Song of the Fell Hammer

by Shawn C. Speakman

  Evelina shook her head. “You did not fail. It is merely a different path, that which you take now. The Codex Dendreth found was only ever clear you were meant to attain and then keep safe the Hammer. You have done that. Now the choice of pathways unfolds.”

  Sorin shook his head. “I do not have the Hammer.”

  “The explosion tore it free from Kieren. It is there,” Evelina whispered, pointing a twisted finger beyond the power of the Giant’s staff and into the white oblivion. “At my last, I can hear its song. So beautiful…”

  Sorin rose and moved outside of Relnyn’s power. The cold hounded him, but he paid it no heed. Through flurries pressing close to him, a long lump with a rounded end rose from the snowy blanket of the ground. Sorin reached his hand into the freezing snow, and numb fingers closed about a leather-bound wooden haft. The same song he had heard while within Kieren’s mind filled his soul again, clearer and more certain than it had been before. Even as the storm blinded him, he pulled the Hammer free from its wintry bed, barely breathing. He then moved back within his companions’ presence to view—unhindered by winter—the aspect of his quest.

  The Hammer of Aerom was unmarked by the explosion of the Rune. The simple head of the Hammer gleamed slate-grey in the failing light, and the sapphire glimmer of Relnyn’s staff played across it coolly. Sorin held its leather-wrapped haft with both hands, admiring the smooth dark grains of the handle’s wood. A carrying strap looped from the haft’s end. Although he knew the Hammer had a great weight at its steel end, it was light in his hands as though it lent him strength to wield it, a tool he was meant to have. It was as Sorin had suspected when he first saw it; it was a blacksmith’s hammer from centuries earlier. The song soothed his worries and then quieted.

  “How is it you can hear it?” Sorin asked.

  “I have been attuned to the All Father for many years, Sorin. When Kieren touched it for the first time—in effect, a facet of the All Father handling it again—it came alive once more for its purpose. It is for that reason Kieren could not steal the Hammer from the Vault at Godwyn Keep; it would have awoken the Pontiff and anyone else in the vicinity with the ability to touch Godwyn. It is now your responsibility to see it is used wisely and its purpose is fulfilled.”

  “I don’t know what it is to be used for,” Sorin said, looking into Evelina’s eyes.

  “Neither do I,” she said kindly. “In time, you will.” Evelina closed her eyes.

  “Where has Kieren gone?” Arianna asked. “Is he dead?”

  “No, he is not dead,” Evelina replied, her eyes fluttering open again. “He survived. Ganite has returned and knows as much. Child, your role in this is not yet ended either. Stay true to your heart. It is the only thing that will see you through what comes.”

  Arianna nodded and tears shone in her eyes.

  In a raspy voice, Evelina looked upon Sorin. “You must leave me here. Take Arianna and Relnyn. Return to Aris Shae. My life is spent, but my faith in you remains. Make sure yours does not fail you. The true battle is about to begin.”

  Shivers born of the cold and her tone ran through Sorin. “What do you mean?”

  “The battle for the Kingdom’s right to exist.” The old woman’s gaze locked on Sorin. “Kieren and his Master made a mistake, allowing the Hammer to stay behind. They know it not. You will remind them of it.

  “Go,” she whispered, barely audible. “I have given you what I could. It is the last.”

  With the final embers of her eyes going dark, Evelina died.

  * * * * *

  The fire snapped and crackled behind him, the hearth filling the enormous room with warmth and light, but Sorin stood with his back to it and gazed out the thick-paned window. The snowstorm had continued into the night after Evelina’s death and much of the following morning until the afternoon had seen it abate and blow itself out. The mountains were blanketed in crisp new snow, and sunshine replaced the void the blizzard left behind. It remained cold, but within the confines of Berwyn, the fire and hospitality of the Snyll—or Snow Giants as Relnyn called them—had chased the numbing effects from their limbs and appendages.

  But for Sorin, the only place the cold had not relinquished its hold was within his heart.

  Out in the courtyard, Ganite sat within the ice-encrusted snow, a constant reminder of Evelina, its marble-like exterior unmarred and blending into its surroundings. Sorin did not know how the creature had survived its plummet into the mountain’s abyss, but he hoped Ganite had made it difficult for Kieren to flee. With Evelina dead, there was no knowing what purpose the dead Pontiff’s companion brought to the world now. Perhaps the protector of Godwyn Keep had chosen Sorin as its new guardian or maybe it waited for a return to the Kingdom. Whatever the answer, Sorin was pleased Ganite sat as sentinel to the village of Berwyn.

  Sorin reached down and took a sip from a steaming cup of a sweet herbal tea, thinking about the last day. With his protective shield about Sorin and Arianna, Relnyn had carried the dead Pontiff down the mountain’s pathway to Berwyn where the Snyll had greeted them with suspicion. The Snow Giants had taken a grave toll attempting to prevent Kieren and his dragon from ascending to the Rune the Snyll warded, and they had buried their dead earlier in the day. If Relnyn had not been with Sorin, the Snyll would have turned the desperate companions away. Instead, they had warmed to the visitors and become gracious hosts.

  After the snowstorm ended, Sorin, Relnyn, and Arianna laid Evelina to final rest beneath the soil near the remnants of the Rune’s jagged stump. She had no song to mourn her passing; no Godwyn Keep choir sang her farewell. Blue sky spread as far as Sorin could see, the majesty above lending witness to the old woman’s death. Ganite had reappeared then, and Arianna wept for the loss of the former Pontiff. Sorin placed one of the Rune’s crimson leaves on the old woman’s chest before helping Relnyn fill in the grave. In moments, she disappeared from the world. Once the final dirt had been applied, Ganite moved to rest its head on the mound where the old woman’s chest would have been. It did not move until the last vestiges of afternoon had come.

  After the funeral, Arianna slept. She had not spoken of her ordeal with Kieren. The events of the last few days and the death of the former Pontiff had worn the High King’s Shadow down. All Sorin could do was wait for her to be ready.

  Sorin ran his thumb over the rough black rock in his hand. It was a fragment from the shattered Rune. When turned just right in the firelight, the grain of wood and the hardened red sap that had run through the tree glimmered. He would carry it in memory of Evelina; it would remind him of the cost of his failure.

  He took a deep breath. Evelina’s words haunted him. She had taught him the paths they took were part of a design. But when faced with his enemy, it had fallen on him to choose. Had Sorin made the right choice in trying to prevent the Rune’s destruction? Should he have left Arianna—someone he knew little about and whose allegiance still remained a mystery—to die in order to directly save the Rune? Would Kieren have upheld his promise? The possibilities he had been confronted with swirled restlessly in his mind. He may never know the answer. It was pointless for him to suspect; nothing he could do right now would help anyway.

  The snap of a disintegrating ember from the fire broke through his reveries. He reached absently down to his hip.

  The Hammer of Aerom hung there attached to his belt. It would never be far from him. Evelina had said the Hammer was his—that he would wield it to its ultimate end—but he did not see the benefit of such a destructive tool in his hands. He was not a warrior or battle leader; he was not a conqueror or destroyer. Powerful men and women would vie for the right to possess it; they might attempt to kill him for it. Even though that knowledge shook him, Sorin knew he would never give up the Hammer; it had cost too much, and it was now his responsibility.

  In comfort, the Hammer’s song intruded upon his thoughts with a light, soothing melody. Sorin discovered it was there, in his head, and like Artiq, it was never too far away. But it
did little to reassure him. Isere the Witch had said he would kill two Pontiffs, and although he had not had a direct hand in Evelina’s death, he now knew what the ancient shade had meant. Sorin had been inadequate to prevent the obliteration of the Rune, and with its destruction the All Father’s link to the world had been permanently severed. To his knowledge, Godwyn priests and clerics would lack the ability to call soncrists into existence. Miracles would no longer be able to be crafted. No amount of consolation—including the retrieval of the Hammer—could change that fact.

  Relnyn came into the room and stood before the fire, warming his giant hands, his staff in the crux of his elbow. After the silence became strained, the Giant said, “I know what you are thinking.”

  Sorin did not blink, did not turn. He was tired. “So Giants are mind readers now?”

  The Giant snorted. “If that were the case, I would have known the Woman King’s warlock was Kieren.”

  Sorin did not respond but remained looking outside.

  “The paths we take decide whom we become,” Relnyn said, walking over to Sorin’s window and looking out its frosted glass. “It is not destiny. Through peace and understanding—by protecting and looking out for all life in the world—we are given the path by which to walk. Look at me, Sorin. I have failed to uphold the teachings of my childhood, the lessons learned centuries ago by my forefathers. They survived a terrible holocaust created by their own design and turned from their dark ways. For them, their path was chosen by the world around them. It was either the world’s total destruction through genocide or life. I won’t give up finding my own path. Not while there is a chance for my redemption.”

  “What did it feel like? At the Morliun Tower?”

  Relnyn frowned. “It was like becoming a dark twin of myself, carrying a mantle of absolute power. I cared not for anything. I craved to destroy. It wasn’t because I was trying to save us; that was merely the impetus. Once unleashed, I didn’t care what lived and what died so long as the world suffered my wrath. It is an emotion that has awakened within me, one I must control. It was an emotion I never want to feel again.”

  “You are Darkrell then,” Sorin said.

  With a conviction Sorin had not heard in the Giant’s voice for several weeks, Relnyn said, “I am what I choose.”

  “Evelina helped you, didn’t she?” Sorin questioned.

  “She was a very wise woman,” the Giant said. “The world needs more like her.”

  Sorin thought of Kieren. They were a lot alike. Forces beyond their control had ripped their former lives from them and stolen the futures they could have had. How had they walked down such completely different paths—one warmed by light and the other draped in shadow? He had turned from Kieren’s offer even when those he loved were murdered and the pain was still quickened within him. Why hadn’t Kieren turned from the darkness? Why had he embraced it even as Sorin had not? These were questions he had been asking himself the last few days, and he doubted he would ever find the answers.

  “What makes a man evil?” Sorin asked. “From what you are saying, it sounds like the path you take is not one of your own discovery. Is that not enabling the world to control you and removing blame from your shoulders?”

  “Not at all,” Relnyn replied. “There is a balance in the world, Sorin, and it is undeniable. It’s not established by rules of the world; everything is governed by that balance but it’s in constant flux with polar ends. Good and evil are two such extremes. But what my forefathers learned is a difference of perspective in the world, something to embrace rather than war with. If a person wanders too far down a particular path, it is difficult for them to return to that pathway’s origin. Evil men and women have journeyed too far from their origin and no longer realize there are others in the world on different paths.

  “Woe arises when these paths cross,” Relnyn finished. “But it doesn’t have to be that way.”

  Sorin thought about what the Giant said. The young man had strong opinions about the world but nothing that gravitated toward a need for violence. Rational discussion had gotten him nowhere with Kieren, although Sorin had glimpsed a moment of uncertainty in the evil man’s eyes. Perhaps there was a possibility Kieren was not entirely evil.

  “You are not to blame for what has happened, Sorin. It is the fault of a man thinking in absolutes, and the lies that led Kieren down his particular path were numerous and not of his making.” The Giant peered closer out the window. “We will leave these mountains soon—perhaps tomorrow if the conditions prove favorable—and you may have the opportunity to balance that which has swung so wildly askew. Koniq, the leader of the Snyll, has promised the necessary supplies to make it happen.”

  “Koniq has been very generous,” Sorin responded. “The sacrifice he and his people made for us will not be forgotten.”

  Relnyn smiled. “Have you ever known an Ashnyll not to care, Sorin?”

  Sorin shook his head. He had not. It was one of the things Thomas had told him that seemed long ago now. The Kingdom was in danger. That much Sorin knew. He understood Relnyn’s desire to return as soon as possible; the Giant cared as much as Sorin did.

  “It is what we all do with circumstance that makes the difference,” Relnyn said, returning to the reason he had begun the conversation with Sorin. “There is beauty in the world, even in the darkest of times. We must be those who choose to realize it is worth fighting for.”

  In the distance, the blue of the sky purpled toward sunset. The mountains were swathed in a white blanket, an eternal prism of colors dying as the sunlight faded. A shroud of fog draped the lower lands, what lay beneath a mystery. It was peaceful. Sorin imagined this was the view the stars enjoyed every night; he knew it might be the last time he enjoyed a reprieve from the coming madness.

  Not needing to say anything further, the two friends watched the day end.

  Epilogue

  Standing at the edge of a loamy cliff on the peninsula of Godwyn Keep and the twisted Tanglewood’s snarling depths at her back, Isere the Witch watched the setting sun sink toward the flat expanse of the ocean and breathed deep.

  A hundred kingsyards below her, the waves pounded the rock with unceasing thunder. Somewhere behind her, beyond the eastern borders of the Tanglewood and the Bay of Reverence, the last rays of autumn sunlight highlighted the top of the Tower of Illuminae before vanishing entirely, heralding the coming night. The sun dipped into the ocean, casting beautifully layered oranges, reds, and purples upon one another in an ever-shifting darkening, but Isere was a stain amidst all of it, a form blacker than the forthcoming night.

  The wind carried the salt and ice of the north, and though she shivered beneath her clothing, she paid it no heed. To feel anything was a change from that dark void she had been imprisoned within; even the most nerve-wrenching pain would be exquisite and a testament to her rebirth. Those who had imprisoned her so many centuries ago were dust, their flesh rotted to nothing and their bones disintegrated, but she remained. The Rosemere had stolen the life she was meant to lead, a plaything for High Kings and Pontiffs.

  No longer. The Rune of Aerilonoth was destroyed, and the All Father’s power that once fed her prison was now gone. She was free from the unfeeling black limbo—as were others—but it had also preserved her festering will. Now the rage she carried was all consuming, and only absolute revenge could slake it.

  Strands of her white hair came untucked from her cowl and tickled her aged, weathered cheeks. She ignored them. Down the peninsula to her left, pristine-white towers rose from a shining jewel of a city, catching the last fire of the day in dazzling relief. Godwyn Keep. Along with the Kingdom and its bloodline of High Kings, Godwyn Keep shared in the culpability of her imprisonment, their power forcing her essence into that infernal spring. Her enemies were so close she could almost smell them, their sanctimonious revelry of control a stench on the air she could not ignore.

  It would be so easy to enter those white, granite towers and halls and destroy every living soul
who inhabited it. Godwyn Keep was now powerless, unable to perform even the simplest soncrist, and her power had never burned brighter. But to do so would trumpet a clarion call of her freedom to her enemies, and she desired anonymity. Godwyn Keep and those who stood in her way would suffer her wrath soon enough.

  As the wind swirled past her, she smiled. The armies of the Kingdom were fleeing before the pagan power in La Zandia. It had begun. There were others of her faith still in the land, of that she was sure. They were weak—a shadow of their former glory—but that would change in time. Even they would be unaware of her and the forthcoming power struggle to take place. Time would be her cloak, her shadow, and she would use it until it no longer served her.

  She closed her eyes and reached out with her power, tendrils of her soul probing the land beneath her feet. It was changing. A gathering of will and power born of the land—an authority the world had never known before—was building. The Rune’s destruction had upset the world’s balance, and other forces would soon rise. Most would only feel the onset of winter—the fallen temperatures, the horrendous weather, and the deadened life after the harvest—but the end of the All Father’s power signaled the coming of an entity more powerful than any that had walked the world before.

  Isere opened her black eyes and smiled, the wind whipping whitecaps upon each wave. There were others in the world as powerful as she was. Even while imprisoned in the Rosemere she had felt their presence. Two sons of the All Father—one twisted and evil, the other born in response to the first one’s fall from grace—walked the world with their own agendas. One even possessed the Hammer she had used to kill Aerom. They were both powerful, and although she had to be wary of them, she would revel in their demise at her hand.

  The sun disappeared beneath the horizon, taking all warmth with it. Winter was coming, and with its chilling touch the Scion would be born. To control it would be to control the world, and Isere intended just that.