The Mask Maker is dedicated to the followers of Forbidden Alliance who reviewed, followed and asked for more. I just couldn't say no.

For those of you unfamiliar with Forbidden Alliance, most of this won't make sense unless you read the 40-chapter monster I posted two years ago. Fair warning: I have tendency to deviate quite a bit from canon/fanon. Fair encouragement: All characters are OC and you'll rarely encounter spelling/grammar errors. *Crosses fingers*

I'm probably crazy for posting this - I'm still working on the conclusion to the Spear Trilogy, creating lore for tabletop rpg that needs to get done ASAP and fast approaching the busiest time at my job - but inspiration ran me over this past week and I wrote two chapters for this story in my notebook. So I figured since I already have three chapters for The Mask Maker 99% complete and digital, why not upload the first?

So without further ado, consider posting a review if you want Chapter 2.

Pronunciation Guide

Erefet - EIR-eh-fet

hajara - hah-JAH-rah - the title of chieftain's mate in the central wastelands

Kahet - KAH-het

kalei - KAH-lei

nana - NAH-NAH - mother

Ona - OH-nah - shortened version of o'nana (grandmother), often applied to elder females as a term of endearment or respect

Orus - OAR-russ

Raika - RAI-kah

shajara - shah-JAH-rah - the title of a chieftain in the central wastelands

Sira - SEE-rah

Tharrak - THARR-ack

A Debt

The two suns beat down on the cracked earth, boiling the air until writhing waves of crimson danced across the desert. The sea of fire silently burned the as far the eye could see, stretching from the northern mountains to the endless wastelands bordering the southern sea. Today, its scorching tongues reached towards the clouds, burying everything beneath its oppressive heat and transforming the already dry earth into lifeless dust. Bleached bones and plant husks littered the rocky flatlands, a hellish mass grave that claimed both weak and strong.

The dead earth crunched with each weary step, Sira steadying the large clay pot resting on her head with one hand as she carefully navigated the broken terrain. Her anger had quickly evaporated beneath the twin eyes glaring at her from above, their fiery wrath overwhelming her simmering pride. Get the water and go back. Simple. Easy.

All she had to do was apologize.

Sira swallowed, the bitter thought sliding down her parched throat like sand. To prostrate herself before that haughty kalei and beg for forgiveness… it was humiliating just to contemplate. Of course, there were worse consequences than being forced to draw water from the Well of the Dead during the middle of the day. She was lucky, she tried to tell herself. Lucky to be alive and whole.

The stone well materialized through the veil of heat as Sira drew closer, rows of glaring skulls embedded into its cylindrical frame silently reproaching her. She glanced around, making sure she was alone before setting her water pot on the ground and unsealing the well's lid. Raiders sometimes used wells during their treks across the wastes to ambush the unsuspecting or desperate. Even though it was the middle of the day, she quickly hauled up each sloshing bucket of water to the surface and filled her pot, not wanting to tempt the grim god of fate.

Sira grunted as she twisted the heavy lid shut, steam hissing along its edges with a final tug. She heaved a tired sigh, resting for a short moment before straightening to adjust the hood wrapped around her head. As she bent to pick up the clay pot, now loaded with her precious cargo, a strange shadow caught her eye. Sira squinted, the dancing heat waves obscuring the dark object. She crouched behind the pot, watching and waiting. When nothing happened for several minutes and she couldn't bear the heat weighing down on her any longer, she unsheathed her knife from within her robes and crept forward.

The crimson haze slowly resolved, the air sizzling as Sira kept just out of arm's reach of the yautja lying facedown on the ground. He was armored and wounded, but that's not what unsettled her as she checked for traps. His skin was as black as the frost that blossomed across the desert each night and if it weren't for the heat she would have thought him frozen. Sira crept as close as she dared and gently nudged his leg with the tip of her knife.

Nothing.

Feeling more curious than afraid, she sheathed her blade and touched him, her breath hitching in her throat at how cool it felt. "Who are you?" she whispered.

An unexpected twitch answered her and Sira chirped in surprise. Oh gods. He was alive. She quickly rolled him onto his back, grateful he was small for a male, and looped her arms under his shoulders, grunting as she hefted him up and dragged his limp body back towards the well. Sira was out of breath by time she stumbled next to the clay jar, unceremoniously dropping the unconscious yautja to the ground as she hurried to unseal the well's lid. Unable to separate the bucket from the metal chain, she hauled it out of the well and over to the male. Sira grasped at his featureless mask, cursing when she couldn't find the standard releases that normally rested behind the eyes and beneath the chin. It was almost as if it was fused to his flesh and no amount prying could peel it off. Without water he would die.

She sat back on her heels, realizing she was faced with a choice: save a dying stranger or suffer even more at the hands of the chieftain's first mate. She couldn't drag him and balance the water jar on her head. What would Raika do when she found out?

Sira shielded her eyes and glanced up at the sky. Maybe there was time to to do both. She took several deep gulps of the bitter well water and dumped the rest over the male's body. As long the first mate didn't know she was back, it was possible, she decided as she picked the male up and began the long, hot journey back to the oasis.

By the time she was within sight of the village, Sira was exhausted, the male growing heavier with each step. Twice she had fallen and the second time she'd almost stopped to rest. But to stop was to die. That was the rule of the desert. She growled and pressed on, the mantra of water helping to steady her steps.

When she certain no one had seen her, she dragged him to one of the water mothers' hut. "Ona. Ona!"

The old healer shuffled out from her clay hut, wind chimes and magical wards clattering as she pushed aside the yellow cloth that covered her doorway. "Hush child. I am old, not deaf." She didn't even hesitate when she saw the male Sira was carrying. "Bring him inside."

With several grunts, Sira rolled him into the shallow healing pool. The cool water felt soothing to her aching arms. "Will he live, Ona?"

The healer knelt beside him, prodding his body and wounds. "It's hard to say."

"I couldn't remove his mask to give him water when I was at the well. It sticks to his skin."

Ona's eyes flicked up to meet hers. "The well?"

Sira looked away. "The Well of the Dead."

"Did you drink the cursed water?"

"I… I did. And I poured it on him." Sira hung her head.

"Foolish girl. Where was your water sack?"

"Raika wouldn't let me bring it."

"The first mate? How dare she disturb the spirits of the well. I will have words with her."

"No, please, Ona. I must bring her its water."

"You will do no such thing. The only reason she wants that water is to curse someone."

"But my jar-"

"Belongs to the well. Now help me strip him before the spirits lead his soul into the Otherworld."

Sira rolled up her soaked sleeves and did as she was told. The rest of his body was just as dark, but without the armor he looked even smaller, as if he'd been starving. "How long do you think he was out there?"

"Hours. Days. It won't matter if his spirit does not return." She began to rub salves over his wounds, wrapping them in the sticky, inner skin from a razor cactus. "I sense a restlessness within this one." Ona closed her eyes and placed her hands over his chest, feeling his breath and the beat of his hearts. "Anger. Fear. Loneliness." Her eyes snapped open. "You must leave. You have drank the water of the dead. Go to the oasis and cleanse yourself. Drink only its water and eat nothing for three days. Do not return here until then."

Sira did not argue and quickly left, wondering if she'd done the right thing. Despite the water healer's assertion, she did not feel confident that Raika would forgive her failure.

(-)

Sira managed to avoid the first mate for the rest of the evening, hiding herself away in the kitchen and handing off meals to the other slaves. The kitchen was her sanctuary. Here she could lose herself while skinning an animal or roasting nuts. But tonight her nerves felt frayed. Eventually Raika would demand to know why she hadn't arrived with the water and would be furious when she learned that she had returned without it and hid.

Sira thoughts turned to the strange male she'd found in the desert. He was unlike any yautja she'd ever seen, and she'd seen many pass through their port, traders and slaves from all across the eastern continent. Pale, bronze, striped, spotted. But none as completely and utterly dark as him. Ona's status ensured that he wouldn't be kidnapped and sold, but once he left her hut he was on his own.

As soon as Sira finished cleaning, a gentle tap on her shoulder silenced all her thoughts, leaving her filled with a quiet dread. Erefet's worried, green eyes said it all and Sira immediately headed for the main room, anxiously rubbing her hands. Why do I always mess up? What can't I just keep my mouth shut?

As soon as she cross the threshold she lowered her knees to the floor and bowed. The scent of perfume filled her mouth and the spices of the evening's meal lingered on her tongue. She was already very hungry.

She waited until she was summoned, a sharp snap allowing her to stand and shuffle quickly towards the center of the room. Although her head was bowed, she could smell Ona beside her, the water healer's scent like the sweet dew of a moonflower. It calmed Sira a little knowing she was here.

"The water healer tells me you found a male in the wastes. I hope you did not bring a raider into our midst, little Sira."

Ona interjected before Sira could find her voice. "Even raiders respect the spirits, Hajara Raika. Besides, I sense no malice in the stranger. He will leave as soon as he awakens."

"Good. We don't need uncivilized foreigners causing trouble while the chief is away. Return to your duties, water healer. Your advice has been most... instructive."

Ona left without even bowing, her staff tapping with each step. When the comforting sound had faded, Sira's fears resurfaced.

"Instructive, indeed…" the hajara growled as soon as Ona was gone. "The eldress tells me you are not allowed to eat for three days because you drank from the well. Is this true?"

"Saa. I did not know about the curse."

Raika clucked. "Of course you didn't."

Sira's hearts thumped in her chest. Something felt wrong. Why wasn't she angrier? Why wasn't she yelling at her and calling her names?

"I'm sorry for not bringing you the water. I-"

"Shh, shh, shh. No need to explain. The healer already did. I'm more interested in your mother at the moment. How is she?"

Sira's skin prickled in fear. Her mother? Why was she asking about her mother? "She's getting better."

"Really? Interesting."

The hajara snapped and a slave brought her a drink. She sipped it slowly, her satisfied sighs only reminding Sira how thirsty she was. "You may return to your duties."

And that was that. No reprimand. No threat. No demand. Sira had never heard the first mate so calm and was so flabbergasted she nearly forgot to bow before she left.

(-)

The pain in Sira's stomach was like a knot that tightened with every passing hour, her stomach shrinking into a painful emptiness. Drinking water from the oasis no longer helped - it only served to remind her how hungry she was. But she didn't complain. Things were finally going well for once. The hajara had inexplicably dismissed her failure to retrieve the cursed water - although Sira suspected Raika's sudden increase in appetite was not a coincidence - and her mother actually was feeling better. Warmth had returned to her face and she was able to sit up and eat more than bone broth.

"You need to eat more, nana."

"Oh no, I couldn't."

"You need to get your strength back soon."

Her mother sighed. "I know, I know."

Sira set the half-eaten bowl of food aside, returning with a small jar of water. She watched her mother drink it, worried at how much the illness had drained her once vibrant color. Her face was slightly sunken and her tendrils had begun to fade to gray. For the first time, Sira realized her mother wasn't as young as she used to be.

"I know that look," said her mother.

"I worry about you."

"You're too young to worry."

"Am I?"

Her mother sighed. "No, I suppose not. But you shouldn't anyway." She smiled up at her as she leaned against her pallet. Sira leaned in and brushed her mandibles over her forehead. "I have to go. I'll see you later tonight."

Sira made sure the morning meals were taken care of and then headed straight for the water healer's hut on the west side of the village, eager to end her time of fasting now that the three days had come to an end. Her pace slowed once she entered the gate, unable to keep from staring at the dark, armored yautja who stood outside of the hut, Ona speaking to him in soft tones. His mask was still on, a fact that disappointed Sira slightly. She would've like to have seen the face of the person she'd risked so much for. He barely glanced at her before inclining his head to Ona in thanks for a waterskin. As they passed each other, Sira briefly felt his cool aura radiating around him. His mask had no eye slits, but she could still sense his piercing gaze.

Then he was gone and she knew as little about him as she had the day she had found him. Sira stared after his shadow, slightly miffed. "He could've at least said 'thank you.'"

"Males like him are complicated. It is better this way. To become entangled in that one's destiny would only cause you pain."

"How do you know this?"

"Water is life," Ona replied cryptically. "Now come. We must prepare the final ritual."

The purification rites consisted of breathing steam from ancient river stones that were heated over a small fire and a disgusting, bitter paste that Sira enjoyed more than she should have. She was still very hungry by the end of it.

As they exited the hut and Sira began to thank the eldress, her friend Erefet burst into the small yard.

"Sira! Sira come quick."

"Erefet? What's wrong?"

"It's your mother. Raika's selling her."

"What?!"

Sira took off, racing for the market. Her hearts pounded outside her chest as fear urged her onwards and she pushed through the crowd that had gathered around the slave stage, heading straight for the hajara's palanquin near one of the slaver's booths. Sira stumbled against the booth, startling the booth worker and interrupting Raika. "My mother!" she panted. "Where is my mother?"

Two slave guards pulled her away, one of them shoving her against the ground. The commotion began to attract onlookers, most of whom just laughed.

"Hajara, please, I don't understand." Sira crumpled as a sharp kick cracked against her ribs. "Please," she gasped. "Please don't do this."

The hajara's mocking laughter hurt worse than her bruised ribs. "And why shouldn't I, slow, stupid girl? Your mother is useless to me and you drank cursed water. I can't have you handling my food, much less the shajara's. Your pretty, empty head will be much more suited to a whorehouse, I think."

The guards dragged Sira back to the booth, their sharp claws digging into her jaw and arms as they held her up for the master to view.

"Well, Orus, what do you think?" asked the hajara. "She's young, healthy and obedient… most of the time anyway."

The pudgy male gave Sira a once over. "She'll be worth more than the other one. Take off her hood."

Rough hands tore off her head covering, revealing scarlet dreadlocks that fell past her shoulders. The slaver's eyes widened. "Red hair?"

Sira snarled and tried to run, a punch to her stomach knocking the wind out of her.

"Don't damage her, you idiot!" Orus shouted. "Do you know how much this female's worth? Strip her and get her processed before the other traders see her."

"Excuse me."

Everyone stilled and looked up at the unexpected intruder. Sira's eyes widened in surprise. It was the dark yautja.

"You have my sword. Give it back."

The guards holding Sira looked at each other. "I thought we killed him?" one of them whispered. They both looked back at him. "This is none of your business, wanderer. Move along."

The masked male stepped closer. "This is your last chance. Give me my sword or I'll kill you."

One of the guards snarled and aimed his plasma pistol at him.

"Your choice." The masked yautja moved faster than Sira thought possible, knocking the guard's arm aside. The plasma blast fired harmlessly to the side as he whirled, throwing the guard over his shoulder and onto the ground. He ripped the guard's gun from his hand and fired it at the second guard, blasting several steaming holes in the male's chest. Several more guards converged on them and the masked yautja shoved Sira out of the way as he ran to meet them.

Silver flashed in the suns' light and a guard went down screaming, blood pouring from one of his eyes. The masked yautja didn't even pause, stealing the next guard's spear and breaking his leg with a visceral stomp. Sira scrambled away from the frenzied melee, sickened by the pools of steaming blood slowly creeping across the ground towards her. The crowd had now surrounded the fight, roaring with each feint and jab. She could no longer see what was happening. Then the crowd parted and head hurtled straight towards her, leaving bloody skidmarks as it bounced across the sand. Sira barely dodged the gory projectile, the guard's head slamming into the booth wall behind her. The crowd roared again and she could just make out the last guard, a spear rammed straight through his chest.

The entertainment over, the crowd slowly melted away, called back by the street vendors and slave traders. Sira could only stare at the corpses littering the ground, horrified at such efficient brutality. How could one person have done all of this?

The dark yautja went over to one of the dead guards and ripped a knife out from his eye, then walked over to her and offered her its handle. Sira's breath hitched as soon as she saw the bloodstained blade. That was her cooking knife. Had he… had he taken it from her when he'd shoved her?

When she didn't take it he simply tossed it on the ground beside her and turned to face the only guard he'd left alive. The male was on his knees and offering up a sword. The dark yautja snatched it from his hands and unsheathed it, allowing the male to limp away as he studied the blade. It was as black as the nameless warrior and Sira had no doubt that this was the sword he'd been after. It fit him perfectly.

Satisfied, the masked male approached Orus, who was cowering behind his booth. "I have my sword. Now I want my money. Or I'll kill you next." He stabbed the stall for emphasis. "And don't forget my tools."

The folds of Orus' neck jiggled as he vigorously nodded. "O-of course, of course. J-just one moment." The slave trader started yelling at several slavers in the back.

Sira rose to her feet, her shaking hands fumbling with her head scarf and bloody knife. Where was her mother? If she could find her and slip away into the crowd, they could… could what? They were slaves. They had nothing.

"Just who do you think you are?" Raika hissed. "This is a legal sale and you have no right to interfere."

"I have every right. These slavers" -the words slid off his tongue like a curse- "robbed me and left me to die in this godforsaken desert. But since I've ruined your trade, perhaps you'd be willing to sell the two females to me."

"To you?" The hajara was taken aback by the offer. So was Sira. "You couldn't possibly afford it."

The warrior snatched his money purse from Orus and then tossed it to one of the hajara's palanquin bearers. He then slung a large pack over shoulder. "That should be more than enough. Now bring me the other female."

Sira choked back her whimpers as soon as her mother came into view and quickly took off her outer robe to cover her nakedness, worried the stress of the past hour had undone days of healing. Her mother looked very pale and she could barely stand on her own. Sira struggled to hold her upright. The masked yautja -master, she reminded herself- suddenly appeared in front of her and, without a word, scooped up her mother. Incredulous, Sira followed after him, glancing behind them every so often to make sure they weren't being followed and that the hajara hadn't changed her mind.

After a few minutes it became obvious they were headed back to Ona's hut. The few people that were calling on her today took one look at her new master and immediately left. Ona was less than pleased. "You again? I thought I told you not to get involved with this one, Sira. He is trouble." She stamped her staff for emphasis.

Her master ignored the eldress and set Sira's mother in the shade. He then turned to Sira. "Wait here." And once again, he was gone.

Ona gave water to her mother, who was now half-asleep. She noticed Sira anxiously wringing her hands and waved at her to be calm. "She will heal from this. It was not good for her to be out of bed, but she was not under the suns that long." Her mandibles set themselves into two grim lines. "Be careful, Sira. There is something… wrong with the wanderer. He is not all that he appears to be."

"Ona, he saved us. If he hadn't shown up, Raika would've sold me and my mother and who knows what would've happened to us."

Ona sighed. "Saa, I know. But this path you're on is just as dangerous, if not more."

Sira shifted uneasily, the gory fight still seared into her memory. The wanderer was dangerous. But he'd helped them. She growled as she tried to sort through her impressions of the strange yautja she'd saved in the desert. It was like chasing shadows, none of her encounters telling her much other than that he was a warrior of great skill. After long moments of fruitless speculation, she wondered if perhaps the water healer could tell her more. "What do you know of my new master? Did he say where is from or where he is going?"

"The only thing I know of him is what I learned from his body. His scars talk more than his mouth," she huffed. "His hands are that of a crafter and a swordsman. He is accustomed to having few luxuries and has traveled very far. But as to who he is and why he wanders the wastes, I am blind. The waters did not speak to me of these things."

Sira recalled her master's blade. "I saw his sword. It was as black as his skin. I've never seen one like it."

Ona's hiss startled Sira. "A black blade? Are you telling me the wanderer wields a dark blade?"

"I, um… think so."

The eldress grabbed Sira's arm and leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Be careful, Sira. There are two types of people in this world who wield that kind of sword: assassins and those skilled enough to outwit them."

"What are you saying?" asked Sira, but Ona had turned away, muttering cryptic words and leaving Sira with yet more questions than answers.

A short time later, her master returned.

Sira bowed low. "Thank you for saving us, master. Especially my mother. She is still very weak." When he said nothing, she tried to think of something to fill the awkward silence. "I, um… I am Sira. My mother is Kahet. We hope to repay your protection with many years of service."

Her master cleared his throat, his voice tinged with a metallic echo as it transmitted from within his mask. "You may call me… Tharrak."

Ona snorted. "'Tharrak' means dark one."

"It is what I am."

"And where do you intend to slink off to next?"

"For now, nowhere."

Sira straightened, confusion knitting her brows together.

"We will stay here in…" he glanced around at the garden walls covered in prickly ivy. "Wherever 'here' is."

'We are in the Oasis of Sahar, at the crossroads of the Red Wastes," Sira clarified.

He grunted. "Fine."

"If I may ask, master-"

"Just Tharrak."

"-why are we staying?"

"Because buying you was expensive."

The short explanation hurt Sira more than she knew it should have. She was just a burden. She'd saved him and he'd been forced to repay that debt. And now, like them, he had nothing.

"And I used the last of my funds to rent a place. If your mother can walk, we leave now."

Sira gently woke her mother and helped her stand, the pair slowly following their master to their new home. She was suddenly tired, but she didn't complain. They were free from Raika, they were safe and they were still together. And while their master was definitely strange, he was better than anything the hajara had probably had planned for them. At least, that's what she hoped.