Hammer of the Witches

by Kai Wai Cheah

  She smiled slightly. Nodded. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Do you know who this enemy is?”

  “No… But I think we can see what they want.”

  “Oh?”

  She swept her arm across the screen. “Read carefully. They called Hexenhammer far right Nazis and terrorists. In the op-eds, the columnists are condemning the Neo-Right and call for an end to nationalism. Every single one of them. It’s like they’re all coordinating to deliver the same message. And as far as the media is concerned, there’s no difference between the far right and the Neo-Right.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “So what’s the difference between the Neo-Right and the far right?”

  “You can start by looking at the Sixteen Points of the Neo-Right. There are a lot of ideological similarities, but the key difference is attitude. Most far-right figures don’t do more than talk. We act.”

  “We? You consider yourself on the Neo-Right?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “We do more than just write blog posts and mount protests. We take the war to the enemy.”

  In the Near East, I worked with local tribes and militias to fight the enemy du jour. They were opium smugglers, arms traffickers, Wahi fundamentalists only a few shades lighter than the insurgents. They were bastards, but they were our bastards.

  Hexenhammer was little different; they just subscribed to a different ideology. The trick was to keep them focused on our common enemies.

  “Do you have a problem with that?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “We’re on the same side here.”

  She smiled. “Good.”

  “What do you think the media is doing?” I asked.

  I had an inkling myself, but I wanted to hear what she really thought. And just like that, the anger came back, dialed down, but still present in her smoldering eyes.

  “Don’t you get it? They are using this to smear all nationalists as terrorists. They are going to reinforce the policies of open immigration that led us to this mess, and anyone who disagrees is as evil as the ‘Hexenhammer terrorists.’ Everyone on the right is now the enemy.”

  “Sounds a lot like Neo-Right talking points.”

  “It’s also the truth. Why else are they spending so much time and energy doing this?”

  “And what is the ultimate objective? What’s the purpose of degrading nationalism and tearing down borders?”

  She opened her mouth. I held a finger.

  “Just a second,” I said. “Look. We can agree that there’s something going on. But what? Is this really our enemy manipulating the media for their own nefarious ends? Or is it just politicians and their allies taking advantage of the chaos to spout talking points? Let’s not jump to conclusions until we have evidence.”

  She licked her lips. “I… have a friend. Stepan. He’s our information war specialist. He knows people. Knows things. He might be able to tell us what’s really going on.”

  In other words, he was the group propagandist.

  “Stepan sounds like a Rhosian name.”

  “Yes. He is Rhosian. I’ve been trying to reach him, but he hasn’t responded to my messages. He might have gone underground. Many of our members have.”

  “Or the enemy got to him first and made him disappear.”

  “There is that possibility.” She sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on. I can only hope that he replies soon.”

  “Until then, we have to proceed one step at a time. Pick up supplies, get more intelligence and then see what pops up.”

  “Yeah.” She paused and smiled. “I’m glad you’re with me.”

  “No problem.”

  ***

  There were no distractions inside my cabin. Just clean, empty space.

  After dinner, after training and more studies, I retreated to my cabin and cycled through my mental exercises. Light stretching, deep breathing, meditation, a selection of passages from the Book of Illumination. When I was ready, I settled into my bed and closed my eyes.

  Al-Hakem al-Dunya, I wish to speak with you.

  The darkness gave way to a sea of cold unblinking stars. Countless numbers of stars in every direction. My feet registered texture, smooth and hard, but I saw nothing there. Perhaps I was standing on glass.

  In front of me was a tall man with massive wings sprouting from his back, each the length of his body. An eye adorned every feather, and out the corner of my eye I saw more eyes peeking through from stranger planes that faded away when I looked more directly. He wore no clothes and had no genitals. His body was as dark as the Void, barely visible by the faint starlight, but his eyes were like twin suns.

  “At last,” Hakem said. “You have finally reached me.”

  “At last? And why are we here? I thought I invited you to my mental space.”

  “The Unmaker has been interfering with us. With you. I had to take your soul here, to my realm, that we may converse in peace.”

  “Interfering? What do you mean?”

  “You’ve had strange dreams recently, and you were unable to reach me. That was his doing.”

  “That doesn’t sound like much.”

  “It is only what you were aware of. Consider: why have your requests for arms and ammunition been rejected? Why was your airship delayed and incomplete? Why did you have to alter your travel plans?

  “It is the hand of the Unmaker. He prevented your Program from utilizing your NISA’s access agents in friendly airports. He convinced your Program’s managers that your mission does not require weapons. He engineered delays and errors while your airship was being rebuilt.”

  “This reminds me of religious fanatics blaming every catastrophe they have ever experienced on the Unmaker.”

  “In this case, it is literally true. I have seen the signals emanating from the Basileon Abyssou. I have heard his laughter echoing in Haawiyah. Remember: he has marked you, and he will pay personal attention to you.”

  When I was a child, I had been stupid enough to call on the Unmaker to answer a few stupid questions. The consequences haunt me still. But this… This sounded like some crazy conspiracy theory.

  I crossed my arms. “What does he want?”

  “To wear you down and rob you of the focus you need to contact me.”

  To contact higher-order beings in their home plane, you need to alter the quantum vibrations in the microtubules of your brain, resonating and synchronizing your consciousness with them. But this becomes exponentially harder when you are exhausted.

  “So he wants to stop me from reaching you so that you won’t be able to tell me what’s going on.”

  “Yes. Everything he did was intended to force actors and events to converge toward a single point in space-time.”

  “In Anglian, please.”

  Hakem sighed.

  “To put it more simply, he manipulated events to allow the enemy to trace Frank and find your safe house.”

  “So that’s how they found us.”

  “Yes. To be precise, they found the cover identity. And through it, you.”

  “How did the enemy know who he is?”

  Hakem steepled his fingers as though in deep thought.

  “I can tell you there is a traitor within Hexenhammer.”

  “Who is he? What is his name?”

  “I am not allowed to tell you. You must find the answer yourself.”

  “Why?”

  “It is the will of the Source. I cannot allow you to disrupt the traitor’s place in the Divine Plan before his time. Nor yours.”

  Al-Hakem al-Dunya is the will of his god manifest in this world. He cannot do anything that contradicts that will. He could not even think of doing anything Asul did not desire.

  But this?

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “No. Even if I told you now, you will have no evidence beyond my word. The word of a being Hexenhammer and the Nemesis Program believes is a threat. No one will believe you. You must unearth the traitor by your own efforts. Only then will your a
llies and superiors believe you. And support you.”

  I sighed. “Fine. What can you tell me?”

  “I can tell you the kill team is not human.”

  “What are they?”

  “Meat puppets. Jinn inhabiting human flesh.”

  “How is that…” I paused. “Project Conjurer?”

  “Yes. Your friends can tell you more when they meet you.”

  When. That meant they were coming to meet me after all.

  “That black stuff I saw in the shooters’ heads. Is that nythium?”

  “Yes.”

  I sighed. “That explains it. What kind of jinn are they?”

  “The Hellenes called them Gigantes. In your language, they are known as giants.”

  “That makes them daimons.”

  His teeth, pure and white, shone in the dark. “We speak different tongues, as you know.”

  “Right. What can you tell me about the giants?”

  “Their race was made for war. The least of them have the strength and resilience of ten men and the aggression of an enraged bull. They have knowledge of every weapon ever made by human hands, and more besides. Do not underestimate them.”

  “Do they have weaknesses?”

  “They are more eager to kill than to think. You cannot fight them head on. You must outsmart them.” He frowned, staring at something behind me. “It seems they’ve been recalled to the world. You’ll encounter them soon enough.”

  I turned around. I saw only darkness.

  “Don’t bother, son of Adam. You cannot see what I can see.”

  I sighed. “How do I destroy the giants once and for all?”

  “You can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  He looked askance at me.

  “When you defeat a jinni—well, a daimon—in your world, you are merely disrupting the nythium-based matrix anchoring its consciousness. The daimon will be returned to its home. It does not suffer any lasting effects.”

  “So a psion can summon it again.”

  “Yes. Daimons are not mortals like you. They are immortal. Like me, they are entities of pure consciousness that exist outside the boundaries of biology. You cannot slay a being that has never been alive. What you can do is defeat his masters—the ones with the power to bind him to the world.”

  “Is that my role in the Divine Plan?”

  “Yes. It is your mission, and it is conducive to your long-term survival.”

  “I see. Who are his masters?”

  “The ones I warned you about. The human pawns of the Unmaker.”

  I blinked.

  “So you’re telling me that Hexenhammer is being targeted by an unknown faction which is being supported by the Unmaker.”

  “Yes.”

  “This faction believes that persecuting Hexenhammer will further its ends. And, whether they know it or not, it will also further the Unmaker’s goals.”

  “Yes.”

  “What do they want?”

  Hakem sighed and spoke in the tone of voice teachers use for idiots.

  “Eve has already told you. The global media shouts their agenda around the world. The alternative media has dissected it. The globalists no longer even try to hide their goals.”

  “What she said… it sounds too crazy to be true.”

  “And yet it is, for the most part. What I will add is that the Unmaker’s favored faction also seeks to control time itself. Only you and your allies can stop them. You must stop them. All Creation is at stake.”

  “You could have told me this the first time we met,” I said.

  “If you had not seen the face of the Unmaker and experienced his machinations, would you have believed me?”

  “…I guess not.”

  “Do not worry. You are up to the task.”

  I snorted. “There’s something else I’ve been meaning to ask.”

  “Go on.”

  “Ever since I covenanted with you, the Unmaker keeps taunting me. What is he doing?”

  Hakem stayed silent for a moment. When he spoke, he sounded… unsure.

  “I do not know. He does not normally expose himself so blatantly. This is uncharacteristic behavior. I do not know if he is merely amusing himself or if there may be a hidden motive. Knowing him, it is both.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “But I will say this: if you tap too deeply and too often into the Void, you will stir up beings best left undisturbed. Including him.”

  “These other creatures will come for me, too?”

  “Yes. Be careful.”

  “You can’t do anything?”

  “If all they do is show themselves and talk to you—if they do not touch you directly—I cannot act. If I do, it will encourage other beings to act upon this world more directly. It will weaken the fabric of space-time itself. That I cannot allow.”

  “So what can I do?”

  “Endure.”

  “That’s all?”

  “It is the burden of everyone who serves the Source.”

  I sighed. “Oh, joy.”

  “Cheer up. We do not impose upon you a burden greater than you can bear.”

  “I am so relieved.”

  Light poured in every direction, drowning out the stars. Now I could see Hakem completely. He spread his wings, training every eye on me.

  “It is almost morning. Before you go, there is one thing I must tell you.”

  “What is it.”

  “Eve lied to you.”

  “WHAT?”

  “She did not lie out of malice. She did not betray you or the Program. She is still your ally. But there is more going on than you have perceived, and she keeps her plans and intentions hidden from you. Just be ready for surprises.”

  “What did she lie to me about? Why did she do that? What’s going on?”

  Whatever he had to say ended in pure, dazzling white.

  3. Between Earth and Sky

  We arrived in Sardinia in the morning. Pete was overjoyed to have breakfast in a cafe at Olbia Airport. So was the rest of the crew. When we were done, we caught a bus to the town of Olbia.

  Ten civilizations had left their mark on the island, from the indigenous Nuraxis to the Amarantines, from Hispania to modern Rome. Everywhere we went, the locals spoke in a mix of Italian and Sardinian. The former was in my language implant; the latter was not. Tourists from all over the world wandered the streets, taking videos and photos everywhere they wanted. Others caught buses and private hire cars out of town, no doubt to visit the beaches or the ancient Roman and Nuraxic ruins nearby.

  The airship crew split off to pursue their own business. Eve, Pete and I traveled together. As far as the locals were concerned, we were visitors from the continent, here to go hiking in the great outdoors.

  “The hike will take two days,” Eve said. “One day to get to our destination and another day to climb back down. We’ll be going up into the mountains. We need to equip ourselves.”

  “Then we’ll need enough supplies for at least seventy-two hours,” Pete said. “Ninety-six if we have space for it.”

  “And, no doubt, if we have extras, they’re going into the pantry,” I added.

  “Of course!”

  I was already wearing a gray merino wool shirt with khaki cargo pants. I popped into the first clothing store I found and printed another set of clothing. At a local sports supply store, we picked up bright-colored polyester daypacks, sturdy boots and other essentials. We visited a supermarket and purchased dried food, mineral water and aethertools.

  Outside the supermarket, we stuffed our purchases into our packs. I spent a bottle of water wetting my boots. As the material dried the boots would contour themselves to my feet. It was quick and dirty, but I didn’t have time for longer, gentler processes.

  After a leisurely lunch, we boarded the bus to Nuoro, where we waited for almost two and a half hours for another bus to Orgosolo. It was early evening by the time we arrived, though the sun was still bright and high.

  We
retired early, checking into an inn and spending the rest of the day preparing for our hike. Eve had a single room all to herself. I had to share my room with Pete.

  The two of us spread out our purchases on the floor and sorted them out. Excess packaging went into the bin, inappropriate clothing and shoes into the cabinet. No excess weight, no extra bulk. Everything we carried must have a purpose.

  “So,” Pete said, “you traveled around Pantopia with Eve. Alone.”

  “What about it?” I replied, carefully filling up my water bladder with bottled water.

  “So you… you know.”

  I expressed my sentiments with a single finger.

  He laughed. “You really did it?”

  I tossed the empty bottle and presented the other finger.

  “Your hand doesn’t talk, brother.”

  Shaking my head, I said, “We were being chased by the police, intelligence agencies and a kill team. Did you think we have time for that?”

  “C’mon, really? You’re not gonna take advantage of the suspension bridge effect?”

  I sighed so loudly Eve must have heard it through the wall.

  “We have rules against this sort of thing.”

  “Yeah, you like keeping to the straight and narrow, huh.”

  “I do not, as a rule, fraternize with wanted killers.”

  He chuckled. “Sounds good to me. So. What do you think of her? Professionally, that is.”

  I caught the change in tone. He wasn’t joking any more. He was in work mode.

  “She’s hard to read. That’s a problem because we need to know what she’s really thinking. Every time I think I know what’s in her head, she reacts emotionally. Unexpectedly. Like that outburst after O’Connor told us about how the media is portraying Hexenhammer.”

  “You’re saying she’s erratic.”

  “In certain circumstances.”

  He exhaled sharply. “She tries hard to project herself as an ice queen. But you can see her feelings leaking through whenever she gets frustrated.”

  I topped off the bladder and sealed it tight. “Well, she isn’t a pro. Not at our level.”

  “Or maybe it’s deliberate,” Pete said. “A way to humanize herself.”

  “How so?”

  “You haven’t noticed? When she’s talking to most people when she’s not working a cover, she’s cold. Collected, yes, but distant. But around you? She displays a wider range of emotions. She smiles more, laughs more, pouts more, does everything more.”