The Hammer - Cor Series Book I

The bang of the screen door startled Corvan out of a deep sleep. His parents had returned, and, judging from the light coming in his window, it was almost time for supper. At least there was no jagged rip in the window screen. The lizard was out there on the rock, maybe even waiting for him to return.

Rolling out of bed, he grunted as the handle of the hammer jabbed his ribs. He pulled it from under the quilt and checked it over. There was no glow or warmth, just cold stone. Things had changed. It was time to talk to his father and find out where his grandfather was taking the hammer on the night he disappeared.

He pushed it under his pillow. He would wait until he could talk to his dad in private. No use in alarming his mother with a story of being attacked by a wild animal out at the rock. She didn’t like his special place much and might tell him not to go back. He closed the door quietly and head down the stairs.

“Did you play on your rock the whole day?” his mother asked as he entered the kitchen. “You didn’t fill the wood box, and I’ll be baking bread tomorrow for the next farmer’s market.”

“I’ll do it in a bit. I need to ask Dad something.”

“What about?”

“Nothing. I just need—”

“If it’s nothing, it can wait until you fill the wood box.”

“I’ll do it later.”

“Do you know how many times I’ve heard that?” she asked.

Corvan nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. I really will do it as soon as I talk with Dad.”

Mother stopped what she was doing, looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “He’s working out front.”

His father was by the hood of his truck, where he was wiping off the dipstick. “Hasn’t lost a drop since the last oil change. I think the old girl will still be going when you take her over.” He smiled at Corvan.

Corvan leaned on the fender. His father took the air filter apart and wiped the inside. He was seemingly oblivious to the tension his son was feeling.

“I lied to you.” His words hung in the air.

“I know.” His father straightened and looked at him. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Corvan nodded just as the dinner bell rang on the back porch.

His dad pushed the hood shut. “After supper then. I’ll meet you at the firepit on the rock.” Their eyes met briefly, then they walked together in silence to the back porch to wash up.

As soon as supper was over, Corvan filled the wood box while his father helped with the dishes. His dad nodded at him to go ahead without him. No doubt he wanted to talk to his mother about what was going on.

The long shadows of the aspen trees were creeping across the yard. The North Star shone out in the darkening sky, but the warmth of the day still clung to the autumn air.

Leaving the yard behind, he approached the rock. It appeared much more mysterious in the muted shadows of twilight, as if it were the grave of an ancient warrior king waiting to arise and lead his people into battle. His father said the rock was a sacred place to the people who once lived in the area. They believed the rock had the power to protect them from their enemies, but in the end, they had been defeated and vanished from the area.

Corvan climbed to the top, entered the gap, and turned back to look across into his bedroom window. At one point, he heard that it was his grandfather who had cut the stone out of the circle and had rolled it into the center. Corvan’s father said that the boulders around the rim had all been cut out of the crown of the hill. He asked Corvan to keep it a secret because he didn’t want the people from the university poking around again.

Corvan’s fort had been reduced to a muddy pile of broken boards. The water had completely drained from the center of the rocks and left a soggy patch where he’d found the hammer. The only water left was a muddy puddle inside the ring of stones they used for a firepit.

His father’s song rose strong and clear on the breeze as he strode up the western slope. He was carrying a box wrapped in an old blanket and an armful of firewood. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses, and he looked more like his old self. He smiled warmly at Corvan. “How about getting a fire going up by your fort while I go get a bit more wood?”

“We might have enough if we use the broken boards from our fort,” Corvan said, pointing up the slope. “It got knocked flat in the storm, but the firepit is full of water.”

Setting the firewood and the strange long bundle down, his father climbed up to take a quick look. “I see what you mean. Let’s build our fire out here instead. I’ll pick some of this up while you get the firewood ready.”

Corvan arranged the kindling and firewood his father had brought. As his dad came through the gap in the castle rocks with a few short boards, the last golden rays of the day captured a noble look on his face, like a warrior king about to embark on an important quest.

His father placed a few broken boards to one side and retrieved a pack of matches from his pocket. A moment later, flickering flames lit the craggy features of his face. The wood crackled and they sat watching the flames in silence for a long while before his father spoke.

“I am proud of you for letting me know you did not tell the truth. You grandfather would be pleased as well for it is a sign that you understand what it takes to be a leader.”

Corvan’s chest swelled with pride. He’d done something right for a change. Perhaps there was hope for him after all.

His father leaned back and looked into the sky. “Can you imagine not seeing a single star in your lifetime? Never enjoying the vastness of a night sky or feeling the pull of a full moon?”

Corvan shook his head as his father continued, “There was a time when our people didn’t see these things.” He leaned forward, put his palm flat against the rock beside him ,and stared at it. “I’m not quite sure where I should begin or how much I’m supposed to tell you.”

Corvan didn’t know what to say. He had been expecting his father to ask him about what he’d found out at the rock.

His father stared into fire, deep in thought.

Corvan moved closer to break the chill of the breeze that had flowed in on the heels of the setting sun.

The nearby hooting of an owl broke the silence. His father reached beside him and pulled the blanket-wrapped object onto his lap. Pushing the coarse fabric aside, he revealed a long wooden box. Firelight flickered across the polished ebony surface as if the box itself were on fire. Was this an early birthday present his parents had picked up in town? He glanced up to find his father studying him.

“Your grandfather left this with me, and he made the case to keep it safe. I’m definitely not as good with wood as he was.”

“But you can make just about anything out of metal. Sometimes when I was in my fort, I could feel you pounding on stuff down in the cellar.”

His father’s eyes narrowed. “You can feel that out here?”

Corvan nodded.

“That’s good to know,” his father said, more to himself than to Corvan. “The cellar is connected. It is the same rock.”

“I really felt it the night of the storm,” Corvan interjected. “It was like you’d set off an explosion underground.”

A mischievous smile crinkled the corners of his father’s eyes. He looked like a boy caught stealing apples. “I’ve been working on something down there at night. I’ll show it to you after your birthday, and no using the dumbwaiter for a peek ahead of time.” His father smiled at him, and Corvan grinned back. The dumbwaiter was a small elevator that connected the kitchen to the cellar below. Exactly why his grandfather had built it was a mystery, but Corvan could easily crouch inside and move himself up and down without having to go outside.

“Your grandfather was supposed to be here on your fifteenth birthday to tell you everything you needed to know.” He looked up into the sky for a long moment. “He and I never talked that much even when he was around. I failed to recognize the danger he was in and that I might never see him again.”

His father’s eyes glinted softly in the firelight. “All he told me was that you would need this someday.” He tapped a finger on the black case. “‘He must have it,’ he told me, ‘When he is ready, for this one is the Cor-Van.’”

The way his father said his name, pausing in the middle and stressing the last syllable, made Corvan’s skin prickle. It seemed the shadows of the trees grew darker, and he put another board on the fire.

“It was he who named you,” his father said over the crackling of the wood. “Your mother chose a different name, but he insisted on Corvan. If he was right, you will know soon, for your day is almost here.” He looked intently into Corvan’s eyes. “Do you remember the story of this rock?”

“The betrayal and final battle?”

Father nodded. “There are always those who want power over others. The old ways leave no room for that, but, in the end, our people were outnumbered and wiped out, except for one warrior.”

“The one who built the castle, right?”

“Oh, no. That part of the legend is not true. The circle of rocks goes back much further than him or his tribe. It started eons ago, back with the lost people.”

“Who?”

His father frowned. “I’m not completely sure of that history.” He stared beyond the fire at the castle, and then he turned back to look intently into Corvan’s eyes. “The one thing I have been told is that your future is tied to that circle of stones.”

The dinner bell on the back porch rang urgently, and his father glanced over his shoulder. “Something is up. Your mother must need to talk to me.” He wrapped the blanket back around the wooden case. “I’ll have to show you this another time. Your grandfather made me promise I would give it to you before your fifteenth year began. He said you would be old enough to choose between fear and duty by then.” He stood. “You proved him right today.”

His father was trying to make him feel better, but instead he found his stomach churning. The thought of becoming an adult held no attraction for him. The future held many more worries. The only positive part about turning fifteen was being allowed to grow out his hair. He hoped that without a crew cut he would look a little less like a child and some of the teasing would end.

They left the dying fire and returned to the house. On the porch, Corvan looked back. The flickering embers and wisps of smoke gave the rock the appearance of a volcano teetering on the edge of an eruption.

Inside the house, they paused at the foot of the stairs. His father put a hand on his shoulder as if he had more to say, but instead he just nodded, entered his own bedroom, and shut the door.

Back upstairs, Corvan closed his door, sat on the bed, and pulled his pillow away to expose the hammer. “So, how are you connected to what’s in black box?” he whispered. “My grandfather must have rolled the middle stone over to keep you safe.” He touched the handle and the soft glow from the strange markings on the base of the handle sprang to life. He leaned in closer. The light was from an insignia on the bottom of the handle, a ring within a ring, with strange figures between the two. He knew that design! The markings on the hammer were identical to those on the oak chest in the corner of his room!

Hammer in hand, he rolled off the side of the bed just as the phone in the kitchen rang with their distinctive party line code. There was a short, muffled conversation before his father hung up. His mother spoke and chairs scraped across the floor. His parents were settling in at the table for a talk.

The glow from the hammer filled the room with waves of blue light that washed over the large oak chest against the far wall. As his feet touched down, the floorboards groaned under his weight. He pulled back onto his bed. There was no way he could make it to the chest without his parents hearing him. He listened carefully. There was a pause in their conversation, and then the back screen door squeaked and banged.

Jumping back into bed, Corvan pushed the hammer under his pillow. One of them must be heading for the outhouse, and he couldn’t have them see his room full of blue light. He would need to wait for them to go to bed before checking out the chest.

The moon crept out from behind a cloud and its light landed squarely on the oak chest. In the pale white light, the large chest looked like a stone coffin, or like the sarcophagus that King Arthur was buried in, with its thick lid hanging out over the edges.

The rings and the strange markings from the hammer were highlighted on the front of the chest. The insignia was larger, and there was a hole in the center that appeared to be about the same size as the handle of the hammer. Since his grandfather had made the chest, the stone hammer was some sort of key that should reveal a secret compartment.

Reaching under his pillow, he wrapped his hand around the hammer. Blue light leaked out the side, and he lay his head down to cover it up. Once again, the comforting warmth from the hammer ebbed up his arm along with a growing weariness. He tried to fight it off and to stay awake until his parents went to bed. He wanted to test out his theory with the chest, but the sleepy calm spreading through his body and mind could not be pushed away. He tried to let go of the hammer, but it was too late.