Masks of the Mandra

Masks of the Mandra

(A Steampunk Fantasy)

Bruce P. Grether

Part One: End of the Mind

Out of castles built of bone comes mysterious music.

— Arthur Rimbaud,

Illuminations

Chapter One:

A Typhoon on Pylon

The animal god had called him out into the terrible storm, and Dendron wondered if he was totally crazy to respond. Yet he felt he had no choice.

Datrig would surely call him a blasted fool.

Blinding whips of electrical discharge lashed down upon the craggy highlands beset by howling winds that shook the ancient boulders themselves, those immense stones the local villagers claimed that only the giants of ancient times could have moved.

Upon a draconic spur of bedrock that stabbed upward into the sky, the shepherd boy scrambled. Precisely, the boy planted both his feet and his hands upon cracks and rough textured striations of the basaltic substrate.

Rebounds of hectic, booming thunder tripped close on the heels of each flash of sudden and brilliant illumination. Freezing gale force winds scoured the rocky desolation on the remote island of Pylon. Far from the mainland, nothing challenged the force of the typhoon that raged across the Darkwine Sea. Rain that hit like a torrent of needles spat through bombastic gusts of shrill blasting wind.

Dendron found a pair of grooves to act as security sockets for the soles of his boots. Assertively he straightened upright despite the relentless force of the storm.

With clawed fingers he raked a mass of black curls away from troubled green eyes that had concentrated their color to emerald with his intense focus. The hand itself was grubby with soil and soot, just as his ruddy face bore scratches. This boy lived a challenging and extremely active life.

With each flash of lightning his sharp gaze searched the steep expanses of tundra, slopes of tumbled scree, the fangs and jaws of rock of Pylon’s famously craggy wild-scapes. Stony ridges evoked palaces and fortresses of forgotten gods as old as Time itself, which they might very well be according to some of the local savants and tavern-moths. Flashes incessantly revealed such possibilities with powdery blue-white clarity.

Will this tempest never end? Dendron wondered. Indeed, I am crazy to be out here. Datrig will be furious when he finds out where I am! More than that, he’ll surely yell at me for my careless behavior. Perhaps even punish me.

Only when Albet calls, I cannot say No.

Gusts tossed him about like a puppet dangling on tangled strings.

The boy moved gangly as a colt. He wore hide boots, fleece trousers, a wolfskin vest over a thick woolen shirt, and a powerful amulet for magickal protection—all of these made for him by his guardian, old Datrig. Still the ferocious gale seemed to bite through directly to his tender young skin. Dendron’s eyes gleamed from within the thatch of black curls. His face held powerful dread and unspeakable longing that seemed beyond anything his fourteen summers of living could explain.

Datrig will only punish me because he loves me so much,he reminded himself.

Plus that eventuality did not presently concern him. He had learned all he knew about human love and fear and magick from Datrig, except for those even deeper and higher mysteries beyond words that he had learned from the giant white rabbit Albet.

At the moment now—despite his confidence that he had done the right thing by answering the deep inner call of the animal god, a kind of thrumming, almost a rhythmic buzz of cellular awareness from the core of his own bones—Dendron did begin to fear for his life. It seemed that at any moment the force of the typhoon winds could literally pluck him from his rocky perch and hurl him through the air to certain destruction somewhere on land or sea.

Shivering violently, he placed two fingertips between his front teeth and arranged his tongue on the underside of his palate in a specific way that Datrig had taught him that produced a kind of “silent whistle” which sheep herding dogs could hear from a great distance. Dendron knew that, if the pulsating roar of the storm allowed it, Albet would hear. Or perhaps I’m a fool to doubt his summons and to imagine that he might notfind me—of course he will!

As if summoned by his thoughts, tripping on the heels of that very image in his mind’s eye, a brilliant flash of lightning revealed a pale blur in motion, that moved toward him on the slopes below—something bigger than a farm horse.

Only this was no kind of equine animal. Rather in the next few flashes he witnessed the powerful white form as it flowed and bounded in great leaps towards him. Dendron’s heart nearly burst with the gratitude, excitement and joy of seeing this huge animal that seemed to move too quickly and with far too much agility for any creature its size. Only heartbeats later, when the giant rabbit reached him and loomed hugely soft, white, and his fur spangled by raindrops, this immediate reality produced a curious shift in the seeming scale of the surroundings.

Dendron had grown somewhat, though not entirely, accustomed to this curious sensation of his senses adjusting. He sometimes felt as if he himself shrank down to the size of a doll, or that the otherwise-familiar world around them somehow readjusted by growing bigger. This was a strange sensation, and a delight in his heart to feel, as always.

Albet’s huge ears flicked upright, and the wind instantly flopped them over. His big wet nose-tip pushed at Dendron, quivering, and touched the boy’s curls ever-so-lightly. Plus the smell of a somewhat damp giant rabbit cannot really be described! It was quite strong, indeed. But Albet drew back just as Dendron reached both hands toward his whiskered muzzle. The rabbit sat back on its haunches, then lifted its upper body, head swinging back and forth, forepaws pawing the whistling wind.

Dendron took the cue, darted at him and as Albet sank back down to a crouch, the boy climbed up his shoulder. He grabbed handfuls of the thick white fur to haul himself up and clambered astride the animal’s back.

The rabbit lifted upright again. Astride his shoulders, Dendron clasped his arms securely around Albet’s neck. This got the boy securely in place, then the rabbit dropped to four feet and loped down from the crag, and rippled along the ridge through the pummeling storm.

Just in time to see Dendron riding the giant rabbit, in a series of three vivid flash-images, the old man Datrig crested a lower slope. Then the pair, animal-god and boy bounded away and vanished among the haunted summits. Datrig, who had fostered the lad since Dendron was a toddler, drew his sopping cold cloak about the sputtering storm-lantern in his other hand.

The rising blast of wind extinguished it anyway and very nearly knocked him over. “Kalka and damnation!” Datrig snarled. “By all the demons of Wyssaz! I’ll whip that lad to within an inch of his life, when I get my hands on him!”Of course, the gentle old shepherd would never do any such thing—it was his fear speaking.

Ever since the boy found the baby giant rabbit that was the last survivor of a litter that had met with some mishap, Datrig had felt uneasy about the relationship of human and animal. Until then he had loved Dendron fiercely, like his own son, or rather like a grandson, yet he had never detected any remarkable qualities in him. In fact he had always considered the boy too imaginative for his own good, somewhat dreamy by nature and inherently lazy or at least unmotivated.

As a foster-child himself, the boy’s fostering of the orphaned rabbit seemed a dubious enterprise that his guardian had no heart to forbid despite its strangeness. The boy’s eager, hopeful eyes and persistent pleading had swayed the old man’s better judgment.

Datrig could not help having prescient intimations about the strange creature Albet, who became the boy’s best friend. When new to their isolated lives in these lonely hills, Albet was already the size of a sheepdog. As Dendron fancied himself the rabbit’s adoptive father, Datrig merely shook his head and sighed deeply when the boy referred to him as the creature’s grandfather.

“This makes you its father?” he had said and Dendron grinned, nodded eagerly.

In just over a year it grew to the size of a pony, and in less than two years reached full size. The bond between boy and rabbit grew so strong that the old man knew that somewhere deep inside himself he envied them. He knew they shared some remarkable destiny that he could not begin to guess.

Then the old man witnessed next shattered him completely. A terrible fork of lightning crashed down upon the rocky ridge precisely where boy and rabbit had been a heartbeat or before, and the deafening boom of thunder came without any pause. This left old Datrig himself deafened and blinded. Am I alive?He wondered.

Certainly both the rider and his mount must have perished . . .

However Dendron clung desperately, yet unafraid to the plush fur of Albet’s neck and shoulders as the rabbit dashed upward along the rocky slopes. Before long he brought them both through a low triangular cave entrance and out from the screaming weather into a dry and extremely dark place. A certain familiar tilt upwards and shake of Albet’s pelt told him he was to dismount, so he slipped down from the shoulder and found his feet on a hard surface.

At least a dozen or more pairs of eyes as large as his hand faintly gleamed back upon him from the surrounding darkness like huge gems. Yes,Dendron reminded himself following his initial start,my friend is King of the Rabbits now in his own warren and these are the giant does of his harem!

He stood, still shivering as much from the excitement of the ride as from the fact he was damp and chilled. As his eyes adjusted to the faint light that seeped in from vents above, the fitful flicker of lightning revealed something most curious: One of the does seems to have a big ornament hanging on her ear! In fact, he realized as it slipped off and tumbled to the floor of the burrow,it’s a golden crown!

When it rolled closer to his feet, the startled doe’s ears flattened back and she vanished behind all of the others, who surged in place like foliage in the wind, like seaweed on the tide.

What in the Name of the Mandra can this mean?

Just as he had been starting to catch his breath, Dendron’s blood again raced and his eyes widened, he gazed upon the faint gleam of the diadem that had rolled to only a pace from where he stood. At first he dared not bend down to touch it, rather he looked back at Albet who sat upright, his ears high in alertness, staring down at Dendron.

Due to the mind-bridge they shared, Dendron almost expected to hear in his heart some suggestion from Albet of what to do, how to respond, some clue about what this meant. The rabbit’s stare only seemed to redirect his attention back to the crown.

So Dendron went down on one knee and with no further hesitation picked it up.

It proved heavier than it appeared, though this was really a sort of elaborated circlet with filigrees that suggested leaves and blossoms decked with abundant jewels. “What can this be?” Though he spoke aloud, he could scarcely hear his own words over the howls and screeches of the storm that continued outside the burrow. He lifted it closer to his wondering eyes, and saw what appeared to be diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, citrines, topazes . . . precious stones he had only heard described, and had never actually seen.

“Yes, by all the gods! It isa crown! Solid gold by the heavy feel and encrusted with . . . who knows what immense riches this is worth!”

Suddenly a curious awareness passed into him through his hands—his own human mortality felt superficial, transient, scarcely real at all compared with the timeless magnificence, the history and magickal power of the treasure that glittered faintly before his enraptured eyes. Yet he also felt this as something cold, devoid of emotion, though eloquent of a limitless Universe beyond his experience, beyond his lifetime. Something far more than history and mystery—as if it was the Great Unknown itself he grasped. Perhaps, he considered,I should try putting it on my own head, to see if perchance it fits . . .

Almost as if to deter him from this folly, the corner of his eye caught a pale and steady glow behind the silhouettes of the giant rabbit does, their ears cocked in various attitudes of wariness and curiosity. An unearthly radiance flooded through the warren tunnels beyond and above that female host, from some interior chamber deeper inside the hill.

And even with incessant ebb and flow of the typhoon’s roar from without, he seemed to hear the faintest tinkling, pulsating, shimmering of music from the depths . . .

This could be only some aspect of his own heart beating, his blood rushing, his lungs pumping, his mind’s imaginings. He had no means to distinguish such sounds within his body from that strange subterranean music to help him locate it.

Only he knew: It comes from the source of that light. . .

No longer thinking at all, Dendron surrendered to feeling, surrendered to the attraction of the mystery that drew him to move deeper within the matter of the Earth. Most of all, he simply followed his irresistible curiosity and moved slowly, steadily, as if in a trance toward the pallid glow. For convenience, so that his hands would be free to feel for unseen obstacles before him, without further thought he simply placed the crown on his head and crossed toward the nearest tunnel. The does parted at his approach to make way. He thought he heard Albet give a certain click of his incisors and a warning thump on the floor behind him, yet he did not look back.

Rather he scrambled up into the tunnel toward the light. A steep passage brought him higher inside the hill. Finally on his hands and knees at the final steepest portion deeper still within the hill, at the top he reached a place where the earthen wall had broken through. He caught the scent of honey and felt warm air like a breath on him.

Quite a strong amber light shone from within the chamber beyond.

It appeared that a doe had been excavating here, expecting a litter and seeking to create a new, secret burrow to protect her young. By now he had entered a realm of muffled silence, no sounds at all from outside reached him, only clearly, his own sounds. His heart hammered and blood sang in his ears. Most shocking of all was the bright steady illumination from inside.

Strange as all this seemed, still he did not hesitate. He crawled through, emerged into the space, and stood up, brushing the dirt from his palms.

“By All the Gods of Wyland above!” Dendron’s heart tripped over itself in the sudden swell of amazement and ineffable emotions that arose through his body like ink blotting through wet felt.

The vision saturated his being: Seven candles blazed like stars perched upon stands wrought of ivory and gold. Those must be beeswax candles, which makes that sweet honey fragrance!

At the middle of the floor lay a stone sarcophagus without a cover. Around the walls of the tomb—for that’s surely what the place was—were stowed a whole world’s ransom of fabulous funerary furnishings. Gold-covered cabinets and chests, thrones, benches, beds, and tables. He saw fine weapons in ancient style, including bows and arrows, lances, swords, throwing chakras, flails, axes, and maces. Statuettes gave mute witness, sealed jars, golden tablets inscribed with unknown glyphs, and even a gold-plated chariot that had been disassembled and stacked neatly for reassembly and use in Eternity. All this seemed largely undisturbed by the centuries.

He really could not get a grip on the reality of it. Surely I’m in a dream!

Or I truly have gone crazy, he thought, maybe the storm knocked me down and I’ve had a concussion and I’m imagining this . . . because I still hear it, that lovely, peculiar, ghostly music . . . and nothing else!

I’ve been enchanted! My only hope is to close my eyes, turn around and leave without looking back. . . Only it was already too late to save himself.

For in the corner of his eye he clearly saw a face—and though he froze in absolute terror and could not even turn his eyes to look at it, every hair on his young body and his head stood straight out.

He turned on his heels to face that way and saw that at the head end of the sarcophagus, on a tall stand a black stone bust stood. On its bearded, kingly face the life-sized mask of beaten gold had drawn his gaze. He hesitated no more, and though the music grew louder at his approach, he took from his head the crown, placed it on the black stone head and instead took the mask in his hands. He saw that what had first seemed a vertical furrow on the middle of the brow was in fact the closed lid of a third eye. He pulled gently toward himself.

The mask detached from the black stone visage with a slight crack, as if it had only been attached by softened beeswax.

The music stopped.

He looked about, startled, and suddenly became more aware of himself in this astounding place. In fact he felt a heightened awareness, almost as if observing himself from the outside with a crystalline, almost painful clarity he had never known before.

He saw the crown on the unmasked bust, and noted the realistic eyes inlaid with ivory, jade, and jet—green eyes not unlike his own. Plus on the face of the bust, that third vertical eye was open wide and gazed at him with lifelike colors like the other two eyes!

As he turned he observed that the sarcophagus was completely empty, if it had ever been occupied. With the mask held to his chest, his brief inspection of all the other treasures left him convinced somehow that nothing else here mattered so much as the mask mattered.

All else fled his mind as he returned through the crumbling earthen opening at one side of the ancient tomb and drifted down the passage to the main cavern closer to the entrance. All the does had gone, and Albet alone crouched watching his return. Though the storm still hissed and blustered beyond, and flashes came and went, it seemed to be losing its intensity.

Albet lifted his head, whiskers trembling and nose quivering to sniff him. The boy sank to his knees and pressed close to the giant rabbit. He felt powerful muscles shift beneath the loose skin, even through the dense coat of incredibly plush fur, as he sank down and pressed himself against that huge, warm, breathing body.

“My Beloved One,” Dendron said, “look what I’ve found in there!”

He leaned his back against Albet’s side, and held out the beaten gold mask before him. Albet’s head turned to look at either the mask, or at the boy. “Appears that the lips are inlaid with coral—must be—and the eyes, lifelike and colored like those on the bust. Only these are inlaid with clear, colored crystal. Maybe quartz and fluorite? These are commoner stones than the crown had, and I’ve seen them before. Hard to really see clearly what they are, though. Except that it’s exquisite, perfect workmanship. Like everything in that tomb!”

Impulsively, he turned the mask around, curious to see if he could look through the crystalline eyes, and brought it to his face.

The music abruptly returned, so loud and clamorous that it blotted out all else from his awareness. Its aegis smashed his head open to the relentless cosmos! Awareness bled away from him into a funnel cloud of brilliant yet fuzzy images that whirled and danced in serpentine waves, clenched and expanded by turns. Then he burst beyond boundaries into a hard-edged visionary realm of rainbow colors, both seductive and unbearably bright. Revelations flooded through him without mercy, too swift to apprehend, too potent and pure to be denied. Voices of gods and goddesses stated everything of importance. He saw the world breeding monsters and giants from its own fecund body, into a world ruled by demigods, demons and animal-gods. No way could he escape the complete transformation of this new creation story!

Why did I never see this before!? he screamed silently.

* * *

Alone in a dry silvery light.

Beyond the opening nearby, from the pervasive bluish glow it seemed that daylight must be approaching, and the squall had abated to a steady drizzle of rainfall.

It struck him like a blow. Did I fall asleep with that mask on my face?

Only both hands flew to his face and met only the familiar flesh. A shapeless panic filled him. What had happened to the mask?What had happened to him? A wide-eyed, desperate search revealed no signs. Even his faithful friend Albet must have tired of his fitful sleep, and gone elsewhere in the warren.

Dendron bounced to his feet and raced into the nearest tunnel, utterly dark and smelling of dry soil. That and plenty of roots despite the efforts of the rabbits to gnaw them back, were all that he found. Enough of the growing daylight filtered down through cracks and air vents here and there that he was able to patrol a number of tunnels that he thought might be the one . . . yet none led to that steep bit and the opening that broke though into a timeless tomb.

How could that have been real, it struck him now,burning candles? Ancient treasure? I’ve been bewitched by some strange spell . . .

All that he thought had happened during the night began to feel absurd, fanciful, manufactured out of the imaginings of a boy terribly lonely but for the devoted friendship of a giant rabbit and the kindly care of an old man.

Still, he knew something hadactually happened, for he felt himself to be a different person than the boy that scrambled into that crumbling opening. Or thought he had. He felt keenly alert, yet also felt extreme thirst and hunger. Something in him longed to rediscover that tomb and to hold the mask again, to prove to himself that all of those fantastic things had happened.

And it settled like a heavy, yet delicious weight into his gut, then cracked open and grew outward from there like the sudden germination of a seed:

Yes, it didhappen!

Dirty and weary, yet his mind blazing with some kind of momentum of this certainty, the boy slid and tumbled back down through the warren tunnels to the main entrance where he had slept.

Albet again sat upright there, now in silhouette against the glare of early daylight. Ears wide and alert, he groomed a shoulder with his monstrous incisors. The rabbit stopped his chewing and raking and lifted his muzzle to look directly at his human being. The huge black eyes seemed to look right into Dendron’s soul—just as they had alwaysseemed to see inside of him.

“Am I a complete fool, my Beloved One?” Dendron halted not far from the creature and chuckled. He felt shiver of vitality that rebounded from his bowels to the crown of his head, then back down to his gonads. He thought of Pylepus, the ancient Rabbit God of Pylon’s prehistoric roots. That deity many believed was completely mythical, no more than a few fragmentary stories and some stone carvings on the cliffs.

Datrig and others who lived in this remote wilderness knew the giant rabbits existed, only they never spoke of them to outsiders, aware that they might be hunted for their fabulous pelts, as had been the case many centuries in the past.

Best that the outside world did not know that such animal actually existed.

Indeed, Albet now shone in outline like the slenderest horns of the Moon itself, before a curtain of gentle, steady rainfall through which the diffuse morning sun cast a watery light into the cave.

Only Albet’s no god, Dendron told himself. He’s just a magnificent, over-sized rabbit! Plus that mask, if it was real, is not more than a lost treasure from ancient times. Surely. Then a stab of guilt that he could not ignore reminded him of how worried Datrig would be about him, and he knew he must go back to his guardian and make peace with the old man. “I’ve go to go, Albet,” he said.

Dendron could not know that, though it could no longer be felt or seen, he still wore that mask on his face.

He would wear it forever.

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