Hammer of the Earth

by Susan Krinard

  “I am well.” The pictures flooded her mind—not motionless drawings like those she had painted on her own drum in the lands of the Samah, emblems shaped to call the spirits, but moving representations of the distant past.

  “The great City was here,” Tahvo murmured.

  “Here?” Rhenna echoed.

  “Not in this cave,” Tahvo said impatiently. “On the plain that is now wasteland. A world of plenty destroyed by evil. What else do you see?”

  “Symbols,” Rhenna said. “Spirals, waves, discs with wings.”

  “The Elements. The spirits, as men once saw them,” Tahvo said. “Can you find the place where the drawings change?”

  Tahvo heard Rhenna step around her and walk beside the wall. “The light isn’t bright enough, but not all the pictures are made in the same way.”

  “I can see the difference,” Cian said. “They start with the scenes of hunting and dancing, and then the symbols. These drawings are cut into the rock.”

  “They are the oldest, from the time before the City,” Tahvo said. “And the next?”

  Cian moved farther away and sucked in his breath. “The next group are painted in red.”

  Red. The color of the Stone God’s fire. “What do they reveal?”

  “Men and women bowing to other beings…like men but taller, more powerful.”

  “Devas,” Rhenna said.

  “Some have the heads of animals,” Cian said. “Some are male and some female. Some are painted dark, some light.” He counted under his breath. “Twelve. Twelve gods, and many men to worship them.”

  Tahvo shivered. “The people gave the Exalted more than their worship.”

  “Men hold the symbols of the elements in their hands. They place them before the Exalted, and the gods…devour them.”

  “The bones of the spirits destroyed in the first great war,” Tahvo said. “Men gathered them from the wild places and made offerings to the Exalted in exchange for greater power over other men.”

  Cian’s fingers whispered over the rock. “New animals appear. Cattle and goats. Horses. The strange beasts from before are gone.”

  “Hunted to destruction for the sport of killing,” Tahvo said, her eyes wet with tears at the sounds of the animals’ dying screams. “The Exalted taught men the way of binding the gentlest beasts to their service.”

  “And growing grain,” Rhenna said. “Men with scythes and women gathering the harvest with backs bent under their burdens.”

  “Fire,” Cian said. “Forges and new weapons. Men facing each other with swords in their hands.”

  Tahvo scrubbed her face. “War.”

  “Naked men carry stones to the Exalted,” Cian said. “Some lie crushed under the weight of the blocks. Others strike at the bearers with whips. A city rises from the plain.”

  “The spirits of nature grow weaker as men turn their backs on the old ways, the old reverence,” Tahvo said.

  Cian’s voice floated from deeper inside the cave. “The city dwarfs everything around it. The people are as insects.”

  “No more than insects to the Exalted,” Tahvo said. “But men are too blind to see. They flock to the City, to learn the new ways, to fight and to kill. And the Exalted become fat on the blood of their willing servants.”

  “But the pictures change again,” Cian said. “The paint here is ocher, not red.”

  “The nature spirits awaken to their peril,” Tahvo said. She heard the murmur of fear and despair rustling among the leaves of the trees in the Southern forests and the icy woodlands of her own ancestors, rushing in streams and rivers as yet unpolluted by the taint of the City. “They know they must fight or perish.”

  In her mind’s eye Tahvo saw what the ancients had drawn, trying to depict what human hands could never capture. Symbols of the elements swirled together, and from their union rays of power reached out to touch mortal life. Out of the rays emerged the shapes of men bearing shields that carried the emblems of their divine parents.

  “Godborn,” she said. “Heroes to stand against the Exalted. The Weapons are forged.”

  “A hammer,” Cian said. “A bow and arrows. A sword…and a circle of fire.”

  Tahvo envisioned the first three Weapons clearly, but the fourth remained a mystery except in its element. “A hundred thousand clash in battle,” she whispered. “The good spirits sacrifice much. Many die. Yet they are victorious. The Exalted are defeated.”

  “The City lies in ruins,” Cian said. “The fields are razed. The desert claims everything.”

  “Ailuri gather to create the Stone that will bind the Exalted for all eternity,” Tahvo said. “But Four escape—”

  “A withered leaf, a black spiral, a dagger of ice, a red flame. Each with one of the Weapons beside it,” Rhenna said.

  “Eight Exalted are trapped in a great circle of many-colored rings. Ailuri dance around it.” Cian paused for a long moment. “There is no more.”

  No more, because the ancient artists had believed the story ended with the enemies’ defeat. They had not foreseen that the Ailuri would abandon their duty, or that the Exalted would be released from their prison.

  “There’s nothing here we didn’t already know,” Rhenna said. “Come, Tahvo. You must rest.”

  She took Tahvo’s arm. The images began to fade from Tahvo’s mind. She touched the wall one last time, hoping to feel living spirits as well as those long dead. But those who had survived the Godwar had fled the region of the City when it was destroyed. They were still beyond her reach.

  As the Stone’s sickness spreads, Slahtti had told her, many gods who survive have chosen to hoard their strength rather than aid mankind. They will retreat until no place remains for them to hide.

  Perhaps once Nyx located the Imaziren, Tahvo would find the spirits again. Surely no humans could thrive in their complete absence. Yet she had seen men in the North who existed with only the Stone God and its evil priests to guide them. Water flowed and grain sprang from the earth without the blessings of the spirits. But that life was as false as the Stone God’s promises of peace and perfect order.

  If the Exalted devoured all the spirits, the world would wither before the Stone fulfilled its desire to remake the earth in its corrupt image.

  Tahvo swayed, and Rhenna caught and carried her back to the front of the cave. Darkness had fallen outside, but the wind continued to howl in the lowlands and whistle among the mountain peaks.

  When everyone had eaten the last of the food and settled down for the night, Tahvo crept to Rhenna’s blankets. She sat beside Rhenna until the warrior sighed and rose up on one elbow.

  “Bad dreams?” Rhenna asked in the way of one who knew the flavor of nightmares all too well.

  Tahvo shook her head. “You are angry with Cian,” she said.

  “Angry with Cian?” Rhenna lowered her voice, and Tahvo imagined her glancing toward the Ailu where he slept beside the smoldering ashes. “Why should I be?”

  “Nyx honors Cian as the fulfilment of her prophecy, and she wishes you to stay away from him. Is this not so?”

  Rhenna snorted. “Nyx has many strange ideas, some of which I am not prepared to accept. But her fears about me and Cian are without merit. I won’t interfere with his sacred destiny.”

  “You are part of his destiny.”

  “Oh, Nyx admits that I must protect him. I am, after all, one of the Bearers.” Her loose braids thumped against her shoulders. “I am not jealous, Tahvo. You need not be concerned with my feelings.”

  “But you must. Your anger has consequences—”

  “I’m not likely to challenge Nyx over any male, even Cian,” Rhenna said. “What he and I…shared in Karchedon will not be repeated. And I am not angry.”

  “The winds say otherwise.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The storm that came upon us yesterday…it was not made by the spirits.”

  Rhenna shifted as if to rise and stopped with a sharp breath. “Are you suggesting I caused it?�
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  “I know you did.” Tahvo ducked her head to take the sting from her words. “Your powers are new, as yet untried and untested. They respond to the dictates of your heart as much as to your will.”

  “You think I would put us all in danger?”

  Tahvo grasped Rhenna’s clenched fist. “The winds know what you feel. They answer to your godborn blood, even if you do not yet accept it.”

  “I thought the spirits had abandoned this land.”

  “Not all that lives is moved by spirits alone. And even the bones of the gods—what Philokrates called pneumata—can be summoned and controlled by one with skill.”

  No longer able to contain herself, Rhenna got up and paced away. After a hundred heartbeats she returned.

  “I didn’t ask for these abilities,” she said. “I have tried not to feel—”

  “Your denial works against you. Your power is as much a part of you as your skill in battle. You can learn to shape it, as Cian shapes his body.”

  “Tell me how.”

  “Knowledge is the first step.” Tahvo hesitated, searching out words Rhenna would understand. “As a child, you practiced with your weapons to become a warrior at womanhood. You did not learn these things in a single day. You studied how to move, how to breathe, how to calm your mind. Now you are like that child again, with a weapon you have never held and a new skill to master.”

  “Can you teach me to master it?”

  “Only you can understand the nature of your power. You will need it when you find your own Weapon, the Arrows of the Wind.”

  “The bow and arrow were matched with the black spiral in the paintings.”

  “A symbol of Air,” Tahvo said. “The emblem of the Exalted who stole the Arrows, as one of Earth took Cian’s Hammer.”

  “So Cian and I will meet these Exalted and fight them with powers we hardly understand?”

  “Not with power alone, but with courage and loyalty. With love.”

  Rhenna laughed under her breath. “You don’t make any of this easier to bear, my friend.”

  “I know. I am sorry.”

  “No. Your burdens have always been greater than mine.” She swallowed. “How do you endure…not seeing?”

  Tahvo closed her eyes, though it made no difference to her vision. “The spirits give me sight when I need it,” she said. But she knew she deceived both her friend and herself. Every day she longed for the sense she had taken for granted since she was old enough to find joy in the fresh green of spring leaves or the purity of a gentle snowfall. Now all the world was darkness, and even the dear faces of her companions were lost to her. She had never let them see her tears.

  “I am all right,” she insisted, though Rhenna had not spoken. “There is always a price to pay for magic, and for the spirits’ favor.”

  Rhenna touched her shoulder, seeking to give comfort. Tahvo crawled back to her own blanket and tried to sleep.

  She woke to the smell of morning and the sound of quiet voices.

  “I’ll go,” Rhenna said. “The storm was my doing, so I should be the one—”

  “Your doing?” Nyx interrupted. Her feet tapped out an angry rhythm across the cave floor. “You forced us to take shelter here, and yet you complain—”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “How could you not know, when you called the winds outside Karchedon?”

  “She’s telling the truth,” Cian said. “Six months ago, neither of us knew anything about godborn powers or prophecies, let alone our part in them. Rhenna didn’t ask for this fate.”

  “But I must learn how to deal with it,” Rhenna said.

  “Storm or no storm, you’ll soon find yourself lost in these gorges,” Nyx said, resignation in her voice. “I will accompany you.”

  “We’ll go together,” Cian said. “Tahvo can stay with the horses.”

  “Tahvo comes, as well,” Rhenna said.

  “Do you rely on the Healer to help if you fail to contain what you started?” Nyx asked.

  “She can’t stop it for me. But I will accept her advice in matters pertaining to devas…or their bones.”

  Tahvo slung her half-empty waterskin over her shoulder and went to join Nyx. Rhenna had already left the cave, Cian at her heels.

  “Is it true that Rhenna can’t control her powers?” Nyx asked, offering the support of her arm.

  “Your dislike does not help her,” Tahvo said. “You must not fight over Cian.”

  “I do not fight over the Watcher. And I do not dislike…” She trailed off and fell silent. Tahvo took Nyx’s arm. Together they hurried out of the cave. Tahvo heard the skittering of an insect on the rapidly warming rocks. Sunlight struck her face, and she knew that the storm had passed, along with Rhenna’s anger.

  But danger hummed in the morning air.

  “What is it?” she asked Nyx.

  “We are being watched,” Nyx whispered.

  “Horsemen,” Cian said, his footsteps so soft that even Tahvo didn’t hear them. “Archers, hidden among the rocks.”

  “Imaziren,” Nyx said. “I will hail them. They’ll do us no harm once I give my name.”

  Rhenna and Cian escorted Tahvo back to the cave. “Nyx’s friends look none too hospitable,” Rhenna said.

  “How do they appear?” Tahvo asked.

  “Lightly dressed, for warriors, without armor of any kind, though all carry bows and javelins. Skin of a tone between mine and Nyx’s. Hair worn close to the head.” She clicked her tongue. “From what I could see at a distance, they must be excellent riders. Their horses wear no bridle or saddlecloth. There are women among their fighters.”

  “On equal footing with the men,” Cian said. “That should please you, Rhenna.”

  “That their women aren’t treated as slaves? I—”

  A shout echoed in the distance, followed by another. Rhenna hurried away and returned with Nyx.

  The Southern woman was breathing hard as she sat beside Cian. “The Imaziren have been following us for almost two days,” she said. “They remember me.”

  “But there is a problem,” Rhenna said.

  “The storm. They claim it is not natural, that such wind does not rise in this season of the year. It can only have been brought forth by evil sorcery.”

  “Did you explain the truth?” Cian asked.

  “The tribes stay well away from Karchedon. They will have heard little of what has occurred since you arrived there. They know only that we have come from the North, and that we bear potent magic. We could easily be servants of the Stone God, who is their most bitter enemy. Even the suspicion that we are its allies could earn us our deaths.”

  “What will they accept as assurance of our benevolence?” Rhenna asked.

  “They demand that the sorcerer who raised the storm come to them unarmed and surrender himself for judgment.”

  “Impossible,” Cian snapped.

  Rhenna’s boots crunched on gravel. “This talk of judgment is not promising. Will they hear me out if I go to them alone?”

  Nyx sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “I have no intention of allowing superstitious barbarians to kill me without a fight.”

  “The alternative is equally unpleasant,” Nyx said. “They will not allow us to leave the mountains. They’ll hold us here, away from food and water, until we die of thirst and starvation.”

  “There must be another way to make them understand.”

  Nyx rose and joined Rhenna in her restless pacing. Cian growled under his breath. Tahvo felt the full measure of her helplessness without the spirits to guide her, to be her eyes and reveal all that was unseen.

  “The spirits have given me the gift of tongues,” she said. “I will speak to these people. A blind woman can do them no harm.”

  “No,” Rhenna said. “We know nothing of the Imaziren save what Nyx has told us, and even she isn’t sure of them.”

  “It was not I who…” Nyx paused, sucking air between her teeth. “I spent several weeks among t
he Imaziren, enough to learn something of their customs. Once I witnessed a bitter quarrel between two families, one that could not be resolved by the elders of their tribe. It was decided that the matter of right and wrong would be settled by force of arms, the champion of one family against the chosen warrior of the other.”

  “And how did the battle end?” Cian asked.

  “One champion was victorious, and his family was declared to be in the right. The defeated family gave a gift to the winners, but their own warrior survived.”

  “You suggest that Rhenna offer to fight one of their warriors to prove her innocence.”

  “I see no better prospect.”

  “But these battles are sometimes to the death?”

  “It is possible.”

  “Then Rhenna will not do it.”

  “That is my choice to make, Cian,” Rhenna said. “It’s a small enough risk when weighed against our inevitable deaths in this cave. And I am responsible.” Her pacing stopped. “Nyx, will the Imaziren extend their customs to an outsider?”

  “They are an honorable people, not murderers.”

  “Then I’ll go with you now. Offer the challenge. Tell them I invoke their ritual of trial by combat. If I defeat their champion, they must accept our word that we are enemies of the Stone God. Furthermore, they must agree to guide us safely to the borders of your land.”

  “It may work,” Nyx said grudgingly.

  “Good.” Rhenna untied the knife from her belt. “Cian, you and Tahvo wait here,” she said, handing the sheath to him. “If this goes wrong, take Tahvo out of the mountains and find water.”

  “If you believe I—” Cian began.

  “Am I leader? Will you obey me?”

  He walked away without answering. Tahvo felt for Rhenna and grasped the warrior’s wrist.

  “We have faith in you,” she said. “You will succeed.”

  “I’ll pretend that is a true vision, my Sister, and not a hope.” She kissed Tahvo’s cheek—a brusque peck of more violence than tenderness—and strode off. Nyx went with her.

  “I won’t let her be killed,” Cian said roughly.

  “These Imaziren are a warrior people, like her own,” Tahvo said. “Perhaps she understands them better than we do.”