Five years ago...
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” whispered Mazeka.
“No,” answered the invisible Jerbraz. “But it’s the only idea I have.”
The two were on the outskirts of a small village on the Tren Krom peninsula. Mazeka had never seen it before, and he had explored much of the peninsula over the years. At first glance, it looked like any other village – a series of huts, a central meeting area, Matoran wandering about. The only thing that marked it as strange was the absolute silence that permeated every inch of the place.
“What’s going on?” Mazeka asked, so quietly he could barely hear himself. Despite that, one of the Matoran stopped and looked around.
“They are De-Matoran,” answered Jerbraz. “Matoran of Sonics. Very sensitive to noise, so they train themselves from early on to not make any more than is necessary. On the plus side, their hearing is so acute that they are probably listening to every word we say … and would be even if we were a kio away.”
Mazeka considered that. “Then why are we whispering?”
“Out of respect. Plus they hate loud sounds – that’s why no Toa are allowed into the place. Where Toa go, battles follow … and battles are noisy.”
Mazeka felt the invisible hand of Jerbaz tap him on the shoulder. “Krakua is over there, to the left of the clearing – he’s the one you’re after. Looks like just another villager to me, but the people in power say he matters. So you go in and bring him out … before someone else does.”
The one Jerbraz had identified was standing off by himself, but not by choice. The other Matoran were avoiding him, and giving him nasty looks besides. Mazeka quickly figured out why: Krakua was humming to himself.
“Someone thinks he may wind up a Toa someday,” Jerbraz continued. “I can see why. Matoran with the calling sometimes are a little … eccentric. Almost like their brain knows something it isn’t telling them.”
At Jerbraz’s urging, Mazeka slipped into the village and beckoned to Krakua. He was careful not to call out to them. No point in drawing unwanted attention to himself. When Krakua joined him at the outskirts, Mazeka said, “You don’t know me, but I’ve been sent here to find you.”
“By whom?” asked Krakua.
“I can’t tell you that,” answered Mazeka.
“Okay. How about why?”
“I can’t tell you that either,” Mazeka replied, already feeling very uncomfortable.
“Is there anything you can tell me?” asked Krakua, frustrated.
Mazeka looked over Krakua’s shoulder. Something was rolling into the center of the De-Matoran village. “Yes!” he yelled, diving for Krakua. “Trust me!”
The two hit the ground, hard. Mazeka clamped his hands over Krakua’s audio receptors just in time. A wall of sound struck the village, excruciatingly loud for a being with normal senses, beyond devastating for the Matoran of Sonics. Matoran hit the ground almost instantly, overcome by the sound. Mazeka almost passed out as well, but he fought to stay conscious and do what he could to protect Krakua.
When the effect finally ended, Mazeka couldn’t hear his own voice. He called out Jerbraz’s name a few times, but couldn’t have heard the answer if it came and felt no taps on his shoulder. Had the Order agent deserted him?
Before he could worry about that, someone entered the clearing. It was a Ta-Matoran, though not one Mazeka recognized. He idly picked up the device used to fell the villagers, smiled, and tossed it away. Then he surveyed the unconscious Matoran as if he were looking for someone in particular. Now and then, he would use his sword to roll one over and get a better look.
Mazeka took his hands away from Krakua’s head. Using hand signals, he told Krakua to follow him. Mazeka started away, but stepped on a branch, snapping it. He was still unable to hear, so he never noticed the noise. But the Ta-Matoran did.
An instant later, Krakua was spinning Mazeka around. As he did, a dagger thrown by the Ta-Matoran buried itself in a nearby tree. Mazeka drew his own blade, ready to fight. But the Ta-Matoran didn’t advance – in fact, he seemed a little startled.
“Go!” Mazeka yelled to Krakua. “Get out of here! I’ll handle this.”
Krakua hesitated. Then his feet left the ground and he was flying into the jungle. Mazeka almost smiled – Jerbraz hadn’t left after all. He was carrying Krakua to safety.
The Ta-Matoran advanced. Mazeka leaned back a little on his heels, ready to meet the attack. The Ta-Matoran made a few tentative attacks, then went to work, hacking and slashing. Mazeka parried the blows, even landing a few of his own. All the while, something was nagging at him. There was something familiar about his enemy – not how he looked, nor how he sounded, since he hadn’t said a word. No, it was his moves in combat. Once in a while, he would do something that struck a familiar chord, then it would be gone.
Unfortunately, the middle of a fight is not the best time to try to and jog one’s memory. The Ta-Matoran took advantage of his distraction to disarm him. Mazeka tried to retrieve his blade, but the Ta-Matoran got in between him and his weapon. A swift stroke and Mazeka had lost his mask. He stumbled and fell to the ground.
His enemy stood over him, smiling. He lifted his blade for the killing stroke, twirling it over his head for a moment.
And then Mazeka knew. Someone or something had changed his appearance, but that habit of twirling his blade before a final attack … only one person did that in Mazeka’s memory.
“Vultraz!” he gasped. “You’re … alive?”
“More than I can say for you,” whispered Vultraz, as he swung his razor-sharp sword at Mazeka’s head …