The thick clouds make the sky the color of steel. Lightning flashes above and thunder growls like a giant woken from sleep. Cold needles of rain drive against my wings as I soar over forest and plain. Yet the water doesn’t chill me. Nothing can quench the ever-burning fire of a phoenix.
I’ve watched the sun loop across the sky three times since our battle with Derthsin’s minions: the dragon-helmeted General Gor and his Beast, Varlot. Still I hear the sound of clashing metal and war cries beneath the walls of the ruined castle, still I smell the fear of men in my feathers, and still I taste their blood on my beak.
Nera unfolds her long stride below us, her ears flattened and amber eyes flashing. Her sodden fur ripples gold and brown under the lightning that illuminates the plain. Between her shoulder blades Castor crouches, his hands gripping her fur. At my side, Gulkien stirs the mists in great drafts with his wings of bone and stretched skin. Droplets of spray scatter from his bristling gray coat, and his long nostrils flare as they suck in damp air. He carries the fair-haired girl, Gwen. Her face is set hard and her eyes are narrowed to slits against the elements. In the recesses of the cloak that whips and flaps around her, the silver of her throwing axes glitters.
The weight on my own back shifts a fraction as Tanner grips my flanks tighter with his knees. How long is it that we have flown together, my Chosen Rider and I? I feel his heartbeat as if it were the pulse of my own hot blood. The bond was between us even before the day when Derthsin slew Tanner’s parents. Our bond was forged in the fires of the past, when Fate decreed the Beasts of Avantia should each have a Chosen Rider. But now we are closer than we have ever been before — my blood flows in Tanner’s veins, after he drank from the vial given to him by the medicine woman. Pain twists deep inside me. He should never have done that! But it is too late now; he is changing, an unnatural strength pumping through his veins. He now thinks he’s unstoppable.
Tanner lays the flat of his palm gently against the feathers on my back, and I hear his voice, somewhere deep in the fibers of my being.
Can we trust him?
I know the one of whom he speaks and tip my head to gaze at the fourth of our number — the final companion — who we have known for the shortest time. Falkor slithers as fast as Nera runs, his long serpent’s body pulsing between the tall grasses, his tongue tasting the air. His scales, slick with moisture, shimmer purple, black, and blue. As he plunges into a dense patch of forest, I have a brief glimpse of the newest rider, seated behind the jutting spines on my fellow Beast’s head, the one whose loyalty Tanner doubts — Rufus. He holds the pieces of the mask that were handed over to him by Tanner. Up till now, he’s kept the pieces in the lining of his cloak, safe from prying eyes. But can we keep our faith in him?
Time will tell, I answer.
Falkor has chosen him, as I have chosen Tanner and the others have been drawn to their mortal companions. I should not question another Beast.
Tanner sends more words to me. We should land, Firepos.
With a screech, I dip my wings to bring us into a long glide downward. The forest blurs as my talons rip through the upper branches. A clearing rushes toward us.
Yes, time will tell.
The rain had finally stopped. Fat droplets of water hung from every leaf tip like crystals. Spokes of sunlight slipped through the canopy and lit up patches of mossy ground. Tanner carried two dead rabbits over his shoulder and leaped over a fallen, rotting trunk, feeling his muscles ache after the recent battles. Only three days before they’d faced General Gor’s troops in the ruins of the mountaintop castle over the Southern Caves. They’d won a victory of sorts, driving Gor away.
They had claimed three pieces of the Mask of Death, but carrying the fragments put their lives in more danger than ever.
Evil gripped the scattered towns and villages of Avantia in its iron fist. Tanner couldn’t forget the attack on his home village of Forton, or General Gor’s twisted sneer as he’d called his troops back from the scene of their latest fight at the ruined castle. You can’t win! he’d jeered, his varkule carrying him away. Perhaps he was right. The warlord Derthsin’s rage would be boundless in his quest for the fourth and final piece of the mask — the Face of Anoret. If he succeeded, Tanner knew that power over all the Beasts would fall to the wearer: Derthsin.
That can’t happen, Tanner thought. I cannot put myself and my friends through this for nothing.
Thoughts of the mask brought a wave of dizziness, and Tanner had to steady himself against the trunk of a tree. He’d only worn the broken mask for a few moments, but he’d felt the power that lurked within it. If only he could trust himself to use the power wisely. Perhaps the Mask of Death could be a force for good, perhaps …
“No!” he said aloud, shaking his head to clear the thoughts.
He rested his forehead against the tree, letting the rich scents of the earth and plants soothe him. The mask is a curse. All that matters is keeping it from Derthsin.
Closing his eyes, he could almost imagine that Avantia was at peace. The forest smell reminded him of the woods near his old home in Forton — of his grandmother, Esme, chopping wood in front of the cottage. His eyes snapped open. But Esme, brave and proud to the end, had been cruelly cut down by General Gor.
If only I’d fought harder, Tanner thought angrily. Maybe I could have saved her.
He stroked the red scrap of linen around his wrist — torn from his grandmother’s body as a memento of that day, a blood-colored token of unfinished business. Of revenge.
If you used the mask, vengeance would be easy….
Tanner swallowed. Was the voice inside his head even his anymore? Or did some dark part of him lust after power like Derthsin? Too much time alone; too much thinking. He pushed a strand of wet hair from his face and retraced his steps back up to the caves. Soon his nostrils picked up the smell of smoke. Good! At least the others had managed to find enough dry wood to get a fire going.
As the leaves ahead parted, Firepos pushed through her golden beak and cawed softly. Her yellow eyes relaxed when she saw that he was safe. Tanner reached up to stroke the warm, soft feathers beneath her head.
“It’s all right, I’m back,” he said. He held up the rabbits. “With supper.”
She called softly again, ruffling her glorious wings. Anxiety sent a ripple of low flames across her feathers. Tanner broke eye contact. Since he’d been tricked into drinking a vial of Firepos’s blood, something had changed between them. He remembered how it had felt:
The red liquid trickles down my throat. I wipe a hand across my mouth and Gwen’s eyes widen in horror as she points at my fingers. Streaked with blood! Almost instantly, I feel my veins burn with energy coursing through them. I have a Beast’s bravery and strength for battle. I squeeze my eyes tight shut as a sensation close to pain sweeps over me. Then my eyes snap open as I realize: Something has changed within me. Something has gone badly wrong.
Tanner pushed the memory of that moment away. He and Firepos were closer than ever — he’d drunk his Beast’s blood! It had given him a Beast’s strength, but in turn that had been twisted into a vicious bloodlust after he’d tried on a piece of the mask. Tanner knew that danger hovered around him. Was it enough to jeopardize their mission?
Stay strong, my rider, came Firepos’s voice.
“We’re only four mortals and four Beasts,” muttered Tanner.
It’s enough, said Firepos.
Tanner straightened his shoulders as he emerged by the black boulder near the dark hollow of the cave mouth. Nera, resting on her golden haunches, jerked her head up with a flash of her orange eyes. Her hackles rose and she sent out a growl as she watched him cross the cave. Gulkien, always more friendly, yawned to reveal curved fangs as long as Tanner’s forearm, his flanks rising and falling slowly.
As Tanner passed them, Nera snapped with her drooling jaws at the rabbits.
“Get off!” laughed Tanner, pushing the massive head away. Typical of Castor’s Beast to try to take what wasn’t hers. “Fetch your own dinner.”
Nera snarled, and Tanner quickened his steps into the cave.
He almost didn’t see Falkor, coiled up and watching him, half in the shade cast by the lip of the cave, half basking in the sunlight. The Beast lay still as a fossil but for the blink of one diamond-shaped eye. His tongue flickered out in a kind of greeting.
The smell of smoke was stronger here, and spluttering flames lit up the interior of the cave where Gwen, Castor, and Rufus had gathered around the fire, drying themselves after the storm.
Castor, lying on his back with his head resting on his arms, turned toward Tanner.
“About time you showed up,” he said. “We’re starving here.”
Tanner rolled his eyes. “I don’t remember you volunteering to catch dinner,” he replied.
“I wish I had,” said the boy from Colton. “We’d have eaten hours ago.”
“Enough, you two,” said Gwen, standing up from the fire. “We need to eat quickly. Derthsin won’t wait. Pass me your dagger, Rufus.”
Rufus handed her the knife hilt-first. She took the rabbits from Tanner and immediately went to work, skinning them expertly.
Rufus left the fireside and went to sit near the back of the cave, draping his blue tunic over his knees. His staff was leaning against the wall and the firelight picked out the carvings of scales along its length, ending in the head of a serpent. The curved blade fixed to the top gleamed. Tanner didn’t know whether to trust him, but Falkor obviously did. The wizard boy was a Chosen Rider, like the rest of them.
Rufus cast a handful of rattling bone pieces onto the hard-packed ground in front of him. He leaned forward, peering at them. Tanner felt a pang of homesickness and the dull ache of grief. His grandmother had also been a mystic, looking for the future in the patterns of rune stones.
“Where’d you find the bones?” Tanner asked.
Rufus looked up sharply. “Falkor sniffed them out. Animal bones, I suppose, picked clean by vultures.” He quickly pushed them aside and pulled out a small wooden box from inside his jerkin. Opening it, he took out a pinch of brown fibers and held them flat on his palm. His lips mumbled words Tanner couldn’t hear.
Nothing happened.
“That’s very impressive,” Castor called over, sneering.
Rufus shot him an angry look and returned his attention to his palm, chanting again. Flames leaped from the fibers, then died. He grinned to himself.
“Magician’s tricks,” Castor grumbled.
Gwen skinned and gutted the first rabbit swiftly, tossing the entrails to Gulkien, who snatched them up with bloodstained jaws. Before she could start the second, Castor grabbed the dagger from her hand.
“Hurry up, will you?” he said. He began to hack at the carcass.
“What are you doing?” Rufus said. “There’ll be no meat worth eating!”
Castor dropped the rabbit at Gwen’s feet. “Calm down, Rufus. Not everyone’s been as lucky as you, living in a cave and skinning rats,” he said.
Rufus’s eyes darkened. “Well, at least Gwen knows what she’s doing.”
Castor sniffed. “Too bad she’s busy daydreaming about her traitor brother.”
Tanner saw Gwen flush, but instead of attacking Castor, she drifted across the cave with her arms folded in front of her. Even a week ago, she’d have lunged for him. Something’s changed in her, Tanner thought.
It wasn’t surprising after everything she’d been through — the death of her brother, his return as a living corpse, his final fall from the cliff. Tanner glared at Castor and went after her. She gazed out toward the Avantian horizon with its scattering of villages and fields. There were no strict boundaries, or hadn’t been until the arrival of Derthsin. Now every town and village, however small, had a line of defense.
Tanner saw tears sparkling in the corners of Gwen’s eyes.
“He’s just being Castor,” he whispered. “He doesn’t mean it. You know what he’s like.”
“He’s right, though, isn’t he?” she said sadly, looking at the ground. “Geffen did betray us.”
Tanner put his arm around his friend, unsure of what to say. Gwen’s twin brother had been kidnapped by General Gor, who’d thought he held the secrets of Jonas the Mapmaker. Gor had been wrong — Jonas had confided his knowledge to Gwen instead. Tanner and the riders had managed to rescue Geffen but he’d abandoned them, stealing a piece of the mask and falling under the evil sway of Gor and his leader, Derthsin. The boy had made a terrible mistake and had paid a terrible price: brought back to life as a fighting corpse — an undead soldier. Only by taking his own life had he ended the curse. Gwen had watched her brother throw himself from a cliff ledge.
“At least he’s not suffering anymore,” said Tanner.
Gwen looked up. “I wish I could understand what happened to him,” she said. “I keep asking myself: Why would Derthsin do such a thing?”
“He wanted to hurt you,” he said. “Hurt all of us.” Tanner squeezed his eyes tight shut for a moment. He would never forget the green, rotting flesh peeling from Geffen’s bones. “What better way than by using the person dearest to you? But you must stay strong, Gwen. Show him that his games won’t defeat you.”
She smiled thinly, her shoulders sagging. Tanner reached for Gwen’s belt and pulled her rapier, with the hilt like a wolf’s head, from its sheath. Dried blood still streaked the blade from their last battle.
“You have to clean it,” Tanner said. “Otherwise it will rust.”
Gwen’s fingers tightened around the hilt. “For Geffen,” she said grimly. She embraced Tanner in a quick hug. “Thank you.”
“What a touching little scene,” sneered Castor from the cave.
Tanner broke away from Gwen. “Stop it, Castor.”
But Castor was on his feet now, kicking the rabbit fur out of the way. He brushed the blond locks from his face and took a couple of steps toward Tanner. “Very convenient, isn’t it?” he said. “No one seems to be pointing the finger of blame.”
Tanner gritted his teeth. Don’t get angry.
“Blame for what?” asked Rufus, picking up the rabbits and continuing to skin them.
Castor shrugged his muscular shoulders. “For letting Gor get away, of course. If Tanner had killed him in that battle in the castle ruins, maybe Geffen wouldn’t have attacked Gwen. Maybe …” He paused. “Maybe he could have been saved.”
Tanner glared at Castor, his feet rooted to the ground even though every sinew wanted to explode. Stay calm, stay calm … Ever since Tanner had put the piece of the mask over his face, he seemed less able to control his anger.
“That’s not fair,” snapped Gwen. “There’s no saying what might have happened.”
Castor took a few more cocky steps closer, arms spread wide, never taking his eyes off Tanner. He jabbed a finger in Tanner’s direction. “I’m surprised our fortune-teller here didn’t foresee it. He’s had one vision from wearing the mask — or so he says.”
Don’t fight him, called Firepos.
But it was too late. Tanner’s anger finally boiled over. How dare Castor mock his premonition about the death of a Beast? With a cry, he threw himself at Castor.