Chapter Seventeen

 

Stunned by what he had just witnessed, O’Neil slowly walked to Fritz’s body. Mara had already retrieved the mask.

“He didn’t read the journal carefully. Only the parts he wanted to believe,” she said.

“I thought the mask would heal him,” said O’Neil. “Woot is the god of regeneration, after all.” He could hardly believe what he was saying, what he had seen with his own eyes.

“I thought it might, too. I couldn’t be sure. The stories, the oral histories, they were contradictory. The tales told of healing, but also of great destruction. Woot is the god of healing, yes, but Woot is also the god of the Thorn and the god of the Sharp Blades. There are many Woots in the pantheon of the Kuba gods. I didn’t know what the mask would do to him until I saw it for myself.”

O’Neil nodded. It was all he could do.

She stared at the mask for a moment, hesitating, as if considering whether to speak what was on her mind. “But it’s possible, I believe, that the mask can be used for healing, O’Neil. It didn’t work for him, but it might work for me. The Kuba culture is matrilineal. I believe that, in the hands of a woman, its power can be used for regeneration.”

“If that’s true, it could help a lot of soldiers in the war.”

“Not to mention heal your gunshot wound. And any other injury.” She let the statement hang in silence, as its full meaning sank in. She brought the mask up toward her face, but O’Neil stepped forward, grabbing her by the wrist, wincing as the bullet scraped his bone.

“But you don’t know for sure what the mask will do to you. It could destroy you like it did Fritz.” She nodded. “Then it’s not worth it. There’s a veterinarian back in Brazzaville who’s pulled bullets out of me before.” She glared at his hook, and he shook his head. “No.”

“So what now?” she asked.

O’Neil shrugged. “There is a lot of power there. Maybe too much.”

“This mask,” she said, “belongs in a museum.”

O’Neil nodded. “But a museum is not a vault. If it falls into the wrong hands it could be dangerous.”

“I said it belonged in a museum. But I never said that’s where it would end up.” And with that, she took the mask and snapped it over her knee. O’Neil flinched, half expecting it to explode or something. “I’m a scientist. Not an idiot. My father always intended to destroy it. There are some scientists out there who want to split atoms and play god. But there are certain powers that man is not meant to have.” She cast the remnants of the mask on the floor. “Now, can you get me back to some semblance of civilization? A girl could go for a drink.”

And this time, O’Neil let himself smile. Fritz was dead and the mask was destroyed.

They had won.

And he could go for a drink himself.

 

 

THE END