Efe went to the market at dawn, where traders sold everything from salt to souls. He wore a beggar's cloak, face smeared with ash. Whispers followed him: the Oba had doubled the guard, Aruosa had vanished, Osaro sang in his cell of the coming end.
At the cowrie seller's stall, the old woman from before caught his eye. She slipped him a bundle wrapped in banana leaf. Inside: a mask of polished bone, its eye sockets filled with dried tears. "Found in a trader's cart," she rasped. "He hanged himself at midnight."
Efe paid with Queen Idia's bronze ring and hid the mask in his cloak. As he turned to leave, a hand clamped his shoulder. Aruosa's scar loomed close. "You meddle in games too large, boy." His breath smelled of palm wine and rot. "Join me, or join the grove."
Efe kneed the chief and ran, weaving through stalls of spices and cloth. He ducked into an alley where Mama Izu waited with a potion of invisibility—bitter as gall, effective for one turn of the hourglass. Under its veil he returned to the workshop, where Odion burned the bone mask in a clay pot. Its screams were human.
"Aruosa flees to the coast," Odion said, reading the ashes. "He carries the fifth mask, one that turns brothers against brothers." Efe's map showed the next mark at the slave pens, where captives awaited ships to the white man's land. The thought of such a mask among the hopeless made his blood run cold.
That night Efe dreamed of chains and wooden faces. He woke to find the workshop door ajar, a single white cowrie on the threshold. Someone had been inside while he slept.
Dawn brought news: the prince had vanished from the palace, lured by whispers only he could hear. Queen Idia rode through the streets like a storm, offering gold for her son's return. Efe knew where the boy had gone—to the grove, drawn by the sixth mask. He saddled a horse and rode hard, the wind whipping his face raw.
The grove welcomed him with silence. Masks hung lower now, some brushing his hair. In the center stood the prince, eyes wide, a mask of mirrors covering his face. Each shard reflected a different horror. Osaro's voice came from the trees: "One more, apprentice. Then the set is complete."
Efe drew his knife, but the mirrors blinded him. The prince turned, voice not his own: "Mother sends her love." Then he ran deeper into the grove, and the masks began to sing.