The Dread Hammer by Linda Nagata

off his face and hands. Smoke was one of the Bidden, the Trenchant’s own son, and his demon eyes had burned bright green with rage. He had noticed Seök watching him, and he said to him in a low growl, “Don’t think I enjoyed this day.” But later that afternoon Smoke laughed and chatted with the men as if the slaughter had never happened.
    Seök had never seen Smoke again, but he knew that sometime later Smoke had vanished from the Puzzle Lands. It was rumored he’d fled his father’s harsh command. It was well known that the Trenchant wanted him back. Dehan had commanded the Koráyos people to report at once any word of Smoke’s whereabouts. But if Smoke did not want such a report to be made?
    Seök didn’t doubt Smoke would slaughter everyone in this house if he suspected he’d been recognized. So Seök held himself in utter stillness, hoping he would not be noticed at all.
    Smoke went to the counter and emptied a coin sack onto it. Yelena leaned forward, counting the treasure with her eyes. When she looked up again, she smiled brightly, and for the next several minutes she helped Smoke choose several styles of fabric. Yelena did not fear the monster. Why should she? She believed him to be Hauntén, and in Nefión the forest spirits were said to bring blessings to those who honored them. “Have you a satchel for your purchases, sir?” she asked him. “Or shall I find you one?”
    Smoke agreed that he needed a bag, so she packed all his purchases into a rather fine, waterproof satchel, and then she counted out a selection of coins, returning the rest to the coin sack before handing it back to its owner. Her smile was radiant. “Will you speak a blessing over my store before you go, good sir?”
    Smoke answered with a laugh that chilled Seök to the bone. “It’s my role to deliver curses, not blessings, ma’am. Ask no favors of me.”
    With the satchel over his shoulder he turned to go, though he was forced to stop and unbolt the door before he could open it. He stepped outside, disappearing into the rain.

The Midwife
    Smoke laughed aloud as the rain pounded down on him. Ah, but this venture was going well indeed! But then, his plan was exquisite. The torrential rain had turned the street into a bog of slick mud and driven everyone to shelter. No one was about, so no one would see his face, and even if they did, no one here would know him.
    Given how much he’d feared venturing into Nefión, it was funny to discover the risk was slight after all—and fully worth it to make Ketty happy.
    Ketty.
    His laughter died as he considered her condition. She would have a child. . . .
    He didn’t like to think about it. Yet he couldn’t stop thinking about it, and every time he did a nasty cold fear stirred in his belly. He feared the birth. He dreaded it. His own mother had died giving birth to him.
    Ketty would not die. He was resolved to it—which was the other reason he’d come to Nefión. Again he listened to the threads, and before long he overheard a woman’s whispered prayer of thanks as she held a newly born infant against her breast. The threads wound together then parted again as the midwife drew on her cloak and hood, slipped quietly out of the house, and set off through the rain.
    She walked alone.
    Smoke tracked her through the threads, until he saw her cloaked figure in the street ahead. She walked with her head bowed against the deluge, but she walked steadily, rarely slipping despite the mud.
    He followed at a distance.
    Before long she came to the edge of town, following a path into the forest that set off northeast between the trees. Some sympathetic spirit must have whispered a warning to her because after a few steps she turned about. Her hood fell back from her face, revealing a woman old enough to be a mother of more than one, and young enough to become the mother of many more. She was lovely without being beautiful, in the way of strong, stern things. “Stop, creature!” she commanded