The Second Circlet: The Old Places - 11. Segment 11: The Mask

“I am Nommo. You will follow. The Mask calls.” The little old African man at the hotel door said simply.

“Wait. What? Who?” Sean queried with understandable confusion.

Moira, after quickly fetching her bathrobe, came to the door of their suite to see who it was. She saw a little shrivel of an old man, looking West African by descent, standing in an indigo kaftan of a striped pattern. He was a colourful, if unusual, passerine to their Egyptian doorstep if nothing else.

“I am Nommo. You will follow. The Mask calls loudly. They know what is to come.” This Nommo fellow said with simple certitude and inscrutable patience.

“They…who knows what is coming? Where did you come from?” Sean continued his pointless interrogation.

“Mr…Nommo, is it? Would you care to come in for some tea. Perhaps, we could talk a bit about this mask you speak of.” Moira offered in a more diplomatic tone.

“I will come and then you will follow. They require it. They require it of Nommo. They require it of you. The Toloy require it.” Nommo continued his ‘cryptitude’ as he sauntered in on sure and delicate bare feet.

Joraan regarded the strange little man from under his hoodie. His piercing green eyes studied every movement, every nuance of the man. The man was self-assurance personified. He knew his mission and was steady on his way to completing it! Joraan did not pry into the man’s thoughts, however. In general, he felt that a ‘rape’ of the mind was a terrible sin. But, in this man’s case, Joraan also felt he’d be discovered! This Nommo was no ordinary man! There was…magic about him!

“That’s a Shaman.” Viviane whispered into Joraan’s ear as if she’d been a party to HIS thoughts! Joraan went with it. Certainly, Viviane’s strange connection to magic gave her at least as much sense about it as Joraan had. The Wizard cohabitating within her seemed to have been a being of considerable magical power!

“The aura you’d be sensin’ then?” Joraan answered the silent question Viviane’s comment seemed to ask.

“The Shaman shines! Anyone with any feeling should be able to sense it!” M’yn chimed in.

“You Elders and you ascendant child. You speak as if I cannot hear you. I can hear you. Yes, I am a priest of my people. I see you for what you are. You small men are the Elders. You, woman, are the one who hosts the spirit of an Ascendant One.” Nommo said to Joraan, Viviane, and M’yn as they looked wide eyed at his insight.

“The Toloy speak! They know of the harsh ones in the sky beyond the sky. They who are beyond stones seen by living eyes and who’s hearts have become as those cold stones. They who want the men gone from the Earth Mother. They seek death. Nommo knows of these ones.” Nommo’s knowing voice sent a shiver of creepiness down Sean’s spine!

“These…Toloy. Are they like our ‘Elders’ then? Are they an ancient race that has alerted you to the Fae?” Moira asked curiously. Could there be more beings like Joraan and M’yn who are Sídhe in Africa?

“No. The Elders are few. None live in my knowledge beyond the stories of old and those with us now. The Toloy are in the world of spirits. They were men and women once, long long ago. They say they were the First Ones. The ones from which all Mankind comes. They are now ancient spirits knowing many secrets. They lived when the Elders ruled the Earth Mother’s land. The Toloy died when the Elders vented their wrath upon them! Then Amma imprisoned these Fallen Elders for their crime, but now they return! It is why you all must come! The Mask of the Toloy calls! Their spirits left it so that the Fallen Elders could be fought when time came for their return!” Nommo said with almost pleading eyes.

“Ok? But, then you’d be sure as to knowin’ where this Toloy Mask is bein’, aye?” Sean asked skeptically.

“No.” Nommo said with surprising finality.

“Then how, in Blue Blazes, are we to be findin’ it then, hey?” Sean scoffed.

“…we follow its calling.” Joraan said after a pregnant pause.

“Calling . . .?” Sean sputtered.

“While I’m sure some mystical signal may help at some point as it has with all of the other artefacts we’ve gathered, it might be that some good old fashioned detective work might also help with this. I have some knowledge of African masks and, by and large, the oldest and most precious ones are owned by private collectors. We need to find who has this mask and, for lack of a better term, ask them if we could borrow it!” Moira added thoughtfully.

“Fat chance of that, Moira, me luv! I doubt, whoever this may be, would be willing to part with a one of a kind mask thousands of years old! I imagine such a thing would be priceless!” Sean scoffed again incredulously.

Something glittered in Joraan’s hand suddenly and everyone recognised his magic flute. He wiggled it pointedly, silently reminding all of his ‘Note of Vim’ spell that had worked so well on Dr. Arif.

“I’d dearly love it if we could avoid using that thing again, Joraan. Poor Dr. Arif had such a terrible headache after what we subjected him to!” Moira stated with a note of sympathy and irritation.

“No one owns the Mask of the Toloy. The Mask owns them! He who has it will be under its spell. The Spirits of the Mask will be seeking us out. It will come to us, but we must be ready to fight for it, for it will have a powerful hold on its current possession. Such is the Mask’s way! Only a wise man with a strong spirit can control the Mask without it controlling him.” Nommo said, deciding to reveal some vital information for a change.

“Now he tells us!” Sean was about out of patience with the inscrutable little old African.

“We must go to Ounjougou of the Toloy. It is there that the Mask will be at its most powerful! It is where it was made! When it comes there, the possessed one will be broken and its power will transfer to us.” Nommo said with a weird matter-of-factness.

“I thought you just said you had no idea where the mask was?” Sean probed Nommo skeptically.

“I do not know where it is, but I know where it will be going to and we must make it go to Ounjougou. It is the only place that the spirits will confer the Mask upon you without the curse.” Nommo said with his steady, monotonous tone completely unperturbed by his mentioning curses and what not.

“Curse? We can’t be takin’ any bloody cursed objects upon us, Moira! Aren’t we in enough of a scrape as it is?” Sean exclaimed.

“In matter of fact, Merlin says each artefact we’ve gotten would be a cursed item if taken into the wrong hands”. Viviane piped in.

“I’m supposin’ that we’re the right hands for these things then, aye? I hope?” Sean asked with a little trepidation. Sean was a sensible sort, but not immune to superstition, particularly not after recent experiences.

“Well, by the manner in which each has been given, I’d say we are the right hands. Indeed, each of these artefacts were given to us as opposed to our taking them of our own accord. Even Pridwen, which caused Stonehenge to actually collapse upon us, was given in a way…by the Black Knight we fought and defeated in fair battle. When his spirit was matched with our resolve, he allowed himself to be defeated. At least, that’s the way it seems to me in retrospect. We won Pridwen, as it were.” Moira recalled.

“Yes. I sense no ill magic from any of these devices of power. They seem ‘content’, if that makes any sense.” Joraan added which got him a sideways glance from Sean to the effect that Joraan was not, in fact, making any sense to him.

“I do not know of your other magic things. I only know that the Mask of the Toloy possesses whoever takes it without the will of the spirits of the Toloy. At once, they are made mad with power by the Mask‘s attributes. Then the Mask drives the user into a fit of murderous jealousy to keep it all to themselves. Then, when a true host for the Mask is identified by the spirits, the possessed will be dragged to the place where the true host is, but still with that murderous sense of keeping it. This jealousy will be the undoing of the possessed, but it could also end the potential host as well. Only in Ounjougou can the Mask be safely given to the true host.” Nommo explained.

“So, if whoever has this mask is possessed in this way and they have resources, they might bring hired guns to protect this possessed person and their ownership of the mask?” Moira conjectured.

“I do not know.” Nommo replied uselessly.

“Of course not…” Sean grumbled.

“There is one more thing. He that holds the Mask can control some of its power.” Nommo said with a note of doom.

“So then, what can this mask do?” Moira asked warily.

“The legends have it that the Mask of Toloy can control the nature of Africa -The weather, the animals, the spirits and the Earth. The Toloy were an ascendant people with secret knowledge of many things now lost to us. There may be other things beyond legend. Other secrets.” Nommo answered mysteriously, leaving more questions than answers.

“It sounds dangerous. Perhaps we should pass on this one. Why have we not heard from these ‘Toloy’ themselves? For each of our other artefacts we were guided by Myra, Merlin, gods, and goddesses! In this case, we have a little man who claims to be a ‘priest’ of these Toloy. Certainly, he shines with magic, but he is no spirit guide!” M’yn said discouragingly.

“I hear the Toloy. They speak through me. It is their way. Trust or no trust, it does not matter. The Mask is coming! If it comes to us here there could be great trouble! The Possessed of the Mask will fight for it and the Mask itself will not be able to pass to its rightful host…cleanly.” Nommo said.

“Cleanly?” Sean asked in consternation.

“Yes. Some of the Toloy are very temperamental. They insist the Mask return to its birthplace to be transferred.” Nommo reiterated his mantra that the Mask had to go back to its place of origin.

Sean did not like the sound of ‘cleanly’. He was of a mind to agree with M’yn on this one.

“Then…I guess we go to Ounjougou.” Moira decided.

“Seriously? How? I don’t even know what an Onjewoogoo is much less where!” Sean blurted.

“I will guide you. We must first make our way to Koulogon Habbé of the Dogon. It is where I rest. It is near to Ounjougou.” Nommo stated with quiet confidence.

“What need of a guide have we if Viviane can just teleport us to where we need to go, eh?” Joraan wondered.

Viviane seemed to silently consider this nodding, from time to time, as if carrying out an inner dialogue. She knelt to the floor, placed the palm of her hand down upon it, and closed her eyes in concentration. She then shook her head in the negative.

“No. There are no Ley Nexuses close enough to this place from what Merlin reads. It is truly remote!” Viviane said with disappointment.

“Then we do this the old fashioned way, I suppose,” and Moira began looking through her Contacts List to find someone that might help get them there.

~

Never before had Sean seen such a trackless waste as was his current surroundings! For miles about him there was nothing but sand, rocks, and dead or barely living trees. The heat of the day and the dust were the least of his discomforts. The rough hewn dirt road under their Land Rover was uneven enough to drive a man’s backbone into his skull! Sean was sure he would be very sore after this long trip.

Nommo had been adamant that they reach his town before dark. The night before they’d stayed in a primitive little hamlet with some unpronounceable name. The women of the village were particularly hospitable, providing a communal meal of a strange grain Sean had never tasted with stewed…animal. Sean supposed it was goat by the gaminess, but he did not ask. They stuck to the bottled water that they had brought with them.

He’d asked Nommo why they couldn’t travel at night and his answer was, “Wild animals, though scarcer now, are still dangerous in Mali. More dangerous still are the marauders and militias.” This was all Sean needed to hear. This was dangerous country and he was not going to end up a hyena’s dinner or have his head a marauder’s trophy.

Already upon their trek Joraan was forced to use his penny whistle on militia men who had set up road blocks and had wanted ‘papiers’ or documents from unknown authorities authorising passage through the country. What these militia actually wanted was money since, in most cases, there were no such ‘papiers’ in existence. After two such shakedowns, Joraan resorted to his ‘Note of Vim’ trick to shut the militia down so they could get away without further unpleasantness.

Moira pointed out that this tactic might backfire later as they’d have to encounter these very same militia on the way back to the primitive little airstrip in Bandiagara. Nommo assured the Mask would protect them from all of this once it was in their possession.

Sean was not so sure and he dreaded the long and dangerous trip back out of Dogon Country. But, he, his cohorts, and the mysterious Nommo continued their hot and dusty journey into the unknown.

~

Koulogon Habbé was a strangely newer version of other older towns of mud plastered buildings and huts. The company were greeted first with looks of suspicion by the Dogon people there, but that was soon replace by joy when Nommo appeared.

A celebration, of sorts, was hastily put together and the company were included in a bonfire dance of masked men dancing to the rhythms of rattling anklets and drums. This was done primarily for Nommo, but the villagers were happy to perform for the strangers as well.

“This is highly unusual. The Mask Dance is usually reserved for those that dance for the spirits and the elders who also once danced for the spirits. That you should be included in this sacred ceremony is an unheard of honour!” Nommo explained to Moira and Sean.

“You seem to be a person of some note here, Mr. Nommo. Your return like a conquering hero!” Moira said with truthful appreciation. Her anthropological bones were vibrating with excitement to be witness to the Dogon Mask Ceremony.

“I am Hogon of Koulogon Habbé. I left my people when the Mask of the Toloy began its call to me in my dreams. All here know the legend of the Great Mask and long to see it returned to its place among the people.” Nommo stated.

Standing, Nommo ranted something indecipherable to the gathered Dogon. He made many gestures and pointed to Sean’s friends quite often in his diatribe. The Dogon language seemed to be one best yelled, Sean figured.

Then, inexplicably, Nommo came to Joraan and M’yn and quickly pulled away their hoods unexpectedly. Such was their surprise that even their enhanced Sídhe reflexes could not stop the little African.

The Dogon gasped in awe as they looked, for the first time, upon Elder Spirits of legend now existing in their midst! Many fell to their knees and prostrated before the Sídhe while others merely whispered to companions as they looked upon them in wonder and curiosity.

“What, in God’s Good Grace, prompted you to do that to us?” Joraan nearly snarled at Nommo.

“Some of my people need more convincing than others of why you are here and what you plan to do.” Nommo answered, unapologetically.

“Well, I’ll thank you to ask PERMISSION next time…and there better not be a next time!” M’yn did snarl his warning.

The obvious displeasure of the Elders upset many in the gathering of Dogon and some felt the need to retreat and hide in their homes.

“Temper, M’yn! I doubt Nommo meant any harm and, I suppose, these people need to know the truth about what we are facing since they, now, have become a part of it. We might need their help later!” Moira admonished.

“We’ll keep our own counsel as to when and where we intend to reveal ourselves, Moira! But, what is done is done, for good or ill. I was getting hot in that ‘hoodie’ in any case.” Joraan said with irritation.

“Look! Many of the villagers do not seem afraid, but only curious.” Hector made his presence known after hours of quiet introspection with words of reassurance.

“Yes! They are more curious than afraid, Joraan! It is like they are not unused to seeing such as you, by Allah!” Mughamir agreed.

“These are the Dogon. They know many secrets and have legends and histories about Joraan and M’yn’s kind. The Spirits of the Toloy still speak through my mediums and through my own communion with them. The Toloy knew of the Elders, visited with the Elders, and had benefited from the Elders’ wisdom in the times of old.“ Nommo said.

Then, in the Dogon’s staccato sing-song language, Nommo explained something further to the assemblage that caused a wave of murmuring and gesturing.

“…and what, pray, are you telling them now, Nommo?” Sean asked suspiciously.

“I assure the Dogon that you have come to help me attain the Mask and that their help may be needed when comes the Mask’s possessed.” Nommo translated.

“They seem fairly agreeable to taking on such a dangerous undertaking! Do they understand what they are risking?” Moira asked with concern.

“They know the depth of their responsibility and the sacrifice it may entail. The Dogon are warriors! They will do what must be done to recapture the Mask and return it to Ounjougou.” Nommo assured the company.

“Let’s be hopin’, then, that this doesn’t come to needin’ those sacrifices…” Joraan added with a note of melancholy.

~

The hike to Ounjougou had been surprisingly arduous. The fellowship, Nommo, and a company of men armed with rifles all trekked through the dry surroundings to a deep gulch. The gulch seemed to be the result of the shallow river occupying its floor. Vegetation in the Ounjougou gulch was richer than in the desert surroundings due to this water. This made the area something of an oasis.

Everyone was lead by Nommo to the edge of the gulch. Looking down it was immediately apparent to Hector why this place was so special! All around the cliffs in the gulch were edifices that seemed to grow right out of the sandstone lining the cliffs! Many holes and apertures were obvious doors and windows into homes and possibly shops of some kind.

“Oh, look at it! It is an ancient lost city!” Mughamir exclaimed with boyish excitement. His voiced carried as soft echoes into the gulch.

“Not entirely ‘lost’. Ounjougou has been an active archaeological site for many years. It is a wonder there aren’t teams bein’ here to work the site! It seems…deserted!” Moira was perplexed by this and it worried her that they might encounter bandits or militia hidden in this old place.

“White scientists have not come here for a long time. The Dogon lost trust in them as they have with most Europeans. They were doing damage to sites sacred to the Toloy! We barred their coming until they made promises that they would be more careful. No promises have yet been made that we can believe…” Nommo explained.

“How very sad…” Moira remarked with true sadness.

“We, the Dogon, have long had this struggle with outsiders. They left war among us which is why the area is so unsettled with militia. Scientists have been arrogant with us as well.” Nommo said with an added monotone of long suffering to his normally measured tone.

“As a scientist myself and for what it’s worth, on their behalf, I apologise for what has been done to this sacred place.” Moira said with feeling.

“Do not take on the guilt of others. It is left to them to decide what is right or wrong. We cannot be the keepers of their spirits.” Nommo said with the wisdom etched in the very wrinkles in his face. However, he said it with a sense of inclusiveness. Nommo considered the fellowship aligned with him rather than with the regular European interlopers that came before. Joraan made note of this in his mind.

They found a sloping dirt ramp built by or for visiting archaeologists. It made the descent into the City of the Toloy a much easier progress than what Sean had feared it would be.

They entered into the Valley of the Toloy with a sense of awe! The edifices carved from the very walls of the cliffs were practical yet beautiful in their rough hewn way. They stood away from the cliff like large extrusions of an ancient Roman relief panel!

Suddenly, Nommo stopped and the troop nearly bumped into one another trying to stop themselves behind him. Nommo uttered something harsh in his native tongue. It was the most emotional thing he’d said up until now filled with frustration and anger.

“The Mask is here already! That can only mean…” Nommo looked fearful as his eyes opened in realisation.

“That’d be meanin’ what? I…” Sean didn’t get to finish his sentence as a shot rang out with its report echoing off the valley walls! This confounded any attempt at locating from where the shot had come. A microsecond after the report, a bullet could be heard impacting into one of the Toloy buildings close to the company.

Another report followed and this one found a mark! One of Nommo’s accompanying armed guards let out a cry and fell against the wall of one of the buildings, his shoulder bleeding!

“FIND COVER!” Joraan hollered as he did a backflip into one of the crannies between the carved structures. The others tried to follow suit, but another shot glanced off a stone and the bullet grazed Sean’s arm with a near miss!

“Oooow! I’m hit!” He bellowed. Moira pulled Sean’s shocked self into a place behind one of the circular buildings as he clutched at his upper arm. Bullets were then impacting sand stone like some deadly rainstorm as the attackers fired at will! The valley seemed to roar with gunfire though there may have only been a handful of attackers.

“Viviane! Quickly! Pridwen!” Moira shouted, hoping against hope that the young lady hadn’t already become a casualty of this craven ambush!

But, within seconds, the shimmering red dome of Pridwen’s power appeared and covered their immediate area, passing through Toloy structures at certain points. Bullets pelted the magical shield causing waves of distortion not unlike those found in water when a pebble is dropped into a pond. The bullets seemed to disappear altogether without ricocheting off the shield!

“Roll call! Is everyone alright?” Joraan’s voice sounded from somewhere above Moira. Everyone sounded off from various hidey-holes. Everyone but M’yn!

“M’yn? M’yn are you there? M’YN!” Moira yelled in panic as no answer came. She was about to leave the confines of her shelter to find him when Joraan told her to “Wait!”

Almost on cue, a scream was heard from across the valley from what could only be the location of their attackers! Other screams came! Some of them were…blood curdling!

“My God, what is happening over there, ~grunt~ Moira?” Sean asked in a strained voice.

“I have no idea…” Moira said as she heard more gunfire, but not directed at them. Some shouts of deadly impact followed those shots as if the attackers were now shooting at each other!

“…M’yn. That is what is happening.” Joraan was suddenly with them, his green eyes glittering with concern over his adopted brother.

“What, ungh! What do you be meanin’, Joraan?” Sean’s arm must have been hurting him mightily as he clutched it. His voice sounded hoarse and weak.

“He must have used Carnwennan to make himself invisible. He’s attacking them from shadow…something only a seasoned warrior would do!” Joraan seemed perplexed by this.

“Oh no! He shouldn’t have taken them on all by himself! He’ll be killed!” Moira made again to leave the safety of their shelter, but Joraan’s reassuringly strong hand held her by the arm.

“No, Moira. He chose his fate! He must complete it…or fail now on his own. We cannot risk loosing another of our member. He’ll need to fight until…he’s managed to chase some of these bandits out into the open!” Joraan said with a sudden smile on his face!

In short order, several of these ‘bandits’ came running out from their places of seclusion aiming their rifles and firing wildly in any direction. It was the behaviour of men trying desperately to fight something they simply could not see!

However, these fighters only had a few seconds left to fear whatever it was that was hunting them in the dark. This was so because they were soon incapacitated by silver shafts that came at them from another angle. Moira saw shining streamers of light suddenly issuing from a concealed area around the corner from where she, Sean, and Joraan were hiding.

The attackers clutched at their shoulders and backs as the silver shafts hit them in their shoulder blades with unfailing accuracy causing them to drop their weapons! Anyone that tried to reach for their gun to fire with one hand found a shaft in that hand!

“Ah, Saints praise you, Hector!” Moira called to the boy and his silver bow.

“Thank you, Dr. O’Brien!” Hector called back.

Soon, there was mostly silence as the wounded and moaning bandits slinked off. The silence was short lived, though. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light and a deafening crack of thunder as a bolt of lightning issued out from one of the higher structures across the valley! The bolt struck Pridwen’s shield which caused it to contract briefly as it tried to absorb the abundant energy from the bolt!

“Where, in Mother Mary’s name, did that come from!” Sean almost couldn’t hear himself speaking so deafening had been the thunder clap.

A stiff wind started to pick up that was then followed by more thunder and lightning, but this time it came from the sky. Over the rush of the wind and the rumbling thunder everyone could hear a faint chant coming from the location from which the original lightning blast had come.

Soon, rain mixed with the wind creating a near hurricane like gale in the small valley. Muddy water started to fall in small waterfalls all about the company and the claylike earth around them became a slick yet sticky mud.

Lightning blasted down and wherever it touched dirt and rock exploded into molten shards! Pridwen held strong, but between the rushing water, the pelting rain, and the fending off of explosive rock shards, its rich red color seemed to be weakening to a pink color.

“I…am not sure…how much longer…I can hold this off, folks!” Viviane’s obviously strained voice came from inside the structure Moira was hiding behind.

Moira was surprised as she suddenly heard Nommo’s voice next to her trying to talk over the raging storm, “He has mastered the Mask’s power over Storm! He must be stopped or he will flush us from this cliffside along with the Toloy Ammoodoos!” Nommo spoke of the structures about them that were, indeed, starting to look like they could crumble at any second and push them over the cliff!

“You must get me up there! Only I can stop him!” Nommo yelled over another cacophony of thunder.

“How? We daren’t leave this place of shelter lest we get blown over the edge and into the gulch!” Moira yelled in turn.

“There is a way! Come!” Nommo beckoned Moira to follow. Sean started to get up to follow also, but lost strength in his legs as he did.

“You stay! You’re still in shock from the bullet wound!” Moira commanded. Sean wasn’t having any of it, though.

“I’ve…got to protect you! There’s no tellin’ whatever that thing up there…can do!” Sean tried to rise again with effort only to find a pair of bronzed hands pull him easily back into a seated position.

“I will care for our giant friend!” Mughamir was by his side as if he’d just materialised next to him. He was soaked to the bone, bless him so it must have been sheer determination that brought Mughamir to them rather than magic.

Mughamir exposed the Great Ankh from behind his tunic and held it tight as he laid his hand on Sean’s wounded arm. As the Ankh glowed with a golden light, Sean immediately showed signs of great relief!

“Oh, Jesus bless you, boy! That feels so-o good!” Sean sank down and sat as he allowed Mughamir to work his miracle on Sean’s arm.

Assured of Sean’s safety, Moira turned and followed Nommo out of the confines of their sheltered nook. Joraan followed dutifully.

Moira was nervous being exposed like she was, but she was determined to follow Nommo wherever he’d end up going. Why she trusted the little man was unknown to her, but she did…inexplicably.

They reached an opening in one of the larger structures just in time to miss the collapse and resulting mudslide of part of the edge of the gulch above them.

“That was too close…I do hope he knows where he’s to be goin’!” Joraan murmured.

In answer to Joraan concerns, Nommo hurried to the back of the small, mud brick room in which they found themselves. Nommo pulled at one of the many wood reinforcements that studded the inside of the lodge. As he pulled, the wall behind opened into a doorway that lead into a darkened passageway.

“Och, but I’ve forgotten to bring a torch…” Moira feared entering dark, closed places with no source of light. It was a fear she carried from childhood. She found herself in something of a panic having to face this fear now when so much depended on her.

But, Nommo was undeterred. He reached into the side of the passageway and produced a large stick tipped with a glistening residue. From the confines of his kaftan, Nommo produced a cigarette lighter and set the fire torch ablaze as the sticky resin caught fire.

“Come! Time cannot be wasted! His madness will tear this valley apart if we do not stop him now!” Nommo said with alarming insistence.

They followed Nommo into the close confines of the tunnel that barely allowed itself to be lit by Nommo’s torch. As Moira walked she found that she’d often step on something crunchy. Though focused on their progress ahead, she finally took a moment to look at her feet. She saw what she had been stepping on…human bones! They looked to be very old.

“What in God’s name…!” Moira gasped in horror.

“They were the Toloy who were murdered by the Elders. These…would have been their children they tried to hide. The Elders sealed them into this place where they died.” Nommo said in monotone, a speech pattern that Moira had come to realise was his expression of sadness.

“By Heaven, we’re desecrating this burial place then! Is there no other way to…wherever it is that we’d be goin’?” Joraan growled his question in obvious anger.

“There is not. I was permitted by the spirits of the Toloy to use this route to the Audience Chamber long ago. This is no desecration. This is their will. Their bones are not what keep them here as guardians, it is the Mask that holds them!” Nommo tried to explain, but the fact that they were treading on children’s bones from a massacre done long ago made Moira and Joraan very uncomfortable.

Following Moira’s lead, Joraan began shuffling his feet so as to push the bones away from their feet as the walked as opposed to crushing them underfoot. Nommo seemed to know the location of the bones and knew where to step over them and around them.

Moira tried to keep from her mind the horror that these poor wee ones must have experienced - their desperation as they were being walled into what would become their tomb! What kind of monsters could have done something so cruel to children?

Carefully, they managed to pick through the secret passageway/sepulchre until they reached its end. This came as a great relief to Moira and Joraan.

With practiced ease, Nommo slowly pushed open the exiting door to the passageway. As soon as the great mud brick slab was pushed aside a crack, a ranting chant could be heard from the other side of the door.

As the door cleared, they saw into a larger mud brick room not too different than the smaller one from which they had entered the passageway. This larger room did, however, have windows of a sort - meter square holes that looked out into the valley. Joraan noticed that one of the windows sported scorch marks around it’s dry and muddy frame. That must be where the ranting madman, raving in the middle of the room, had issued his volley of lightning at them.

The man was dressed in an expensive Italian style suit and he held close about him a tall body length mask made of a yellow-white material Moira suspected was pure ivory. The mask entirely enclosed about the man’s body from four sides. Each side had a different intricately carved face. A glowing mist clung all around the dancing maniac and the intensity of the storm outside seemed to rise and fall with the intensity of his ranting.

Moira could not figure how the man could see anything from the mask’s small eyeholes which were made of incised slits or drilled out holes in each face. But, apparently, see he could because as soon as he noticed the three interlopers he turned abruptly toward them showing one of the four faces of the mask.

Bellowing like a wounded rhinoceros, the ‘Possessed One’, as Nommo called him, somehow began charging the mask with electrical energy. Sparks arced all across the face of the Mask facing them. From the eye-slits of the Mask, blinding bolts of lighting struck out at the three heroes!

By some supernatural instinct, Moira found herself deflecting and absorbing the lighting bolts with Excalibur. The sword just magically appeared in her hand at the right split second the lighting had struck! With that same extraordinary instinctive reflex, Moira flicked her wrist and sent the bolt right back at its sender, knocking the madman to the floor.

Joraan wasted no time once the opportunity to keep this crazy person down presented itself. He leapt like a cat at the masked man as the man tried to right himself with the Mask’s cumbersome weight. Joraan was fast, but not fast enough to avoid the blast of hurricane force wind that threw him against the far wall of the chamber.

This gave the madman the chance to come back to his feet and ready another storm inspired spell. But, though this spell was to be a torrent of rain to bring the whole mud building down around their ears, the madman found his voice had caught in his throat and he couldn’t speak the chant to effect this spell.

This was because Nommo had stolen the madman’s chant and had replaced it with one of his own. Nommo stood there, hands raised, chanting in the sing-song of some tongue unknown to Moira.

The madman attempted to counteract this chant by overpowering it with his own, but all that came out of him was barking noises and coughing.

Nommo’s voice seemed to ring inside the chamber with an otherworldly echo as he continued. Before long, the violet glowing mist that had surrounded the masked man began to transfer in wisps to Nommo.

The madman fell to his knees feeling a sudden weakness that prevented him from being able to hold up the Mask of the Toloy anymore. The Mask seemed to grow heavier and heavier for the man.

With grunts of effort, the downed madman attempted to lift again the Mask, but to no avail. The glowing Nommo came to the man and relieved him of his burden. With ease, Nommo lifted the Mask and put it over his own head and upper body. The violet glow about him brightened and multicoloured sparks arced about each face of Mask seeming to signify some kind of kismet had been reached between man and mask.

For his part, the former possessed of the Mask stayed down upon the mud floor on his hands and knees. He shook his head a number of times as if trying to shake out the cobwebs. He then looked up to the masked Nommo with a confused and pitiful look.

From behind the Mask, Nommo made the first highly emotional utterance Moira had ever heard from the man.

“Magambo!” Nommo exclaimed with a hollow sound to his voice from behind the Mask. It was a sure indication of recognition. Nommo obviously knew this man.

Moira had been tending to Joraan as the spiritual duel had been fought by the two men. Joraan had been dashed against the far wall of the chamber hard enough to daze him. Moira figured if any other of their member had been thrown thusly (save M’yn) that they’d have suffered a serious injury or even death! The mud brick wall where Joraan had been dashed was cracked by the force of the impact.

“Do not fuss so! I’ve survived much worse, me dear.” Joraan attempted to get up, but found he had to wait a bit longer for the stars to clear from his eyes.

“Perhaps, but you need to rest for a spell, Joraan. It’s possible that blow could have killed any of the others! You may be more seriously injured than you think!” Moira continued her fussing.

“(Magambo! Why? How could you desecrate this our most holy artefact?)” Nommo asked pointedly in his Dogon dialect as he set down the Mask about his feet.

“By rights, it should be used to better our people - not be locked away uselessly!” This Magambo snarled.

“But, my son! What you have nearly done is destroy your own people! You bring armed men to this holy place! You nearly kill me! You used the Mask in violence against its own people! You have defiled it!” Nommo shouted in anger.

“ ‘Defiled’? It was made to protect the descendants of the Toloy! Too long have our people suffered from the other tribes, Islamists, and especially foreigners such as these! I went forth to make my fortune to help our people, but to no avail! Money could not buy our people out of poverty! Only power could do that! Power we have had and have squandered!” Magambo spat as he rose imperiously to his expensively clad feet!

“We went poor to give you every advantage, Magambo! You were to get your education, use business and politics to peacefully bring the Dogon into the modern world and to help all Mali to rise! You were our hope…but not at the point of desecrating what is holy. This Mask has been reserved for a greater purpose than merely benefiting our people! It is a Power of the world to fight what would destroy all of us! You stole it for petty goals! This is why the Toloy sent you back here in madness! They cursed you and your foolishness!” Nommo said with sadness.

“I…see that now. Noble may have been my purpose, but the means by which I was to achieve it were not. I seek your forgiveness, my father. I agree, I have been a fool.” Magambo said with a bowed head.

“I forgive as do the Toloy. You are now freed of the madness. You are no longer possessed of the Mask. But, there have been deaths, Magambo! Men you hired, they had to be put down in service to your madness! You must make right for these men and you must do so before coming back to us.” Nommo said with an even deeper sadness.

“But, of course, my father. It shall be as you say.” Magambo said with his head still bowed in apparent shame.

But, as Nommo turned away to look to Moira and Joraan, Magambo raised his head with a look of profound hatred in his eyes! He then took a gun from the confines of his jacket and made to aim it at his father’s back!

That is when something invisible sliced through Magambo’s Achilles' Tendons! Magambo screamed in agony as he collapsed! The shot with which he had prepared to murder his own father went wild and hit the roof of the chamber instead.

M’yn materialised behind the collapsed and bleeding Magambo who was clutching at his injured ankles. M’yn held the bloodied Carnwennan in his hand with a demonic look on his face.

Magambo looked up into that fair face and his eyes went wide! This was his first time seeing an ‘Elder’ in the flesh! A legend he thought only another foolish story of his father’s. It was the last thing Magambo would ever see as Carnwennan was brought down viciously to claim the young African’s life!

“Magambo-o!” Nommo’s bellowed in heartbreak at seeing his only son killed!

“He was reaching again for his weapon…I had no choice.” M’yn said with a deadness in his voice that sent a chill down Joraan’s spine! Something inside of M’yn laughed in dark triumph…

Indeed, Magambo’s hand had already managed to clutch the pistol-grip of his gun. Whatever madness the man had suffered could not only be attributed to the workings of the Mask.

Nommo came to his son’s side, put his head upon his lifeless breast and wept bitter tears at the sacrifice the Mask had required of him to make.

~

Mourning and lamentation filled the little town of Koulogon Habbé as a litter carried the body of Magambo to its final resting place. The town had much to be sad for. The heir to the Hogon was dead and their present Hogon had to retire from his service to take on a new service to a greater circle of humanity.

The people had loved Nommo as their leader and wiseman. When he was young, they had admired Magambo and looked forward to his rein as their Hogon when his father could lead them no more. Now the township would be bereft of both and the people were not sure of their future.

It was determined that Nommo’s nephew Ommah would succeed him as Hogon, but Ommah was untested and the people did not have the confidence in him that they had for Magambo.

Nevertheless, Nommo knew he had a more important job to do now and if his people were not confident in Ommah then he knew he was. Ommah had grown into a wise man and had been Magambo’s constant companion right up until the time when Nommo’s son chose to leave Koulogon Habbé to attend University in South Africa. Ommah had learned all that Magambo had learned and more since Ommah continued to learn of the ways of the Hogon after Magambo had left. In many ways, Ommah was far better prepared to be Hogon than Magambo was. The Dogon of Koulogon Habbé would learn this and accept Ommah as their Hogon given time.

Nommo was given by the Spirits of the Toloy a final spell to deal with their cumbersome Mask. It was a way to shrink the mask so that it could be carried in a pouch at Nommo’s side. He used this spell and put the precious item away. He then took up his walking stick and set out from his hut for the last time. He would be gone when the people came back from the burial of Magambo.

Nothing remained for Nommo in his long time village.

His destiny lay with the Strangers and their fight with the Fallen Elders…the Fae as Joraan the Elder Sídhe called them. Nommo would assist as he could using the powers of each face of the Mask - the Face of Storms, the Face of the Wild, the Face of the Earth, and the Face of Spirits. Nommo knew that he would need all of the combined powers to fight the Fae!

The exterminated Toloy spoke to Nommo through the Mask and the old shaman had seen what the Fae had done to them. The Toloy never stood a chance, not even with all of their wisdom, magic, and strength. The powers of the Fae were strong! Every resource they could find would be needed to combat them.

Nommo would help Moira in her continuing quest to find this strength and then help to fight the Fae when they finally did crash through into their plain of existence again.

These thoughts continued through Nommo’s mind as he joined the rest of the company in their Land Rover. They readied themselves to ride off and confront their shared destiny. Nommo did not look back at his long time home. That was gone for him now. All that remained was what lay ahead on their long road into an uncertain future.