Hammer of the Earth

by Susan Krinard

  The Alu passed beneath the first house, and cries of greeting floated down from the platforms and bridges that connected one great tree to the next. Women, some naked and others dressed in scraps of fur, casually vaulted from the heights with the negligent use of convenient vines or roughly fashioned ladders. There was not a child or a male among them.

  Scarcely slowing to acknowledge her sisters, the Alu leader ran on to the base of a tree whose trunk seemed to bend upon itself, arching over a great emptiness that dropped into the forest far below, its twisted roots gripping the edge of the cliff like clutching fingers. She led Yseul and a score of Alu up a bole wide as a road, the bark worn thin by the constant passage of paws and feet.

  At the top of the incline, the lowest limbs splayed out like dividing paths, each leading to a house supported on a sturdy platform. The main trunk took a sharp turn to the right, passed through a dense mat of leaves and opened out to a clear view of the space beyond the cliff’s edge. Treetops rippled like a sea of grass three hundred body lengths below. Yseul tightened her grip on the bark and made sure of her balance before following the Alu leader to the door of a house cradled on a broad fan of gnarled branches.

  By the time Yseul entered the house, the leader had already changed to human again and sat on a raised platform at the rear of the single large room. Her sisters filled in the spaces around her, settling cross-legged on the furs that served to soften the rough floor of woven sticks. Yseul heard other females come in behind and block the doorway, effectively cutting off her one chance at escape.

  It didn’t matter, in any case. If she failed in this, she failed in everything.

  She stretched elaborately to show her lack of fear, displaying her claws and curling her tail high over her head. She changed and sat before the Alu leader, pale as a beam of moonlight among so many dark, rich hues of bronze and brown skin. Her audience made none of the small, restless sounds of a human gathering; they stared at her with the intensity of predators judging the strength of their prey and the risks of taking it down.

  Yseul knew these females as she knew herself. “I am Yseul of the Northern Alu,” she said, “and I am honored to be among the sisters from whom we have so long been kept apart.”

  The Alu leader spoke to the assembly in their native tongue and then addressed Yseul. “I am Keela, leader of the Alu by right of battle. Why have you come to this country, polluting our Mother’s sacred earth with the touch of men?”

  Yseul recognized a formal question and answered with great care. “I have come not to anger your Mother, but to bring warning of a great danger rising in the North—a danger to both your people and mine.”

  Keela exchanged glances with the women to her left and right. “Our tales say that none but the Alu were given the gift of taking the shape of the great cat,” she said. “I judge this female to be one of us, in spite of her strangeness. It must be that Ge has brought her to us, or she would not have survived to reach our borders.”

  The Alu raised their voices in surprise and doubt. “How is this possible?” a gray-haired woman asked. “Our tales say nothing of females who remained in the North after the males refused to share their power. Does she, too, serve Ge?”

  Yseul quieted her racing heart. She had too little knowledge, yet she had no choice but to use what Eshu had told her and to trust her own cleverness.

  “Much has been forgotten,” she said, “but it is said that my people chose to stay close to the males, clinging to the hope that we could convince them to behave with honor. We were mistaken. The males abandoned their duty—”

  Keela stopped her with a gesture. “We do not know what became of them after we left for the South.”

  Yseul released a careful breath. “Perhaps it would be best if you tell how you came to this place and became Ge’s servants, and then I will understand—”

  “You say the males abandoned the Stone,” Keela said harshly.

  “Yes.” Yseul hung her head. “We could not stop them. They left the Desert to any who might chance upon the Stone and release its evil.”

  The Alu broke into a buzz of conversation, a strange mingling of triumph and alarm on their grim faces.

  “It is as Ge predicted,” the gray-haired woman said. “Evil will come across the Desert to seize the Hammer.”

  Keela called for silence. She stared into Yseul’s eyes as if she could strip away flesh and bone to expose every secret her guest might dare to conceal. “I will tell you our tale, Sister,” she said, “and then you will say all you know of this danger that threatens us.” She closed her eyes, and her followers drew near.

  “In the days when the Desert was grass,” Keela began, “the great gods created the Alu, male and female, to battle the evil of the Most High, who would lay waste to the earth. When the battle was won, the gods gave to the Alu the power to make the Stone, which would hold the Most High captive for all time. To male and female alike they gave the gift of changing shape, but to the males alone they entrusted the Stone.”

  The Alu listeners moaned softly, murmuring words of sorrow.

  “Soon the gods went away,” Keela said, “and left the Alu to watch the Stone. But the Alu lived long, and the years grew heavy on their shoulders. The females had no duty save to serve the males and bear their children. But children were few, and we saw that the males made light of the great task entrusted to them, wandering farther from the Stone with every passing season.

  “One of our Sisters dared to believe that the gods had been mistaken in giving all the power of Earth to the males alone. She went to the eldest of the males and asked that they share the gifts that had been bestowed upon them. But the males only laughed and refused.”

  “The curse of Ge be upon them,” the gray-haired woman cried.

  Keela spread her hands. “So it was,” she said, “that the females conferred together and decided to punish the males for their selfishness. We took our children and crossed the Great Desert, seeking a new home. We believed the males would discover their error and beg us to return.

  “The males never came. So we chose to make a new home in the forests. But we were without protection in a strange land, and many died. There was much weeping for the children.”

  “Alas for the children,” the women chanted.

  “When it seemed all must be lost, a great light shone upon the Alu—Ge, mighty goddess of the Earth, bringer of life. She, too, was in exile, for once she had been of the Most High, those who had sought to rule all gods and men.”

  The Most High, Yseul thought. The Exalted. Her guess had been correct.

  “Ge was among the first and most ancient of the gods, born long before the creation of mankind. She joined the rebellion of the Most High when she saw the wickedness that mortal males wreaked on the world, how they so readily felled its trees and destroyed the beasts, and fought among themselves with no regard for the balance of life. Ge hoped that the Most High would weaken the dominion of men. But she discovered that her allies intended to do far more than put an end to the ravages of humans. The evil ones would destroy the world and all that lived upon it.

  “Hiding her knowledge, she bided her time until the servants of the good gods brought forth great magic to overcome the Most High. But just as the evil ones were nearing defeat, three of them schemed to steal the Weapons and prepared to flee. Ge knew that the Hammer of the Earth must not fall into the destroyers’ hands, and so she fought to take it from those who had become her enemies. She escaped the embrace of the Stone and brought the Hammer to the forests of the South, and there the Alu found her.”

  “Praise be to Ge,” the women whispered.

  “Ge knew that a time must come when evil would escape its bonds and seek the Hammer again. She knew the treachery of males, men or gods, and she saw that we alone were worthy to serve her. She offered us long life and the power of all the growing things of Earth if we would guard her stronghold while she held the Hammer safe. And so we have served.”

  “So we hav
e served,” the Alu echoed.

  Keela rose, and the others rose with her. She faced the rear of the house. Two Alu pulled on ropes set into the wall. A pair of woven panels swinging outward to reveal an unobstructed view of the deep valley below. Sheer cliffs formed the valley’s sides, and in its center stood a tree so vast that its canopy shaded the crowns of its tall companions as if they were mere shrubs.

  “The Belly of Ge,” Keela said. “The center of her stronghold. There she has slept for a thousand years, trusting the Alu to watch for any who would steal the Hammer.”

  Yseul made no effort to hide her amazement. “Surely no one could reach such a place.”

  “No man,” Keela said. She smiled, showing her teeth. “And now you will tell us what danger comes from the North.”

  The women settled back in their places, and Yseul felt their cold yellow stares. She dared not forget that these were not her sisters at all, but enemies—enemies she must defeat if ever she found a way of taking the Hammer from them.

  “Your goddess is wise,” she said humbly. “She must have known that the Alu males would abandon the Stone. They left it unguarded, and others found it—others who even now work to set the Most High free again.”

  Keela hissed. “Men.”

  “One man, a conqueror who sought to rule the world. He did not succeed in loosing the Most High, but he passed his ambition to his heirs, and they have used the evil ones’ power to crush many of the Northern lands under their feet.”

  “Word of this has not reached us,” Keela said.

  “There is more. These kings of the North found our males and persuaded them to join their cause. We females remained true to our ancient duty. We turned all our wits toward learning what the traitors intended. We discovered that the Northern kings believed that one of the four lost Weapons lay in the South, and that they intended to find it and turn its magic to their own ends. Because both the Hammer and the Alu wield the powers of Earth, they sent a male of our kind, one called Cian, to seek the Weapon and deliver it to them.”

  Keela’s nostrils flared. “An Alu male comes here?”

  “I was chosen to follow Cian and to stop him if I could. But his magic is strong, and he travels with others, female humans whose souls have been corrupted by the Most High. I believe he has learned where the Hammer lies.” She raised a hand to forestall Keela’s cry of protest. “I did not dare hope that I would find such noble allies so far from my homeland. Only when I reached the forest did I hear rumors of women who possessed the gift of changing, and I began to believe that my quest was not in vain.” She risked a smile. “You can be sure that if my people heard no tales of Ge in the North, Cian surely knows little of you or the goddess. This is his great weakness.

  “You, wise servants of Ge, can destroy him.”

  Had he been alone, Cian might have relished the exploration of the forest. There was a freedom in its very boundlessness, an eternity of oblivion and perpetual twilight that allowed him to forget what he had seen in the Cave of Dreams. He could become gratefully lost in this vast green womb and never find himself again.

  But he was not alone. He might have disregarded Nyx’s hopes, but he wasn’t prepared to disappoint Rhenna and Tahvo on what they believed was the final leg of their quest for the Hammer. As long as he had the advantage of teeth and claws and panther senses, he was of some use to those he loved.

  Just as Tahvo had predicted, the little people who guided them remained invisible from the very beginning of the journey. Somehow they kept contact with Tahvo, who always knew which path to take through the seemingly impenetrable undergrowth.

  Nyx made good use of her skill with growing things to widen the passages, sweeping her hands over branches to curl them back on themselves, and coaxing the most firmly rooted plants to bow and part like soldiers on parade. When she tired, or an obstacle proved too daunting, the village hunters cropped the vegetation with broad, curved blades.

  The days presented only minor nuisances and discomforts. Meals were seldom a problem, for the little people deposited fresh game and sometimes fruit in the travelers’ camp every night. Cian heard the occasional cough of some large hunting beast and the scurryings of lesser creatures, but none offered any threat to the humans.

  The ground was constantly damp, kept so by the interminable drip of water that often broke into full, soaking rains. Tahvo revealed a new and unexpected ability to withdraw the moisture from damp branches, enabling her companions to build fires in the most unlikely places. Even the plentiful rivers gave way to her gentle beguilement of the forest spirits, brown water standing aside to allow the travelers crossing.

  Two weeks passed with numbing sameness, the better part of each day spent walking, the evenings occupied with preparing food and making repairs to disintegrating clothing. One night the little people presented their guests with beautifully dressed furs and skins, which the Imaziren set about cutting into tunics and boots. Rhenna clung stubbornly to the garments she had bought months ago in the village south of Karchedon; she seemed unwilling to surrender anything to the forest or admit a need for more than was strictly necessary of its alien bounty.

  At the beginning of the third week, the changes began. The little people became less confident in their guidance, sometimes leading the party in one direction, only to double back and return to the very point where they had started. The rain increased to slow the travelers even further. It fell ceaselessly, threatening to drown any poor soul who dared to look up at the murky sky.

  On a particularly miserable night of continuous downpour, Tahvo withdrew into herself, muttered a chant almost savage in its tone, and flung her hands above her head. The water stopped a finger’s length from her silver hair and trickled harmlessly away as if it had struck some invisible barrier.

  Rhenna laughed in appreciation…the first time she’d laughed in many days…and the Imaziren crowded close to Tahvo, begging her to work her magic on them. Tahvo spent the rest of the night begging the water spirits to extend their goodwill to her companions, and by morning was so exhausted that Cian carried her on his back through most of the next day.

  No sooner had the rains been conquered than the insects declared war on the human intruders. They flung themselves at every exposed patch of skin with rapacious ferocity, biting and sucking and pinching, the tiniest filling ears and nose and mouth in choking clouds. Immeghar bellowed in fury, while Nyx and the villagers bore the onslaught in miserable silence. Tahvo obtained a sticky salve from the little people, but it was of little use against such numbers.

  After days of enduring the merciless assault, Rhenna had had enough. She took a long look at Tahvo hunched under her furs beside the evening fire and dropped to her knees, shaking so hard that Cian feared she would burst something inside her body. Then she raised her clenched fists and called.

  Cian didn’t hear the words or the sound of it, but his body tingled with the force of her cry. Tahvo lifted her head. Immeghar ceased his wild and futile gesticulations. The hum and buzz of the forest stilled. A hot, wet wind swept down out of the trees, whipping their crowns and cutting through the swarms of insects like a giant’s sword. A hundred thousand segmented bodies plummeted to the earth. A hundred thousand more were lifted and smashed into the undergrowth and boles of trees. Cian grabbed Tahvo and pulled her into his arms, as blind as she.

  As swiftly as it came, the wind died. Rhenna stared at her hands in astonishment and waved them in front of her face. Not a single insect alighted on her skin. She broke into a grin.

  “It worked!” she said.

  The others gathered around her, breathing in gulps of untainted air. “You brought the great wind in the desert,” Cabh’a said. “How could you be uncertain of your magic?”

  Rhenna laughed. “I am certain of nothing, least of all that these Southern devas would heed my request.”

  “Your anger gave you strength,” Tahvo said. “This time you used it to serve you.”

  Rhenna grimaced and met Cian�
�s gaze. He gave her his warmest look of encouragement and approval. She glanced away. “Now perhaps we can get a decent night’s sleep,” she muttered.

  And sleep they did, gloriously untroubled by insects or rain. But the next morning Tahvo woke them with a drawn face and said that she could no longer contact the little people.

  Cian sank to his haunches and listened. Even the morning chorus of birds and animals was muted, as if they sympathized with the travelers’ grave situation.

  “Is it my doing?” Rhenna asked.

  “I do not believe so,” Tahvo said. “There was no evil in your magic, and they already saw mine, small as it was.”

  “Then what are we to do?” Cabh’a asked. “Perhaps if we combine all our skills we can retrace our trail, but with no knowledge of what lies ahead…”

  Cian closed his eyes and thrust his hand into the ground. It resisted and then slowly opened up to him, swimming with creatures that moved in the soil as easily as men walked upon it. He rotated his hand, sifting dirt between his fingers.

  The first spark of pain was so small that he dismissed it as yet another insect bite and continued to reach, feeling the former life of the trees and animals that had died to give this earth its abundance. The second and third twinges were strong enough to catch his attention. He remembered the agony that had seized him at the Stone’s prison in the desert, all but stripping the flesh from his hands.

  This was different. This pain was not an assault meant to disable, but a warning…a warning like the insects, like the driving rain and the disappearance of the little people.

  The elusive natives had promised to guide the travelers as far as the borders of the “forbidden place.” If they had reached that boundary, there was nothing to indicate it other than the bizarre attacks of nature. But the pain in Cian’s arm told him which direction they must go.

  “What is it?” Rhenna asked.

  “Wait,” he said. He withdrew his arm and slipped into the forest before she could protest. Once out of sight of the others he stripped and changed. With his panther senses he sought hidden ways through the forest, close to the earth where only animals trod. He had gone less than a quarter of a league when his paws felt the change in the ground, a strange hollowness opening up before him like a pit trap meant to swallow unwary creatures.