Ezer and the Mask Chapter One: A Shattered Soul

The first thing I remembered was pain.

A searing, burning pain flowed out from the deepest parts of my soul. Darkness played at the edges of my vision as I forced my eyes open.

I was on the ground, being dragged by my arms across wooden floorboards, my blue and white robes stained with dark red splotches. The wooden floor scraped my back and legs as I was dragged along.

“He’s alive.” A voice said. It was faint, barely audible over the ringing in my ears. Whoever was dragging me let go, and my upper body dropped. My head bounced on the ground, and I moaned in agony.

“H-how did he survive that?” the voice asked.

“He’s strong. We’ve always known he was strong.” Another voice responded. A familiar voice.

“We have to tell the master,” the first voice said.

There was a pause, a moment of hesitation, before the second voice spoke again.

“Yeah, you go get him; I’ll stay here to make sure nothing happens.”

A blonde man in blue and white robes rushed past me, hurrying down the hall where they must have dragged me before I woke up. My mind spun as my eyes tried unsuccessfully to follow the figure.

“Ezer,” the second voice said. Another man knelt at my side, dressed in the same robes that the first man and I were wearing. His hair was a rust-red hue, and his green eyes locked with mine, concern etched on his face.

“Wolin?” I muttered, barely able to form the words.

“Ezer, please tell me you didn’t try,” Wolin said. He put his hand on my chest, pulling it off quickly as I winced in pain.

“Tell me you didn’t fight him.”

Fight him?

Fight who?

I tried to organize my thoughts, to cut through the pain and understand what Wolin was asking.

“Fight… what?” I mumbled.

“Sorin said you tried to kill him,” Wolin said.

Sorin!

The memories came flooding back.

Sorin, my master. He had asked for my help with a ritual, something with a strange, dark red crystal. With unwavering concentration, I followed his lead. Without warning, my staff flew out of my hands and…

Voices.

Muttered voices from down the hall.

Wolin cursed under his breath.

“Ezer, listen to me. I need you to survive, okay?” he said.

Like I had much choice in the matter.

A pale yellow light danced around Wolin’s hands as he placed them back on my chest; the pain faded somewhat as my body glowed with that same light for a moment.

“I’ll find you, Ezer, okay?” Wolin said. “Just survive.”

“I’ll… try…” I mumbled.

Wolin picked me up and carried me to an open window.

My memory stirred again, and I tried to grab onto his robes.

“Wait…” I muttered.

“Shhh,” Wolin responded, “I need to do this. Just don’t die, please.”

Without another word, he pushed me out the window.

I hit the ground hard, pain shooting up my body again as I lay crumpled on the ground. I could hear voices from above.

“You pushed him out?”

“He lost consciousness again. What did the master say?”

“He said he wasn’t worried. Even if he lived, he isn’t going to last long.”

The voices faded into ringing as darkness once again overtook my sight.

======

It was evening when I woke up. The sun dipped towards the outer wall of my master’s fortress, casting long shadows on the ground around me. The stench pierced my nostrils, adding to the reasons for my watering eyes.

I was in the fortress’s dumping grounds, where Sorin and the apprentices threw their waste, anything that had outlived its usefulness to the fortress’s residents. Broken items, human waste, and rotting food surrounded me. I could hear rats and other animals scurrying around the garbage heaps.

The pain had subsided a bit. I dragged myself to the rough stone walls and sat up. In the dying light, I looked down at my aching body.

Mud and blood covered my robes, so the blue and white fabric could barely peek through. All my limbs seemed intact, if covered in filth. Patting my robes, I felt my small coin purse and my journal in the inner pockets. A white glow blurred the bottom of my left eye’s vision, making it hard to focus. I resisted the urge to rub my eyes, knowing that the mud caking my hands would only make things worse.

I’m alive. Barely alive, but alive.

I tried to stand, but stumbled and fell, leaning on the wall for support. I slowly made my way to my feet. My arms and legs trembled, and pain, duller this time, rolled up and down my body. I slowly began moving, leaning against the wall.

I had to get to the nearest door. The guards could help me. Wolin could help me.

 Sorin did this to me.

The memories flooded back again. Me being lifted off my feet by an invisible force, being spun around to face my white-haired, white-robed master, my staff in his hand. The pain ripping through me.

I pushed those thoughts aside. This was just a big misunderstanding; a misinterpretation of the ritual. If I could just get to the door.

I tripped over something and fell again. Frustrated, I turned to look at the offending object.

It was a dead body.

A woman in black and green robes, lying on her back. She was bloated and her skin looked red. Her torn robes were splattered with blood, and one brown eye stared blankly at me, unseeing, while her mouth hung open and limp. A glowing white scar spread across her face, cutting across her other eye and down diagonally from her hairline to her jawbone. Her facial features were twisted, as if she had died screaming in agony.

Esmeraldn, the sorceress who had challenged Sorin two weeks ago. I remember her walking boldly through the fortress, approaching my master in the arena.

She had never come back out.

Looking around, I began to notice more. Five, six, eight corpses strewn about the dumping grounds, all in various states of decay, each of them with a similar white scar cutting across their faces. Bones littered the ground beneath me, human bones. I felt the breath catch in my throat as I realized where I truly was.

This was the final resting spot for those who challenged Sorin. A cemetery for his opponents.

A glimmer caught my eye. Something metallic was catching the last rays of the setting sun.

Crawling over to it, I saw a dagger clutched in the hand of another corpse, this one almost entirely a skeleton, with a white scar still visible, almost embedded into its skull. I pulled it out of the corpse’s hand and looked at it. Its metal blade reflecting sunlight, and something else. A strange white light. Turning the blade, I saw my face looking back at me.

No. No, please. This can’t be right.

A glowing white scar cut across my face. Beginning at my right jawbone and extending upwards, over my nose and under my left eye, ending around my left temple. Blood stained my pale skin, dripping from the glowing scar down my cheek and onto my chin. It was the same scar that Esmeraldn’s corpse had. The same scar that all the bodies here had. I dropped the dagger.

Sorin tore my soul in half.

It made so much sense now. The pain, the confusion from the others when I woke up, Wolin pushing me out the window. Sorin had treated me like a challenger and sent me to rot where all his challengers ended up.

Tears ran down my face, sending jolts of pain through my head as they crossed over the glowing scar. My master had betrayed me; he had torn my soul into pieces and left me to die. Tossed me out the window like trash to rot with all the others.

But Why? I had never betrayed Sorin. I would never dream of it. Sorin had given me everything; taught me everything I knew. I was his head apprentice, a title I did not take lightly. Why would he do this?

I sat in the dirt and mud for a few minutes, wiping my tears with the cleanest part of my sleeve I could find. I knew I had to get away from the fortress, and soon. If Sorin or one of the other apprentices found me still alive. Nothing would stop them from finishing the job.

Crawling back to Esmeraldn’s corpse, I thought about my next move. I couldn’t get very far in my current condition, crawling towards the city in bloody apprentice robes. That would draw attention; people would ask questions. I also had to cover the scar on my face somehow. I doubted anyone who hadn’t studied the arts of magic would know what it was, but a glowing scar would draw nothing but more looks.

Esmeraldn’s black and green robes. They were clearly bigger than mine, and they had a black hood. They stank of rotting flesh and were just as muddy and bloodied as mine, but I could try to wash them before morning, and few city folk would recognize them.

“Forgive me,” I muttered to the corpse, “I must take these.”

I stripped off my outer robes and began removing Esmeraldn’s. My inner robes were plain white with no distinguishable markings, so they could stay. Draping the oversized robes over myself, I tied on the belt and pulled up the hood.

It will have to do.

I placed the dagger in a sheath on Esmeraldn’s belt and pocketed my coin purse and journal. I was about to turn and begin crawling back to the wall to stand when one last thing caught my eye.

A black staff, half buried in the dirt. It resembled a wizard’s staff, but its power had drained away, leaving it dark and lifeless. I imagined a green crystal sitting atop the staff, wrapping around it with thin, green tendrils that dug into the black wood.

When a wizard dies, their magic moves with their soul. Whatever magic had once empowered that staff now belongs to Sorin. The staff, like its owner, was a corpse, cold and dead.

It looks an awful lot like a walking stick.

I grabbed it and pressed it to the ground, leaning my weight against it as I stood to my feet. I couldn’t imagine how I looked. Robes too large for me that reeked of death, blood dripping down my face and body, leaning up against a black walking stick. I must have looked pathetic.

But it’s better than being dead.

Leaning my weight against the staff, I hobbled forward. I hoped against hope that there were no guards unlucky enough to be stationed on this section of the wall. I hobbled away from the fortress, away from the home I had lived in for nearly half of my life, away from my master.

Ezer Morningsun, the Great Apprentice, stumbling away from home under the cover of darkness. Pathetic.

I cursed at myself as I disappeared into the night.

======

The night was long and terrifying; every noise became a threat. Leaves rustling became the apprentices looking for me; the buzzing of insects was a spell speeding towards its target; the hoot of an owl an alarm giving away my position.

I dared not start a fire. Finding a creek, I tried to wash Esmeraldn’s robes, scrubbing them against the rocks and hanging them on a tree branch to dry.

I could barely see out of my left eye. And even as the pain faded, my right leg felt numb and stiff. As I sat beneath the trees, I tried to summon my magic to heal my aching and bloodied body, but I could not find the blue light that training had taught me to harness. Attempting to summon it led to nothing more than an aching pain in the depths of my chest, as if my very soul was sputtering at the effort.

I cursed Sorin. I cursed the apprentices I had stood side by side with. I cursed the guards who had been standing outside Sorin’s workshop. I cursed anyone and everyone I could think of, any living being in that fortress of death and deception. But more than anything, I cursed myself, my naivety, dropping my guard, trusting Sorin.

You were a fool, and you’re paying the price for it now.

 I sat in the darkness, cursing quietly at the sky, as the light from my scarred face shone dimly out into the surrounding trees. I tried to work with this light, washing myself in the river and tearing strips of my inner robes to bandage my wounds as best I could. My self-administered aid was slow and clumsy, hindered by my pain and my inexperience with non-magical medicine.

As the night slowly passed, I continued to make myself somewhat presentable. Slowly, the smell of death lessened from the robes, and the bandages stopped the blood dripping down my body. I knew I would need better medical attention soon, but for that night, I settled for not looking or smelling like a walking corpse.

I laid out the few supplies I had. Taking inventory of the little that I had escaped the fortress with. The few materials I had left to my name.

My journal was blood-stained and muddy, but the notes held within were far too important to leave behind. I had spent years collecting instructions on how to perform spells and rituals, studying in the fortress library, and watching Sorin and the older apprentices at work. This old journal was the key to my magic, and I wasn’t ready to throw that away yet, no matter how much I doubted I’d ever be able to use it again.

The small coin purse was only half full. For weeks, I had neglected to refill it from the money box stashed in my room, since I had not planned on leaving the fortress for quite some time. I had enough coin for some basic supplies and a night at an inn, but no more. I cursed myself for not checking the corpses for money while I was there.

Don’t look back; look forward. Death stands behind you. Life stands ahead.

Sorin’s words calmed me while simultaneously twisting the knife lodged in my heart.

The knife I held in my hands was old; its wooden handle was rotted and cracked, and rust was forming where the handle met the blade. It would be useful in a short fight, but I knew its best use to me was the money I might get by selling it.

The same went for the robes and the staff. I didn’t expect to get much from any of it, given their condition, but selling was the best course of action. That would both increase the coin that I stashed in my purse and lead anyone searching for me to a dead end with the person I sold them to.

I laughed bitterly at my fortune. This morning, I woke up in a well-furnished room with many sets of robes and enough coin to last me months. Now, almost everything I had was stolen and needed to be traded away or sold if I wanted to last past tomorrow.

Leaning against the tree, I stared up at the star-filled sky. My body and soul ached in a way I had never felt before. My stomach rumbled with hunger, and my eyes threatened to spill their tears once again. In this moment, a sense of determination and purpose filled my broken soul. I muttered angrily to the night sky above me.

“I refuse to die.”

======

When the sun broke over the horizon, I was hobbling towards the city gates. Crossing through the gate and into the city itself, a guard waved me down. I kept my head down as I walked to them, hoping that Esmeraldn’s hood and the bandages I put on my face hid both my scar and my identity.

“Welcome to Ironheart. Where are you coming from?” They asked, holding a pad of paper in their hand.

My mind swam for a moment as I tried to remember the story I had come up with just hours prior.

“I’m from the town of Woodpine,” I said, speaking slower and deeper than usual. I didn’t suspect any guards from the city could pick me out of the crowd, but I also didn’t want to risk being wrong.

“Woodpine, eh?” the guard said, jotting down my answer. “What’s your name, Mr. Woodpine?”

“Ilin,” I responded, “Ilin Umorn”

“Mr Ilin Umorn from Woodpine,” the guard repeated. They continued writing on their pad of paper. I took a second to look at them as their head was down.

She was a taller woman, about a head taller than I was. Her brown hair matched well with her simple uniform: a metal breastplate with the city’s insignia emblazoned on it, worn over a set of brown robes. Her brown eyes caught mine and glared at me as I looked away again, trying to avoid any semblance of recognition.

There was a moment of silence. I felt myself sweating under the robes. There was no inherent danger to somebody recognizing me yet; I imagined the apprentices wouldn’t discover my missing body for a few more hours. But the fewer people who recognized me, the further I could get without Sorin’s men catching my trail.

I waited in silence, my breath caught in my throat.

“You lose a fight or somethin’?” she asked.

If she only knew.

“Yes ma’am,” I replied, “Bandits got me around a day or so ago, took most of my stuff, and beat me pretty badly.”

“Hmm,” the guard said. She lowered her pad to her side and gestured me through the gate.

“Enjoy your stay, Mr. Umorn,” she said.

I nodded and walked into the city, grateful that the first human interaction was over.

The Port City was slow to wake up; its merchants and workmen operated by the timing of the harbor instead of the land. A few people bustled past me as I walked, either ignoring me or muttering about my slow pace. I stumbled once or twice on the uneven cobblestone street, trying to pick out a shop or an inn or anything as I went. I avoided the larger inns and markets; they had what I was looking for, sure, but they were common stops for my fellow apprentices and I when we came down into the city. The risk of recognition was too high there.

A small building caught my eye, with a rough wooden door leading into a squat stone structure, similar to all the other buildings around it, except for the sign.

“Barrel’s Bottom Tradesmen.”

It was a seedy store. Selling items deemed unfit to include in the passing ships’ manifests. They had never liked the apprentices snooping around their wares, so it became a spot we had avoided.

Pushing open the door, I walked inside.

The air inside was thick with dust and mildew; sagging wooden shelves, filled to overflowing with merchandise, lined the walls. A man reclined behind the desk with his feet up and his hands folded in front of him. He looked sleepily at me, clearly woken up by the sound of the door. His blue eyes peeked out from beneath the mop of blonde hair on his head. I couldn’t tell if it was sandy blonde or just dirty.

“Welcome to Barrel’s Bottom,” he muttered. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

“I actually have a list,” I responded, keeping my head down.

The man sighed and put his feet down with two loud thumps. Standing up, he stretched his arms into the air and yawned before walking towards me. He was a head and shoulders taller than I was, which was good for me, as I could hide under Esmeraldn’s hood for as long as possible.

“A list, huh?” he said, rubbing his left eye. “Buying or selling?”

“Trading.” I said, “I need new robes, a new staff, and a knife if I can get it.”

“All that,” the man replied sleepily, “running away from home?”

That shook me. I stumbled over my words and babbled incoherently for a few moments.

“You don’t have to answer that.” The man said, “My motto is ‘I don’t get paid to hear your life story’”

I forced a laugh as the man looked me up and down.

“You selling these robes?” he asked. “They smell like manure.”

“I was hoping to,” I said.

“I have some old robes I can trade for you, or I can give you 30 coin, up to you.”

I nodded. 30 coin was an absurd price, but I needed to get rid of these robes as fast as I could.

“And the staff?” I asked.

“I’ll tell you what, you find what you want and then we’ll see where you land with everything,” the man said.

I nodded, and he returned to his seat behind the desk. As he put his feet up again, I went through the shop. I found some old black robes, still a bit large on me, but better than the ones I had on, and a scratched redwood cane that supported my weight and kept me upright far better than the staff. The daggers that he had lining the left wall were dull or chipped. I wasn’t going to find anything better than the dagger I had lifted from the fortress’s dumping grounds.

As I was turning to go to the desk, I noticed something white out of the corner of my right eye. Turning to look, I saw something that caught my interest.

A plain white mask stared at me from the back of one of the overstuffed shelves. Pulling it out, I felt that it was made of some sort of clay. With blank eyeholes, the mask’s human-like face looked at me; its mouth curved into a closed-mouth smile, as if it was amused by the man who held it in his hand. Two black strings dangled from behind it, no doubt the method used to keep it in place.

I tentatively brought it up to my face and held it in place. Leaning against the sagging bookshelf, I placed down the staff and tied the straps around the back of my head.

It fit perfectly. The light from my scar no longer danced at the bottom of my left eye’s vision. I looked at myself in the reflection of my blade again, and my smile matched the one on the mask.

“A mask guy, huh?” the man said from the desk. “It suits you.”

“Suits me?” I asked.

“Yeah, now you don’t have to hide underneath that hood and keep your head down,” the man said. “You can look me in the eye like an adult as I sell you stuff.”

I started to apologize, but he cut me off with a raised hand.

“Listen, masked man, I don’t get paid to hear your life story. Whatever’s so grossly wrong with your face that you’ll buy a mask to hide behind is your business; I’ll just take your money,” he said.

I felt anger rise within me, but I pressed it down. His words, while insulting, were true. I was a man hiding behind a mask; this coward, who hid his face and fled for his life, had replaced the powerful apprentice I once was.

I stood up straight and looked the shopkeeper in the eye. He shifted uncomfortably and looked away. I gripped the redwood cane and walked with confidence toward his counter.

I will not live in fear forever. One day, they will fear me instead.

======

As the sun reached its peak in the sky, I boarded a small boat. I still wore the mask underneath the hood of my new black robes. My footsteps on the wooden deck were accentuated by the thump of my cane as I walked.

Someone must have discovered that I’m missing from my gravesite by now.

The thought sent shivers down my spine, shaking the feigned confidence I had been wearing since I put on my new mask. I imagined Sorin’s guards and the apprentices sweeping Ironheart, looking for me, tracking me to this ship and its destination.

I sat down on one of the crowded benches, and those sitting next to me began leaning away, giving me ample space.

I just had to keep my head down until I could rise from the ashes.