Light from the setting sun filtered into my room through the window shutters, lighting up the space as I worked. On the table in front of me lay a pile of papers and documents, each of them filled with the mad scratchings of my handwriting. I sat at the table, with my mask sitting next to the open notebook in front of me, as I buried my head in my hands.
“Why can’t I remember?” I asked the blank paper sitting in front of me.
Next to the notebook was my blood-splattered journal, all the notes I had considered important enough to make during my time in Sorin’s fortress. It sat open on an almost completely ruined page. Smeared ink and brown spots of dried blood obscured most of the writing, rendering the notes my past self took almost entirely useless.
I had been so confident in my ability to perform this ritual when I took the deal with the woman at the harbor. On the surface, it had seemed so simple: strengthen her nets so that they did not break under the weight of her catch. A simple spell to save time and money.
But now the spell was lost to the damaged notebook, and I couldn’t bring myself to recall the components I required to make it work.
Think, Ezer, you don’t want them to lose trust in us.
The Mask’s voice echoed through my head.
“If you want to be helpful, help me remember how to do this.” I responded, “Otherwise, your comments are only distracting me.”
Of course, The Mask responded, I apologize.
I nodded and continued reading. Farburn was slowly opening up to the idea of magic. There had been the people who had supported me from the start, those who witnessed my healing of the young man a few months ago. They began coming to me soon afterwards, asking for my help, requesting my abilities.
Others took more time. Magic confused and frightened them, and they weren’t sure how to respond. However, as they saw me work, they grew to trust me, joining the others in their requests.
There were some who still disliked me. I felt their stares as I passed by, heard their whispers when they thought I was out of earshot. They distrusted my abilities, considered them unnatural, and wished that the strange wizard who had made his home here had chosen anywhere else. There were whispers of the jobs I had taken with my magic, and a growing sense of anger as I continued to spread my influence in the town.
Nevertheless, I continued to work, signing deals for money or for souls, and continuing to establish myself as the Masked Wizard of Farburn. I had moved out of my small room and into a larger space, with room to practice my revived skills and a place where people could request my help. My days of looking for work at the harbor had become days of sitting at this table, assembling spells and rituals.
It was almost as if the incident had never happened.
I gazed at the mask on the table, enjoying the private moment when it wasn’t attached to my face. My redwood cane rested against the table next to it, the blue crystalline tendrils still wrapped around its handle. I smiled slightly as I looked at the two items.
“We are doing well.” I said to myself.
We must prepare for the time when others realize there is a wizard in Farburn. The Mask replied, We cannot risk being unprepared on the day that Sorin’s men arrive.
A familiar pit opened in my stomach. The Mask was right; I couldn’t grow complacent.
Shaking my head, I tried to focus on the task in front of me once again. Pointing at a nearly indecipherable phrase, I asked The Mask.
“Do you know what this says?”
Bring it to me. The Mask responded.
Grabbing my cane, I forced myself to my feet and walked to the nearby mirror I had brought from that first room I stayed in. The Mask was waiting for me, it’s shadowy form nearly filling the reflected image. The blank black eyes stared out of the mirror at the ruined journal as I held it open in front of them.
Vincula robora, fibras spissa, in unum coniunge. their voice echoed.
“Of course, how did I not see that?” I said, looking at the phrase again.
You focus on the big picture, while I look for the smaller details. The Mask responded.
I nodded and hobbled back to my chair. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw The Mask’s form staring at me from the mirror, watching me as I sat down again and began writing.
What are we getting from this woman? They asked.
“Fifty coin” I responded.
Fifty coin for magic?
“I can’t charge everyone a soul for a spell. Some spells are not worth that much.”
Do not cheapen our magic, Ezer.
“It’s my magic, I can charge what I want for it.”
The Mask went silent for a moment, and a strange sense of quiet filled the room. After my first soul, their voice had been a near constant presence, advising me, counseling me, questioning me, it felt strange to return to the solitude that I had felt before reawakening my magic, even though I knew they were still there, lingering beneath the surface of my mind.
I ignored them, working on the ritual. With the phrase The Mask translated for me, I could translate the remaining passages. Soon I had a fresh version of the spell written out in front of me. Taking it, I walked towards the corner of the room that I had designated as my practice space. Selecting a short rope from the shelves, I spoke the spell over it.
It briefly glowed with my light blue aura as the magic sank into the strands. I took a knife and sawed at the rope for a few seconds until I was satisfied that it was not cutting. Muttering a quick strength spell, I pulled at the ends of the rope, trying to force it to snap in my grip. However, it stood firm.
“Perfect,” I said to myself, putting the rope back down on the shelf I had gotten it from. Hobbling back to my chair, I picked up the mask and tied it to my face. My left eye adjusted quickly as the dancing white light below it was obstructed.
Ezer. The Mask said, breaking their silence, Be still.
I froze, holding my breath for a second. The Mask had heard something. Something that had slipped my notice as I was preparing to leave.
“What is it?” I whispered.
There are footsteps coming toward the door. The Mask responded.
There was a breath of silence as I waited, and then a knock.
“Master Wizard?” a voice called out from beyond the wooden door.
“Who calls?” I responded, approaching the door.
“My name is Gaviol,” the voice beyond the door answered. “I’ve come for a spell.”
I looked back towards the mirror, a familiar motion as I silently asked The Mask for their opinion.
They do not seem to have ill intent. The Mask said, But be cautious.
I approached the door and undid the latch. Opening it, I looked at the young man standing before me.
He was a short man with curly black hair. His grey eyes stared at me in a familiar mixture of awe and terror. He crossed his arms over his chest, rubbing the black material of his robe as he took a step back from the door in a way that looked instinctive to me.
“You wish to ask me for a deal?” I asked.
“Y-yes, sir,” the man stuttered, looking at the ground between the two of us. “I want to leave Farburn.”
There was a pause as his words hung in the air.
“I apologize,” I said, breaking the silence, “I am missing information.”
The boy started back quickly, as if the words he spoke physically pained him.
“My family has lived in Farburn for generations. We run the carpentry shop near the forest’s edge. My father has been training me in the family business for years,” he said.
I nodded. The carpentry shop had been a place that remained resistant to my magic. Its leader, Gorsel, was one of the more outspoken critics of my presence in Farburn. I took a moment to ponder what the presence of his son at my home might mean.
Noticing my silence, the boy continued.
“I want to go to Nearcreek, where the carpentry guild meets. If I can get an apprenticeship there, I could gain more skills than my father and bring my family somewhere beyond this small town.”
I nodded slowly.
“I see your dilemma.” I said, “But I have yet to see where my services would come into play.”
“I want you to make me a spell that convinces my father to let me go. To convince him to leave the shop in my sister’s care and allow me to move to Nearcreek.”
Another silence hung in the air.
The boy’s father stands against our attempts to bring Farburn into our influence. The Mask said.
“Please give me a moment.” I said. The boy nodded, and I closed the door. Walking to the mirror, I debated the voice that had been echoing in my head.
“Tell me how using magic to force Gorsel to let his son leave Farburn would advance our cause.”
It wouldn’t.
“Then why would we-”
Because The Mask interrupted, we do not have to stop at that.
“What are you saying, Mask?” I asked.
The boy would deliver Gorsel into our hands. We will influence him to release the boy to Nearcreek, and then we will influence him to support us and our presence in Farburn.
I stared into the mirror for a moment. The Mask had not appeared in it, leaving me staring at my own refection through the eyeholes of my mask.
“No,” I said shortly.
No? The Mask asked.
“No. I refuse to brainwash people into our cause. These men have free will and may choose to support us or stand against us. They have the right to disagree with us, as a father has the right to disagree with his son.”
Ezer, this is an opportunity to silence our most prominent adversary.
Without a response, I turned away from the mirror and began walking towards the door.
Ezer, what are you doing?
“You’re in my head.” I replied, “You can see what I’m doing.”
Reaching for the door handle, I stumbled and fell against the wooden door.
Ezer, reconsider this decision. The Mask said as I began to push myself back to my feet.
“No,” I replied.
I opened the door and stood before the young man once again.
“I’m sorry, son, I will not do that.”
The boy’s eyes widened slightly as he looked into my eyes.
“What?!” he said, throwing his arms up in a sign of confusion and frustration.
“Return home.” I said, “Tell your father you are going to Nearcreek. You are a man who can make your own decisions, and you are old enough to face their repercussions head on.”
“What if I pay you?” the boy said. “I have coin saved up. I can pay you whatever you desire.”
“I have no need for coin.” I responded.
“What about…” The boy hesitated, considering his next words.
“What about my soul?”
Ezer! The Mask yelled.
I scoffed at the boy.
“You would trade your soul to avoid an argument with your father?”
The child nodded.
“Goodbye, Gaviol.” I responded, “I wish you luck in Nearcreek.”
With that, I shut the door.
My leg gave out from beneath me and I collapsed to the ground.
You are a fool. The Mask said as I lay on the wooden floor of my room. You turned down that deal? A simple spell for a soul?
“What anger would Gorsel and his friends have if he learned of this simple spell?” I asked, getting back up, “What kind of anger would whip through Farburn, how would it shake the fragile trust so many have in us already?”
The Mask went silent again, and I sat down at my table.
I needed to wait for Gaviol to leave before heading down to the docks.
I was back in the red void I had become so familiar with. The shapes of men stood before me once again, ducking their heads and looking away.
“You are standing before me to tell me that my apprentice not only survived his encounter with me but somehow fled over five hundred miles with a broken soul and a half-dead body?”
“We are still on his trail, sir,” one man said. “We have tracked him to Highridge and are finding his next location now.”
There was a silence, with no noise but the rhythmic thumping of what I could only assume was a heartbeat.
“Find me Ezer Morningsun,” the voice said. “I will not let this wonder of magic slip through my fingers. I will learn how his soul can still cling to his body.”
There was knocking at the door as I woke from my nightmare. Sitting up in my bed, I grabbed my cane and forced myself to my feet. Grabbing my mask from the table, I quickly donned it.
Who has the gall to disturb us at this hour?
I walked over to the door.
“Who’s there?” I asked.
“I am Gorsel, head carpenter of Farburn. What have you done to my son?”
My chest tightened, and my heartbeat quickened.
“I have done nothing with your son, Gorsel.” I responded.
“Nothing?” Gorsel roared. “Then explain to me why I found his room empty and caught him boarding a ship to Newcreek!”
“You will have to ask your son that question.”
“He had no memory of leaving home, Wizard!” Gorsel responded, spitting out the last word with a venom I couldn’t begin to comprehend. “He couldn’t remember anything after he came to see you. So, explain to me what intentions you had by trying to sneak my son out of town with your vile magic?”
That spineless coward. The Mask’s voice echoed in my head. He put the blame on us to avoid talking to his father.
“I did nothing with your son, Gorsel.” I called through the door, “Ask your son about the carpentry guilds of Newcreek.”
Gorsel gave no response. Instead, the door rattled on its hinges as a pounding sound echoed from the other side.
He’s trying to break the door down!
I scrambled back from the door and rushed towards the table. Grabbing a sheet of paper, I quickly read off a spell.
“Firma lignum, dura lapidem, tene firmiter.”
The door glowed blue as my spell settled over it. The rattling stopped, and the door no longer moved with each blow from the other side.
“Damn your magic!” Gorsel screamed from the other side. “I will teach you to come after my family!”
It won’t hold for long. The Mask said, What are you going to do?
“I don’t know!” I responded, “He’s not listening to reason!”
The pounding noise stopped, and there was silence for a moment. Approaching the door, I called out.
“Gorsel?”
No Response.
“How can we prove that we are telling the truth?” I wondered aloud.
An axe blade splintered the wooden door, the blue glow of the door flickering as the simple spell struggled to hold against the attack. Stumbling back from the door, I fell backward, my cane sliding out of my grasp.
The axe struck the door a second time, then a third. On the fourth blow, the spell shattered, and the door swung open, revealing the man on the other side.
Gorsel glared at me as I tried to reach my cane. His grey eyes shooting daggers at me from his wrinkled face. Black hair and beard streaked with white framed his face, and simple brown robes clothed his muscular body. In his hands he carried the axe, which he held up over his head as he stepped into the room.
“Gorsel, wait!” I said, “Let’s talk about this!”
“I have done enough talking!” Gorsel roared, bringing the axe down. I rolled out of the blade’s path, grabbing onto my cane.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” I said.
He didn’t respond, pulling the axe from the wooden floor and turning to face me again.
DO SOMETHING!
The Mask’s voice rang in my ears as I pointed my cane at Gorsel’s chest.
“Fortes claude et furentes liga”
A blast of blue light exploded out of the top of my cane, slamming into Gorsel and knocking him back against the wall. The axe clattered to the ground as Gorsel collapsed into a heap. I heard him give a surprised gasp before he went silent.
Finally. The Mask said.
I struggled to my feet and approached the carpenter.
“I didn’t do anything to your son, Gorsel.” I said, “I’m sorry he didn’t feel like he could tell you the truth.”
Footsteps. They are rushing toward the door.
With The Mask’s warning, I turned towards the wrecked doorframe, holding my cane at the ready.
“Who’s there?”
“Izett, sir,” a voice responded. A younger guard appeared in the doorframe, looking into the room. Her eyes fell on the still body of Gorsel.
“One of your neighbors came and got me. I came as soon as I could… is he…” she asked, eyes widening.
“He is alive.” I said, straightening my robe and brushing off the dirt it had collected from the floor, “The spell only paralyzed him. I don’t know exactly how long it will last, but I’m sure he’ll be up and moving again soon.”
Izett knelt down next to Gorsel’s body and checked for breathing.
“Are you alright, sir?” she asked, turning to me.
“A bit shaken,” I said, “but the only real damage is to my home.”
I gestured at the destroyed door and the gash in the floor where the axe first landed.
“But there should be a carpenter who will fix it up for me as an apology.”
I stood outside my door, watching the guards load Gorsel’s limp body into a carriage. His grey eyes stayed locked on me, glaring at me as they set him down on the wooden floor.
Izzet stood next to me, assessing the damage to my door.
“Do you know why he was so upset with you, sir?” she asked.
“Dad!” a voice called from down the street. Turning, I saw Gaviol racing towards the carriage.
“That child would be able to better answer that question.” I said, pointing at the younger man.
Gaviol hurried to his father’s side, brushing off the guards who tried to keep him away. He turned to me with anger in his eyes, so much like his father.
“What did you do to my father, wizard?” he asked.
“Your father will make a quick recovery.” I responded, “After that, however, I hope you take the time to tell him why you were actually boarding the ship to Nearcreek.”
Gaviol’s eyes widened as his expression shifted from anger to fear. He turned to Gorsel, grabbing his hand.
“Dad… I’m sorry.”
Gorsel’s expression shifted from anger to confusion, then to surprise, and finally back to anger, this time directed at the young man standing next to him.
Izzet walked towards Gaviol and began speaking to him in hushed whispers. Turning, I walked back into my home, stepping over the destroyed door.
In that moment, I had no fear of intruders.
In that moment, I knew they feared the Wizard in the Mask.
Will Fall Writings 