Iron Axe

by Steven Harper

  “Worried?” Danr repeated. “I suppose. I was worried because Aisa was angry at me and I was angry at her, and I was sad at the same time.” He paused for breath, cursing his truth-telling mouth, and rushed on. “But I wasn’t worried about your safety. Should I have been? Aisa, what happened to your scarves? And your hand wrappings? You’re beautiful! You’re—”

  He clamped his mouth shut, cursing again. He had answered the question, and could shut up. He needed to shut up.

  “But we’ve been away for days and days,” Aisa said. Then added, thoughtfully, “Haven’t we?”

  “I think,” Talfi said, gesturing at the ground, “we should sit down so you can tell the entire story.”

  They did. And while Aisa spoke, Danr watched Aisa’s face. It was like finding a flower in a snowdrift. He couldn’t keep his eyes—both of them—off her. Her dusky skin looked soft and smooth, and her lips moved like petals in a quiet breeze. He hadn’t realized how truly hungry he’d been to see her face until it actually lay bare before him, and now he was a guest at a feast that couldn’t fill him.

  When Aisa came to the part about a monstrous version of himself bursting into the house to attack, Danr’s stomach turned to cold stone. That was how Aisa saw him? He wanted to flee, let safe, welcoming darkness swallow him up so he would never have to face her again. But even as he tensed to move, Aisa touched his huge hand with her small one, and he froze. That tiny gesture held him in place by the fire. Without further acknowledgment, she continued her story, and he stayed.

  At last, when Aisa and Kalessa finished, the fire in front of the tent had burned to embers.

  “That’s … I don’t know what,” Danr said into the shocked silence that followed. “You were in the house of Grick? The queen of gods?”

  “It didn’t feel like it.” Aisa took back her hand and poked at the fire with her walking stick, the one she’d taken from the old woman’s house. “It was like visiting my grandmother, if I’d known her, and if my grandmother had been eight feet tall with big teeth.”

  “You could have had anything,” Talfi said wistfully. “Any treasure, any magic.”

  Across the fire from him, Kalessa held up the knife from Old Aunt’s table. “It did not feel right to take more.”

  “An ordinary stick and knife,” Danr said, “but from the house of—”

  A new voice said, “Lady Kalessa—”

  Startled, Kalessa twisted in place and flipped the knife into a defensive posture. At the same moment, there was a soft, metallic sound. The orc, a servant who had stepped up behind her, blinked at the point of the long, sharp sword in Kalessa’s hand.

  “Apologies, my lady,” the orc stammered. “I should not have—your father was wondering if you were going to attend the—”

  Danr stared, astonished. So did Kalessa and the others. The simple knife had become a full-bladed sword. Kalessa recovered first. She lowered the blade and cleared her throat. “I am a bit on edge is all. Tell my father I will see him shortly.”

  The servant ducked his head and withdrew into the darkness. Kalessa, still seated, held up the sword again and turned it so the remaining firelight ran down the blade. The weapon was plain steel, unornamented but well made, with a wire-wrapped hilt and a heavy ball on the pommel.

  “What did you do?” Aisa asked breathlessly.

  “I do not know.” Kalessa balanced the sword on the back of her hand. “One moment it was a knife. When I wanted a sword, it became one.”

  “Powerful magic,” Talfi breathed. “I don’t even see any runes.”

  “Can you change it back?” Danr asked.

  “I do not know,” Kalessa said again.

  “Maybe we should look at it,” Talfi said. “You know—look.”

  All eyes turned to Danr. He shifted uncomfortably. Things hadn’t gone well last time he had done that. But Kalessa, who was sitting next to him, held up the sword on her palms. “Please,” she said.

  Danr glanced at Aisa’s face, still a new experience. To his surprise, she only nodded encouragingly. He took a breath and closed his right eye.

  The sword leaped into bright life. It seemed to twist in Kalessa’s hands like a glowing, writhing vine. One moment it was a knife. Then it was a short sword. Then a longer one. Then it was a long, thin rapier. Then it was a curved cutlass. Then it was a thick, heavy sword longer than Kalessa was tall. Then it was a small knife again.

  Danr let out a long breath and opened his eye. Kalessa was holding the sword. He explained what he had seen. Kalessa looked at the blade in wonder. “This is indeed a powerful gift. I should keep it a secret until—”

  Even as she spoke, the sword flicked into knife size. Kalessa blinked, then grinned and sheathed it at her belt. “Wait until I face an enemy with this at my side! The great lady was generous indeed!”

  “Aisa,” Talfi said quietly, “she let you take that stick.”

  “It’s only a stick,” Aisa scoffed, still poking at the fire. “Nothing else. What she really gave me was—”

  “Choices, I know,” Talfi interrupted. “But we thought Kalessa had just a knife. Maybe we should look at that, too.”

  “Only if you want me to, Aisa,” Danr said quickly. Embarrassed, he looked away. “Even though you saw a … a monster in that house, I would never want to hurt you. The real me wouldn’t, I mean. I’m sorry.”

  He continued staring away into darkness, expecting a tart reply, or—worse—silence. Instead Aisa touched his hand again. “I know,” she said. “We both did wrong things to each other by mistake. I was not truly angry at you—I was angry at Farek and my family and all the other people who had hurt me, and I pointed that anger in the wrong direction. Please accept my foolish apology.”

  Truly flustered now, Danr blurted out, “I won’t look at you ever again!”

  “Do not say that,” Aisa laughed. “I did not throw these scarves away so you would not look on me ever. Do you like my face?”

  And Danr had to answer. Suddenly he wished with every fiber of his being that Talfi and Kalessa were anywhere but at this dying fire. “I love your face,” he said. “It’s more beautiful than roses in moonlight. I knew it would be even before I saw it.”

  Now Aisa blushed and looked away. Kalessa coughed and drummed her fingers on her knees.

  Talfi said, “Are you going to look at her stick now?”

  “Oh.” Danr cleared his throat. “Yes. Hold it up, Aisa.”

  Recovering herself, Aisa did as he said, balancing the stick on her palms the way Kalessa had balanced the sword. “I cannot think what you will—”

  Danr closed his right eye.

  The explosion blasted him backward. An invisible hand bowled him over, and he tumbled away from the fire. The wind burst from his chest. He fetched up gasping and flat on his back. Overhead the stars rocked sickeningly.

  Three faces poked into view. “Are you injured?” Aisa demanded.

  Still a little stunned, Danr checked. “No.” He sat up with Kalessa and Talfi’s help.

  “What happened?” Aisa clutched the stick. “What did you see?”

  “I’m not sure.” Danr coughed, then told them what he’d seen. “It was … powerful. I didn’t get a good look, though, and I don’t understand what I saw.”

  “It’s just a stick for poking at logs,” Aisa maintained, but there was doubt in her voice.

  “It definitely isn’t,” Danr said. A suspicion grew, bringing with it both dread and hope. “Let me brace myself and look again.”

  “If you are certain.” Aisa sat in front of him and held up the stick again. This time Danr braced himself and closed both eyes, then slowly opened his left just a crack. Light spilled into his head, but it didn’t hurt like sunlight. Cautiously he opened his eye wider and wider, trying to focus on the stick. The power of the object pushed at him, but this time he was able to keep more control. The stick was ancient, and it had been touched by ancient blood. It called to earth and water and blood, blood, blood.

 
“It’s the haft,” Danr whispered, and the words spun around him in a whirlwind. “The haft of the Iron Axe.”

  Talfi and Kalessa gave identical gasps. Aisa clutched the stick to her chest. “The haft?” she repeated. “But Old Aunt used it to poke the fire.”

  “That is why she brought us there,” Kalessa breathed. “So you could prove yourself worthy of it.”

  “Bund said we should start looking for the haft in Xaron,” Talfi said slowly. “She didn’t say the orcs actually had it. Did she know?”

  “Old Aunt said that she was all women of power,” Aisa murmured.

  “Does that mean Bund isn’t dead?” Danr asked with hope.

  “I do not think it means her body still lives. It is more like a … connection. They think and act alike. Rolk! I’m holding a piece of the object that sundered the continent a thousand years ago.” She tapped it. “It feels like an ordinary piece of—oh!”

  Her eyes glazed over and she wavered. If she weren’t already sitting, she would have fallen over. Danr flung out a hand to steady her.

  “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

  “I can feel it.” Aisa’s voice came from far away. “The head of the Axe. I can sense it. It lies in darkness in a case of glass surrounded by bronze. That way.” She pointed to the northwest, then shook her head and came out of the trance. “I can still feel it.”

  “Does it hurt?” Danr asked.

  “No. But I can feel it. It is nothing like my hunger for … them.” Her face, her beautiful face, was pale. “Still, it is in Palana. With … them.”

  Danr gnawed his lower lip. Aisa had been through so much. “You don’t have to go, Aisa,” he said softly. “You’re an exile anyway. They won’t let you in.”

  “No.” Aisa slowly shook her head. “To the elves, humans are like mayflies. They won’t remember someone as unimportant as I. And I think I have to go.” Her voice quieted. “Old Aunt all but said as much.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Talfi said. “They touch you and—”

  “I am serious.” Her tone was iron. “I will go.”

  “At least the haft calls to the head,” Kalessa said. “This is helpful. Finding the power will be much more difficult, I should think.”

  “How do you find power?” Talfi mused. “I mean, an axe head and a handle, sure, but power? It’s not something you can bury under a tree or stash beneath your bed. How will we find that?”

  “One problem at a time,” Aisa said.

  “And how could you not notice what that thing was?” Talfi asked Danr.

  “I didn’t look with just my left eye,” he said without taking his gaze off Aisa. “I see everything the usual way when both my eyes are open. People can lie to me and stuff can hide, unless I look.”

  “Maybe you should wear an eye patch,” Talfi muttered. “You’d never be fooled.”

  Danr looked away and down. “No. Too painful in too many ways.”

  “Now we have to fetch it,” Kalessa said.

  “We?” Danr said.

  “Of course.” Kalessa drew her knife and flicked it. It became a long, heavy sword, and she gave a wide, orcish grin. “You cannot think I would let my sister continue this foolish quest without me.”

  “And finding the Iron Axe would bring a lot of status to your nest,” Talfi said shrewdly.

  “Enough to become Second at least,” Kalessa agreed. “Perhaps even First. And I will step through the doors of Valorhame one day. You said the Fae hold the Axe’s head in Palana, is that right?”

  “Yes,” Aisa said cautiously.

  “Then I already have an idea. We must speak to my father.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The river barge slid from the Silver River onto Lake Ta, the middle of the Three Fate Lakes, which formed stepping stones from south to north. The city of Palana, the capital of Alfhame, lounged gracefully on the southern shore a few leagues east of the river’s mouth. Aisa tried to keep her eyes on the deck of the barge, but it was difficult with the city coasting toward her at every thrust of the fairy boatman’s pole. The city called to her. It was full of wine, and she was consumed with thirst. It was full of rich food, and she was starving. It was full of air, and she was drowning.

  “Vik and Rolk,” Hamzu breathed beside her. “What is going on here?”

  Talfi’s bronze chains clanked against the planking. “Fuck us all.”

  That brought Aisa’s head up. Lake Ta straddled the boundary between Alfhame and Balsia, and it wasn’t, in fact, all that far from the hills of Skyford, which was why Skyford was a favorite target for sprite tribute slavers and the humans they employed. The Balsian side, east of the Silver River, was flat plain. The Alfhame side, west of the river, was thick elven forest. What had caught Hamzu’s eye was the human army.

  A great encampment had set up army tents all along the lake—on both sides of the border. In fact, the encampment flowed along the shore all the way to Palana itself. Soldiers, some in careful uniforms and some in rough homespun, moved about the camps. Formations drilled among the trees. Soldiers washed in the lake or pulled fish from it in nets. Hundreds of horses snorted, grazed, and champed while countless banners floated on the breeze. Aisa was not conversant with different factions within Balsia, but she did recognize banners—hastily sewn—that sported a bejeweled skull. Fairies and sprites wandered about the camps, unnoted and unmolested. There were no signs of hostility, though the men did keep their distance from the Fae as best they could. No elves were in evidence, and the men displayed only weapons of bronze and wood.

  Their journey had taken them ten days up the plains of Xaron, speeding north into humid summer weather on Slynd’s back with the lush forests of the Fae a distant green haze on Aisa’s right, well out of bow shot, though they’d been forced to leave the wyrm at the border, just as they had left Danr’s sack and the Stane’s magic box with Hess.

  Aisa had been a bit startled to learn that, despite the constant skirmishes along the boundary between Alfhame and Xaron, a number of orcs sold slaves to the Fae.

  “There are always those who are happy to trade their principles for money,” Kalessa had observed. “On both sides of the border.”

  Massing the orcish armies would take less time than Aisa had expected, but more time than Hamzu wanted to wait to hunt for the next piece of the Axe, so the four of them ran ahead of the army, which needed to march—or slither—north to the plains between Lake Nu and the North Sea, which the Fae didn’t claim. From there, they would move around south to Balsia and meet the Stane. Hamzu, Aisa knew, was hoping that Earl Hunin would finally see the wisdom of joining with a powerful force of orcs from Xaron and of Stane from under the mountain instead of fighting them.

  Unfortunately the travel time had eaten up the remainder of their days. Overhead, the two stars of Urko had grown so bright that they were visible even during the day, and they were touching. Tonight they would merge. They had to find the head of the Axe, but they had no real idea where to look. Now this army was in the way. It looked as though Hamzu’s hopes were smashing to pieces.

  “Who are all these humans?” Kalessa demanded. “What are they doing in Palana?”

  “The armies of men have arrived from Balsia,” grunted the knobby-jointed fairy at the stern. “Summoned to be our allies in the eventual war. You’re lucky you got here when you did. The borders will close soon, I’m sure. Great King Vamath has forged an alliance with the human who calls himself King Hunin.” The fairy’s saillike ears plastered themselves against his skull at the name of the human king. “We will purge Erda of the Stane and their allies”—he gave Kalessa a meaningful look—“for once and ever.”

  A sick dread stole over Aisa and ice water spilled through her bowels. She hadn’t even considered this possibility. Humans would never ally themselves with elves! But here they were. Her fingers grew white around the haft she held. The orcish army would come around the lakes and discover an enemy twice as large as they had been expecting, and allies who were far
weaker. Aisa shot Hamzu a glance. His face was absolutely stoic, but tension rode every muscle. They had to talk, and quickly, but there was no place to do it.

  “You look pale, orc,” said the fairy with a toothy grin. “Something wrong?”

  Kalessa’s hand had gone to her sword. “You are paid to steer a barge, fairy, not provide politics.”

  The barge passed the seemingly endless human army, row after row of men and tents and horses and equipment. The more she saw, the sicker Aisa became. The encampment ran right up to the edge of the city of Palana itself.

  Their barge pulled up to a dock, and another fairy wearing a golden cap leaped onto the deck.

  “Inspection,” he said. “I assume these are slaves?” He reached toward Talfi, who flinched away.

  Kalessa brought her blade around. “Keep your hands to yourself unless you want them cut off!”

  The fairy pressed his ears flat against oak bark skin. “I inspect all of the wares before they enter the capital city.”

  Aisa kept her eyes firmly on the deck of the lake barge. The sounds and smells of Palana, the capital city of the Fae kingdom of Alfhame, washed over her in a steady rhythm. The hundreds of faint footsteps of fairies pattering about the pathways. The flutter of sprites in the trees. The soughing of the wind through the leaves. The lapping of water against wood. The call and conversation of fluting voices. And the smell of the Fae. How could she have forgotten it? Earth and peat and sweetness and cinnamon all mixed together in an intoxicating aroma that made her body cry out in need. Bronze shackles weighed her down at wrists and ankles, but she barely noticed those. The hunger drove nearly every other thought from her head, and every passing moment it seemed more and more foolish that she had insisted on coming along. Her fingers were white around the haft. Aisa tried instead to concentrate on Kalessa’s voice. Listening to her harshly harangue the fairy inspector helped with the hunger.

  “Look, yes, touch, no,” she was saying. “Spoil my merchandise with your addiction, and I take the difference out in blood.” Kalessa’s new blade was in her hand. It was currently in the form of a large, sharp knife, and it made Aisa feel a little safer.