“Food.” One of the demons gasps. “I smell food!”
A sudden eruption of sound. It’s a cacophony of howling, slobbering, hissing. They trample over one another, clawing and biting their way forward to follow the scent trail—lost to their insatiableappetites. Even the snake demon tasked with binding Yue in place moves to follow, dropping her carelessly to the floor. Yue doesn’t stir.
“What is the meaning of this?” the Maskmaker snaps, but his voice is drowned out by the mayhem.
The moment the crowd dissipates is the moment we strike.
Sooah is first through the latticed window, the thin paper and wood tearing away beneath her bulky momentum. She goes straight for Yue, leaving the Maskmaker to us.
I draw my sword and swing in my run up, slicing straight through the mask he wears. He drops his paintbrush in stunned horror. It’s terrible, watching my own visage fall apart. Skin, muscle, bone, and all. I can almost feel it on my own cheek, a truly strange form of self-inflicted harm. The mask falls away and shatters upon the floor, and I find myself staring into a set of bloodshot eyes.
For the first time, I’m able to look upon his pathetic face. There’s no hiding. Not anymore. There are bits and pieces of him I recognize. The first star god’s ears; the second star god’s wide mouth; the goddess Kelai’s nose—features shared among siblings.
The Maskmaker is a fallen star god. Did Yue know? Surely not. She is too smart to willingly make such a powerful enemy.
He drags a hand over his bleeding face and snarls. “How dare y—”
I have no time for speeches. I bring my sword up in one swift motion and attempt to run the star god through the chest, but he stops my blade with unspeakable strength, gripping the sharp metal with his bare hand. My first attack was a fluke.
The Maskmaker throws my sword away as if it were a used toothpick. He snatches me up by the throat and squeezes hard enough for his nails to break skin. I rear a hand back and attemptto strike him, but he blocks that, too, snatching me by the wrist and twisting to get a better look at my palm.
“My dear sister gave you a map?” he says, surprised. “Yes, I recognize her magic. This would have come in handy the last time I escaped. How did you trick her into giving it to you?”
The Maskmaker tries to wrench my arm from its socket. The pain explodes through my shoulder and my chest, so dreadful I fear my heart will burst. I choke on a scream, but he doesn’t stop there. The deranged star god keeps wrenching. He means to tear my arm clean off in hopes of taking the map.
“Don’t struggle,” he says darkly. “This will be over soon.”
And yet, nothing happens. He attempts to break my arm, but for some curious reason, he is unable to do so. The Maskmaker glares at me in disbelief, something akin to recognition causing his eyes to widen.
“You,”he seethes. “The Sun’s magic flows through your veins.”
I frown in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Houyi… Even after all these years, you’re still a thorn in my side. Now your descendant has come to finish what you started.”
Descendant? I can’t make sense of what he’s saying. My mother often spoke of how she came from a long line of accomplished archers—but I never expected one of them to bethearcher. I should dismiss his ramblings as a mistake, but what reason does the Maskmaker have to lie?
“Release him!” Wen shouts from across the room.
He’s readied another arrow, the drawn bowstring slipping from his fingers, but this time the arrow hits the Maskmaker in the thigh. The vengeful star god releases me and I drop to the floor, landing harshly on my bad shoulder. It pops loudly, dislocated once more. Gods, what terrible luck. I struggle to breathe past the pain. There’s a ringing in my ears. I can feel my erratic, panicked pulse in myteeth.
A woman’s scream. Sooah. It’s a sound from deep in the back of her throat—a wail as much as a war cry as she charges the Maskmaker at full speed like a bull. He manages to step out of the way at the last possible moment.
“Pathetic,” he scoffs. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
I use his distraction to my advantage. I lunge for my sword, grip it by its handle, and launch it with all my might. The blade goes tumbling through the air, sawing its way through the Maskmaker just below the elbow. His severed arm falls to the floor with a wet splat, his fingers still twitching as he bellows.
Looks like Yue won’t be the only one who gets the privilege of maiming him.
“In here!” the Maskmaker shouts, retreating toward the doors leading into the courtyard. “You stupid beasts, they’re in here!”
“We have to go!” Wen snaps, pulling my good arm over his shoulder. He drags me to my feet.
“Yue,” I croak. “We can’t leave her.”
“She’s too big to carry,” Wen protests.
He’s right. In her fox form, Yue is nearly three times Sooah’s height and no doubt quintuple the weight. If only her mask hadn’t been destroyed. Were she human, we’d be able to carry her out with ease. The mountain of masks sitting before us is our only solution.
