Hammer of the Earth

by Susan Krinard

  “Sutekh allied himself with the good spirits because he saw that the world would be destroyed,” Tahvo said. “He was the only god who could defeat the Serpent of Darkness, Apep, when he would swallow the sun itself. Who better than the god of rebellion to defy the Stone?”

  Aset touched the golden symbol that hung from her neck, crossed bars that hung from a loop at the top. “You are wise, mortal,” she said. “You see what I…”

  Abruptly her image wavered in Tahvo’s mind, and the shape of the goddess was replaced by a scene of conflict. There was a long room with many people, and at the end of the room, standing before rows of guards and a man on a high chair, were Rhenna and Cian. Men with shaved heads and animal-skin cloaks—priests of the city gods—mouthed curses as they swung their staffs in sorcerous attack.

  “The king has demanded the Hammer,” Aset’s voice said faintly from the air. “Sutekh refused. Now the priests call upon us—” The goddess paused as if struggling with some powerful compulsion, and Tahvo understood what the spirit did not say.

  The king of New Meroe sought the Hammer because he believed he was meant to bear it. About his neck he wore a piece of the Weapon, broken off at the end of the Godwars, and it gave him power: power to control the priests, power to convince his people that he alone could wield the Hammer against the Stone.

  But Cian had refused to surrender it, and now the priests who served the king had summoned the gods to crush this upstart with their divine magic.

  The gods could not resist, even if they wished. They were subject to the wills of the priests and the king, servants as surely as the poor, witless folk bound by the Stone in Karchedon and Hellas. This, too, was evil, born of good twisted by greed and fear.

  Tahvo watched in helpless silence as Cian lifted his Hammer, his lips drawn back in a snarl of rage, his eyes red with the fury of a god. Rhenna stood beside him, unarmed but ready to fight. From the staffs of the priests came gods-given blasts of light that struck Cian and sent him stumbling back, reeling in shock and pain. Rhenna cried out. Cian pounded the floor with the Hammer, and a great crack raced along the tiled floor, dispersing the priests and splitting the dais upon which the king stood. The king merely stepped aside, smiling.

  Men and women fled as painted columns swayed and the ground rolled under their feet. The priests recovered and slammed Cian with another blast of divine magic; Tahvo saw the spectral faces of New Meroe’s gods floating above them, spirits prepared to give the full measure of their life essence to wipe out the king’s enemy.

  It was a battle Cian and his God of Chaos could not win. One attack after another laid him low, and the Hammer flew from his grip. Rhenna dived after it. Her body writhed as her fingers touched the handle. Nyx, shouting commands Tahvo could not hear, rushed down from the platform and snatched the Hammer away.

  Cian lifted his head, and Tahvo saw his golden eyes—the eyes of the good man she knew—staring in bewilderment at the tumult around him. Then the priests encircled him and touched him with their staffs, encasing his body in golden light that wove itself into a fine net that clung to every surface of Cian’s clothing and flesh.

  In an instant of stillness Rhenna seized a spear from the lax hand of one of the guards and charged the dais, bearing down on the king like a howling gale. Nyx swung the Hammer between king and warrior, shattering the spear. The guards mobbed Rhenna and bore her to the ground.

  That was the last Tahvo saw of her friends. Aset had vanished, taking with her the gift of her vision. Tahvo crawled to the nearest wall and huddled against it, rocking to calm her galloping heart.

  Cian and Rhenna were prisoners of a mad king, and Nyx had betrayed them. Khaleme had disappeared. Only Tahvo was still free and able to act.

  Tahvo crept toward the door and listened for guards outside. She heard nothing. Perhaps the king had not considered her worth watching, or her keepers had been called to join in the battle for the Hammer. She pushed at the door, but it didn’t yield. They had bolted it from outside.

  Slowly she skimmed her hands over the gilded wood of the door. Little moisture remained within the fibers, but there was just enough for Tahvo to reach. She sought the tiny particles of water and absorbed them into herself, sapping the wood with painstaking care. The golden paint cracked. Planks buckled with a groan, and the bolt began to give way. Another shove of her shoulder snapped the lock and splintered the shrunken door.

  She stepped out into the passageway and paused to get her bearings. What noise there was came from far down the corridor. She turned in a circle, casting out with all her senses.

  The prophecies were close by. She could almost feel them, but a hundred walls might lie between her and their location. Without the help of the spirits, she could wander the palace and the city for days without coming any nearer to her goal.

  “Healer.”

  She turned to face the deep, familiar voice. “Khaleme?”

  A large, gentle hand took her arm and drew her away from the room. “Do you know what has happened in the palace?” he asked.

  “I was left here when Rhenna and Cian went to see the king,” she said, “but the spirits have shown me…” She hesitated, knowing that Khaleme’s own loyalties must now be in doubt.

  “You need have no fear,” he said, guessing her thoughts. “I slipped away before your friends were taken to the king. I know that the Watcher is the true Bearer of the Hammer, and there are others who believe, as well.”

  “Did you know who Nyx was before we came to the city?”

  “She did not reveal herself to me, but her features were those of the royal family.” He cleared his throat. “I am only a common warrior. I had no power to defy her, even if I knew her intentions.”

  “But you defy her now.”

  “Yes.” The air stirred as he looked right and left. “You seek the prophecies?”

  Tahvo nodded, and he guided her down the long, open passage. “My brother is a priest of the Archives, where the Sacred Scrolls are preserved with the magic of the gods,” he said. “Not all the holy men follow the king. Some are meeting now to decide what may be done to aid the Bearer.” His voice cracked. “There will be war in New Meroe.”

  “Is there no other way?”

  “Not if the Watcher is to be saved.” He pulled Tahvo roughly against a fluted column as marching feet tramped past. “I will take you to my brother, and he will see that you have access to the prophecies you require.”

  Tahvo squeezed his hand. “The spirits will bless your courage.”

  “If they win free of the priests who control them. Come quickly.”

  “For your loyalty, Lady Neitiqert, you will be richly rewarded.”

  King Aryesbokhe sat again upon his throne, presiding over the nervous courtiers who had crept back into the hall. His women and Nyx had resumed their seats below him, their bejewelled sandals resting on the fine powder that had sifted down from the high ceiling during the battle. The crack in the floor remained, evidence of the Hammer’s divine power, but its Bearer lay bound and helpless at the base of the dais, spoils of war cast at a conqueror’s feet.

  Rhenna knelt beside him, her singed hands tied at her back. She could hear him breathing, but he could neither move nor speak. No spirits had come to his aid; the priests of the city had summoned up a magic too mighty for even the godridden Cian to overcome, and he was only a beaten man again. Rhenna had been worse than useless to him.

  Nyx still held the Hammer. Her uncle gazed at it with an avarice his niece was too blind to see.

  Aryesbokhe raised his hands, silencing the uneasy conversation of his subjects. He turned again to Nyx. “Let it be known to all the city that Lady Neitiqert has redeemed the treason of our brother, who followed the heresy of the priest Talakhamani. Let the gods witness that my brother’s daughter is now our heir and beloved of the king.”

  Rhenna watched with contempt as the noblemen and women of the court applauded with strained smiles and broad displays of humility to their lord an
d master. She stared at Nyx, who never bothered to glance at the companions she had betrayed.

  “Lady Neitiqert,” Rhenna said when the applause had died, “has broken her word to protect those she welcomed as guests to your city, oh King. Is this the measure of your royal blood?”

  Aryesbokhe’s guards moved at once to silence her, but the king stopped them with a gesture.

  “Boldly spoken, warrior of the North,” he said mildly. “We could regard you as an enemy in league with him who tried to steal the Hammer, but Sutekh’s wiles are many. Perhaps you may be pardoned for striking at the king and be permitted some freedom in our city…once you have sworn never to serve those who would destroy us.”

  “Cian is not your enemy,” Rhenna said. “He has risked his life a hundred times for the sake of defeating the Stone God.”

  “The one you call Cian is no more,” Nyx said quietly.

  “You,” Rhenna growled. “Was there any truth in the tales you told us? Why did you urge Cian to take the Hammer when you already held it in your hands?”

  “I am not the Bearer,” Nyx said, avoiding her gaze. “It was necessary to test Cian…to be sure….”

  “Now all doubts are ended,” Aryesbokhe said. “The time of preparation begins.” He held out his hands to Nyx, his meaning unmistakable.

  Nyx tightened her grip on the Hammer and closed her eyes. Slowly she laid it across her palms and knelt at her uncle’s feet.

  The king touched the Hammer but once. It glowed like metal in the forge, radiating heat that even Rhenna could feel. Aryesbokhe gasped and fell back, clutching his singed hand to his chest.

  Two priests rushed forward to support the king, easing him into his chair. One whispered in his ear while the other examined his hand. His guards surrounded him and half carried their lord from the hall. His women swiftly followed.

  The priests raised their staffs, quieting the agitated courtiers. “I speak for the king,” one said in Hellenish. “The Hammer must be cleansed of the foul taint of Sutekh the usurper and purified in the House of Life. The king will fast and pray for the guidance of the gods. Only then will the prophecies be fulfilled.” He spoke in his own tongue to the warriors who guarded Cian, and they lifted his limp body like a sack of grain. Rhenna felt the prod of a spear against her back. She moved, staying as close to Cian as she could, and prayed that Tahvo was still free.

  Emptying her mind of all irrelevant thoughts, Rhenna let her senses take in every feature of the wide galleries and narrow corridors through which the warriors led them. One moment of inattention was all she needed, though the effort would be doomed from the beginning. She was without allies, without hope, without even a gentle, silver-eyed seer to assure her that all would yet be well….

  A small, wheaten-haired dog ran between the warrior’s feet like a mouse pursued by a ravenous cat. Two of the men missed their steps, and the others bunched up behind them. Rhenna lunged at the nearest soldier, knocking him off balance. Just as she found her feet again, figures draped in concealing head cloths burst into the passageway. They attacked the warriors with swords and clubs, while Rhenna struggled to free her hands from their bindings.

  The fight was short and deadly. Not one of the soldiers was allowed to escape. The rescuers suffered their own losses, and several more were wounded. Rhenna twisted her bleeding wrists out of the ropes.

  “Who are you?” she demanded of the newcomers.

  One of the men unwound his head cloth, revealing a shaved head and bright black eyes. “I am Dakka, chief priest of the Archives,” he said in Hellenish. “I and my brothers will take you and the holy Bearer to a place of safety.”

  Rhenna touched Cian’s chest through the webbing that bound him. His heart beat far too slowly. “You stand against your king?” she asked.

  “He would name us heretics, but we revere the writings of Talakhamani. An Ailu must bear the Hammer.” One of his followers crouched beside Rhenna, briskly examined her hands, then wrapped them in strips of soft cloth. Another gave her a bleached linen cloak and a bone-handled knife, while the rest gathered about Cian and gently lifted him in their arms.

  “There is no more time for talk,” Dakka said. “The king will not long remain ignorant of our rebellion.”

  “We left our companion Tahvo in the palace,” Rhenna said, drawing the cloak over her shoulders. “I need—”

  “Rhenna!”

  She turned with relief as Tahvo made her way toward them, her arms stretched out before her. Rhenna hurried to take her hand.

  “Devas be praised,” she said. “Nyx betrayed us—”

  “I know.” Tahvo frowned, cocking her head toward the priests. “Khaleme helped me, but he is gone.”

  “Khaleme is one of us,” Dakka said. “He can care for himself.” He passed Tahvo a cloak and head cloth. “Now we must go.”

  Tahvo hesitated. “You held the Hammer,” she said to Rhenna. “Your hands—”

  “There’s no need to worry,” Rhenna said, rising to choose a spear from among those of the fallen warriors. “I didn’t suffer nearly as much as Aryesbokhe, and I can still hold a weapon.”

  Tahvo reluctantly conceded to Rhenna’s stubbornness, and they set off at a swift pace, keeping to the long blue shadows as they left the palace grounds. Dakka led them to one of the grand buildings they had passed when they first arrived, but he did not go up the broad steps to the colonnaded entrance. He circled to the side of the building, paused before a blank wall and skimmed his hands over it, chanting words of ritual. Smooth stone dissolved into the black square of a portal.

  Dakka bent and entered, warning Rhenna of the steep stairs behind the magic door. She helped Tahvo descend into an unlit chamber. After the men with Cian had reached the bottom of the stairs, Dakka closed the door and produced a flame that danced on his open palm. A maze of corridors branched out from a featureless room. The priest chose one barely wide enough to accommodate one man at a time.

  The way was suffocating in its stifling darkness, and Rhenna began to understand what Tahvo endured every day of her life. After what seemed like leagues of dank walls and leaden air, they emerged into a small chamber bright with flickering torches. Two giant statues, expertly carved in the shape of crouching panthers, guarded a stone door at the opposite end of the room. A dozen priests, each holding a panther-headed staff, stood beneath the beasts’ snarling heads. One priest handed Dakka a similar staff engraved with mysterious symbols and capped with gold.

  Dakka’s men carefully laid Cian on the cool earthen floor. Tahvo knelt beside him. She plucked at his bindings, but not a single strand gave in spite of her efforts.

  “Khaleme spoke of the Archives,” she said to Dakka. “Is this where the prophecies are kept?”

  “They are very near.” The priest studied Tahvo with quiet intensity, including Rhenna in his gaze. “When you and the Bearer entered the city, Khaleme came to me and spoke of your quest to find the other Weapons. He was convinced that you were meant to bear them, and now I see that he was right.”

  “Nyx was certain that the prophecies can tell us where the Weapons may be found,” Rhenna said.

  “We have worked for many years to decipher those passages that mention them. We believe we have finally—”

  “There will be time to speak of these things later,” Rhenna said. “Now you must release Cian.”

  Dakka’s shoulders dropped as if he carried a weight he dared not set down. “We cannot,” he said. “Not yet.”

  “Why not, if he’s the holy Bearer you’ve been waiting for?”

  “Because Sutekh still lives within him,” Tahvo said. She cupped her hand over Cian’s muffled face. “I saw what happened in the king’s hall. Sutekh was imprisoned in the Hammer for uncounted years before Cian freed him, and now he holds Cian’s spirit in bondage.”

  Rhenna clenched her teeth. “Ge said nothing of this before she surrendered the Hammer.”

  “She did not know,” Tahvo said. “The magic that bound Sutekh was po
tent, and the spirits of the forest knew nothing of him. I did not feel his presence. Even Nyx did not suspect until it was too late.”

  “The priestess speaks truth,” Dakka said solemnly. “We did not anticipate this danger. Until we can bring the Red One under our control—”

  “The king called Sutekh a god of chaos and destruction,” Rhenna said. “He forged the Hammer to fight the Exalted. How did he come to be trapped inside it?”

  Dakka glanced at the line of priests beneath the statues, and an elderly man stepped forward. “There are a few ambiguous passages in the most ancient scrolls that tell of Sutekh’s part in the Godwars,” he said. “They say that when Sutekh forged the Hammer out of the desert sands, he claimed the right to lead the gods of Khemet in their battle against the Exalted. But the gods did not dare trust one whose nature was so opposed to the way of Ma’at. They feared he would betray them.” The priest hesitated. “What remains of the text is unclear. But it suggests that Sutekh severed a part of his ba, his soul, and bound it to the Hammer, intending to take revenge on the gods when the last battle was at its height. He worked his magic too well. The Weapons were stolen by the Exalted who escaped imprisonment, and Sutekh’s power vanished with the Hammer.”

  “Then he has no intention of fighting the Stone God,” Rhenna said. “Perhaps he even plans to join the Exalted.”

  “His ultimate desires are unknown to us,” Dakka said. “The Exalted would as gladly eliminate him as they would the righteous gods. But Sutekh had reason to come to New Meroe. The king bears a fragment of the Stone in an amulet he wears about his neck day and night—a piece chipped from the Hammer in the final battle of the Godwars. Until that piece is reunited with the Hammer, Sutekh cannot devour the ba of the Bearer and claim his full power.”

  Rhenna knelt, laid down her spear and gripped Tahvo’s shoulder, finding some small comfort in the healer’s warm solidity. “Can you drive Sutekh out?” she asked Dakka.

  “With the aid of the gods, we may leash his magic.”

  “Your spirits obey the priests who attend the king,” Tahvo said.