Hammer of Witches (34 page)

“David and Sara,” I started. I blinked away some tears. “David and Sara . . . they died.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so shaken. “What? How?”

“The night you came to my house, you led the Malleus Maleficarum to us. They imprisoned me and killed David and Sara.”

I said this with no bitterness, only an unfathomable sense of regret. As I spoke, my father stared out at nothing, then closed his eyes, put his head in his hands, and wept.

“I am so sorry, my son,” he whispered. “Had I any idea that would happen, I never would have risked coming back to Palos.” His sobs became stronger as he said, “I can only hope some day you will forgive me.”

As he mourned for my aunt and uncle, I thought of the long months of my travels and how much I had feared and hated this man. For so long I’d blamed him for my aunt and uncle’s deaths, for all the bad things that had happened to me. But right now, all I wanted was to know him, to be his son. We had lost so many years.

So I put my hand on his. “I will, Father.”

“I only came to your house that night to say good-bye. I was going to face the evil being in the prophecy, and I knew I probably would not return. And there you were in David and Sara’s house, safe and well. At least I thought it was you. With the dark and my poor eyesight, it was nearly impossible to tell who was there at all.”

“I saw you,” I told him. “And the hameh.”

Under his beard the man grimaced. “And I did so much to ensure you would not. You must forgive me, Baltasar, but I used some sleeping dust on you that night. I thought if I did that, even if you saw me, you would have thought it a dream.”

Ah, the glowing yellow eyes, the smells permeating my bedroom. Now it all made sense.

But there was one more thing I still didn’t understand. “You said you never told the hameh to attack me. But it did. Why?”

My father wiped his wet face with his palms. “I have a theory about that. Do you know the story of the hameh?”

I thought back to what Diego had told me long, long ago. “It’s a bird that springs from the blood of the unjustly murdered. A spirit of retribution that hunts its prey until justice is served.”

“Well said.”

“But what does that have to do with me?”

The smile on my father’s face made my heart sink. “It seems to me that you must have killed your mother.”

If I’d been expecting a certain answer, it was not that one. “Me? Didn’t she die when I was a baby?”

“Yes. One day shortly after we were married, a man from the Malleus Maleficarum came to our door and asked if I would like to join them in their mission to cleanse Spain of witchery. I was surprised they would ask me, a sorcerer and a Muslim, and naturally I refused. They left, and I thought I was done with them. But one day some weeks later I returned home to find men in my house and your mother lying on the floor in
her own blood. She had been near a curtain; I expect she was trying to hide with you. Not a very good hiding spot, I suppose. You must have cried or made some kind of sound, alerting the guards to your presence. And when they saw Marina . . .”

My father brought his fingers to his brow. So the story my uncle had told me wasn’t entirely true — the Inquisition
hadn’t
ever captured my mother. Perhaps Diego never got the full story.

My father went on, “You cannot imagine the state I was in after that. They had murdered your mother, and you were gone. I thought they’d killed you, too. I was so overcome with shock and melancholy that I let the soldiers take me without even putting up a fight. And in my prison cell, I wept and did not try to escape. For a moment I considered taking my own life.

“But then, the next night, a hameh appeared in my prison window. I had been thinking about the story, and I had summoned her by accident. I took this accident as a sign that I had to live so I could avenge your mother’s death. I gathered my powers and delivered justice unto the men who had captured me. One of the soldiers begged for his life and told me you were alive. I tracked you down and rescued you and brought you to your aunt and uncle. Then I hunted down the man who was in charge of the Malleus Maleficarum at the time and slayed him for what had happened to your mother. I thought that, when these deeds were done, my hameh would disappear,
like in the story. But the hameh remained. She blamed someone else for your mother’s death.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “How could the hameh blame me? I was only an infant. I didn’t mean . . .”

“The hameh is not like us, Baltasar. She does not see subtleties, nor can she make interpretations. She has one purpose, and one purpose only: to exact revenge. She cares not
why
a crime has occurred, whether it was due to an accident or a misunderstanding, or whether it was the fault of a child. All she knows is justice: her own simple brand of justice.

“The pull this type of justice can have on a person is very strong, Baltasar, especially after that person has experienced a loss. That is why I left you with David and Sara. There, you would be safe while I took my revenge on all of Christendom. First I offered my services to the Ottomans, then to the Emir of Granada. I fought battles in Italy, Hungary, Moldavia, Spain. I took my revenge on anyone who would fight me: old veterans, new recruits, young soldiers just years older than yourself. But I see now it was folly. I’ve turned myself into a ruined, bitter old man, so blinded by hatred that I nearly destroyed the only thing I have left. My son.”

A squawk rang up from behind us, from the bird demon roosting on a stalagmite beside us. Wiping his eyes, my father walked up to his hameh.

“I suppose I am done with you, my shadow.” With the back of his hand he caressed the creature’s face. It squawked again,
seeming to ignore the gesture. “I had always thought you were my servant, but it was the other way around, wasn’t it? But no more. I do not desire any longer to be a hameh dressed in the garb of a man. I will live the rest of my days as a man, alone, and endure the pain that comes with such a decision.”

My father took a breath and, with a sureness belied by his trembling fingers, said, “I release you from my service. I am done with you.”

The hameh let out a final cry and slowly dissolved into a fine black smoke. And though he said it in a very low voice so I wouldn’t hear, I heard my father murmur, “Peace be with you, Marina.”

He lingered there for a while, lit in the half-light of the setting sun. I stood and took his hand with both of mine. The floor rumbled underneath us, and I could make out the sound of rocks crashing in the room where we had fought the karkadann. My father said, “We should go. It is nearly night, and a place like this is not a place to talk.”

“We can’t,” I said. “Part of the other cave collapsed.”

“No, there is another way, beyond the waterfall. Unless you wish to stay here?”

I returned the man’s smile. “No, thanks. There are probably some worried people waiting for me outside.”

My father put an arm around me to lead us to a path hidden behind one of the stalagmites. Spray from the waterfall hit our cheeks, and moss padded our footsteps.

“Worried people?” my father said as we went. “They doubted your success?”

“Doubted me?” I flung my father’s arm from me. “If anything, they thought I’d kill
you
!”

My father chuckled. “Well, I’m certainly glad you didn’t. And not only for myself. It shows you are an optimist.”

We ducked under the low ceiling behind the waterfall and emerged into the spotty sunlight of the forest. I went on, “Not that I
couldn’t
have killed you. I did beat all of your monsters, you know. And the Malleus Maleficarum.”

“I can’t wait to hear about it.”

“It’s a long story,” I warned him.

My father put his arm back around me and hugged me close. “That’s all right, Bali. We have plenty of time.”

Somewhere beyond the sound of the raging waterfall, I could hear voices calling. “Infante! Can you hear me?”

“Bal, say something! Please! You can’t be dead!”

My father smiled at me. “Are those your friends?”

I rubbed the back of my head. “Sounds like it.”

“Then you will have to tell me your side of the story on the way back.”

I returned his smile. “Sure.”

We circumnavigated the lake the waterfall emptied into, hopped the stream, and followed the sounds of my friends’ voices. We turned a corner and found the troop of Taíno soldiers, who were lit by the dying light and nearly a hundred torches.

In front of them Catalina and Jinniyah shouted up at the mouth of the cave, which thankfully looked like it hadn’t been destroyed.

I pointed to the taller girl. “That one’s Catalina,” I said to my father. “Pretty sure you know the other one.”

“AMIR!”

Jinni’s scream was so deafening my ears popped. “You’re alive!” She dived onto my father and strangled him with hugs.

“It appears so!” my father said, laughing. The soldiers in front of us watched in surprise as he swung Jinniyah around in the air and held her close.

As he hugged her, Jinniyah looked over his shoulder at me. “I knew you wouldn’t kill him.” She removed herself from my father and flew over to kiss me on the cheek. “Thank you.”

I smiled. “No problem. I could not kill people all day.”

My father smiled down at Jinni, too, seeming to grow younger by the second. “Look at you. I suppose it goes without saying, but you haven’t aged a bit.”

Jinniyah examined his face and scrunched up her own in her usual way. “You got old.”

That made the Eagle of Castile laugh from deep within his gut.

Outside the cave the
battalion of Taíno guards parted, allowing Caonabó to approach us. The cacique examined me and my father with hard eyes. “I see you have upheld your end of the bargain, Shaman.” To my father he said, “Good spirits be with you.”

My father bowed in response, with a hand over his heart. “And peace be unto you.”

An awkward silence followed, so I went on, “Cacique Caonabó of Maguana, may I introduce my father, Amir al-Katib of Spain —”

But my father put a hand on my shoulder. “Of nowhere,” he said.

Caonabó considered the man and his answer before speaking again. “We will discuss more later. Let us return to Maguana. My men will provide for you tonight.”

As we followed the Taíno troops through the forest, I told my father the story of our travels. Or I tried to, anyway. I could hardly get out a sentence without Jinniyah interrupting with
commentary or Catalina saying, “That isn’t how it happened at all!”

When I was done, my father said, “This is all my fault. All the terrible things that happened to you. David and Sara —”

Jinniyah interrupted, “It is
not
your fault! It was the Malleus Maleficarum.
They’re
the ones who killed David and Sara, not you!”

“You’re right,” my father said, and he didn’t add any more.

I said to my father, “There’s so much you have to tell me. About your adventures with Diego and Serena. And Mother. And Jinni!”

“But I told you all about me!” Jinni argued.

“Maybe. But how do I know you were telling the truth?”

Tired as I was, I felt so much lighter now. My quest was over, and I was standing beside my father. I said to him, “Everything’s going to be different now. Tomorrow I’ll bring you to La Navidad, introduce you to Arabuko — and Colón! He’s our admiral. He shouldn’t be angry anymore, now that I defeated the evil sorcerer who was attacking us.”

“Let’s not be too hasty, my son. You may recall that I’m still considered an enemy of Spain.”

“Then I’ll tell them it was a big mistake. They’ll understand. I’ll make them.”

It was wishful thinking; I knew that. But I kind of believed it anyway. Nothing was impossible now, not with my father by my side. Starting tomorrow, he would teach me everything he knew so I could become a great Storyteller, and he’d go back
to being the hero Diego always said he was.

My father looked up at the darkening trees, his face golden under the lights of the soldiers’ torches. “And Colón, the leader of this expedition. What kind of man is he, I wonder?”

I thought back to what Titivillus had written about the admiral months ago in the
Santa Marías
hold. Admiral Colón: icon or lie? “I can’t say the two of us always got along so well. But I don’t blame him for anything he’s done. He was caught in a bad situation. Underneath it all, I think he’s a good man.”

“My son the optimist. And what do you think, Señorita Terreros? What is your estimation of the man?”

Catalina blinked. Clearly she had not expected my father to speak to her directly. “I’m not certain
good
is the term I’d use for him. I don’t know many people I would label
good.
But in my interactions with him he has been . . . principled. I may not always agree with those principles, but . . .”

My father put his hand on Catalina’s shoulder. “Good enough, young lady. Good enough.”

By the time we reached Maguana, night had long since fallen. The villagers crowded around us in a dumbfounded throng. The soldiers led us to one of the circular houses, where bowls of food and fresh water awaited us on the floor, and lean white hammocks hung from the rafters. We sat on a mat made of woven palm fronds and enjoyed our dinner. The whole time Jinniyah and I tried to force new Taíno foods into my father’s mouth, saying, “This is really good! Try it!”