The ballad of two
Part five
Masks

/ / /

Three days ago

The car pulled up to a stop at the kerbside and after a few seconds of idling the engine fell silent.

The sound of the city was muted, an almost subliminal buzz of noise that was more felt than heard, like a dull ache in a rotting tooth or a hangover that has almost faded; the sort of itch that you can't just scratch.

Mexico City, even … or especially … the old quarter, at midday, when the Sun overhead made being outside almost unbearable due to the stifling heat and humidity, was never crowded at the best of times; this wasn't the best of times.

Debris and garbage littered the empty street and most of the buildings were in a state of disrepair, if not completely shut. Bordered up windows gazed out like soulless eyes over streets they had once watched prosper. Like any older town, though, too many people had moved away and too much new business had moved in elsewhere, taking the trade and the people with it. 'Progress' they called it; leaving the past behind and moving on without even a backward glance.

Just like with any evolutionary jump, however, not everything marched along at the same pace; not everyone decided to follow Darwin's path.

A few buildings, while looking like only the dirt and dried in dust was holding the mortar in place, still were open for business. A grocery store had its wares on display on the sidewalk outside; boxes of mixed fruit and vegetables standing alongside a freezer with a faded Coca Cola sign barely visible on it.

Next door to this, with the car parked directly outside its door, stood an unmarked building. From the outside it showed nothing to distinguish it from any of the other buildings around it. Its façade was as decrepit and Sun beaten as the others, a layer of grime coated its single window, which stood empty of any product. Only a small card hanging in the door, its background yellowed and its lettering faded, shone out as a cry of victory against the entropy that had swallowed the rest of the street in its entirety; only one small word made a difference.

'Abierto'

The driver's side door of the vehicle opened, a small shriek of metal on metal sounding as the heat-swollen hinge protested, as a figure swathed in black exited. Despite the heat of the day – the air over the hood of the car visibly moving – the figure was dressed in an ankle length duster coat, Magnum boots just visible below the hem, and a wide brimmed hat on top of his head. A pale blonde plait collated all so his hair into one long, thick, strand that fell nearly to his waist.

Pausing for a second, breathing in the sticky heated air with distaste, the man looked around him, taking in the buildings and squalor, and under the shadow that the brim of his hat threw across his face all that could be seen was a scarf that was pulled up to his nose and two eyes staring out. Pale and colourless.

Squaring his shoulders he turned and reached out to the door, pushing it open and walking into the darkness within, his won dark form swallowed whole by its welcoming embrace.

"¿Hola senor, cómo puedo yo le ayudo?"

Peering in the dimly lit room, his eyes almost seeming to shine with an inner light – but probably just reflecting whatever it was that passed for illumination in the building – the figure tried to see the speaker and then threw up one hand over his face in autonomous reaction as … Genesis like … the room lit up.

"First of all you can warn me next time before you recall that you actually have electricity in the backwater Hell-hole," Ember growled as he blinked away the residual stars that danced in front of his eyes, "and secondly you can speak English. You seemed to manage ok on the phone!"

"Si, senor, I did," the small man said from behind a counter that split the room, cleanly, in two. "As I recall, however, your Spanish was excellent then as well." An almost tooth free smile beamed out through skin that was as creased as old leather as wisps of hair, almost nothing more than a memory now, haloed the man's head as if raised by static electricity. His eyes though, hazel-brown, were still bright and vibrant, belying his obvious age.

"Just because I am able to do something well," Ember said as he walked forwards to lean nonchantly on the table, bringing himself down to the older man's eye-level, "doesn't mean that I like doing it. Or even want to. Besides which, haven't you always heard that the customer is always right?"

"Of course senor," the old man laughed, his voice full of warmth, "however you are not yet a customer, are you?"

"That depends on if you have kept to your promise, old man." Ember's tone was soft; his voice barely above a whisper, but still the trace of inherent threat within it was impossible to miss. The old man didn't move, didn't overtly react, but the lines around his eyes tightened and he stared more intently at his erstwhile customer.

"I don't recall making any promise, senor," the man stated calmly as he continued to stare into the shadows that covered Ember's face.

"Is it ready?" Ember interrupted brusquely.

"You didn't give me much time you know," the man pointed out, still sounding calm, "normally I have weeks, if not months, to create these for my clients. They are all unique, you know, all hand-ma…"

"IS it ready?!"

As if realising that the only barrier between them both was two feet of Oak the old man did react this time, taking a small step backwards as Ember slammed his hand down, emphasising his words, on the wooden counter between them.

"Yes."

They say that the voice of God could calm the Storm, and that music could soothe the Beast. Whether or not either of those things is true didn't really matters as that single word, spoken softly but with evident pride, calmed Ember instantly.

"Let me see it …" Ember asked, his voice once again under his control, his body language calm. As if realising that something more was required, or at least would be appreciated, he almost returned to a childlike state as he held both hands out, longingly, and added an extra plea.

"Please."

Reaching under the counter, not taking his eyes of Ember, the old man pulled out a small wooden box, about the size of a cigar-box but thinner, and placed it gently down in front of him. Ember reached out, almost unconsciously, but stopped as the old man placed one hand on the top of the box.

"I never asked, senor Ember," the man stated, "how you heard of me? I am practically retired now you know" While the man's tone was neutral it was obvious that he wanted his questions answered before he handed the box over to Ember who seemed to realise this. Taking his eyes away from the box, dragging them away and forcing himself to look back up at the man, he allowed his reaching hand to relax and fall back by his side.

"You are the best, senor," Ember stated simply, giving a nod of respect to the man in front of him as his eyes flickered to the box under his hand.

"That is true," the man responded without a trace of false pride, "but that still doesn't tell me how you knew about me … nor does it explain the coincidence of the request."

Facing each other, standing in silence that seemed to last forever but in reality was no longer than a blink of the eye, neither man moved for a second. The mental stalemate was broken when, uncharacteristically, Ember backed down.

"My grandfather told me about you," he said with a small shrug of his shoulders. "Well actually he told my brother about you, I just happened to hear him. He said that you still did things the old-way, that you still made some special …"

"Yes?" the man prompted as Ember's voice trailed off.

"… something magical." Ember finished, the hopeful tone in his voice audible as he sounded like nothing more than a child asking if Santa Clause was real and dreading the answer.

"Ah," was the only reply that he got, "your grandfather sounds like a wise man."

"He was an evil piece of crap who never thought that I was good enough," Ember spat out, his anger taking control of him before he could stop his words, "in fact he wished that I had never been created."

"Created?" the man repeated his curiosity piqued.

"Created, born, brought to life," Ember said tersely, "surely even someone as old as you recalls what it means to bring a new life into the World?!"

"Indeed I do, youngling" the man whispered under his breath, too low for Ember to actually hear, "probably better than you think."

"Sorry?" Ember asked, leaning forwards to try to pick up the man's words.

"I said 'what do you think?'" Opening the box the old man slowly turned it around so that Ember could look inside it and see its contents. Reaching slowly out, almost seeming to forget that the man was even there, Ember falteringly touched the material that rested inside the box; grasping it, tenderly like a lover's touch, he pulled it out and stared at it in wonder. His eyes traced the lines of colour that interlinked with each other … the reds following the yellows as they chased the oranges … and did a double take as the old man touched his shoulder.

"I said," the old man repeated, "is it what you wanted?"

Taking his hat off and dropping it on the counter Ember slowly pulled the scarf down from his face and gently, again tenderly, raised the object from the box up to his head. Pulling it down over his eyes, sighing as he felt it cover him from the forehead to just under his nose like a second skin, and shivering as he felt the warmth of connection, Ember grinned as he fastened the mask tightly to him.

"What I wanted?" Ember repeated as he turned to look at the man squarely in the face, his whole body language changed; his shoulders squared and his head was held high. "Oh no, my friend, this is so much more than what I wanted … this is perfect!"

Reaching into his pocket Ember pulled out a roll of banknotes and held them out to the old man who took them in his own hand but didn't release Ember from his grip. Holding tightly to his hand the old man pulled him closer and Ember, though bigger and stronger, found that he couldn't stop himself. With their noses almost touching the old man stared deep into Ember's eyes.

"The design that you asked for, this mask," the man whispered, knowing that Ember would hear him, "how did you know about it?"

"… what?" Ember asked, tremulously.

"I told you that each mask I do is unique, each one crafter just for its owner," the old man stated, "but you asked for a design that is identical to one that I did many years ago for someone else, someone that I worked with many times over the years." Reaching up the old man grabbed Ember by the back of the head and held him still as he gazed deeper into his eyes.

"How did you know … exactly … the design of the Inferno mask?" asked the man intently, "Right down to the last detail you asked for something that only two men knew about."

"I … I …" Ember croaked, his stare held like a captured animal in the intense gaze of the old man.

"Just me and the man that I made the original mask for when he first decided to hide his identity," the man continued, staring into Ember's eyes as if looking for something. "Just me and Jay Phoenix!"

"How did YOU know?!"

At the shouted question, and without any conscious volition, Ember dropped to his knees and the old man almost bent him backwards as he forced their faces as close together as they would go. His eyes widened, in shock and disbelief, and he let Ember go. As if a puppet with his strings cut Ember collapsed in on himself, breathing heavily as he hugged his arms around his chest.

"What did you do?" he asked through gasping breaths.

"I had to be sure," the old man said quietly as he gazed down at Ember, confusion evident on his face, "I thought that you were him you see and I didn't know why you would be playing a silly game with me like that."

"Him?" Ember asked, still dazed.

"Phoenix, of course," the old man said as he indicated the mask on Ember's face. "… but I knew him well, I made many masks for him over the years, and I looked into his eyes … into his soul … many times. You are not him."

"I could have told you that," Ember said, some of his cocky sarcasm coming back to the surface as he shakily got off his knees and leant against the counter, trying to catch his breath. "We may be alike in many ways, him and me, but we are not the same. He wore the mask to hide himself from view, to be someone other than he actually was. I don't do that, I don't hide myself from anyone. The mask is me and I am the mask."

"… but the design," the old man queried, "how did you know about it?"

Reaching out Ember closed the box slowly, putting it into his pocket as he reached down and picked up the roll of US dollars from the floor and placed them in the boxes place on the counter.

"How I knew about it?" Ember repeated with a small smile, "that is simple. Brothers don't keep secrets from each other do they?"

Looking around the room Ember stared back at the older man and then gave him a knowing wink.

"Not even from the grave."

/ / /

To be continued