon the Secret City. She suspected his interest had only ever been because she was new and mysterious when she'd arrived at the Secret City. But she remembered those weeks and felt a faint pang all the same.

Followed by Whiteblaze, who had clung to her heels all day, Mara approached the Lady's tent, but paused with her hand on the flap, feeling a strange vibration in the ground beneath her feet. Whiteblaze whined, hackles rising. What...?

She didn't finish her thought. "Avalanche!" screamed a voice, and she jerked her head up.

High above them, the slope of the mountain peak was moving, billowing clouds of white swallowing what had looked like a solid sheet of ice seconds before. A wall of swirling snow hurtled toward them at unbelievable speed. The ground shook. Behind her, in the camp, people shouted and screamed, but she stood frozen in shock, staring at her imminent death.

It never arrived. A wall of red fire rushed past her, enveloping her for an instant in powerful magic that made her gasp, and raced up the slope. The magical flame had an angular shape, like the prow of a boat. It slammed into the base of the descending mass of snow, and in an explosion of flying snow and clouds of steam the avalanche divided, splitting and rumbling away to either side of the glimmering red apex of the fiery barrier. Trees far to her left and right thrashed and broke and disappeared beneath tons of snow, but right where she stood, where the camp stood, nothing changed.

The thundering descent of snow and ice quieted, slowed, stopped. Though shouts and cries and sobs still rang out in the camp behind her, to Mara it seemed for a moment as though utter stillness had descended. She stared up the slope. Half a dozen of the Lady's followers had been working in the trees, harvesting firewood. Every one of them had fallen to his knees, ax or saw dropping from limp hands into the snow.

Whiteblaze whined, looked up at her, and wagged his tail.

Mara turned around and saw the Lady standing perhaps thirty feet behind her, arms spread wide, palms upraised, eyes closed. The six wolves with her had all lain down on their bellies. Their heads rested on their outstretched paws. Their eyes were closed.

Mara felt a chill that had nothing to do with the frigid air or the near-escape from white death. Her question had been answered. The Lady of Pain and Fire had not only drawn magic from her wolves, she had drawn it from her villagers. Just as Mara had done at the mining camp, she had ripped magic from their living bodies.

The Lady's eyes opened. She took a deep breath. Her gaze met Mara's. She smiled. "As I said... you have much to learn."

Mara turned away from the Lady to stare back up at the men from whom she had drawn magic. When Mara had done it involuntarily in the mining camp, everyone had collapsed, unconscious. But the villagers, though they certainly looked dazed, were clearly still awake. Not one of them had fallen prostrate. Already they were gathering their tools, climbing to their feet. In another minute they were back at work as though nothing had happened.

The sounds from the camp had turned from screams of terror to shouts of relief. Mara turned around and looked back down at the huddle of tents and lean-tos. Mothers hugged crying children, men engaged in agitated conversation, and everywhere faces were turned up slope, looking at the Lady... looking at her.

Looking at them with both with fear... no, she realized suddenly: not fear, respect. Their expressions were not those of people afraid of a monster, but those of people grateful to have been saved by someone stronger than themselves.

If the Lady of Pain and Fire is not a monster, Mara thought, then even if I am fated to become like her, I may not become one, either. The thought seemed to release something deep inside her, something hard and tight and cold. It opened and warmed. And suddenly she knew what that strange new feeling was.

Hope.

Mara turned to face the Lady once more. "You're right," she said. "I have a lot to learn." She paused. "Will you teach me?"

The Lady smiled. "My dear child. Did you really think I would not?" She strode forward, the wolves flowing around her feet. "Come inside, and I will begin."

Mara stood aside as the Lady approached. The wolves did not enter the tent, instead scattering, as if given a secret signal, spreading out in all directions and vanishing into the fading light, all but Whiteblaze, who remained at Mara's feet, tongue lolling, eyes fixed on her face. The Lady swept aside the tent flap and went inside. Mara moved to follow, but paused as she heard a shout from behind her. "Mara! Mara, are you all right?"

She felt a flash of irritation. Not now. She turned to face Keltan, dashing up the snow-covered slope toward her. "Of course I'm all right," she called back. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He skidded to a halt and stared at her. "Why? The avalanche--"

"The Lady stopped it."

"I know, but..."

"Keltan, I'm fine. Go back down to your tent. Help Hyram. I have to talk to the Lady."

Keltan's face, a pale blotch in the twilight, frowned. "Hyram doesn't need any help. The tent has already been set up. I thought we could eat together--"

"No," Mara snapped, then softened her tone, feeling guilty. "Sorry. Keltan, I have to talk to the Lady. I have to find out how she did what she did. She knows how to control this power I have. I have to learn from her."

Keltan took a step back. "I... I see."

"Good. Thanks." The guilt grew. "I'll come down later. We'll talk then. I promise."

He nodded, but she only glimpsed it out of the corner of her eye as, burning with eagerness to talk to the Lady, she turned her back on him and pushed into the tent, Whiteblaze at her side. There was a moment's silence from outside, then she heard his footsteps crunching through the snow again, heading downhill.

The Lady once more sat in her place at the far end of the tent, her eyes on Mara, smiling. "I did not cause the avalanche," she said, "but I almost wish I had. You have the hunger now. I can see it in your face. You hunger to learn to control the extraordinary Gift you have been blessed with, the Gift we both share."

"Gift?" Mara walked toward the Lady. "To me it's seemed more like a curse."

The Lady made a disparaging gesture. "Nonsense. It is absolutely a Gift. Without my Gift, I would not be here now. Without my Gift," a wave, which somehow took in the aborted avalanche outside, "none of us would be here now." She pointed at Mara with the same hand. "And without your Gift, you would not be here now. Were you an ordinary unMasked, you would have died in that mining camp when the rockbreakers exploded. Were you ordinary, you would never have been rescued from it in the first place. You would be Masked in Tamita, a part of your soul being drawn out from you every day to feed the false youth of that monster on the throne, to keep him alive long after he should have followed his father to worms and dust."

"You draw magic from these followers of yours," Mara said. "How is that different?"

The Lady's eyes narrowed. Her fingers touched the amulet around her neck. "It is different," she said, "because I am not the Autarch. They have given themselves to me willingly."

Mara blinked. "What?"

The Lady leaned forward. "You will see, when we reach my home. But for now, know only that I take nothing from them that they have not volunteered to give."

"When I... do that," Mara said softly. "When I take magic from those around me... it... hurts." Hurt was a sadly inadequate word to refer to the agony that had coursed through her. "Ethelda said it was 'unfiltered magic,' that it burned for that reason. Does it... does it hurt you?"

The Lady frowned. "I did not know this Ethelda you speak of, but she was a Healer, was she not?"

Mara nodded. "She Healed my face." She touched the skin of her cheek, unmarked by the scars that marred the features of Alita and Prella and all others whose Maskings had failed. "She saved my life. And my sanity."

"Then clearly she was an unusually perspicacious member of her profession. But you must understand that even the best Healer is still a prisoner of her preconceptions, shaped by her training within the Masked regime of the Autarch. And the Autarch does not want anyone to know the truth. He does not want anyone to know that he survives by draining magic from those around him, from the Child Guard in particular and, increasingly with these newest Masks, from everyone else. More to the point, he does not want anyone else to arise who has that ability. He wants--needs--all the magic he can get to stave off advancing age and protect himself from the threats he imagines all around him. So of course he has made it clear to those beneath him that anyone who comes along with the same kind of power he secretly wields must be destroyed, must be hounded out of the kingdom... as was I." The Lady spread her hands. "Your Ethelda clearly understood some of the former, but, ironically, seeing the manner in which the Autarch uses his power only strengthened her belief in the truth of the falsehoods the Autarch has spread to maintain his leech-like attachment to his sources of magic."

The words seemed to wash over Mara like a wave from the ocean. "I don't understand," she said.

"Come, sit with me," the Lady said. She moved over, and after a moment's hesitation, Mara sat beside her on the red cushions of the folding bench, her hip pressed close to the Lady's, warmer than Mara would have expected, as though the Lady burned with some hidden internal flame. The Lady put her hand on Mara's knee. "Child," she said. "The Autarch has lied, and those lies came to you through Ethelda. There is nothing evil about the power I have--the power you have. You can draw magic from living creatures without harming them, or yourself." She pointed at Whiteblaze. "Does he not look healthy?"

"But when I do it," Mara said stubbornly, "when I draw magic from other people... it hurts. Every time. As if it's wrong. As if it's... bad for me. And Keltan..." She glanced at the tent flap, already regretting her words turning him away. "He collapsed. He wasn't the same for... days. I did something to him..."

The Lady put an arm around her shoulder and pressed her too-warm cheek against hers. "That wasn't because what you were doing was wrong, child," she said, an indulgent chuckle in her voice. "It was simply because you were doing it badly. Because you lacked knowledge, and experience, and training."

Mara didn't know what to think. She wished she could talk to Ethelda, but Ethelda was dead, slain by the Watchers who had attacked them on the beach, her body blown away into white dust by the Lady's cleansing fire. The Lady had saved everyone who survived by drawing magic from her villagers before she reached the beach, and from the wolves and from the Watchers themselves once she was there. How could that be evil?

"How can magic be evil?" the Lady said, her words echoing Mara's thoughts so exactly that Mara pulled away and shot her a startled look. "It's simply something that exists, like clay or wood. It's something that some people can use, and some cannot, just as some people can shape clay or wood to make beautiful objects, and others cannot, no matter how hard they try. Something that some Gifted people--people like you and me--can use much more effectively than others, just as some potters or carpenters are more skilled than others. Things aren't evil. Only people can be evil. And that evil is revealed by their actions. The Autarch uses magic in an evil fashion, but it's not the magic that is evil--it's him." She smiled at Mara. "When you contained the explosion at the mining camp, you saved scores of lives. How could that be evil?"

"It hurt Keltan," Mara said. "It may have hurt others. There were many who were weak and sick in the camp. I've feared... I may have killed others..."

The Lady shook her head. "Unlikely," she said. "You would have felt it."

"But still--"

"You weren't doing anything wrong, Mara," the Lady said forcefully. "You acted as you had to. Taking their magic hurt those people because you took it clumsily from at best unwitting, and at worst unwilling, donors. The magic I take--skillfully--from my followers is given willingly. They do not fight me, and so I can draw from them painlessly and at will. The wolves, too, are devoted to me... and this one, now, to you." She reached down and scratched Whiteblaze behind his ears.

Mara looked down at the animal. "He is?"

"I have given him to you," the Lady said. "I felt your distress last night as the nightmares took hold. I took a little magic from you--just a little--and linked it to Whiteblaze. Then I severed my own link with him. He is yours now as completely as the others are mine. One day you will be able to look through his eyes as I do through the eyes of his fellows."

Mara blinked. "Really?" Then she blinked again. "Wait. You took magic from me? But I didn't feel..."

"Only a little," the Lady said. "And let the fact you did not feel any distress from that reassure you as to how little distress I cause my followers." She rubbed Whiteblaze under his chin, and his tail thumped. "These wolves, which I have bred and magically modified for many of their generations, are... black lodestone with legs, if you like. Not only can you learn to draw magic from Whiteblaze, he can draw from you the magic that causes your nightmares, magic polluted with what I call the 'soulprint'--the imprint left by a living soul, like the imprint left in a blob of wax by a signet ring. When you kill with magic or are near someone who dies violently, that soulprint pours into you along with the magic they contain. It's as if the person has become a vengeful ghost haunting your mind. But Whiteblaze takes those ghosts into himself."

"Whiteblaze will dream my nightmares every night?" Mara said. She glanced down at him. "Sorry, boy."

The Lady laughed. "They are meaningless to him. And over time, they fade, until even without Whiteblaze, they would not return. Though, of course, without him you would be subject to new ones if you were once again exposed to violent death. And note that although he can help prevent the nightmares, he does not prevent the soulprint from making its mark on your mind."

Mara nodded, fascinated. "What about the potion Grelda showed me how to brew? How does it help?"

"The wolves drain away the nightmares. The potion only blocks them," the Lady said. "It contains, among various other substances, black lodestone dust. You are fortunate anyone at the Secret City had the recipe... and the ingredients. But as you know, once your body has eliminated it, the nightmares return, unless you continue to dose yourself with it." She shook her head. "Not a good idea. It contains substances that I think would gradually poison you if you used it for an extended period of time." A flicker of a smile crossed her lips. "There's a reason it smells so awful to the unGifted." She glanced at Whiteblaze again. "Your friend here will keep you free of nightmares whenever he is with you. And since I have turned his mind so that he is now devoted to you, as well as magically linked, that will be all the time, unless you send him elsewhere."

"Turned his mind?" Mara dropped her hand onto the wolf's head protectively. "You can do that?"

"A wolf's mind is a simple thing," the Lady said.

"What about a man's?" The question emerged from Mara's mouth before she'd fully thought it through. The Lady's eyes narrowed.

"A much more difficult undertaking," she said. "But, yes, it is possible. The soulprint... the essence of a person... is inextricably bound up in the magic which all living things produce. Modify the magic, and you can modify the soulprint: modify the person."

"If you can do that," Mara said, "then... can the Autarch? Can he also influence others? Make them do things they wouldn't otherwise do?"

"Probably," the Lady said. "Though his ability depends always on the Masks."

"Everyone wearing Masks?" Mara said. "He can control them all?"

The Lady shook his head. "Not the original Masks. At least, I don't think so. But the Child Guard... probably."

"And those wearing the new Masks?"

The Lady nodded. "So I believe. Indeed, I think that was partly the intent of changing the way the Masks were made, aside from providing him with a new source of magic: to provide him with new followers who will be absolutely loyal and obey him without question should he have need of them. Over the past couple of years that the new Masks have been in play, some four or five hundred young people will have become unknowingly linked to him, much like my wolves are linked to me... and Whiteblaze to you."

Mara shuddered. Sala. Mayson. Tamed to the Autarch's will... like Whiteblaze was tamed to hers. She dropped her eyes to the wolf, and felt hatred burn through her, hatred for the Autarch, brighter and hotter than ever before. Whiteblaze whined.

"I felt that," the Lady said. "You truly do have great power."

"So what?" Mara said. The anger faded as quickly as it had come, leaving behind gray sadness. "What good is it? The Autarch still reigns. My father is dead. Katia is dead. Ethelda is dead." Tears started to her eyes. "Everyone is dead."

"Not everyone." The Lady pulled Mara closer, her white fur cloak warming Mara's cold neck. The heat of the Lady's body was nothing compared to the blazing fire inside that slight frame, a power that both frightened and attracted Mara, like a candle flame attracted a moth.

Just remember what usually happens to the moth, Mara thought, but thoughts of caution seemed insubstantial compared to the indubitable power of the old woman at her side. She nestled closer.

The Lady said nothing more: just held her. And in the warmth of her embrace and the glow of her powerful magical Gift, Mara's eyes closed, and sleep washed all her concerns away.

THREE

Climbing to a Decision

THE FOLLOWING MORNING MARA, alone except for Whiteblaze, trudged through the snow several strides behind the Lady, who was in deep conversation with one of her villagers.

The Lady had a black wooden staff in one hand and two wolves with her, while the others continued to range ahead and behind. Is she scouting along the trail even as she walks here, watching through the eyes of the wolves for any other hazards that might threaten us?

Probably not, she decided after a moment's reflection. She must have to close her own eyes to make sense of what a wolf's show her. Nor did she think it likely the Lady could look through more than one wolf's eyes at a time. The confusion would be too great.

But still, to be able to do such a thing at all...! The Lady's Gift... the power she had sensed within that small, old body, the power that had warmed her to sleep the night before... how great was it? Greater than the Autarch's? Greater than mine?

And if so... how does she control it?

The Lady glanced behind her and motioned Mara forward. Mara hurried to catch up. "Mara," the Lady said as she joined the other two, "I don't believe I've introduced you to Hamil yet. He's the headman of my village. Hamil, Mara is my new..." she paused, as if searching for just the right word, "protégée."

Hamil, a broad-shouldered man with a bushy gray beard and eyebrows to match, gave Mara a sharp look, but said nothing. He turned his attention back to the trail ahead. The slope went up and up ahead of them, the trail switchbacking through thick stands of dark trees and outcroppings of gray rock. "We'll be climbing for the rest of the day at this rate," he growled. "We'll have to camp at the top."

"The weather seems good," the Lady said.

"Let's hope it stays that way." He looked at her. "If I may be excused, My Lady, I will join the forward scouts to discuss possible campsites."

"Of course, Hamil. Thank you."

"My Lady." Hamil briefly turned his eyes to Mara, his gaze impassive. "Mara." He strode forward, his long legs bearing him quickly away.

Mara watched him go. "You took magic from him yesterday, to stop the avalanche."

"I took magic from all of those who came with me," the Lady said. "As they expected. As I said, they have all volunteered. In the village, it is considered a great honor to be selected to be part of the Lady's Cadre." She smiled. "That's the formal name. I believe informally they're called my 'human wolfpack.' In any event, as you can see, he was unharmed by my drawdown of magic from the Cadre yesterday to stave off the avalanche."

Mara said nothing. She watched Hamil climbing toward those toiling through the snow at the head of the column. "But when you stopped the avalanche," she said slowly, trying to think straight, trying not to be drawn in by the Lady's reasonable words and tone--she had been drawn in far too often, with disastrous results, by reasonable words spoken by reasonable-sounding people--"the members of your... Cadre... fell to their knees. As if they'd been stunned."

"A momentary weakness, that's all," the Lady said.

"But what if one of them had been doing something dangerous--swinging an ax, maybe, or lighting a fire. They could have been injured, even killed--"

"It was an emergency," the Lady said, with a flash of irritation. "I thought the risk of minor injury was worth the reward of saving all our lives. Didn't you?"

Mara said nothing. She wanted to believe the Lady: wanted so much to believe her. From Shelra, the Autarch's Mistress of Magic, she had learned to fine-tune her use of magic, to make it do precisely what she willed: but that was magic drawn from black lodestone, blended and smoothed by the strange rock. She had not dared speak to Shelra about her other means of getting magic. The fact remained that every time she had pulled magic from others it had hurt her... but it had also thrilled her, in a way she had no words to express. And every time Ethelda's words had echoed in her mind, warning that she might grow to like the taste of that raw magic so much that despite the pain she would become a soul-sucking, pain-loving creature of destruction like...

Copyright © 2015 by E. C. Blake

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