Song of the Fell Hammer

by Shawn C. Speakman

  “Stop it child,” Evelina said. “Get up. I am Pontiff no longer, haven’t been since around the time of your birth, I’d guess. I am only an old woman living out the last of her days in peace and tranquility. Now come near so I can look at that arm.”

  She did so. With tough, calloused fingers, the old woman removed the shredded cloak, ripped the tunic arm at the shoulder and viewed the damage done to Arianna’s arm.

  As Sorin watched, he was stunned. He remembered Pontifex Charl speaking of Evelina during Sorin’s time in Aris Shae. She had left her seat when she had realized no member of the Godwyn Council would heed her warnings of the Wrathful gaining a disciple to ruin the world. They did not believe the tentative few sentences in the Book of Iorek. When her arguments had become futile—and rather than lead a lie—she left the position she had been voted into and traveled to find her own truth. According to Dendreth, Garethe had taken over the position almost immediately, and no one had seen the former Pontiff since.

  Song flooded the room, cutting through Sorin’s thoughts. The old woman’s voice was dry and raspy, having lost the sweetness a youthful woman possessed, but it carried and held a solace that permeated the notes and lyrics and soothed the air it enlivened. Evelina concentrated on the girl’s arm, and Arianna stood still as if held in a vice. Before Sorin’s eyes, the arm lost its redness and the wounds closed enough to scab over.

  The song ended, the sound of the fire returned, and Evelina leaned deep into her chair, clearly exhausted form the effort.

  “They will be nasty scars,” she said, regaining her breath. “But that is a fair consolation instead of losing the arm entirely. Now, you know who I am. Who are you? You come from the Kingdom; I can guess that much from your accent.”

  “Can I get you anything?” Arianna interrupted.

  Evelina waved the girl away. “I will recover. It’s been a long time since I’ve called that soncrist into being.” She eyed Sorin. “I’m assuming the horse is yours?”

  She knew about Artiq. “How do you know about him?”

  “Ganite and I share a bond. It is difficult to explain, but he keeps me informed of the territory we have sort of staked as our own.” She paused. “Is Artiq your horse?”

  Sorin simply said, “Yes.”

  “I see the second falling star before me, then, grown almost into a man. I wonder who he has become. This is a pleasant but difficult change of events,” she said, and all merriment in her eyes disappeared. “There is a great deal about you I think you should explain. Leave nothing out and start at the beginning.”

  Sorin did so. He began with the moment the jerich appeared at his home, on to his visits at the Dym and the Sentinel Glade in Lockwood, the freeing of Artiq, and his meeting with Isere the Witch, the High King, and Pontifex Charl in Aris Shae. Finally, he finished with his imprisoning at the hands of the Woman King in Keslich ’Ur, the knowledge they had discovered about the Hammer, and what Kieren intended to do with it. Every so often Evelina would ask a question for clarification, but the rest of the time she remained silent as she listened to the young man relate the events of his last few months.

  “Why are you so sad?” Sorin asked.

  “I am sad for Thomas,” Evelina answered. “He was one of the more noble and honorable men in the High King’s retinue. And you freed him, Arianna?”

  “I did,” Arianna said, stretching her shoulder. “Reuniting the staff with the Giant gave me time to do the rest.”

  Evelina smiled, her wrinkles pinching her eyes almost shut. “I too had hoped the Giants would come again. With Thomas returning to Arish Shae, perhaps not all is lost.”

  “And maybe the High King and Council at Godwyn Keep will end all threats before they can gather against the Kingdom,” Sorin pointed out.

  Evelina shook her head. “The Council. They will have to be strong. In retrospect, maybe I should have been stronger, more vocal about my beliefs. When I saw the first falling star in the sky, I knew the end of was possible. The Book of Iorek left just enough of it in there. Who could have known the Hammer would be the instrument of the All Father’s destruction on his own creation?”

  “If you felt so strongly about it, why did you move here?” Arianna asked as she chewed on a meal the old woman had prepared for them while she listened. “And what did you do to make Ganite leave its duty at Godwyn Keep?”

  “Why do we do anything?” Evelina warmed herself by the fire. “What moves us into the roles we take on in life? Luck? Happenstance? Providence? A divine machination where we must play our part and only our part? Our own free will? I cannot tell you why I came here, only that I did and that it felt the right thing to do.

  “As for Ganite,” she said, looking out one of the round windows. “I did nothing to coerce him into coming with me, if that’s what you mean. He followed me. When I left the Keep I had few items, some coin, and an inkling of where I would go. I turned around and he was there, watching me, waiting for something to happen I guess. I traveled beyond the peninsula, and he was still with me. He has been my guardian ever since. At his origin’s purpose, he was meant to protect Godwyn Keep. Now, I don’t know what to think.”

  Sorin sat near Arianna and ate his portion of the meal. “What should I do?”

  “The question is, I believe, what do you think is the right thing to do?”

  “I have been given the role of finding the Hammer,” Sorin responded, choosing his words carefully. “The Codex Pontifex Charl found prophesies another savior will come to set right the evils of the first, and by all accounts, that is me. But the High King has sent me to kill Kieren before he accomplishes his goal, a man who wields power I have yet to learn or control. To do that, I must break my own beliefs; Kieren will not accept defeat until he is dead. How can a man be faithful to the All Father and the teachings of the Codex and yet murder another?”

  “Prophecy is a guide, Sorin. Nothing more. You must still make a choice. That choice may or may not be part of the same design the All Father has for you. You could, in fact, turn around and leave the Reach and this Kieren to the design he has embraced. Would that decision stop the Wrathful? It might because one cannot foresee the consequences of that action. But the more important question may be: is that part of who you are? Are you the type of man to flee when hardship grows too difficult?”

  Sorin realized he was not. He had been raised to honor and respect life but also to see its trials through to their end, no matter how tough life became. The destruction of the Rune of Aerilonoth could only lead to more families destroyed, lives pained, death inflicted. Both of his parents had sacrificed themselves so that he may live, and now would he not do the same so others could have that chance to make a difference? Did he not owe the memories of his parents that much?

  “I see you struggle with your own power in this,” she said. Sorin nodded.

  “Try to create an orb again,” Evelina beckoned.

  Sorin closed his eyes, yearning to pull forth light as he had before. Nothing happened.

  “You must be open to the world for your power to work,” the former Pontiff said. “It is who you are. Only by accepting the world into your heart will you alter it to your needs.”

  “I want to save what I care about,” Sorin replied. “It’s just…”

  “I know,” Evelina said. “I’ve been there. Uncertainty can undo a person.”

  Sorin did not know what to say. She knew what he was thinking.

  “Go after Kieren as soon as you can and wrest the Hammer from him.” She patted his shoulder. “These are weighty issues, even for you. For decades I have studied the nuances of the Godwyn faith and the philosophy of the world. I have chosen my own particular belief why events take place in the world the way they do. But you know what else I have discovered?”

  The fire’s embers snapped. Sorin shook his head.

  “There is no easy road to travel on to find the answers. It’s a lifelong pursuit—for most, one without answers—as that road comes to an end only whe
n we find ourselves in the Beyond. The road may branch, obstructions may block it, but in the end we only have the journey upon the road.”

  He nodded. “Can you show us the way to the Rune?”

  She sighed and shook her head. “I cannot. The heavy snows have come to the Clennick Mountains, and I have long since lost such appetites for adventure. I left from guiding Godwyn Keep when no one wanted to listen, and now I am far too old and frail to make such a trip, let alone be much use.”

  Arianna asked, “How can you be so certain the Rune is there?”

  “The Rune is in the Clennick Mountains; I know that much. At times the ice glows red, casting the sky with pinks and purples.”

  After a long silence, Sorin asked, “Why would the All Father allow his gift to the world to become polluted? Why is Kieren evil?”

  “Who knows what the All Father has planned? What I do know is the world’s evil has changed Kieren, and he is no longer what he was when he came into the world. He made a choice. You have made one as well and will continue to do so.” She paused, looking around the room as if coming to her senses. “You both will stay the night, rest, and on the morrow I will share with you what I know of the surrounding countryside and the easiest paths to gain the heights. Then you will have better luck finding the Rune. And Kieren.”

  She prepared bedding on the floor for both of them. Arianna fell asleep immediately, the damage done to her arm needing sleep’s healing embrace.

  “Still,” Evelina added before she retired. “Something bothers me about all of this. If Kieren desires the Rune’s destruction, why not take the Hammer earlier and use it? Why does the Rune still exist? Something to think about.”

  As Evelina went to bed, Sorin stared at the ceiling. He did not know the answers to her questions. The hearth’s fire went out long before he closed his eyes.

  Chapter 36

  High King Nialls Chagne strode through the hallways of his palace in Aris Shae, the knowledge his hope awaited him in another room drawing him on like a thirsty man to water. It was late morning, the day having already begun with governing matters of a wide variety, but Nialls prayed this new visitor would help lift his spirits. A delegate from the Marcher Lord awaited the High King, and with him the hope for peace.

  He shook his head as he entered a new wing of the palace. Apparently his continued diplomatic pursuits had borne fruit, but it remained to be seen if the fruit would be ripe with possibility or rotten with the seeds of war.

  He walked on, the Wards behind him shadows of protection.

  War.

  The very word unnerved him. He thought of the plans he had put into motion, the wheels he had been forced to turn and those he had oiled. The discussion with Erol and Rowen a week earlier had gone well and both men had accomplished much in that time. Rowen prepared the remaining bulk of the Kingdom’s army for warfare against a threat no one had battled in four centuries. It would take careful planning, but Nialls had full confidence in his First Warden’s training and ability to command. Where Rowen lacked humility, he certainly possessed will, and during times of strife willpower was often the deciding factor in who prevailed and who lost.

  Nialls wondered what he would have to give in order to prevail.

  War.

  The word crackled on the air. It was during times like these he needed wise words to overcome the fear and uncertainty war brought. Dendreth was still gone, lost on his quest to Falkind Island, but the High King hoped the old Pontifex would return soon. He needed allies and he needed strong men to give advice. Nialls had the counsel of his First Warden and the new Pontiff, and various spies reported only to him, but true wisdom escaped all of them. Nialls knew one of Rowen’s flaws was his desire to prove himself, the leftovers of being second son and draped in the shadow of Thomas. With Erol, Nialls knew the Pontiff was untried and untrustworthy. Advice from them would have to be filtered for what it was.

  He turned a corner, and although his Wards were with him, he was alone.

  War.

  The word followed on the reverberating echoes of his footfalls like ghosts waiting to overwhelm him. Throughout the palace the word had spread; war was on the lips of the servants in the palace and in the eyes of the Warden in the hallways. The whispers rippled throughout the city and the Kingdom and returned to him in his bed while he slept. War contained primal power within its usage, an animalistic furor the word initiated on some basic level. Men would die and yet excitement still permeated the city. The Kingdom was preparing for war even though no one had ordered it so. Erol had left for Godwyn Keep to muster the resources needed to combat witchcraeft, the First Warden trained his men, and Nialls went to end it all before it even began.

  War.

  The word was a living thing, a disease, spreading through the populace while Nialls bled sadness at his son’s bedside, leaving him raw and exposed to his crumbling monarchy.

  Nialls came to a door guarded by two Wards, their armor polished and their salutes crisp. They would have checked his visitor for weapons, ensured the diplomat carried nothing on his person other than the clothes on his back. Nialls walked into the room and closed the door, leaving the word of war and all of its dire nature behind him.

  The chamber was large and bright, the windows across from him stretching from the floor to the ceiling and illuminating the corners with the dazzling day. Plush chairs, divans, and tables were set up for comfort. The collection of knowledge in this library was meant for visitors in the hope of bringing light to the darkness of the world. It was the room of choice today. Rather than intimidate his visitor in a tomblike room, the High King hoped to build a bridge between the division in La Zandia and that of the Kingdom.

  Like a sliver of darkness against the bright windows, a figure stood with his back turned toward the High King. He was a nondescript man, with average height and build, balding slightly at the crown of his head where short, wavy hair slowly gave way to age. A thin woolen tunic covered a brown shirt, and black pants were neatly tucked into his boots. There was nothing remarkable about him, but his posture possessed dignity and authority. Nialls saw immediately the visitor was not someone who was prone to failure and demanded the most from those around him.

  Nialls became more guarded than usual. The Marcher Lord chose his advisors well.

  The High King waited for the man to turn. Even though the door closed loudly enough for the Marcher Lord’s emissary to know the High King was there, the visitor continued to stare through the windows down into the garden where the Rosemere shimmered under the sun at the pinnacle of the Wyllspring Garden. A cold front had come in overnight but had left almost as quickly, the last of summer’s oppression finally lifting to the cooler temperatures of early autumn, and the room had embraced the change in temperature. Nialls shivered. This would not be easy.

  “Welcome to Aris Shae, Cael Barr,” Nialls said with sincere authority, hoping to pull the man’s attention back to the moment. “Thank you for traveling so far to speak with me.”

  The figure remained enraptured by the window. “It’s ironic how the place of Godwyn Keep’s birth is also the prison of our greatest champion,” Cael said.

  Nialls noticed the man had not used a formal title. This already did not bode well.

  “She was a great evil,” responded Nialls, walking to the window. If he did not win over this man, war would be the only recourse left him. “But even now I wonder if her punishment was too harsh. To live undying through the ages is a fate worse than death, I think.”

  “Evil is one side of a coin only,” Cael responded, turning to the High King. His brown eyes flashed in a plain face and bore into those of Nialls. “And it is one determined by the person flipping the coin. Who are you to classify it for everyone?”

  “I am the High King of the Kingdom and anyone or anything to bring harm to my people becomes my responsibility. She did so then.”

  “You are but a man, Nialls Chagne,” Cael said with disgust. “No different than I or those who are
in La Zandia. Wisdom is not only yours to wield. Point of view arises from circumstances, circumstances that are often only half seen. You call Isere evil. I say she fought for the cause so her people would have the right to exist in the face of oppression. Godwyn Keep and the Kingdom may have the All Father’s blessing, but does the doctrine of the Codex say anywhere in its pages the Keep should rule over all? In fact, it preaches to embrace those who do not understand and turn away when they strike you. La Zandia desires nothing more than to have the right to practice its faith freely and without the restraint of the Kingdom.”

  “What you suggest has been done in the past and failed,” Nialls said, trying to keep an open mind. “The pagan influence seems bent on dominating the world no matter how large a piece of it your religion owns. How do I know this self-titled Marcher Lord will not attack the Kingdom the moment he feels he is powerful enough to do so?”

  “Laver Herid has the will of the people at his back, and they do not crave bloodshed of any kind.”

  The High King paused to think. Cael Barr was crafty with his words. Nialls had never met the man before—Luc Chiret had filled him in—but he knew him to be a wealthy trade merchant in La Zandia. He would certainly know what the will of the people desired and how they felt about Laver Herid, but the question was how much of it was truth. Merchants worked hard to line their pockets, and Nialls could not be sure the man had not been bought with bribes, lies, or blackmail. What Cael Barr proposed was not illogical—and Nialls’s spies had not reported otherwise—but as with most political intrigues, there was more beneath the surface.

  The pagan religion was one Nialls had read a great deal about but never fully understood. It drew its power from the land, and those of Blackrhein Reach worshipped a multitude of gods displaying various attributes. The Pontiffs of Godwyn Keep had used missionary forays into those areas to turn the people from their heathen ways, but the pagan influence endured. The few who remained active in the south had become embittered, from what Nialls knew, and Laver Herid had used that extremism for his own purposes. Now the threat had grown, and it would be heard, painfully if needs be.