Chapter Four

Solek approached the Toa Nuva of Ice nervously. All his life, he had collected legends about Kopaka and his team, now Toa Nuva. He probably knew more about their early adventures than even they did. But to meet one in person, well, that was pretty overwhelming.

“Um, Kopaka? Do you have a moment? I have something for you,” he said.

Kopaka turned. Keeping in mind what these Matoran had been through, he forced himself to look less intimidating. “Yes, we can talk.”

The words burst forth from Solek despite his efforts to rein them in. “I’ve studied all the legends about you. I even know about the time you fought three dozen Zyglak all on your own and defeated every one! You have always been the Toa I most admire… that’s why I altered my color to white. But I’m afraid I’ll never be as skilled as you, or even become a Toa.”

“Slow down,” Kopaka said, smiling. “I don’t remember the battle you spoke of, but then, there is much about the past I don’t remember. You remind me of another Matoran I knew, Takua — he dreamed of being a Toa, too, and his dream came true.”

“Takua?” said Solek, eyes wide. “You know Takua? Where is he? What happened to him? We were best friends, then one morning, he was just gone, along with some of the others. We searched, but couldn’t find any of them. I can’t believe Takua’s alive!”

“Oh, he’s alive, though no longer the Takua you knew,” replied Kopaka, thinking about Takanuva, the former Takua, now the Toa of Light. “I will tell you tales of him later. But for now, you said you had something for me?”

“Oh, yes,” said Solek, fishing in his bag. He emerged with a fragment of a stone tablet. “This is part of a keystone. The legends say you would need this if you ever had to awaken Mata Nui. Unfortunately, it got broken and scattered over the ages. Kirop has one piece, and our attackers seized another from one of the villages. I don’t know where the other three might be.”

Kopaka took the stone. The inscription on it was written in a very old Matoran dialect, but one he found himself surprisingly familiar with. There wasn’t much there, but what there was told a clear story — this keystone detailed how the Great Spirit Mata Nui could be awakened.

“Thank you, Solek,” said Kopaka quietly. “You may not be a Toa, but you may have done just as much to save the universe as any of us.”

Lewa Nuva stood at the edge of the lightvine barrier, gazing up at the sky. It had been a day and a half since he and the others had joined the defense of the Av-Matoran village. In that time, they had fought off a score of attacks by dark Matoran, shadow leeches, and one particularly nasty Makuta. Half a dozen Matoran of Light had been lost in the battles, and Pohatu Nuva’s shoulder had required emergency repair. But the village still stood.

The Toa of Air had volunteered to keep watch. Now and then, a shadow Matoran could be seen flitting across the ceiling of the cavernous chamber, but no Makuta were visible this hour.

“They’re just keeping an eye on us,” said Tanma, joining Lewa. “They stay well out of range. Just like to remind us they’re there.”

Lewa’s eyes narrowed as he tracked a dark Matoran’s flight. Then he raised his air saber and hurled a blast of hurricane-force wind at his target. It struck the flying villager and sent him spiraling out of control. Toa and Tanma watched as the corrupted Matoran struggled in vain to regain altitude before finally landing hard in a distant village.

“Out of range for you,” Lewa said. “Not for me.”

“Great,” said Tanma, sounding unimpressed. “There are only a hundred or so more where he came from. I don’t think this is a problem that can be solved with a little target practice.”

Watching through the open hatch, Kopaka had to agree with Tanma. Hiding behind lightvines and walls, trying to hang on for one more battle, was a quick route to disaster. At best, the presence of the Toa Nuva would buy the village and its people another few days or so. Maybe he and Lewa and Pohatu could even down a careless Makuta and a few dozen of their shadow Matoran. But in the end, the odds were too great.

I can’t even spot where the shadow leeches are coming from, he thought. Something in the substance of the mists blocks my mask’s X-ray vision. There’s no getting around it — darkness is going to win here.

It was a sobering realization and one that Kopaka hated admitting to himself. His dislike of it was even more intense because he knew it was something Tahu would never even consider. The Toa of Fire simply didn’t believe in the possibility of defeat. In Kopaka’s eyes, that made him a fool — but it also, he had to admit, somehow made Tahu a great leader of Toa.

Maybe, just this once, I need to be more like him, thought Kopaka. Facts — cold and hard as ice — say one thing. But maybe they don’t say everything.

His decision made, he climbed out of the hatch and used his power to form an ice bridge. He slid rapidly toward one of the captured villages, the site of the shadow Matoran’s abrupt landing a few moments before. Kopaka Nuva knew he had to work fast, before the other corrupted villagers were drawn to the spot.

“You don’t know it yet,” the Toa of Ice said, gathering the fallen villager into his arms. “But you’re about to help your old friends.”

Chirox stood in Mutran’s cavern, his unseeing eyes fixed on that hard-at-work member of the Brotherhood of Makuta. Antroz had ordered the creation of a new flying Rahi capable of traveling a great distance at high speed and dealing with any obstacles that might get in its way. Specifically, he had asked Mutran to do the job, but Chirox had no intention of letting that lunatic create such a thing on his own. Thus far, there had been precious little creation anyway, mainly Mutran muttering about the primitive equipment he had to work with in this hidden site.

“Bigger,” said Chirox. “More teeth.”

Mutran turned from the vat where organic tissue was fusing to mechanical parts. He glared at Chirox. “Bigger means slower,” he said, his voice growing louder as he spoke. “Adding another virus to give it sharper teeth risks the integrity of the mix. And you can’t even see it, so how do you know what it needs?”

“I know you,” Chirox replied, in an acidic tone. “Your first tries are always too small and get stuck gumming their prey.”

“Stop breathing…” Mutran snapped. A long beat passed before he added, “On my creation.”

Chirox grunted. “What about intelligence? Will this thing be smart enough to evade the Toa Nuva and make it out of Karda Nui?”

Mutran didn’t answer. His smarter creations had a habit of rebelling, so he had tended to keep his Rahi beasts short on brains.

The silence answered Chirox’s questions. Irritated, he called for a shadow Matoran to attend him. When the villager approached, Chirox seized him and hurled him into the vat. Fluid churned and frothed as Matoran mingled and fused with still-developing Rahi.

Mutran watched with growing rage as the new creature took shape. When the process was done, he reached in and removed the beast, now a revolting amalgamation of Rahi and Matoran.

“Worthless. Disgusting,” grumbled Mutran, eyeing the struggling thing in his claw. “If it doesn’t die of shock, it will wind up mixing the worst elements of both species. Antroz will say —”

“He will say it’s perfect,” said Antroz. He approached the two Makuta and their creation. “l need something that can make it out of Karda Nui and through Toa-held territory to reach our base at Destral. If it’s as bad as you say, the sheer horror of its appearance will delay the Toa from striking for the crucial moments it needs to escape.”

The Brotherhood of Makuta field leader turned to Mutran. “Tell Vican he leaves on this new mount immediately. He is to take the western passage out of the swamp and fly to Destral as quickly as possible. When he gets there, he is to deliver my summons to Icarax.”

At the sound of the name, Chirox did his best to hide his shock. Mutran didn’t even bother trying.

“Icarax?” said Mutran. “For a handful of Toa and half a village of Matoran? Isn’t that like calling in a Tahtorak to squash an acidfly?”

“A handful of Toa?” Antroz repeated, chuckling softly. “A handful of Toa stole the Mask of Light from Destral itself once. Another prevented the conquest of Metru Nui, kept the Mask of Time from us, and even dared to imprison a Makuta! Still another — this very group — defeated Rahi, Rahkshi, and Bohrok swarms, and invaded Makuta Teridax’s very lair. One thing I have learned is that you underestimate Toa — any Toa — at your peril.”

Antroz reached out and stroked the “newborn” Rahi. It cooed in a most repulsive way. “No, we must crush them completely. And since I prefer not to make that my life’s work, I turn to Icarax. Let him dirty his claws on the Toa Nuva — after all, who are we to deny a fellow Makuta his heart’s desire?”

In the depths of the swamp, something stirred.

It was barely a flicker of energy, flaring for a moment and then subsiding. So minute was the disturbance that even the strange creatures who resided in the murky waters took no notice. But if any of them had possessed senses acute enough, they might have detected the merest trace of — what? Consciousness? Confusion? Fear?

No, not fear. More like curiosity.

Reaching out with a tendril of power, it examined its surroundings. Water. Mud. Plant life. Sea creatures much like the ones it had encountered in its last environment… and one thing more, something quite disturbing. It sensed the presence of intelligent life in the swamp — three powerful and evil beings not very far away.

The object known as the Kanohi Ignika, or Mask of Life, sensed danger. The mask had no doubt those three would attempt to obtain it. Should it create guardians from the sea life around it, to serve as protection?

Memories were sifted. The last few guardians created — an evolved venom eel and the warrior known as Hydraxon — had been, in the end, unsatisfactory. Another course of action would be necessary.

Another recollection intruded on its analysis. It was the memory of being held by a Toa named Matoro, a noble being who sacrificed himself to save the universe. This Matoro had shown no fear in the face of certain doom. In fact, he had gone to his death bravely, with his last wish being the salvation of his friends. He had been a true hero.

Friends… hero… they were alien concepts to the mask. It was, after all, an object — coveted by many, feared by almost all. Even its creators had been afraid to touch it, and with good reason. Matoro had been the first one to hold the Ignika with no trace of fear or regret… and the first to care so strongly about others that his feelings even touched the up-to-then emotionless mask.

What would it have been like to be Matoro, or any other of his kind? the mask wondered. To have lived—to face death — to fight for others, as opposed to just being fought over, as this one has been for so long? What would it feel like to be trusted, honored, respected, rather than simply needed and feared? For that matter, what would it feel like just to feel?

Particles of protodermis began to swirl on the swamp floor. The Mask of Life drew the bits of organic and inorganic matter to itself, binding and shaping them. Its will gave them form and function, crafting torso and limbs, hands and feet. The body that grew, the one that now wore the mask on its “face,” sat up unsteadily — and immediately knew something was very wrong.

The mouth was full of something — the water of the swamp, the mask supposed — and the body could not breathe this substance. This was an error in creation, for, after all, Matoro could breathe water. The body, the mask decided, should have been modeled more closely on his and not on those of other Toa it had met in its existence. Still, since it did not intend to remain underwater, it was best not to modify. Rather, a way was needed to escape the swamp.

Calling upon its power once more, it forced matter into the shape of a vehicle, something like those the Matoran of Mahri Nui had possessed. This one, of course, would be better than theirs, for the Ignika had brought it into being. (Modesty was not a quality the mask had discovered quite yet.)

Hesitantly, still getting used to the sensation of independent movement, this new being — “Toa Ignika,” it decided it would call itself — climbed on board its vehicle. Craft and passenger rocketed from the waters of the swamp into the open air, senses alive to everything around. It could sense the evil beings down below, feel their frustration — and sense still more up above, these filled with rage and hatred. But it also felt the presence of others — a familiar presence, though it had never been in contact with these six before. Still, it knew what they must be.

Toa…

Aiming its craft toward the sky, Toa Ignika rushed up to greet its new… friends? Perhaps, it hoped… perhaps indeed.