Free Jala's Mask by Mike Grinti

beautiful she may never need it.”
    The Nongo brought her many trinkets of gold and copper, and one final gift: a large, brittle tome filled with gilded markings. “You see?” the ambassador said, laughing. “On the mainland, their minds are so dull that they cannot remember their own tales. But the illustrations are very beautiful.”
    Jala had heard of the mainlander art called writing, but she’d never seen it before. It seemed so ridiculous, like catching fish with your feet instead of throwing a net with your hands. Careful to keep the rain off of the paper, she opened the book. The pictures were beautiful, just as the man had said. One caught her eyes as she continued to turn the pages: a man and a woman, fighting. Each of them wore a different mask over their faces. The man stood on a mountain, and on his mask was drawn a mountain. He held stones in his hands and threw them at the woman. She stood atop a wave or winding river, and her mask was a serpentine river. The stones did not hit her, and her river broke against the mountain.
    Jala realized she was holding her breath, losing herself in the picture the way she might lose herself in the words of the very best storyteller.
    â€œThank you,” she said. “A truly unique gift. Perhaps I will hold a contest to see which island’s storyteller can find meaning in these pictures.”
    The ambassador smiled widely. “I have no doubt the Nongo would win such a contest, but the tales themselves would be a gift to all the islands. Wondrous new tales for a wondrous new queen. A promising start, yes?”
    â€œDid your raiders find you a golden tongue, too, my lord?” Jala asked with a laugh. She dismissed him with a wave of her hands. The Nongo ambassador bowed and walked away, still smiling with self-satisfaction.
    Jala looked down at the book again, flipping to another page. Someone had drawn thick, dark lines through the writing here and obscured the drawing with streaks of dark ink. She thought it might be flames, but it could just as easily be another mountain.
    A promising start . . . not if her father had his way. But what could she do? No more than the river could, beating itself against the mountain.
    Her family’s presents waited for her in her room. By tradition, they gave her old, familiar things to help her feel more at home when she arrived: drapes from her old room, a pair of her mother’s earrings, one of Marjani’s dresses. Jala decided she wouldn’t have it resized. She set the birdcage on a windowsill, and after a few minutes the bird repeated several dirty jokes. She wondered what she was supposed to do now that she was queen.
    Of course, her parents already had their plans laid out.
    The Bardo are royalty now , her father had said. Why should we scuttle after scraps when others eat from the table? The Rafa were great once, I don’t deny it, but now they’re old and weak. They don’t have the ships to raid all the lands they lay claim to. It’s time for us to get our share.
    â€œI just have to figure out how to make it happen,” Jala told the bird.
    Her father was right; the Rafa were too weak to raid all of their towns and caravans. But the Rafa were proud, and they’d blame her. When she brought it up, her father had just laughed and said, “Rafa anger is like the mountain’s fart. It’s harmless, and the stink will pass soon enough once the winds blow.”
    She needed to speak with Azi. But when she opened her door, a maidservant was there, standing in her way like a very polite boulder.
    â€œI want to see the king,” Jala said. “Please take me to him. I haven’t learned my way around yet.”
    â€œWouldn’t my queen prefer to rest after her journey?” the woman asked, not making any move to let her pass. “I can bring you fruit and wine if you’re hungry. The hot springs are close by. If you don’t mind the rain,