The Hammer - Cor Series Book I

Corvan searched frantically through the dirty clothes he had kicked under his bed, but the hammer was not there. The last time he held it was when it was in his back pocket at Kate’s house and then up the back alley. It must have been in his pants when he changed clothes on the back porch.

His mother was doing the wash when he fell asleep. If she put his pants through the wringer, the hammer would make a real mess of things. Two years ago, he’d left some marbles in his pockets that had jammed the rollers and ruined the gears. His only hope was that she had gone to bed without wringing out the wash. Checking out the window, he saw his pants swaying gently on the line. “Oh great,” he muttered.

Making his way quickly down the stairs, he forgot about the step just below the landing and put his foot in the middle. The stair let out its customary low groan. Holding his breath, he waited for his mother’s snoring to resume. Then he crept out to the back porch.

The wringer washer grinned at him from its corner. It always reminded him of a robot from a science-fiction story, with its wringer head hanging over its squat body and rollers like two rows of yellowed teeth in an oversized mouth. He inspected the rollers. Everything looked fine. Either his mother had found the hammer, or it was still down in the rinse water she always saved for her garden.

After rolling up his sleeve, Corvan plunged his hand into the cool water and felt around the groove at the bottom of the round tub. All he found was the scorched half dollar from the chest, which he dropped into his pocket as he looked back through the screen door into the kitchen. If his mother had found the hammer, she might have put it in the secret hiding place where she kept the family cash.

He remembered to pushing down firmly on the screen door handle to avoid any squeaks from the hinges. He went to the pantry and pressed on a knot in the wall, from which a small door popped open to reveal a shallow alcove. Grandfather had built the hiding spot for his mother, but Corvan had found it one day while searching for the chocolate chips. This time, it contained nothing: no chocolate, no cash, and no hammer. Corvan clicked the hidden door shut. Maybe it had slipped out of his pocket when he used the outhouse.

The path was warm on his bare feet, and the moonlight illuminated his footprints from earlier that afternoon. The wooden latch on the outhouse had been left open, which meant he was the last one to use it. Corvan pulled the rough plank door wide on its leather hinges, and that familiar rank odor wafted out. He crouched to search around the wooden platform and behind the stack of old newspapers.

The hammer wasn’t there, but then where could it possibly be? He shut and latched the door.

As he was retracing his steps, Corvan glanced up the path that led to the steep side of the rock. A set of marks were outlined by the moonlight. He bent low. These were animal tracks that had been partially wiped out, as if the animal had been dragging something along. Maybe a predator’s successful kill? But there was no blood on the ground.

The tracks led out to the edge of the rock, and Corvan heard pebbles rolling and clinking together overhead. Hugging the rock, he climbed on all fours until he reached the crown of rocks silhouetted against the night sky.

Crawling quietly forward, Corvan peered around one of the boulders. A shadowy figure was crouched near the solitary rock in the center. Then dirt and pebbles sprayed out as the animal dug furiously at the base of the lone boulder. When the creature stopped digging, it stood up on its hind feet.

The lizard!

Corvan watched in fascination as the reptile picked up two strips of cloth from the ground and wrapped them carefully around its front claws. It held them up to inspected them, and in the soft light, it looked as if it were wearing mittens. Corvan stared, transfixed by the bizarre sight as it then stooped to drag something back to where it had been digging. The hole in the ground appeared to be too small for the large creature, but its body seemed to melt and flow down inside until only its cloth-wrapped claws remained in view holding up a black object.

The hammer! The lizard had taken it from the outhouse.

The cloth-wrapped claws abruptly disappeared into the hole. The hammer stood upright for a moment before it toppled to the ground.

Corvan rushed forward and was reaching for the hammer as an explosion of dirt shot out of the hole into his face. Blinded, he sat back to shake his head and clear the grit from his eyes.

A guttural screech snapped his head up, and a dark blur hit him so squarely in the chest that he was knocked onto his back. The lizard jumped on him while raking its cloth-bound claws across his face as it screeched in frustration. Corvan yelled and knocked it off his chest.

Rolling onto his knees, Corvan tensed for another attack, but now the lizard was unwinding the cloth from its claws. Its keen eyes burned with hatred. Corvan frantically felt around him for a weapon, but there were no rocks or sticks within reach.

The lizard leapt toward him and landed with its front claws outstretched and its back legs straddling the hammer. It hissed, but it didn’t try to pick up the hammer. It couldn’t touch the hammer with its bare claws? If he could grab it, he could use the hammer to keep the creature at bay.

It inched forward, staying between Corvan and the hammer, with its pointed front claws extended to drive him back. Its hind feet scraped on the muddy piece of tarp Corvan had ripped off the fort. If he yanked the tarp out from under its feet, he’d have a chance to grab the hammer.

The lizard pulled its thin lips back to expose pointed teeth. Its hate-filled eyes bore into his as it took another step toward him.

Corvan inched his hand toward the loose end of the large canvas sheet. The lizard’s eyes darted down, and Corvan yanked as hard as he could. The lizard’s tumbled back past the hammer. Corvan jumped forward, threw the heavy canvas over the creature, and scooped up the hammer. He retreated to the ring of boulders as a flurry of claws tore the old tarp to shreds.

The lizard emerged with eyes blazing. It took two quick steps toward him, but when it saw the hammer in his hand, it stopped.

Glaring through narrow slits, it snarled in a low, hoarse voice. “You will never be the Cor-Van. You could not survive the wrath of my master.”

Corvan blinked. It could talk?

“You are only a child,” the lizard rasped. “Return the hammer to me, and I will spare your life.”

Fear constricted Corvan’s throat. All he managed to croak out was, “Go away.”

The lizard fell back as if it had been kicked, and its eyes widened in fear. Corvan held the hammer higher and took a step forward.

The creature retreated before him. Its eyes were flickering from one side to the other. With a hiss, it gave him one last angry glance, and then melted into the dark hole it had dug.

Grabbing the biggest rock he could lift with one hand from the firepit, Corvan dropped it over the hole. He stuffed the hammer into his back pocket, and then he piled on more rocks until he couldn’t lift any more. His sides heaved. He fell to his knees and retched. Shaking uncontrollably, he crawled to the western side and collapsed against one of the outer rocks. Never in his life had he been so afraid. People like Bill Fry were mean, but this thing was so … evil.

Corvan shook his head. The lizard said it had a master. That must be why it wore a collar, but his couldn’t be happening. Animals didn’t talk. Was the hammer messing with his mind?

When he pulled it out, an overwhelming awareness of great danger flowed through him, but something much more powerful was holding it at bay. He felt a unseen force that was flowing around and through him.

A shadow flickered past his feet, and Corvan scrambled through the western gap and stood by the drainage channel. An owl hunting for prey on silent wings swept past him. He let out a long breath, but then recalled that gophers always had a second entrance to their holes. The lizard could be watching him even now. Or maybe it had left to bring back more of its kind.

Cold sweat broke on his forehead as he scanned the circle of rocks. The shadows could easily conceal the vicious creature. He backed out of the rocks, bolted down the water channel, and headed for home. As he ran, he thought he heard an entire pack of lizards bearing down on him. With a final burst of speed, he reached the safety of the porch and turned to look back. The owl hooted again, but the backyard was still.

The lizard had retrieved the hammer from the outhouse, so it obviously knew where he lived. If it came back with reinforcements, or even worse, its master, the only thing that could save his family would be the power of the hammer.

Corvan stared out the porch door at the outline of the Castle Rock and held up the hammer. The lizard was afraid to touch it and had wrapped its claws. He put his other hand to his face. It felt sore, but at least there were no bloody scratches.

Corvan moved deeper into the shadows of the porch and sank into the moth-eaten armchair. Tonight, he would keep guard over his home. With the hammer firmly in his right hand, he stretched his arm out on the armrest, like a king with his scepter on a royal throne. The hammer gave him a sense of authority, and he envisioned himself holding an entire legion of lizards at bay.

A rooster crowed, and Corvan shook off the sleep that had been dodging him all night long. The gentle light of early dawn was in the east. His home was safe. Every muscle in his body ached as he pushed himself out of the armchair. Creeping back up to his room, he slipped the hammer under his pillow.

As he undressed, the blackened half dollar fell out of his pocket and rolled under the bed. Too tired to chase it, Corvan crawled under the sheets and fell asleep.