Will it reject me, I wonder? Only a fool would be so brazen as to think they could wield a tool crafted for the gods. Yet I am out of options and desperate enough to try.
It feels like any other calligraphy brush, but when I bring the coarse hairs to the surface of the mask, I’m surprised at the marks it leaves behind. It produces ink all on its own, easily changing color with a mere shift of my intentions. The process is perfectly intuitive, enchanted to bring what I see in my mind’s eye to life. I can feel the magic flowing through me, a river of warmth rushingthrough my veins and into the brush. I feelblessed—by the spell, by the paintbrush itself—as if chosen by some higher power to wield it as the gods would.
I’d find enjoyment in the process, were I not so worn down and fearing for our safety.
I refer to the sketches in my notebook. Who knew such a thing would be so handy? I’ve already made careful study of her, having captured her at various angles, but when I put brush to porcelain, I work from memory, too.
It’s not perfect. A copy of a copy. The Maskmaker’s rendition was without a single blemish or fault, cold and otherworldly in its appearance. My artistry offers a touch more warmth. Soft curves where once there were hard edges. The palace scholars had an old saying that an artist gives a piece of their soul to each of their works, be it writing, music, or the fine arts. I like to think that by making Yue a new mask, I’m giving her a sliver of what it means to be human.
Once finished, I place the mask upon her face. The magic seeps into her skin, transforming her almost instantaneously into a young woman.
Before, her beauty was arresting. Ethereal. All-consuming.
Now, she casts a soft but undeniable radiance. Her lips are plusher, her nose not as sharp. Her cheeks are full and a sweet pink, her long black hair as smooth as silk.
I’m quick to lift her, one arm bracing her back with the other tucked under her knees. Yue’s head settles against my chest, her lips parted just so as she continues to sleep.
I nod to Sooah and Wen. “Scout ahead. I’ll carry her.”
37
The Maskmaker set them loose on every sun temple they came across—a way to not only feed his new army of foxes, but to disrespect his brother’s good name.
Men, women, children—all fell victim to the nine-tailed foxes and the magic of their masks. They were too beautiful for men to deny, so beguiling that women let down their guard, so sweet that children came to them willingly. The foxes would return to him with their bellies full, entire sects and their neighboring villages thoroughly emptied of souls.
The Maskmaker was pleased with his foxes—
Save for one.
The youngest was a curious little beast. She was the runt of the litter: smaller, weaker, and slower than her elder sisters, she had a propensity for watching humans rather than devouring them on sight. He would need to train this strange behavior out of her. If she didn’t eat, she would never grow strong.
“Come with me, Yue,” he told her one sunny afternoon. Her elder sisters were out on yet another hunt, but the little fox, claiming not to be particularly hungry, declined to join them.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he placed a newly craftedmask upon her face. The magic took hold and turned her into a beautiful young woman with raven hair and plump red lips.
The Maskmaker, however, did not answer.
He brought her to the outskirts of a small village. It could only boast a few wooden buildings and one main road. The only impressive thing about it was the sea of golden grass that surrounded it, a narrow river winding through like a blue silk ribbon. There were a handful of humans out and about, but Yue’s attention was drawn to one in particular: a boy, playing by his lonesome next to the water.
“Your sisters are excellent hunters,” the Maskmaker said. “And I would have you be the same.”
“He’s a child,” Yue protested. “I don’t like eating children.”
“Why not?”
“Because they are small. It’s not fair.”
“Fair?” the Maskmaker scoffed. “Believe me when I say this world doesn’t care about fairness. It doesn’t care about those who are weak. Whatever you want, you must take. Remember this, Yue: never pity your food.”
The fox eyed the little boy apprehensively. It struck her as odd that his parents were nowhere in sight, nor did he seem to have any friends to play with. Isolated and alone, there was no denying that he would make the perfect meal.
And yet it didn’t sit right with her, eating someone so defenseless.
“Don’t come back until you’ve eaten,” the Maskmaker said firmly as he turned away to leave. “Or I will tell your sisters.”
Yue shifted uncomfortably. She certainly didn’t want that. Her sisters teased her often. Told her that a soft heart would one day be her undoing. She didn’t want to be the shame of her family. What she needed was to prove herself, to make her sisters proud.
She approached the boy slowly, placing her mask onto her face. It aged her into a beautiful human woman. She forced an unassumingsmile upon her lips. “Hello, little one. What are you doing all the way out here?”
