Great Lakes

The weather is beautiful. Let’s go to the beach! We can fish and have a barbecue! We’ll ignore all those reports of monsters slithering out of the water and eating sunbathers.

Wear your cutest beach outfit*!

*In which you still have some hope of not taking a “sandnap”.

For the weigh-in, please bring your largest fish, caught during or prior to this event (it must not be mounted), to the weigh-in. If it does not win, you may have it back.

If you’re a chef, please bring a cooking tool.

There will be a gate from the Counselors’ Hall.

Nayefa Jaskinor endured the Festival of Masks in alert silence. When it was over, she returned to her room. She found a square pine box on her dressing table. With trembling hands, she opened it and once again saw her son’s face.

softly down the stairs ~ trembling ~ past the reflecting pool ~ climb through small window ~ terrified ~ shipwright’s shop? ~ run to dock ~ suspiciously unattended small ship – heart pounding ~ no matter, SAIL – safe!

• Rasesar Wej has won The Game of the Festival of Masks.
• Nayefa Jaskinor returned to her husband and daughter with a square pine box. The family has gone into hiding again.
• At 12:01 a.m. on June 20th, the sultan of Nujel’m was beheaded by the island’s guillotine.
• The new sultan has declared the death a suicide. He also reminds the inquisitive that Nujel’m is a sovereign island. A sovereign island with a working guillotine.
• The Eye of Dahsk is no longer on display in the throne room. Some say it has gone missing again.

Now we take off our masks, wrap our dolls in finest silk, and put them in the cedar chest for a time. A year, twelve years? The Game endures.

Nayefa woke up in a soft bed in a large marble bedroom. She lay still for a few moments, listening.

The door opened and a servant put a tea tray on the dressing table. “Good morning, Lady Jaskinor.” The servant stared at her with open curiosity before leaving.

A servant led Nayefa downstairs. The royal court reclined on pillows by the reflecting pool. A woman with a necklace of stars and moons glided forward and grasped Nayefa’s arm a good bit more tightly than onlookers could see.

The astrologer steered her towards the central pillow as a warmly smiling man in robes of silken samite stood up.

The sultan clasped Nayefa’s hands and said, “dear lady, I have granted a full and free pardon to Aleyh Jaskinor and any of his descendants who were involved in the… unfortunate incident. Come, be my guest for the Festival of Masks as The Game takes place once more.”

The astrologer said, sotto voce, “though of course Lady Jaskinor shall not take part in The Game.”

“Ah no,” the sultan’s smile dimmed but he quickly added, “she shall sit with me and enjoy the music.”

Nayefa smiled gently, folded her hands in her lap, bowed her head, and was silent.

The music was beautiful. The whispers of the courtiers behind her were also interesting. Nayefa refrained from glancing at the astrologer. She did not even let her hands clench.

Nayefa returned to her bedroom where servants helped her dress in a beautiful gown and offered her a choice of masks. She looked from the deer and bear masks, which would muffle her ears, to the tribal masks, which would narrow her vision, to the handheld mask costumes that would impede her movements. She thought of the astrologer and declined all of the masks.

Nayefa had cautiously avoided taking the first two ships that departed for Nujel’m, but the delay set her back. Dusk had fallen on the evening of the 18th when she stepped onto Nujel’m dock.

Nayefa tried to find the palace but got lost. The streets were empty and dark. She eventually found herself in front of the dock again.

A hand covered Nayefa’s mouth. The thief ripped the ruby from the hidden pocket in the hem of her dress.  He gently pushed her away and ran down the street, the gem triumphantly held up in one hand like a trophy. He turned the corner and she heard a scream.

Nayefa walked hesitantly around the corner. In front of a darkened tavern, she saw the headless body of the thief. She looked in vain for the ruby.

Nayefa went a few steps closer to the tavern, trying to see by the light of the street lamps. She heard a footstep behind her. That’s when she saw the head, its features contorted in its death scream. It was her son, Omar. She fainted, falling backwards into a pair of waiting arms.