VootCaboot

Lhikan’s Mask

VootCaboot

“T-Turaga Vakama?” Nuhrii stuttered a little as he helped Jaller hobble towards Ta-Koro’s leader. Jaller, the Captain of the Guard, was weak, and as they grew closer, Vakama noticed something strange. His mask was cracked!

“Jaller, what happened,” the Turaga said, with an unexpected tone of anger and disapproval in his voice. “What did you do to your mask?”

“We were lava-surfing, and-” Nuhrii was cut off as Jaller collapsed, falling onto the ground with a painful grunt.

“…It doesn’t matter.” Vakama hobbled over to the pair, and began to inspect his mask. It was a faded gold, now yellow from the many years on the island of Mata Nui. “What matters is that you’re both safe.” His voice smoldered, and Nuhrii seemed to cower a little at the elder’s anger.

“It was my fault,” Nuhrii sighed. “I dared him to try something, and he got hurt. It’s…” His voice was weighed down with guilt, no doubt caused by Vakama’s suppressed fire of anger.

“It’s fine.” Vakama placed a hand on the Matoran’s shoulder. “Get him to a bed so he can rest.”

“What about his mask?”

“I will repair it,” Vakama gently loosened the mask from Jaller’s face, now seeing the huge crack and dents in the mask. The hand that held the mask was as still as could be, and yet his other fist seemed to tremble. “And he will be alright. Thank you for bringing this to me.” His voice couldn’t conceal his true feelings, but his appreciation for Nuhrii’s respect for his destiny was real, and he hoped it had been heard.

Nuhrii nodded before helping Jaller hobble off to a nearby hut, leaving Vakama with the mask. He examined the mask, tracing the damage, running his fingers over the broad lines and smooth curves of Lhikan’s Kanohi Hau. The mask was his connection to the hero that made him a Toa, let him be a hero, and saved the many Matoran of Metru Nui. The memories of Lhikan’s heroism, and his impact on Vakama’s life, both ran through his mind. This mask, meaning so much to Vakama, so unique, was given to Jaller as a gift to save him, and a story told of Lhii the Surfer. And nobody on Mata Nui remembered Lhikan other than his fellow Turaga.

“Vakama!” As if on cue, Turaga Nokama had walked into Ta-Koro, with two Ga-Matoran escorts to protect her, even though she didn’t need it. “It’s good to see you.”

Vakama turned, holding the mask close to his chest. “It is good to see you too, sister.” He walked over with her, extending a hand to her, as she did the same, greeting one another. “I have a pressing matter here.”

“I sense that I could be of assistance.” Nokama noticed her brother’s temper was being tested, as she always could. “And we ought to have a discussion alone, right?”

“A conversation with you would be excellent,” Vakama nodded, turning to the Matoran. “Nokama and I must discuss something important, alone. Enjoy your visit to Ta-Koro.”

✴        ✴        ✴

“It’s not right to be angry at them, Vakama.” Nokama folded her arms as her brother stood over the makeshift forge. “They don’t remember Lhikan.”

“I know that they don’t, sister.” He said, rummaging through an ancient toolbag. “I’m sure you understand my frustration either way.”

“I do, I do.” She nodded. “And how long as it been since you made a mask?”

“How many hundred years indeed?” Vakama chuckled a little. “Worry not. This is a task I can handle.” The mask was placed into the forge, and the protodermis that it was formed from began to melt.

“What are you doing?” Nokama was puzzled by his melting of the mask. “Are you not going to repair Lhikan’s mask?”

Vakama turned to face her. “You said it yourself. You told me that it’s not right for me to be angry, because they don’t remember Lhikan.”

“And you’re just going to melt it down?” She asked, stepping towards Vakama with a great concern in her heart.

“This mask means something very different to them.” Vakama said, taking Nokama’s hand for a moment before turning back to the forge. “Lhikan… they don’t remember him, and everything he's done for us. It’s not their fault,” he spoke as he placed a stone mold near the flames.

“It’s the one part of him you have left. Are you sure about this?” Nokama placed a hand on her brother’s shoulder.

“Lhikan was a hero.” He began to pour the protodermis into the mold as Nokama watched with great concern. “But we have our memories. We met him, and he was one of the finest men we could ever know.” The protodermis flowed into the mold, quietly hissing as the cooler stone met the hot protodermis. “But he’s not the only hero. Heroes will come for us when they’re needed, as the Great Spirit tells us. We keep Lhikan alive through our memories and reverence for him.” The mold was cracked open to reveal the mask, re-cast into the shape of a normal Hau, like the carvings on the Kini-Nui. The Hau, now a simple yellow with all the gold long gone, looked like the masks of the heroes yet to arrive on Mata Nui - the mask of the legendary Tahu.

“Perhaps it’s time for us to honor new heroes.”