Chapter 63. The Rite of Eight Masks

It was still dark when Pendaran was drawn awake by the bronze bell of the city clock tower.  Five tolls disturbed the restless quiet.  Rising slowly from his meager pallet, he saw a lantern glowing softly just inside his open door with a note beside it and a small crystal vial containing a shimmering magenta fluid. Frowning, he read over the instructions and began the long walk toward the bath house.  Some moments later he was silently greeted by a pair of man servants who scrubbed him to within an inch of his life with hard soap that stank of lye and lavender.  He stood over the drain in the floor as they doused him with buckets of lukewarm water, cleaning his hair and trimming it back above his nape.  They wrapped him in towels as they shaved his face clean and he lamented once more the loss of his mustache.

He forced himself to stay focused on the moment.  Zhou was merciless when Pendaran let his mind wander, more so if he detected complaining or anything resembling self-pity.  The servants helped him towel dry and guided him toward a neatly folded pile of clothes.  He wondered idly what monk-style fashion he would be saddled with today and immediately forced the bitterness from his mind as he quietly shrugged into the long white cassock.  He allowed the servants to tie the laces of the high collar below his nape and wrap a wide linen kirtle around his waist. Waving them away, he donned the split-legged pantaloons that he was certain Zhou had chosen for him due to their sheer ugliness and impracticality.  He spent several minutes lacing them up, mentally biting his tongue as he did so.  It annoyed him that Teleri only ever saw him in a dress.

It was already light as he moved somberly toward Zhou’s study.  Whatever his master had planned for him today, it apparently did not include breaking fast or speaking.  It was unusual for Zhou not to meet him in the conservatory at sunrise for a light meal.  Not so today.

He hesitated only for a moment at the silver door handle, gazing upon it warily as low sunlight seeped into the corridor from a stained glass window at its farthest end.  The door swung open silently and he beheld a new circle of crystalline sand cast upon the empty tiles.  His stomach clenched.  He had no idea what was about to befall him.

The message had told him to go to the study and take his accustomed seat on the floor below the window where Zhou made him perform intricate mental exercises or meditate for hours on end.  He was to imbibe the mysterious substance in the vial and don the mask that awaited him there.

Pendaran cast a final glance over the ritual circle, eight points in sand, sigils he did not know, eight small red lanterns fluttering at each point.  That was different than last time.  Steeling himself for Zhou’s arrival he hurried to his floor pillow and faced the wall beneath the window, clutching the vial in his sweating palm. He saw the mask now, a strange crystalline thing, all angles and points as it shimmered in his hands.  Prisms danced over its planes and a purple sheen flowed within it.  Spikes of crystal formed a crown of gleaming rays around the stony, expressionless face.  He laid it gazing up at him upon his lap, contemplating its meaning as he removed the stopper from the vial and drank the bitter fluid that dwelt within.

Fighting the urge to cough in disgust, he laid aside the empty vial and flipped the strange mask over.  It would envelop his face and that meant he might be required to give himself over to its persona entirely.  What that persona was, however, was beyond him at that moment for it possessed no distinguishing features.  It was merely a poorly formed visage made from planes of solid crystal.  It had no mouth or eyes.  Only the jagged swell of its nose made him know how it was worn for that was the only opening that pierced its rough form.  Its extravagant rays of crystal jutted from its forehead and temples like the crest of a serpent or bird.

Gently he slipped the intricate lacings over his scalp and down around his nape, tightening the fine silvery traces until the heavy mask pressed coldly against his face without shifting.  Now the world around him was limned in prisms and sparkling light as he gazed through the translucent stone and saw the world resolve into multitudes of repeating patterns and shapes.  He was not blinded, he was dazzled and disoriented.  Gathering himself mentally, he assumed the pose of meditation and waited.

Zhou arrived at precisely the moment the distant tolling of the clock tower announced the sixth hour of morning.  Pendaran listened anxiously as the door closed and his master’s footfalls scuffed quietly over the bare tiles of the study.  To his amazement he could clearly sense the man’s relief that Pendaran had arrived on time and was ready.

“I have opened you with the Wine of Lyssa,” Zhou said within his mind, “and so your perceptions shall be powerful for a time.  However, you will no longer be able to determine what is real and what is not.  That is the price.  Speak into my mind now, you should find it is quite easy.”

Pendaran had never dared to try it.  Compared to Zhou, he was barely adequate as a mesmer and he was certainly no mentalist.  Nevertheless he focused as if he were preparing to use a hex, mentally finding the vivid scarlet flare of Zhou’s focused mind.

“I obey, Master.”

And it was laughably easy as he gazed out through Zhou’s eyes, seeing himself adorned with the crystalline mask, his form bathed in an aura of magenta.  He sensed that he could take control of Zhou’s will and force him to obey.  Pendaran felt a thrill of fear that was not his own, felt the shift of thought and emotional strain as Zhou’s will instinctively sought to push him away.  Apologizing, he withdrew and bowed his head. 

“You are new to this art,” Zhou said calmly and Pendaran detected his gratitude that he had withdrawn without lingering, “but it is easily within your ability to master should it be in your heart to do so.  Today you will learn something of your true nature.  Rise now and I will guide you.”

It was difficult to regain his feet.  He staggered and reeled, his world suddenly a blur of prisms and fractured images.  Bracing himself on the wall, he fought nausea as a confusion of light and color whirled around him.  Lightheaded, it seemed for a moment he was floating above his body and whatever anchored him to it had been severed.  He was afraid of falling out of his flesh and never being able to re-enter it again.

“It is the wine.  Close your eyes,” Zhou instructed him and Pendaran did so, relieved to be greeted by steady darkness and solidity.  He grasped his master’s arm as he was guided toward the center of the room, the circle with its glare of red lanterns.  The man chanted softly, winning free of Pendaran’s anxious hands to begin the rite whose name and purpose he did not know. 

“Now you must gaze upon the world, between what is of this plane and what is beyond.  Tell me what you see.”
 
Pendaran gingerly opened his eyes, his vision swimming with color and light as he was struck by the morning sun flowing powerfully into the chamber from the eastern window.  Yet it was not the sun of the world he knew, but a living manifestation of light split into a thousand ribbons of color. 

“There is a girl,” he thought, aware of Zhou behind him, a bright presence and anchor in the midst of the storm of color and shapes, “She is bearing flowers and her hair is the color of midnight.  Milky flesh… she glows from within… beautiful and alone.  She wears a mask, a white mask that covers her face.  It smiles but it has no eyes.  She is blinded.  The Mask of Innocence.”

"Tell me the value of this one," Zhou said into his ear, "This one that cannot see."

"To know the world as a child. To be inspired."

"And now her twin," Zhou said, turning Pendaran around  He closed his eyes against the whirling of color and light, his back to the sun and its blinding fractured light.

“Gaze upon this aspect of Lyssa and speak of it.”

Pendaran once more endured the shimmering dance of light, his mind flooded with its brilliance as the prismed light outlined a grim figure, a woman now, wreathed a magenta aura of chaos and shadow.

“She is fierce,” he swallowed, embarrassed as he felt his body respond in eagerness for the cruel figure.  Her steely mask was harsh and emotionless, her pursed lips smiling faintly at the pain she caused.  Her voluptuous frame was clad in bristling steel that at once drew his gaze yet kept him at bay.  He yearned for the sting of her knotted whip and the harsh sweetness of her voice demanding his servitude.  Beautiful and terrible, she drew toward him, her razor claws glinting upon long delicate fingers.  She would cut him, bleed him, steal away his breath and make him beg for more.

“No,” he moaned, closing his eyes even as he longed to bow down to her terrible beauty.

“Speak of her, Pendaran, what is she?”

“Power,” he said, and the thought made him giddy with desire, “She would give me dominion over all.”

“She is part of you,” Zhou replied gently, “A part that you have toyed with but never fully embraced.”

“I fear her.”

"But you also lust for her."

The figure moved toward him, her touch like fire, making his flesh tingle where her fingers walked.  He wanted her, his whole being longed to be crushed in her embrace even though she would scourge him mercilessly and deal him far more pain than any amount of pleasure she would give him.  Yet he would belong to her, safe within her bitter embrace.

"She would protect me.  She would give me purpose and strength."

"She would give those to you and more," Zhou whispered coldly, "she would bind you with them.  She would sew your lips so that you might not sing, she would pierce your heart that you might not love.  But she would protect you.  Is this what you want?"

“No,” he replied, realizing that before Luitha his response would have been quite different.

“Her mysteries are already yours, Pendaran.  The Mask of Domination serves only those who can channel cruelty as easily as love, for the one must be balanced with the other or you will become her servant.  It is said of the Mursaat that they were once great mesmers who could no longer remove this mask and so lost their faces and thus their souls.”

Pendaran closed his eyes, keeping the dark vision at bay.  He slowly drew breath, driving away the tension in his body as Zhou turned him to face once more toward daylight and the vision of a young woman standing before him naked and unashamed.  Her features were hidden behind a shimmering curtain of golden cloth through which he could faintly see her level gaze boring into him.

“Truth,” he told Zhou and his master agreed, not pressing him further as he guided him once more toward darkness.

“What is her twin?” he asked quietly, “Describe her to me.”

“She is beautiful… and terrible.  Her hair is both long and silky but threaded with serpents.  She is wearing the Mask of Illusion and her shape shifts constantly.  I do not know where she begins or ends.  She is of smoke.”

“Lies,” Zhou said significantly, “Lies are her tools.  You have served this one, Pendaran, you have let her rule you so completely that you squandered your talents and seeded a host of angry ghosts in your path.  You will always be the liar and the thief.”

“No,” Pendaran protested, “I am no longer.”

“Tell that to those you have wronged,” Zhou replied calmly, “for to them you are still that man and will always be until you are redeemed in their eyes.  That is the price for serving this mistress.”

Sadness welled up within him, for he knew Zhou was right.  He had ruined his life, and he had ruined other people, as well, something for which he was profoundly ashamed.

“I was such an idiot.  How can I ever be forgiven?”

“That is between you and those you wronged, Pendaran, but you must understand that when you leave me restored once more to your full potential, you will be called upon to reckon with your past and you must not let this part of you rule again, no matter how tempting and easy it might be.  You have already worn a deep path in this terrain.  Humility and truth alone must guide you now.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Then gaze upon the other face that betrays you,” Zhou said, turning him slightly until another shadowed figure materialized beside the face of illusion.

“Sorrow,” Pendaran said, “She is clad in winding sheets and her mask is twisted with grief.”

“You have served her by running away, giving her more power in retreat.  What do you always ask of her?”

“Why.”

Zhou turned him slowly toward the light once more and he saw before him a laughing figure, her mask shifting and melding with her brightly lit face.  For an instant he recognized her, had seen the same serene and joyous expression upon Sister Lemony’s face.

“Ask the Mask of Joy, Pendaran.”

“Why did those terrible things happen?”

The figure regaled him with Lemony’s sweet laughter.

 “You never ask why you are having joy, yet you question my twin when she brings sorrow?  Silly man,” the image fluted, “Why is only what you decide it to be.”

Zhou seemed amused when Pendaran relayed what he had seen and heard.

“I believe you should befriend this Lemony person, she is a natural teacher for you.  Into darkness once more," Zhou said, helping Pendaran turn away.  Shadow and prism resolved into the figure of a hag, twisted and beckoning.  Her mask was a yawning chasm of blackness: the Mask of Death.  All light and warmth poured into the mask’s churning void, all hope melted before her filthy claws.

"What do you see, Pendaran?"

"All things perish in her.  She is death."

"The ultimate truth.  Do you fear her now?”

“Sometimes, but I also realized that she was kind and merciful when I lay in darkness.  Some hurts do not heal in this world.”

And as he spoke those words he watched her hideousness fall away, replaced by Luitha restored to flesh, beautiful and pale in her rich black gown.  He held out his hand to her but Zhou snatched his wrist and drew him away.

“Do not seek her before your time.  Gaze now upon the other great truth.”

And Zhou turned him to look upon Lyssa in her guise as lover, so supremely beautiful and enigmatic he dropped to his knees as if before a monarch.  She stood shining and naked before him, unblemished and radiant as pure sunshine.  Her face was a mask of glory, a shining mirror framed with silvery hair.

"Tell me what you see, Pendaran."

His tongue was dead in his mouth, so stunned and overwhelmed he could scarcely breathe.

"Such beauty it aches."

"It is the pain of separation," Zhou whispered, "Look upon her face."

"I cannot."

"Try."

Pendaran lifted his eyes, following the glorious lines of the figure's glowing flesh upward until at last the flare of the mirrored mask reflected his own green eyes.  For an instant he stood gazing upon himself, a pure and noble vision transformed by love.  And now he saw Clarissa, alive with beauty and joy and he longed for her, cried out her name though she could not hear him.  She faded and melded into an image of Teleri, innocent but wise.  He choked in pain and awe as the vision faded, leaving him alone once more in the study with Zhou standing calmly at his back.

“The clock has tolled seven,” Zhou said.  Pendaran knelt quivering upon the floor, his hand outstretched as he sat dazzled in the sunlight, his seeking gaze now fractured and fragmented behind the mask, “Truly now you are a mesmer, for thus ends the Rite of Initiation.”

Pendaran closed his eyes against the heady glistening of crystal and light while Zhou released the mask and lifted it away.  He felt suddenly lighter yet weary to the depths of his being.  Zhou helped him rise to his feet whereupon he discovered his legs could not support him.

“Thank you, Master” he said as Zhou helped him to the couch that Pendaran had often rested upon between lessons.

“I will not be your master for much longer.”

Pendaran frowned as Zhou went to the door and called for a servant.  He was exhausted and trembling from exertion.  The eight minor rites he now knew.  They were solitary forms meant for cleansing and focusing the mind.  These Zhou had been forcing him to perform day after day until he knew them by heart and could perform them at need.  The major rites were shrouded in secrecy.  He had heard only rumors, but he did know that the rites of the quarters were always performed by two for they embodied the dual nature of Lyssa.

“I release you for the rest of the day to recover and reflect.”

Pendaran nodded to the quiet click of the door closing at Zhou’s back.  He curled onto his side and immediately dropped off to sleep.  It was nearly dark when he shook awake, startled that his short nap had turned into a long dreamless slumber that had stolen the day away from him.  The room had been restored to its more reserved and studious state, the sand swept up and the carpet rolled out.  The low table beside the couch held a tray with fruit, cheese and a hard-crusted loaf of bread.  A large tankard of water rested beside it and he sat up and emptied it immediately.

His skin pricked as a strange whistling sound split the silence and he had the jarring realization that he was not alone in the room.  The sound put him in mind of a blade being drawn eerily over stone but it seemed to hang coldly upon the air, emanating from another plane.  Turning his head slowly, he was surprised to see Zhou kneeling before a basin of silvery water, laid out on the floor below the window.  He was stripped down to his loose white pantaloons and the half-light revealed strange tattoos etched into his back and shoulders resembling those he had seen upon Shikai.  Instead of a mask, his face was half concealed behind the black band of a blindfold and there was a translucent spirit hovering faintly over the water.  Its chains were taut as the grating sound erupted from its malformed jaws and Zhou answered it softly in Canthan.

“I have instructed the servants to take care of you. Eat now then seek them.  We have little time,” Zhou said into his mind without pausing in his quiet discussion with the spirit, “Our hand has been forced and we must perform the midnight rite this evening.”