The Dread Hammer

by Linda Nagata

  After a while, Smoke said, “Takis is in love with—”

  Tayval pressed her fingers to his lips to stop the words.

  “I still want to kill him,” Smoke added when she finally let him speak again.

  Tayval pinched his ear—“Ow”—and kissed his cheek. Then she left as silently as she had come.

  Bloodline

  Ketty sat up for much of that night, Britta in her arms and the herbal book open on the table beside her. She turned the pages, studying the drawings and re-reading all the descriptions. She hadn’t realized before how many of the plants were poisonous.

  On the next day she took Britta outside to the garden and, strolling about, she tried to match the plants she saw to those she had studied. She thought she could name a few. She went back to the book to learn more. On the day after that it was raining, and on the following day as well, but when the sun returned she went again to look at the plants. This time she met the gardener—an older woman of a talkative nature who was happy to show her around and confirm the names of the herbs, and to describe their many uses. She even showed Ketty how to harvest leaves to make poultices and teas.

  Then Takis came to watch. The gardener seemed suddenly nervous, and after a minute she excused herself, claiming some task she must attend.

  Takis sat down on a bench and invited Ketty to sit beside her. “May I hold Britta?”

  Ketty’s guilty conscience made her reluctant to give up the baby, but Takis had been kind to her. So rather than inviting questions, she passed Britta into Takis’ gentle hands.

  Takis cooed over her niece and complimented her. Then, without looking at Ketty, she said, “A spell doesn’t die with its maker.”

  Ketty caught her breath, certain she’d been found out. She pressed her hand against her lap to hide its trembling.

  Takis said, “The Hauntén are an impulsive people with a fiery nature, much like my brother Smoke. Feuds are common among them. So Koráy put a spell on her bloodline, compelling the love of parent for child, and child for parent.”

  “Your brother isn’t loved,” Ketty whispered.

  “It’s far stronger with the firstborn. It’s a spell that’s lasted five generations. Koráy is long gone from the world, but her spell remains strong.”

  Ketty clasped her hands together. Her knuckles were white.

  Takis said, “The Trenchant is as skilled at spell making as Koráy ever was. Even when he dies, certain spells he has made will go on.”

  “You have to help Smoke,” Ketty whispered.

  “You have a choice, Ketty. You can die for Smoke, or you can live for Britta. Search your heart. If you can find there some affection for the Trenchant, he will return it tenfold, and if you give him another child, he’ll worship you as he did my mother. But he will never allow Smoke to have the love that was taken away from him.”

  Britta was sleeping when Takis handed her back. “I love my brother,” Takis said. “But I love my father too. Koráy’s spell binds us both.”

  She left Ketty trembling in the garden.

  Tayval was a spider poised at the center of a web of ten thousand threads, forever attuned to their vibrations and what they told her of the world. She read the threads better than Smoke, better than the Trenchant, and far, far better than Takis.

  “I am nothing without you,” Takis whispered as she left the garden and entered into the library where Dehan was spending the morning.

  Tayval answered from afar, We are one together.

  It was Tayval who had paid attention to Ketty’s grief and her fury, who had sensed her wakefulness that night Smoke returned late, who had noted her sudden, odd interest in the herb garden—a strange preoccupation given the turmoil in her life—and it was Tayval who’d explained to Takis her chilling conclusion.

  Why didn’t I see it? Takis wondered, remembering the hostility in Ketty’s gaze when Dehan had first lifted her down from his horse, making a claim on her there in the courtyard. Remembering that look, Takis was less surprised than she might have been by what Ketty had contemplated.

  It was Dehan’s error to look at the shepherd girl and see only what he wanted to see. Until today it had been Takis’ error to look at Ketty and see only what she expected. Tayval alone had seen through to the truth.

  The Trenchant was seated at the library’s large table, in casual discussion with two of his officers. He looked at Takis curiously as she drew near. She said, “I would see you alone when you have time.”

  “I have time now.” He pushed back his chair. “We were only discussing the blessings of wives and the charm of their babies.”

  Takis smiled. “Or is it the charm of wives and the blessing of babies?”

  The officers laughed as Takis left with Dehan.

  “What is it then?” he asked when they were together in the hall. “Have you come to tell me you’re returning to the border?”

  Takis looked up at him, surprised that he hadn’t already seen it. Tayval had seen it easily.

  She opened a door to a rarely used office, looked in to make sure the room was empty, then stepped inside. Dehan followed, but he was suddenly pensive, as if he feared grim news.

  “Close the door,” Takis urged him. “Come farther into the room.” When he had done it, she circled around, placing herself between him and the door. She met his perplexed gaze. “My father, I want you to look at me, very closely, very carefully.”

  He did it. He looked first with his eyes, and then he looked deeper, into the structure of the threads that defined this reflection of her within the world—and astonishment came over him. Next he looked from right to left as if he could see through the walls—and then he looked up toward Takis’ apartment on the floor above—and fury flared in his eyes. “By Koráy!” he shouted. “What is a Lutawan doing—?”

  Takis braced herself, ready to physically wrestle him if he tried to get to the door. But the Trenchant only looked at her, aghast. “I have a new lover,” she warned him in a sharp tone. “One I like very much.”

  Dehan made his way to an armchair and sat down. Already his anger had slipped away. He looked up at her in wonder. “You are with child.”

  “I am with child,” Takis agreed, still astonished by it herself.

  It was Tayval who had first noticed.

  Of course.

  Prayers

  The Trenchant sent Smoke south again.

  He ran the threads and found Rennish as Dehan had instructed. Her mouth set in a hard line when she saw him. She accepted the orders he handed her and read through them without a word. Then she got out a map and showed him his targets, just as she had before.

  This time he struck first in the bright light of early morning. The tower of smoke that went up from the burning could be seen for miles. At the next two holdings the families had fled, so he settled for killing the livestock and burning the houses and barns. At the fourth site soldiers awaited him, so he went on. The Trenchant had warned him to avoid melees; he wanted Smoke alive.

  At the fifth holding and the sixth he had to hunt down the family members in the field.

  The seventh was easier. It was a large holding, with two houses and a barn, but he came at noon when the family was gathered together for their meal.

  Then it was done.

  Nothing was left but fire, and Britta was safe for another day.

  Smoke didn’t know how he could go on.

  He fell to his knees in the blistering heat cast off by the curtains of fire that engulfed the houses and the barn. He prayed, help me break this spell, help me break this spell, help me break this spell, over and over, while the flames roared and danced around him.

  But who would answer a god’s prayers?

  One of the houses collapsed, sending a searing gale washing over him. It was a reminder that he had to go. Dehan was very clear in his instructions: leave no witnesses. If anyone came to investigate the flames while Smoke was still there, he’d have to kill them too. So he gave up his prayer and stood,
only to discover he was already too late.

  Three creatures surrounded him. Two were men and one a woman, but they were not human. They were Hauntén. Smoke had never seen his kin before, but he recognized them at once for what they were. They were all tall and very slender, and armed with swords on their backs. They wore their hair long, as Smoke did, but their hair was dark and bound in braids. Their complexions were smooth and smoky. They had gleaming green eyes set in angular faces, with well-defined eyebrows that leaned in, so that they looked enlivened by the energy that precedes a fit of temper.

  Of the two men, one had hair shot through with gray. He looked to be as old as the Trenchant. The other was tall and muscular and looked only a little older than Smoke. But it was the woman who caught his eye.

  She had the sleek beauty and powerful allure shared by so many dangerous things, from a finely wrought arrowhead, to a graceful blade, to a stalking forest cat. She was dressed simply in leather trousers and a close-fitting, sleeveless leather jerkin that showed off her smoothly-muscled arms. A crest of iridescent green feathers in her hair made her seem taller than she truly was.

  Desire flushed through Smoke, but it mixed badly with the primal dread he’d always felt toward the Hauntén and he lashed out, drawing his bloody, chipped sword from his back scabbard and holding it at the ready, his gaze shifting between the three as he gauged which to strike first.

  None of them reached for their own weapons. The woman and the younger man traded a condescending look. But the older man, who was dressed in a fine green tunic, spoke to Smoke in a gentle voice, “If we’d come to harm you, Smoke, you would already be dead.”

  The woman stepped forward, appraising Smoke with a bold eye. “Didn’t you pray to us? We’ve come in answer.”

  All his life Smoke had feared the Hauntén and the dark heart of the forest where they were said to live, without ever knowing why. Even now, as he looked at their sharp faces, instinct told him to flee—but hope held him back. “Who are you?” he asked, lowering the point of his sword.

  The older man answered. “My name is Pellas.” He indicated the others. “She is Thellan and he is Gawan. And you, Smoke, share a kinship with us, though you’re Bidden.”

  Smoke nodded cautiously. “Through Koráy, long ago. Can you truly break the spell that binds me?” He watched their bodies, not their faces, on guard for the least unexpected move.

  “Not from such a distance,” Pellas said. “The Trenchant has hoarded all the power of Koráy. To break his spell we have to meet it as its source.”

  “The Trenchant is at Samerhen.”

  “That’s a problem,” Thellan said with some remorse. “Samerhen is closed to us.”

  Gawan finally spoke, with a hard edge to his voice. “All the Puzzle Lands are locked away behind spells and weavings designed to keep us, your kin, on the outside. You did the same when you lived within the Wild Wood. I wonder what guilt would lead you to fear your own kin?”

  “Hush, Gawan!” Pellas snapped. “It’s enough that our families have been a long time apart. It’s natural to fear the unknown.”

  It was more than the unknown that Smoke feared, but what did it matter? There was nothing these Hauntén could do to him that would be worse than what the Trenchant had already done. “I can guide you through the weft and into the Fortress of Samerhen. But can you break the spell?”

  Pellas nodded. “The cost will be high.”

  “I don’t care about the cost. However much you want, I’ll pay it.”

  They came at twilight, when the household was gathered for the evening meal.

  Smoke came first as a swirl of vapor pouring through the walls. Several diners cried out and stumbled from their chairs. Even the Trenchant stood in alarm as Smoke materialized in the open space fronting the head table, reeking of blood and charred lives. He went to his knees at once, his head bowed in abject submission. But before his knees hit the floor he felt the gravity of the three Hauntén as they took shape behind him.

  Chairs scraped as people jumped to their feet. There were gasps and small screams and the sound of running feet. Smoke looked up to the table where his family dined and knew at once something had changed. Takis had risen to her feet to stand beside Dehan, but behind her was the Lutawan officer, Nedgalvin, and Smoke could not think why he was there, or what had moved Takis to show him to the Trenchant, and what had stopped Dehan from instantly commanding his death.

  None of them were armed, though, at least not with steel.

  Ketty was there too. His gazed passed over her swiftly. She’d backed away into the shadows behind the table. Her pretty eyes were wide with fear and confusion as she held Britta securely against her breast.

  Only Tayval was still seated. Her shocked gaze was fixed on Smoke, but everyone else stared at the Hauntén gathered behind him.

  And what were they waiting for?

  He turned to glare at Pellas. “Do it!”

  Pellas glanced down at him, and it was as if a mask had been stripped away and his inner heart revealed. Hatred blazed, a dark fire in his eyes, so fierce Smoke felt his soul begin to tear in two just as it had when he’d fled the midwife’s cottage.

  He was betrayed.

  There was no time for any other thought. He lunged from his knees, drawing his sword as he did so. The blade hissed through the air, but Pellas was already gone in a silvery vapor. Smoke’s blade whistled through the shifting cloud, meeting no resistance until it bit deep into the wooden floor.

  As he wrested the blade free Pellas coalesced almost on top of him. Smoke stepped back, but Pellas was faster. He struck Smoke’s wrist with a numbing blow that sent his sword clattering to the floor. At the same time, Pellas hooked his heel behind Smoke’s ankle and jerked hard. Smoke’s feet flew out from under him, and his back slammed against the floor.

  Pellas came after him with such speed his Hauntén body half dissolved to fluid mist. Smoke saw him draw his thin, curved sword. He tried to roll away, but Pellas was faster. Gripping the blade in two hands, the Hauntén stabbed it down through Smoke’s left shoulder. Ribs cracked, his shoulder blade snapped, and then the point of the sword sank into the wooden floor.

  Smoke tried to flee along the threads.

  But he was pinned to the world by steel, just as he’d been that day he’d met Nedgalvin. He sensed all around him the weft and warp of the deeper world, but he could not retreat into it.

  Then the pain hit him.

  It sucked all the air out of his chest, leaving him nothing left to scream with. Not that anyone would have noticed, so many people were already screaming all around the room.

  But then the first shock passed. The pain that followed on its heels only stoked his ever-present anger. Bending his right elbow, he forced himself up, an inch, two inches, his left shoulder still impaled on the sword. Its blade sliced deeper through his muscle tissue. Hot blood bubbled from the wound.

  Pellas pressed a booted foot against Smoke’s chest, slamming him back down against the floor.

  Smoke screamed. He couldn’t help it. The pain in his soul when he looked at Pellas combined with the wracking pain in his shoulder was more than he had ever imagined, or endured—but even as he screamed, he fought back. Seizing Pellas’ ankle with his right hand he tried to throw him off.

  But his strength had bubbled away with his blood. He felt its sticky warmth beneath him, clotting in his hair, and he could no more move the foot that held him down than he could lift the Fortress of Samerhen.

  It was so unfair! Pellas had betrayed him, and his defeat was complete.

  What would happen to Britta? What would happen to Ketty?

  But he already knew. Dehan would care for them. He writhed again, driving even more blood from his body.

  It was the midwife, curse her! It had been wrong to murder her, he knew that, but he’d only been trying to protect Ketty. That had seemed like reason enough at the time, but everything had gone wrong since then and now this—

  I am a fool!<
br />
  The Hauntén did not answer prayers. Koráy was the only one of them who ever had. He knew that. Yet he’d been so desperate he’d chosen to believe them. He’d brought them here—

  Fool!

  —only to find they’d come for retribution, sent, no doubt, by the old spirit who’d caught him at the cottage.

  It was so unfair.

  Ketty screamed in horror as the Hauntén demon stabbed his sword into Smoke. Her scream frightened Britta so that she started screaming too. “Help him, help him,” Ketty sobbed, and then when no one did she started around the table.

  Tayval was on her feet before Ketty had gone three steps. She caught her arm. Stay, a ghost voice whispered inside her mind. You cannot stop it.

  “He is my husband,” Ketty pleaded in a voice choked with tears.

  Stay.

  As Pellas stood balanced with one foot against Smoke’s chest, he regarded Ketty and the baby she held. “Dehan.” The Hauntén’s merciless green gaze shifted to the Trenchant. “Twenty years ago you stole away what was precious to me. I’ve come now for restitution.”

  Silence filled the room. Even Britta had stopped crying. Ketty held her close and kissed her, more a comfort to herself than to the baby. She looked at the Trenchant, and was startled to see him sigh and sit back down again. He leaned against the armrest of his chair, cupping his chin in his palm as if considering the Hauntén’s request. After a few seconds he gestured at Smoke. “Pellas, it lies there beneath your foot. All that is left. Take it.”

  “No!” Ketty shouted, and Pellas turned again to consider her, but Tayval pinched her arm and pulled her into the shadows that lurked beyond the reach of the table’s candlelight, where Nedgalvin’s broad shoulders blocked her view of Smoke. The southerner stood with a protective arm in front of Takis—but Ketty noticed that his gaze was fixed on the woman Hauntén, staring at her as if he were transfixed.