The Maskmaker's Son

by ESCelestia

Chapter 2

Majora sat out by the wooden privacy fence that surrounded the old lighthouse, staring at his work. The mask was done, for all intents and purposes, the paint just needed to dry.

Time and again, he ended up by the old lighthouse. It was where he had spent most of his time with his dad. With his mom, it was at the piano, learning how to play, listening to each other play, and making new music altogether. With his father, it was out by the lighthouse.

Majora never really liked fishing very much, but his father had loved it. He found himself wishing he had gone fishing more often now that his father was gone.

It had taken several days of thought and work, but now the mask was properly painted with his father's paint. It was stunning to look at. The bright colors and big eyes caught attention, and the more intricate detail kept it. As far as Majora was concerned, it was perfect…or it would be once the red paint dried.

Majora looked down at his flank, only to come face to face with nothing at all different from before. Before he had a chance to let out his frustration, a mocking voice called out to him.

"Back again, orange peel?" Dusty called out, causing Majora to look up with a frown.

His eyes widened as he realized what might be at stake, his father's red paint sitting next to him. In a panic, he kicked the bottle of paint away from himself, hoping it would go unnoticed. He could repaint the mask if it got wet, so long as he had the paint.

Unfortunately, Dusty noticed the movement and walked directly to where the bottle had stopped.

"Well, what's this? Did mommy get you some paint for your arts and crafts project?" Dusty mocked as he picked up the bottle.

"That's my dad's!" Majora shouted, his heart racing as Dusty inspected it.

"Your dad does arts and crafts?" Dusty asked before looking out towards the turbulent river. "Lame."

Majora hit the water before the bottle left Dusty's hoof, swimming as fast as possible to where he thought the bottle might land.

The bottle landed upstream, and Majora immediately lost sight of it once it hit the water. The ever churning mixture of water and silt made keeping track of position nearly impossible, and Majora soon couldn't even figure out which direction to swim. Instead, he dove down and opened his eyes, grime and grit irritating them and obscuring his vision so thoroughly that he could not see his own hooves. With a gasp, Majora returned to the surface even more disoriented than before.

"Hey, orange peel!" Dusty shouted from the shore. "You forgot something!"

Majora looked and saw Dusty hurl his mask into the river like he had a few days before. Majora scrambled towards it, accepting the paint as a loss so that he wouldn't lose sight of his mask.

Just under an hour later, Majora was on the beach, panting with his mask, now washed almost clean of red paint, securely on his face. He never found the paint.

---

Majora sat out by the old lighthouse, staring at his mostly painted mask. The red had almost completely come off in the river, and after sitting out to dry for a few days it was ready to be painted again. Although Majora had his brush, he had no red paint.

His father would not have approved of him being behind the fenceline of the lighthouse like he was. Instead of a gravel shoreline, there were large boulders that broke the waves and current of the flowing river. His father had said it was because it was very important to prevent the erosion of the foundation of the lighthouse, and not for playing on. The rocks were not very stable, they had lots of room for dangerous critters like snakes to hide, and the murkiness of the water hid them from view in even the shallowest depths.

Majora wasn't even allowed to swim close to the lighthouse, much less be inside the fenceline.

Majora needed to finish his mask. He felt like it wanted to be finished, desperately urging him to pick up the mask making tradition where his father had left off. He needed red paint.

Majora wasn't even sure how he could get red paint. There was no paint store in the tiny village, and asking his mother where his father had gotten the paint was useless since it came from Zebrica when they had moved before he was born. His father had always been sparing with his paint, and perhaps its rarity was why. Majora needed red paint.

Majora bit his lip in anger and frustration until he tasted iron. With a wince, he stopped and spit onto the rock beside him. His father had always said that if he truly was destined to be a mask maker, he would find a way to make a mask. Looking down at the red tinged spit on the rock, Majora had an idea.

Majora got up and began looking around the base of the lighthouse for a sharp looking rock. While he didn't find anything resembling a knife, he did find a particularly pointy one. Returning to his mask, the small rock in hoof, Majora jabbed his fetlock with the rock and twisted. He smiled when red paint came out.

It took a while to paint the rest of the mask, and he was afraid that the blood would turn brown after a few minutes. His fears were unfounded, as once he finished painting, the blood remained as vibrant as it was the moment it was painted on. The crimson red contrasted with the yellow eyes in a way that almost glowed. This red paint made for a superior mask, it seemed. Majora grinned down at his mask, it felt like it was almost complete. It needed something though, and Majora wasn't sure what.

As he stared into the eyes of his mask, blood having dried on his hooves, he heard an angry voice call out.

"I know you're around here orange peel!"

Majora put on his mask.

"You got me grounded for the rest of the year, you little piece of shit!"

Majora knew that Dusty knew that he always came here, but he'd never once gone past the lighthouse fence. He counted on Dusty not looking for him there. Majora quietly made his way up next to the lighthouse, hoping that Dusty would give up and look somewhere else. Majora cringed when he heard Dusty climbing the fence.

"You're going to wish I'd thrown that stupid mask into the river this time, Majora!" Dusty yelled, his hooves landing on the gravel inside of the fence, "You'll be wishing that you never made that creepy thing in the first place!"

Majora backed away from where it sounded like Dusty was coming from, unable to tell if Dusty had spotted him due to the small holes in the mask limiting his field of view to nearly a point.

Majora's vision when white as something struck the back of his head, causing him to stumble to the ground.

"You can't see with that dumb thing on, Majora." Dusty said with a sneer in his voice. "Here, let me help you out."

Before Majora recovered enough to try to stop him, Dusty yanked the mask from Majora's face.

"Looks like there's a scuff on it. Here, let me help!" Dusty dropped the mask onto the ground, it's lifeless yellow eyes staring up at the sky.

Majora scrambled towards the mask, but Dusty had already reared up with his earth pony strength and stomped with all of his might on the thin wood of the mask.

The mask didn't even crack, nor did the paint even scuff. The eyes, however, seemed to glow.

Majora finally reached the mask and grabbed ahold of it, but it didn't budge with Dusty standing partly on top of it. He looked up just in time to see Dusty's focus turn from the mask to Majora himself.

With wide eyes Majora tried to back away, but in the commotion, he had turned enough that the boulders from the shore were behind him, the angry red river churning further behind. His hoof slipped on an oddly angled rock and Majora backed up no further.

Dusty smirked, walked a few steps towards the paralyzed Majora, pivoted on his forehooves, and bucked. His rear hooves smacked Majora in the middle of his chest with a thud, lifting him off of his front hooves and hurtling him spinning backwards into the water. Majora was upside down when he hit the water, and Dusty watched as a small splash was accompanied by a loud crack as Majora's momentum came to a crashing halt on top of the water, folding him up like a blanket.

Dusty changed from satisfaction to horror as Majora flopped over to the side, fully resting on a boulder hidden by a thin layer of the silt-ridden water. Necks were not supposed to bend like that.

A small flash caused Dusty to jump, and he looked in confusion at the mark that had appeared on his victim's flank, identical to Majora's Mask. With a gasp of fear as the weight of what he'd done took over, Dusty backed away from the boulder ridden shoreline and his back hoof hit a piece of wood.

He turned and looked back at the Mask that was laying on the ground behind him. The wide eyes danced without moving or turning, and the spines on the top and sides writhed without moving. Dusty tried to look away from the terrible thing, but found himself transfixed on it.

Dusty and the Mask stayed still, unmoving and battling with all of their might. Dusty couldn't tell how long he fought, but his legs shook with fear and exhaustion when a voice called out and broke his concentration for a moment. That was all it took for him to crumble. He hadn't even noticed that the sun had set and the moon had risen.

He took a step towards the Mask, tears streaming down his face. He couldn't look away, no matter how hard he tried. His hoof shook as he reached out to the mask and desperately tried to scream for help. He managed a groan, and it was enough to be heard if the rush of hoofsteps was anything to go by.

He picked up the mask as somepony appeared in the corner of his vision climbing the fence faster than he'd ever seen before. Dusty slowly managed to turn his head away as his hoof started lifting the Mask to his face. He met the gaze of the pony who had come to his rescue, and his heart sank. It was Majora's mother.

That moment of hopelessness was enough to turn the tide once more, and Majora's Mask met Dusty's face.

Melody jumped away as the most horrific, torturous screech anypony had ever made reached her ears. Dusty started thrashing, grabbing the mask and pulling with all of his might as the Mask made with blood, pain, and tears ate away at his very soul. He ran head first into the lighthouse, and instead of falling over unconscious, he began slamming his head into it again and again, wailing and weeping all the while.

Melody looked at her son's Mask, and her fear slightly faded alongside her willingness to help the colt who's screams could likely be heard from town. Slowly, she turned away and ignored his lamenting wails and looked around the moonlit lighthouse for her son.

Not seeing him, and knowing how he often ended up in the river when Dusty came by, she walked towards the boulder covered bank and looked out into the dark waters.

"Majora!" She shouted, wishing that the colt behind her would quiet down so she could listen for a reply.

Melody finally noticed him nearly at her hooves, the darkness and her focus on the further parts of the river worked against her.

"Majora!" She shouted in a panic, twisting a hoof as she scrambled down the rocks to her son's lifeless body.

The moment she grabbed ahold of him, she knew something was wrong. He wasn't moving, wasn't breathing, and as she cradled his head in her hooves and wept, a part of her knew he was gone. She refused to accept it, whispering assurances into his ear as tears replaced the water soaking his fur.

Melody looked up when she heard the sound of hoofsteps on gravel approaching her. Dusty looked down at her and Majora from the top of the bank.

"That's Majora's Mask," she shouted with a sob, "give it back, Dusty!"

The Mask tilted Dusty's head, throwing Melody into the middle of the river with a squeak. When her head came up out of the water, he pushed her back under and held her there. He had not moved a step from the rocky bank of the river.

Majora's Mask looked up at the moon, seeing the mare on its surface. She could help end the suffering.

Majora's Mask reached out and took ahold of the moon, slowing her movement across the sky to a halt. Then, it let go.