The Black Stars (20 page)

Remember his words,
he reminded himself.

Mason knew that the gloves would be taken from him as soon as they were seen in his possession. Maybe that would be for the best—a full Rhadgast might be able to wield them better. But he decided to wear the gloves at least for a time and keep the armor and cape hidden. He was still a rhadjen, and rhadjen wore initiate robes. Mason peeled off his regular gloves and folded them into an inner pocket on his robe. He grabbed the first of Aramore's gloves and tugged it onto his left hand. It felt exactly the same as his red gloves, just black. As soon as it was on his hand, it shrunk to fit him snugly, and then it linked to his brain.

It was different.

This was much more complete. The glove was his skin. He could feel different parts of his mind unlocking and reaching out for the glove, and the glove reaching out for those same parts. Mason inhaled sharply and blinked rapidly. It felt great. Better than great. He had nothing to worry about.

Mason hurried to put on the right glove and fell to one knee when it joined the other in his brain. He held his hands up in front of his face, turning them back and forth. His hands were black and smooth. He'd never felt so good, so right, in all his life.

Instinctually he knew the gloves were his to command. They wouldn't work for anyone else, because
he
had taken the test. He could hand them over to Master Zin himself, and they would only function as an ordinary pair of gloves.

And yet, Mason wondered if he
could
take them off. They felt … permanent.

Afraid of the answer,
knowing
the answer on some level, Mason did not try to find out.

He pulled down the supple leather armor pieces and folded them up inside the crimson cape. He swung it over his back, then took one last look around the room. He might never come here again.

He didn't use the gloves to see, just guided himself by the echoes of his footsteps on the rock floor. He made it all the way back to the stairs, which he found by stubbing his toe on the bottom step. He stood in the darkness for a moment, and then the door in the floor retracted automatically. The purpose of his visit was finished, after all.

Mason squinted against the light, holding up one hand to shield his eyes.

“No. Way.” That sounded like Po. Mason opened his eyes and saw his entire team standing around the hole, looking down at him.

“Those gloves aren't red,” Risperdel breathed.

“What is that on his back?” Lore said. “That's a crimson cape.…”

Mason climbed the steps into the room. Once he was clear, the door slid shut.

“So … I found them,” Mason said.

“You should've waited for us,” Po said, looking none too happy. Mason felt a twinge of guilt: he knew how long Po had been searching for the gloves. But the door had been closing; there'd been no time to wait.

“Who gets to keep them?” Tom asked.

“Mason does, of course,” Risperdel said. “
He
found them.”

“Are you kidding?” Lore said, sticking her head out a window to check the sky. The air felt heavy with coming rain, and Mason wasn't eager to discover the chemical composition of whatever water fell from those yellow clouds. “As soon as we get back, the instructors are going to take them. What, you think they're going to go, ‘Oh sure, little rhadjen, you get to
keep
and
wear
the gloves of Aramore the
Uniter
'? Get real.”

“Hide them,” Po said.

Mason immediately made the gloves into bracers. But he knew that wouldn't work for long. “I shouldn't hide them—I'll just get in more trouble. And I…”

“You what?” Po said.

Mason swallowed. “I don't think I can take them off.”

“Well
try,
” Lore said.

“I don't want to just yet,” Mason said. Everyone looked at one another, puzzled. “I just put them on,” Mason added quickly. “I don't feel like they should come off right away.”

Mason looked to Merrin for advice, but she'd been silent thus far. She gnawed on her lower lip, a sign she was thinking through every possibility. “My father is coming to the school, to, um—well he's coming. He can have the final say.”

“You dad's
say
doesn't overrule Master Zin,” Risperdel said. “His rule here is absolute.”

Merrin didn't bother to respond; she just arched a purple eyebrow. Mason didn't know who was right.

Outside, the first raindrops began to plunk down in the street. “Let's be quick,” Po said. “We're already going to get in trouble with the laundry department for bringing them muddy clothes.”

The rhadjen jogged out into the rain, through the forest, and back to the sphere. Thankfully, they came across no more loose Fangborn in the woods. But the rain lashed them sideways, stinging and hot. Back at the sphere, Mason let his gloves slip down over his hands. It felt better that way. He had nothing to hide. The crimson cape was soaked and dripping on his back. It was a five-hundred-year-old artifact worn by one of the greatest Rhadgast heroes to ever live, if not
the
greatest hero, and Mason had already dirtied it.

“Everyone, make sure you wash off the rain,” Po said. “You'll get a rash.”

“It's not my first storm on Skars,” Lore replied.

Mason could already feel his exposed skin tingling.

The school day was over, but students were still roaming the halls, on their way to whatever activities they had planned. A group of older Bloods noticed them coming in from the rain, and they were laughing a little, until one of them spotted the gloves on Mason's hands.

The older boy squinted. “Those gloves aren't standard issue.…” His eyes went to Mason's face, then narrowed once he realized Mason was one of the two humans in the school.

“The king's beard…” another boy cursed. As far as Mason knew, the king didn't have a beard. “Hey!” the boy said. “Why are his gloves black? Are those the gloves of Aramore?”

Risperdel sighed. “Yes. Yes they are.”

“They found the gloves of Aramore!” the boy shouted to the entire school.

Groups of students up and down the hallways, a mix of Bloods and Stones, froze on the spot. Then they converged.

“Now you've done it,” Lore said, rolling her eyes at Risperdel, who shrugged.

Students began to hurl questions at Mason—
How did you get them? Where did you get them? Can I try them on?
—but his team surrounded him, protecting him from the mob. Better to get this out of the way now, Mason figured. Surely a teacher would hear the ruckus and investigate.

The thought hadn't left Mason's mind when he saw Grubare marching down the hallway straight for them, pushing through a group of Stones. Mason immediately scanned around Grubare for the gromsh, but the little devil was nowhere in sight. Mason breathed a sigh of relief: if he never saw a gromsh again, it would be too soon.

Grubare didn't say anything at first. The students around him hushed, waiting to see what the instructor would do. Mason just stared back at him, but Grubare's eyes were on the gloves. Mason watched as he swallowed. There was a glint of something in Grubare's eyes. Fear?

“Come with me,” Grubare said. Then he turned around and walked away. The crowd made a surprised kind of sound in unison—
Did that really just happen?
Mason shrugged, then followed after Grubare.

Merrin and Tom were quick to follow.

Grubare seemed to sense their approach, because he stopped and spun around quickly, his robes flaring out around his legs (revealing the gromsh hugging Grubare's calf). “Not you, just him.”

“I don't—” Tom began.

“This is
not
a discussion,” Grubare hissed.

“Let him go, Tom,” Merrin said.

Mason patted Tom on the shoulder. Tom flinched away as a spark of black energy burst between them. “Ow! Dude.”

“Sorry, sorry!” The glove was alive on Mason's hand, begging to be used. He curled his fingers into a fist and lowered his hand.

Tom's mouth was hanging open. “Maybe you should take them off. For a bit.”

I don't want to take them off. And I don't think I can.

“NOW!”
Grubare roared from the other end of the hallway. Mason jogged after him, giving Merrin a parting glance. Her face held the same concern as Tom's, and she was chewing on her bottom lip.

Mason followed at a safe distance as Grubare led him up and down stairs and through hallways packed with students who stared at Mason's gloves with confusion.

When Grubare finally stopped, it was outside a giant wooden door banded in what appeared to be iron. The door was different than it was the last time Mason had visited Master Zin in his office. Po had told Mason you didn't want to visit Master Zin, you wanted Master Zin to visit you. His mouth suddenly became very dry.

Grubare lifted his hand to knock, but the door swung open before he could, slowly and creaking. Inside was a spacious, circular chamber. Every piece of furniture was made of wood.

Behind a massive desk carved in the likeness of some alien beast sat Master Zin. And across from him sat the Tremist King.

 

Chapter Thirty

 

“Ah, the human!” Master Zin said. He didn't say it the way some of the rhadjen did—
human
—like it was a dirty word or a curse. “Welcome, Mason. Please sit.”

Grubare cleared his throat. “I'm afraid this isn't a social visit, Master. Look at the boy's hands.”

Everyone did. The king's eyes grew wide and his lips parted in a small gasp. Master Zin kept a placid face, showing no reaction.

“Take those off,” the king said.

Mason did not want to take them off. He'd had them for just over an hour, and two people had already suggested he take them off. What was the problem?

“He
can't,
” Master Zin said.

“He must!” the king said. “You know what my armor did to me, Zin. You know how I struggled. Legend says the Divider and the Uniter were an even match because their gloves and armor were of the same technology.…”

Was that why the king had seemed so evil before? Had his armor been influencing him the way Aramore said the gloves might influence Mason?

Grubare snorted. “Yes, legend also claims the technology is alien in nature, so advanced even
we
can't understand it. Go ahead. Take them off, Stark. It's just legend.” His words were dismissive, doubtful, but his face held the same fear as before.

Mason figured he could take one off, just to show them it wasn't a big deal. He pressed his thumb against the glove where it ended at his elbow, and tried to peel the material up. But it was stuck fast to his skin. He tried harder, really digging in, until he felt both gloves warming to a dangerous level. They had melded to him the same way the belt had melded to his torso.

Aramore's words echoed in his mind:
The doom of everyone around you.

“You remember how long it took to remove your armor?” Master Zin said softly to the king. “You were here for days. In agony.”

Mason felt his blood turn to ice. When the king looked at him, it was with sadness and pity and a weariness around his eyes that chilled his blood further.
What have I done?
Mason thought.

“What insight do you have, Grubare?” Zin looked at Mason. “As a descendant of the Divider, Grubare can choose no side. He is both sides.”

Grubare had fire in his eyes. “You reveal my secret so freely?”

“There are secrets and then there are
secrets.
This is the former. It is nothing to be ashamed of. Every day you atone for the evil acts of your ancestor.”

Mason watched as the fire turned to ash. Grubare seemed tired. “In truth, I do not know. I thought the gloves were lost forever.”

“Aramore warned me,” Mason blurted. “Or his AI did. He told me the gloves were dangerous but that he thought I was worthy enough to wield them.”

Master Zin folded his hands on his desk. “Then you will be watched. Carefully. The king is a grown man, and he struggled. You will have a much harder time.”

Mason felt his defiance rising. “I can't say having the gloves is a bad thing. Since students keep getting turned into Fangborn against their will. Sir.”

The king blinked. “I was under the impression that problem was under control.”

“It is being handled,” Grubare said.

“How?” Mason said. “How is it being handled?”

“Silence,”
Grubare said.

“Silence indeed,” Master Zin said. “From
every
one, if I may be so bold to request it.”

Mason almost revealed that he knew about his mother and her lab but wasn't sure what would happen if he did. He didn't know who knew about the lab or who was allowed to know.

“There. Isn't that better?” Master Zin almost smiled. “Mason, will you visit me each day, willingly, to track your progress with the gloves?”

“What do you mean
progress
?” Mason asked, a little harsher than he'd intended.

“With their removal from your body,” Zin said flatly.

Do I have a choice?
Mason doubted he did. “All right,” he said.
After the Fangborn come and I destroy them.

“Good, then that's settled. Now if I may get back to my meeting with our king, I would be
extreme
ly grateful.”

Mason had to tell the king about the impending Fangborn attack. The king probably already knew, but Mason wanted to know for sure. He wanted to know how
much
the king knew. “Actually,” he said, “I would like to speak to the king. Alone, if that's all right.”

Everyone looked to the king, who nodded. “May I borrow your office?” the king asked Master Zin.