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Coughing echoed around the room with the dull thud of rain leaking through a poorly thatched roof into a wooden bucket. One woman sat up watching all the scene of sickness and death with bright eyes from her cot. Every few moments her frame was wracked with painful coughs. She would bring a stained handkerchief up to her lips and wipe the crimson blood away.
All of the doctors were haggard with the overwork their small numbers provided and the immensity of illness that surrounded them.
Two children, drenched and shivering in their rags, slipped in and cowered beside the door, hoping no one would notice them.
The woman did. She glanced at the busy doctors and motioned them over. “Here, babies.” She sacrificed her bed and blankets, letting them lie where she had after a few moments of prodding. She stood on shaking legs as the crawled in before practically collapsing beside them. She smiled though and ran a hand through the soaking curls of the younger boy.
There was a healer that frequented the make-shift hospital and was rumored to have special talents that no doctor could possess. She hovered by the curtain undetected, not looking toward the scene.
“Let me tell you a story young ones.” The woman turned her head to cough and continued, “There once was a kingdom and a family...”
Five years ago an army that out numbered the grains of sand in the sea came from the east with iron sticks that exploded, belching smoke, breaking through armor and swept the kingdom of Maliel into complete and total surrender from the day they stepped foot on Maliean soil. That was the first of seven kingdoms to succumb to the empire of Duritan in the span of these five years. The two children of the king and queen were all that were spared of the royal family. The son of thirteen was sent to slavery in the homeland where he was said to serve the emperor's family. The daughter, three years his senior, was used as a puppet queen, the face of a new government.
The people welcomed this change of power openly, surrendering immediately when the invading army reached their towns, helping them overthrow the capital. The monarchy had been cruel to them, taxing the poor so living was almost too expensive and living in the lap of luxury because of the peasants' struggles. Finally they were free.
Now the empire of Duritan has become even worse than the monarchy of Maliel. Maliean men disappear from the fields and are never heard of again though rumors say they are now slaves in the homeland. Women are raped by Duritanian soldiers and mocked at the peace keeper stations when they report the attack and beg for help. Duritanians can ask the Malians of anything and expect it to be carried out or given to them whether it be a bowl of food or a valuable family heirloom. Living is more expensive, to the disbelief of everyone. The rich are reduced to the poor and the poor stay where they are or find themselves on the streets begging.
A doctor approached to chase of the children and put his patient back to bed, only to be stopped by the healer.
“There is nothing more that can be done for her. Let her live out her life as she wishes,” she whispered.
They both nodded as the woman went on to explain the poor conditions of Malieans. They had seen it clearer than any other group of people.
“You see, my children, the queen was not as the people said...”
The young queen watches her country fall deeper into ruin and despair every year and turns a deaf ear to her advisers who truly hold more power than she. Tears dry on her cheeks only to fall again for her father and her people whom suffer no matter their class for everyone but herself has been reduced to a peasant and she is more a slave than royalty. Who will stop this madness? How long must her people wither away under the dark, oppressive shadow of the empire?
More doctors had joined the group as many of the sicker patients fell into a restless sleep. Some of the stronger patients strained to listen. Some snickers were heard at the mention of the puppet queen. Hearing a sympathetic note towards her was rare and disregarded by adults.
The woman glanced up and frowns but continued, “But, darlings, even in the dark there is the hope of light.”
Many groups spring up and speak of ways to overthrow the government, but all are found and crushed. All members are shot as a public warning to any who wish to rebel. One lone group stays ahead of the peace keepers, be it by only a hair and slowly gains members but has yet to do anything drastic. The Duritanians grow worried and begin a killing spree of any suspects. The Malieans, revolutionaries and otherwise, quake in fear and weaken. Only the strongest, most determined rebels continue planning, but in the shadows, something is stirring.
Finally a hero rises for the Malieans, someone to look to for support, but his face is that of a mask, his identity a secret. None of the insurgent groups know who this man is but keeps close tabs on his doings and praises his work.
Her voice strengthened at the mention of the vigilante. Her eyes hardened as everyone fell completely silent, entranced.
He ambushed the troops and killed the soldiers with arrows that disappear without anyone fetching them. He seemed to rise from the shadows and melt back again when he was through. Some said he was a vengeful spirit who has rose from a bloody grave to pay back the man that had brutally killed him. Others whispered things of a fearful revolutionary that kept his identity secret to protect himself from spies. Then there were rumors of a Duritanian soldier with no loyalty to his homeland and its barbaric rulers but pitied the Malieans enough to fight for them.
Some complained that he didn't wipe out whole battalions, but they were hushed by his many supporters. He became a thing of mystery but not of myth. He appeared to large amounts of people and even gave a few coins to beggars before he vanished again. Crowds of trustworthy men and women had seen the arrows dissolve with their own eyes and produced detailed descriptions of the chilling mask.
Large amounts of money were put on his head, but everyone claimed to know nothing of the criminal's true identity. The queen came out at regular intervals to announce yet another raising of the reward with a secretive smile and was jeered into her castle again and again. Hundreds of suspects were brought in, but all failed if not by size than by their skill of archery or their inability to disappear. Some are executed and everyone, Duritanians and Malieans alike, hold their breath until the next attack where the army's hopes are crushed, and the peasants cry for joy. Half a year has past and still the reward rises.
The queen remained neutral in public, but with her trusted maid and by herself she revealed her hope for success. If her people could break free of these horrid chains, she could escape herself and find her brother.
The masked renegade continues to wreak havoc and plant fear in the force of Duritan. He continues to escape when escape seems impossible and knows when to fade out of sight for a few days. He is the call to all Malieans and the warning for all Duritanians, but this will not be enough for long. Killing a few, when hundreds are pouring in to replace them, won't do anymore than anger the sleeping beast.
Peasants hide in barns and smithies to debate on a full scale rebellion but against an army that is too large to count. A handful of men will be destroyed before the first day is out. They call for their hero but no one answers. A strong leader that has stayed under wraps almost as tight as the masked man says they don't need him, but not many believe him.
This man, whoever he may be, is our last hope. If he fails, we all fail.
Her voice hung in the silence as she broke into another coughing fit. She sighed and turned away from the children to wipe another glob of blood away from the corner of her mouth.
None of the doctors moved.
She smiled at them and focused on the children once again.
The healer moved forward and helped the woman up. “Let's get you to another bed.” She handed her to the doctor.
The crowd parted and dissipated quickly to attend to the many abandoned patients that were just as taken by the speech, leaving the children to sleep.
The young boy stayed awake as the candles were slowly put out one by one until only one glowed. After minutes of listening to his sibling's even breathing and the shuffling of the doctors, he got up and looked out the window to see a street blurred by rain. Images of the woman's story ran through his mind as he pressed his warm forehead to the cool glass.
A form, blacker than the night surrounding it, dropped from the roof. It turned to reveal a white mask warped by the water. They both stood there for a moment staring at the other form. Finally, it put a finger to it's cold lips and ran across the street, disappearing quickly.
The boy stared after it.
This vigilante may be Maliel's only chance. The mask comes off, and the people are reinvigorated. The royal advisers shall quiver in their furs and jewels. The mask comes off and war is declared again. Allies are called. Please, please, take off the mask, end the masquerade for the peasants, for the queen, for the other six kingdoms under Duritanian control, for the kingdom to the east that will buckle to the unstoppable force of the Duritanian army. Call us and we will come, if you just reveal yourself, come into the torchlight, and out of the shadows. Come to us, Masquerader.
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