Hammer of the Earth

by Susan Krinard

  Cian walked in without hesitation and stood in the center of the room, the Hammer held in his folded arms. Rhenna entered with greater caution, marking the sealed doorway in the far wall. The warriors closed the wooden doors behind their guests, and Rhenna heard the thump of a bolt sliding into place.

  Guests indeed. She stalked the perimeter of the room and tested the smaller door. It, too, was barred. Tahvo waited where the soldiers had left her, head tilted to listen.

  “It would seem that Nyx has abandoned us,” Rhenna said.

  “I do not believe it,” Tahvo said. “She has no reason—”

  “These people know her. She was lying when she claimed she had never been to New Meroe.” Rhenna slapped the painted river with her open palm. “She could have spoken to us any time since we came to the city walls.”

  “Unless she is a prisoner.”

  “I saw the way she addressed the warrior’s commander. They treat her like royalty.”

  Cian laughed. “Envious, woman?” he asked coldly. “Do you still hate her because Ge chose her instead of you?”

  Rhenna turned to him, sealing her emotions behind a mask of indifference. “We are here for one reason only,” she said. “And that is to learn where the next Weapon can be found. Or are such small matters no longer of interest to you?”

  Red light muddied the gold of Cian’s eyes. “I will destroy the Exalted.”

  “Alone? Has this ‘god’ that possesses you given you so much power?”

  Cian raised the Hammer in both hands. The glyphs in its black head seemed to writhe as if they would leap from its surface. “I could raze this city with a blow,” he snarled.

  “But you will not,” Tahvo said. She touched his arm, holding firm though her body was racked with shivers of distress. “You will wait for Nyx, and we will find what we seek.”

  Cian shoved her away so violently that she tumbled to the floor, skidding halfway across the room. Rhenna’s hand brushed the sheath at her belt and found it empty. She grabbed a delicate wooden chair and smashed it against the wall, selecting the sturdiest leg from the shattered fragments.

  “Whatever you are,” she said, breathing hard, “you’re no better than our enemies. Take the cursed Hammer, and give Cian back to us.”

  “He cannot.”

  Nyx walked into the room, flanked by guards in plumed headdresses who came to rigid attention as they fell into position on either side of the open doors. The woman who spoke bore little resemblance to the rebel Rhenna had first met in Karchedon. She wore a sheer, pleated white gown that draped her body from shoulders to ankle, embroidered at the hem with glittering golden thread. A heavy collar of precious stones circled her neck, and her black hair was crowned with a gold circlet adorned with three tall, curving feathers.

  “Do not be alarmed,” Nyx said. She bowed to Cian with calm detachment. “I regret any inconvenience you have endured, my lord, and beg your forgiveness for this delay in welcoming you to the city. Soon you will be honored as befits your station.” At some unseen gesture, two young women in short robes entered bearing a carved wooden chest overflowing with rich garments and jewelry. “These servants will assist you, if it pleases you to accompany them.”

  Cian stared at Nyx with a strange half-smile, as if he had anticipated her transformation. He dismissed Rhenna and Tahvo with a glance and strode out the door, followed by the servants and a quartet of warriors.

  Rhenna threw the chair leg to the floor and started after him. Guards crossed feathered spears to bar her way.

  She swung on Nyx. “Where are you taking him?”

  Nyx waved the warriors back and met Rhenna’s gaze. “He will be prepared to meet King Aryesbokhe,” she said, “and to claim his rightful place as Bearer of the Hammer.”

  “Why should I believe you aren’t planning to kill him and take the Hammer for yourself?”

  Nyx flinched. “Why would I steal the Hammer now when I could have claimed it long before Cian accepted it?”

  “How can I guess your reasons?” Rhenna said. “You’ve lied to us all along. You’re not the daughter of some common soldier. You’ve been here before, and you expected a welcome.”

  Nyx shook her head. “I have never set foot in this city. All I know of it was taught to me by my father. I did deceive you, but only because you were already reluctant to trust me. If I had told you that my father was a prince of New Meroe, and that my uncle is now the king, you would surely have questioned my motives even more stringently.”

  Rhenna snorted. “And what are your motives, prince’s daughter?”

  “The same as they have always been…to restore the Hammer to the holy city, along with its Bearer.”

  “For some purpose other than fighting the Stone God.”

  “Will you always believe the worst of me, my friend?” Nyx spoke to one of the guards, who closed the doors behind her. “You cannot possibly understand the forces that have long been at work among our people. New Meroe is a new city for us, but the prophecies have bound us since the Godwars. And in all the years of our guardianship there have been many interpretations of the ancient texts, many rulers and priests who have advocated one translation over all others.”

  “Then the prophecies are not of divine origin?”

  “They were given to us by the gods of light, but those who read them are only mortal.” She fingered the polished stone beads of her collar as if she chafed under its weight. “Prince Irike was the youngest son of King Akinidad, my grandfather, who ruled New Meroe from its founding. It was near the time of the building of the city that one of the priests whose duty it was to preserve the prophecies discovered a new meaning in the texts he had studied since childhood. It had always been believed that only an heir of my people’s royal blood would wield the Hammer in battle with the Stone, but Talakhamani claimed that another would come to us…one of the blood of the Watchers.”

  “The one for whom your father searched?”

  “My father became a disciple of Talakhamani, but Akinidad declared all who listened to his words to be heretics and traitors. Prince Irike was banished from New Meroe. Only his eldest brother, Aryesbokhe, dared to help him in secret. So my father set out to find the Hammer and prove the truth of the priest’s revelation.”

  “And you have succeeded where he failed.”

  Nyx lifted her chin. “I have served my people and redeemed my father’s name. None can doubt that Cian is the true Bearer. My uncle will affirm this by day’s end, all schisms will be healed, and the warriors of New Meroe will prepare for the Time of Reckoning.”

  Rhenna hooked her thumbs in her belt and paced about the room, still troubled by Nyx’s explanations. “These religious schisms could still be a threat to Cian.”

  “Not if the king acknowledges him before the city.”

  “And what of the other Weapons, and the prophecies you said would reveal where they lie?”

  “When you resume your journey, you will have everything you need.” Nyx looked to Tahvo with pleading in her eyes. “Surely you see, Healer. All is as it should be.”

  Tahvo’s silver brows drew together. “Yseul…”

  “Our best troops are searching for her as we speak. They will not rest until they have her and any who give her aid. Her power cannot stand against the magic of our priests in their own city.”

  “And are you so sure of Cian?” Rhenna demanded.

  Nyx was about to reply when the door opened and one of the warriors bent to whisper in her ear. “Cian is ready to meet the king,” she said. “If you will wait here, proper clothing and refreshment will be provided.”

  She turned to go, her guards closing ranks to prevent Rhenna from following. But mere mortals could not stand against one touched by the gods. Cian shouldered the guards aside, strode into the room and stopped before Rhenna. He, like Nyx, was dressed in long pleated white robes, but his belt and collar were made of solid golden links, and even his sandals seemed woven of precious metals.

  “You will
come with me,” he said.

  Nyx met Rhenna’s eyes and bowed her head in resignation. “There is no time for you to dress,” she said. “You must go as you are.”

  “I need no fine clothes,” Rhenna said.

  Tahvo came up beside her. “I will remain here,” she whispered, “and seek the counsel of the spirits.”

  “We should stay together—”

  “She will be safe,” Nyx assured Rhenna. “You are all under my protection.”

  Rhenna stifled a laugh and let Cian precede her into the colonnaded hallway. He walked ahead as if he knew the way. Rhenna’s escort blocked her view of the corridor, but she caught glimpses of even more lavish wall paintings and rooms that could only belong to men and women of great wealth and status.

  She knew they had reached their destination when Cian paused at a pair of embossed gold doors twice as high as a man and broad enough to admit two of Nyx’s long-trunked àjànànkú. He tapped the doors with his Hammer, and they rang with the clamor of twenty blacksmiths striking their anvils all at once.

  The doors swung inward, pulled by bare-footed servants in short kilts. They covered their eyes and flung themselves to the floor at Cian’s feet. The center of the room was long and nearly empty of furnishings save for the elaborate chair perched on a dais at its end, but every space between the columns to either side was filled with a resplendent company of courtiers dressed in variations of the long-robed style. Some of the women were bare-breasted, their bodies plump and sleek with prosperity. The men were tall and well-formed. The skin of men and women alike had the richness of dark, highly polished wood, and their equally dark eyes regarded the newcomers with an intensity that might have been anticipation…or fear.

  The man who sat on the throne was of middle years, with white dusting his black hair and short beard. Across his right shoulder he wore a fringed sash, and long tassels draped around his neck hung nearly to the floor. His armbands, collar and sandals were heavy with gemstones and gold. His crown was shaped like a helmet with an elaborate crest of cones, stylized feathers and curving serpent’s heads.

  On the steps below him sat a pair of full-bodied women, each wearing a matching wide sash. Slaves stirred the warm air above their heads with fans made of black and white feathers. At the foot of the dais stood several men with shaved heads and spotted skins draped over their shoulders, each bearing a staff topped by a crowned ram’s head. The king’s guards—eight on each side of the dais—were dressed in tunics made of glistening scales, and they towered above all the other males in the room.

  Cian never hesitated. He paced down the length of the hall, holding the Hammer erect like a royal scepter. A murmur of shock or dismay rippled through the watching nobles like wind through tall grass. The mailed warriors stepped in front of their sovereign, spears tilted forward.

  Cian stopped. King Aryesbokhe stared at Cian, his hands rigid on the lion-faced arms of his throne. The clatter of Nyx’s footsteps was the only sound in the hall. She passed Cian and knelt at the foot of the dais, arms crossed over her chest.

  The king’s gaze shifted to her. She spoke softly. After a moment he answered, signaling to one of the slaves crouched behind the throne. The servant brought another chair and set it on the step beside the royal women. Nyx rose, bowed and took the offered place.

  The king beckoned to the guards escorting Rhenna. They led her forward and dispersed to either side, ready to seize their weapons at a moment’s notice. Rhenna glanced at Cian’s impassive face and inclined her head to the ruler of New Meroe.

  “Rhenna,” the king said, his Hellenish heavily accented but clear. “Rhenna of the Free People, friend to the Lady Neitiqert. You are welcome to the holy city.”

  “My thanks, lord king,” Rhenna said.

  “All thanks are due to you for helping to restore the Hammer to its people,” Aryesbokhe said, “and for bringing my brother’s daughter back to us.” He smiled at Nyx. “Lady Neitiqert has told us much of your travels and of the dangers you have overcome. Your courage will not be forgotten in New Meroe.”

  “Then Lady Neitiqert has surely told you why we are here.”

  The king looked at Cian, and his eyes flashed with emotion that made Rhenna catch her breath. “She has told us that you and your companions seek the Weapons that were made to defeat the Exalted.”

  “This is true, lord king.”

  “And you believe that you and the woman Tahvo are to be Bearers of two of the Weapons.”

  Something in Aryesbokhe’s tone made Rhenna choose her words with great care. “So we were told,” she said, “by one who speaks with the voice of the gods.”

  The shaven-headed men standing by the dais exchanged sharp glances. The king seemed not to notice. “Lady Neitiqert also believes this,” he said, relaxing in his chair, “and now we have proof of her faith. The Bearer of the Hammer has revealed his power.”

  Cian’s eyes focused on Aryesbokhe, and he smiled. “You do not believe, little king.”

  Nyx jumped to her feet. The bald attendants hissed in outrage. Aryesbokhe raised his bejewelled fingers.

  “I know what you claim to be, Watcher of the Stone,” he said. “My priests say that you are possessed by the spirit of Sutekh, who forged the Hammer out of the desert sands at the height of the Godwars. But Sutekh is a god of chaos and destruction. How can he, or one who bears his ba, be trusted to stand against the evil ones in the North?”

  Cian laughed. “How can you prevail without me, mortal?”

  “Sutekh is ever-shifting in his loyalties,” Aryesbokhe said. “The fate of the world does not concern him. He has the power to create a false Hammer to deceive and foment discord simply for his own amusement.”

  “Yet Sutekh stood with the righteous gods when he forged the Hammer,” Nyx said, her voice low and urgent. “This is the true Weapon, my lord, the one your brother gave his life to find. I have felt it—”

  “That is not enough.” Aryesbokhe nodded, and the shaven-headed men stepped through the wall of guards and scattered in a half circle around Cian. “The prophecies say that only the king or his direct heir can recognize the Hammer and be certain of its provenance.” He held out his hand. “Assure us of your good intentions, Watcher. Give the Hammer to me.”

  His demand echoed in the silence. Rhenna moved closer to Cian, not knowing whether she would have to protect him or prevent him from attacking the king and his warriors. Aryesbokhe’s women got up and swiftly descended from the dais. Only Nyx remained, the sable tone of her skin ashen with shock.

  Cian shouldered the Hammer and swept the chamber with a glance full of contempt, his eyes fever-red. “Come and take it from me, little king.”

  Aryesbokhe rose, hands fisted and trembling. “If you refuse, we will know that you are in league with the female Watcher who attempted to enter our city. She is of the Stone, and we will destroy her—as we will destroy you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  T he gods of New Meroe came to Tahvo as if they had been waiting for her call. She had known they were powerful, kept strong by the faith of their worshipers; like their people, they had long prepared for battle.

  They came so fiercely that Tahvo fell under their onslaught, fighting to keep some sense of her own self as they whirled about inside her head. Birds, beasts, and men and women with skins of gold, red and brown shouted soundlessly. Horns pierced and beaks pecked, tearing at her unreal flesh to expose the truths that lay beneath.

  Just as she thought she would go mad, the gods abandoned her, summoned by some devotee whose claim upon them was greater than hers. But one spirit lingered, and in its essence Tahvo recognized one she had known before.

  “Isis,” she whispered.

  “I am Aset,” the spirit said. Her image formed in Tahvo’s mind, robed in white and wearing a crown of sun disk and horns upon her head. “Who are you?”

  Tahvo knelt and bowed deeply. “I am Tahvo of the Samah, oh Great of Magic.”

  The goddess narrowed eyes as
blue as a desert sky. “Your ba has been touched by one of my sisters in the North,” she said.

  “By one who helped to save my life and defied the evil that lies in the shadow of the Stone.”

  Aset cocked her head as if listening to distant voices. “So,” she murmured. “Why have you come to my city?”

  “We have come to consult the prophecies, so that we may fight the Exalted and those who serve them.”

  A long staff, woven of reeds and capped by a white flower, materialized in Aset’s hand. “You are a healer,” she said, “and yet you bring one who has been my enemy.”

  Behind Tahvo’s eyes appeared the likeness of a man with the head of a strange, long-eared beast. His flesh and fur were red, and he bore in his hands the Hammer itself.

  “Sutekh,” Aset said, biting off the word. “Lord of the Desert. Brother and murderer of my husband, god of rage, bringer of violence and chaos.”

  Tahvo’s thoughts blended with Aset’s, and she shared the memories the goddess and all the sisters who bore her name had carried down through the ages. She saw the evil god Sutekh, lusting for his brother’s wife, tricking the great god Asar and dismembering him, scattering the parts of his body throughout the land of Khemet. She saw Aset gathering up the pieces and, by means of great magic, bearing her husband a child.

  “Heru,” Tahvo said. “Heru-sa-Aset.”

  “Our son, who is lost to us,” Aset said. Tears ran down her smooth golden face. “As Sutekh was lost, until you brought him back.”

  “His spirit lay within the Hammer,” Tahvo said. “It was he who forged it to battle the Exalted—”

  “Or to betray us.”

  Tahvo was blind, yet she remembered what Aset had forgotten. “Sutekh is the spirit of chaos,” she said, “but the Stone God’s priests seek perfect order, the death of all growth and change. Without growth there can be no life.”

  “The Red One opposed the harmony of Ma’at, the greatest truth.”