The Second Coming (12 page)

They strode
deep into the thicket of cork oak and beech, the shade giving
little relief to the humid forest. Yet it was not long before they
came across a small assembly of derelict structures — crude homes
constructed from the debris of the city. Scattered among them were
half-breeds milling about.

John knew he
walked amongst the forgotten and the frail. All were either old
enough to be nearly dead, or too young to be of use to the
Rebellion. Most of the half-breeds stared daggers at the two
friars. They did not trust anyone, human or Firstborn; especially
the latter. John understood why.

The
half-breeds were the result of a Firstborn breeding with a human;
Revenants they were called. They were mostly beings of incredible
beauty, but there were those that had been born as hideous mutants.
And the repulsive freaks, in the unfortunate event they bred with
themselves, strangely produced children that bore the strength of
two Firstborn and, when angered, the cruelty of four. They were
called the Lastborn.

It was a
vindictive hoax of nature and one the Firstborn did not find
amusing. They wanted them dead, half-breeds and Lastborn. If they
could, they’d rid themselves of humans as well.

John wrinkled
his nose at the heavy scent of musk and sweat on the air. Miguel
sneezed. Tattered garments hung about on makeshift clotheslines all
about the clearing.

Meega
approached one of the small huts. It was surrounded by a sea of
torn fabric. She knocked on a chipped wooden door.

Something
shuffled inside before a raspy voice spoke. “Come in, Meega. I'd
know that timid knock anywhere.”

John ducked
into the small hut, and once inside had to adjust to the dim light
offered by one lone candle that stood on what appeared to be a
stone altar. Standing before it was a pile of rags that covered a
wisp of a woman with wild gray hair, fine slanted eyebrows and
pointed ears. She was Revenant. John stared into the piercing
blueness of her repugnant gaze.

“
Old and ugly am I, Churchman?” she asked.

John looked at
her with calm. “I didn't say anything.”

“
I didn't say you did, and I wasn't talking to you, heretic. I
was talking to the fat one.”

Heretic?

The woman
hobbled over to Miguel and poked him with a bony finger. “Old and
ugly, am I?”

Miguel
stammered and then closed his mouth. Even in the dim light, his
face crimsoned. Meega covered her mouth and giggled.

The old woman
patted the little girl on the head and then shuffled over to a
wooden chair. It creaked as she settled herself in it.

“
No matter. I've been called worse in this life and I can't
deny I am old. I've lived longer than anyone should.” She reached
into her rags, pulled out a small vial with a blue liquid and took
a hearty swig. She belched and wiped her mouth with her torn
sleeve. “So you're looking for someone?”

“
Yes.”

“
You won't find your quarry here.”

John’s nose
twitched. The place smelled of defecation. “Are you Liesel?”

Her mouth
stretched into a toothless smile. “Sometimes,” she said. “When I
remember.”

John eyed her
with care.

She has lost her wits
.

“
Do you know who I am looking for?”

A light
flashed in her eyes. “I know all too well.” The old woman gave a
mad cackle.

“
Has he taken physical form? I must find Him.”

She gurgled,
something akin to laughter. “I suppose the Pope sent you.”

John
nodded.

“
And what makes you think you can find Him?”

“
My soul is cursed. I can find him.”

A shadow of
understanding passed across her pallid face. “I see.”

He hesitated.
“What can you tell me? How much do you know?”

“
Enough to drive a woman mad. And no one believes this crazed
old fool.” She took another swig of blue liquid. “You won't find
Him, but you may find something just as important.”

“
Oh?”

The old woman
motioned him closer with a crooked twig of a finger. Her breath was
sour, and a cold smile crept across her lips. “His child.”

John shifted
under her gaze. “His child?”

Liesel nodded,
the light in her eye getting brighter before she gurgled once more.
“You have trouble with your ears, heretic?”

John tried to
swallow, but his mouth was dry as the deserts of Babylon. “Who
would have borne such a child? Was it Lilith?”

At the mention
of the ancient name, Miguel made the sign of the cross over his
ashen face. He reached into his robes and pulled out the
rosary.

John cast him
an inward smile.

Futile
gesture.

“
Lilith?” remarked the old woman. “Bah, she knew the truth
before any did. That's why she left Eden, and why she was cursed to
bear only demon children. She would never have borne such a
child.”

“
Then who?”

“
Sephirah.”

The first
woman pope.

Oh, God.

He had known her.

The reality of
his past settled over him like a burial shroud. John could think of
nothing to do. He fidgeted where he stood. And in the end he, too,
gestured the cross.

Sweat seeped
down the side of Brahm’s face as she pursued the Peace Maker. Up
ahead, he remained on the edge of visibility. She raced through
tunnels of trees and shrubs, running until illusions of light
blurred past her. She had passed out of the known world and into
some bizarre pocket of unreality. It unsettled her gut like bad
venison. Yet the Peace Maker had meant her to follow, and follow
she would.

Eventually
time and the blur of unreality caught up with her as she came to an
abrupt stop. Her momentum flung her into a clearing well before her
feet were prepared and she stumbled to the ground. Brahm
grunted.

Not very
dignified.

She brushed
herself off and recovered her poise.

“
Kwe kwe, Orenda.” The Peace Maker's voice was cool as an
autumn morning, the words almost a rustling in the
breeze.

Brahm tried to
gather her bearings, but the trees shimmered around her and the
clouds sat like sedentary puffs of stone. An eerie silence settled
on the clearing. She sniffed at the raw air.

“
What is this place?”

“
Where few will look to find us,” he said. “I can only hope we
are not noticed.”

She grunted
again.

Fucking cryptic answer
.

“
Please,” he said, gesturing to a stump in front of him, “sit,
child. Sit with me and listen to what I must tell you.”

Child?

His face held
a smile that bordered on patronizing. Brahm would have strode out
of the clearing had anyone else spoken to her in such a manner, but
this was not just anyone. Instead, she perched herself on the large
stump, and waited for him to elaborate.

He folded his
hands in front of him. “War is coming and the Haudenosaunee will be
a part of it, but not you. You must walk a different path. Though
you may feel you are betraying your people, you must abandon them.
The Great Mother needs your assistance. Both of you. Heed her call,
Orenda.”

Both?

Brahm shook
her head. “I don't understand.”

“
In time, you will. For now, you must leave. If you stay, you
will die.”

What?

The Peace
Maker looked about, and for a brief moment fear played across his
face.

“
Leave tomorrow.”

“
Tomorrow? Wait—”

“
I must leave you now. I need to speak with the Council and
light a fire under them. Perhaps more lives can be spared if I
convince them to move quickly. Heed the Great Mother's summons,
Orenda, and be wary. Now, I can say no more. There are eyes and
ears everywhere.”

“
Wait, who would be listening?”

He leaned in
close, his voice a hiss on the wind. “God.”

The Peace
Maker vanished in a haze of color and a blur of motion; so had the
peculiar place in which they had conversed. Brahm looked to the
sky. The clouds soared through the firmament once more and birdsong
swept in. The musty scent of the forest floor tickled her nose.

She would
die?

She rose from
the stump and searched for any trace of the spirit being. There was
nothing.

She looked
back from where she had run. The stream foamed and surged behind
her. She was close to where she had first encountered the Peace
Maker — barely steps into the forest.

How was that possible
?

Brahm groaned.
It was not worth pondering.

She stepped
from the trees and let the sun rid her of the slight chill that
danced along her skin. White Feather still lay on the rock, no
longer in meditation, but basking half naked. She needed the visual
distraction of seeing his hardened body glistening in the sunlight.
Like the Clan Mother had hinted, he was a good catch. A sly grin
crept across her face. Were he not Gray Wolf's brother, he might
have at least made for some interesting nights.

Brahm
paused.

What was she
thinking?

She shook it
off. That was the other soul lusting for him. Brahm knew where her
tendencies lay.

White Feather
covered his squinting eyes from the late afternoon glare of the sun
and turned towards her.

“
Where did you go?”

“
I met the Peace Maker.”

“
You pull on my leg, Orenda. Too bad it’s not my third,” he
said with a grin.

Third leg, indeed.
She remained
silent.

“
You’re serious.”

She
nodded.

White Feather
bolted up. “Where is he?”

“
He is gone to address the Hoyaneh.”

“
Do you know what this means? No one has seen him in over five
hundred years. What did he say?”

“
We are going to war. He didn't say when, but I would guess
soon if he needs to address the Chiefs. He also told me I have a
different path to walk. I must leave.” She chose to leave the dying
part out. No sense in getting him too worked up.

“
I don't understand. What path?” He grabbed his shirt and
slipped it over his head.

“
I wish I understood myself.”

“
We should go back. I want to see the Peace Maker with my own
eyes.” He ran off into the forest, back along the trail. Brahm
hesitated, looking back to where she had conversed with the Peace
Maker. There was still nothing there, other than a small blue bird
that chirped and hopped about, pecking at the earth.

He knew she
was twin-souled.

Did he know
about the incident that caused it? And, better yet, did he know how
to get rid of it?

Walking into
the village, Brahm found it robust with activity. Men and women ran
in and out of the longhouses, bundles carried on their backs as
many of the Clan Mothers gave orders, pointing and guiding each to
their respective roles. She heard whisperings of the Wendigo among
them, but they were silenced as she approached.

The Peace Maker had lit a fire all right. A God-damned forest
fire
.

The village bordered on chaos. Brahm searched for White
Feather and spotted him with the Chiefs. They called out orders and
plans of their own.

Approaching
Little Doe, Brahm wanted to smile, but found it impossible. She
felt too much confusion inside her to fake it.

“
What troubles you, child?” the Clan Mother asked. She took
Brahm’s hand in her own. The softness in her eyes spoke well of the
love the old woman had for her.

“
I don't want to worry you.”

She shook her
head. “There is little that is worse than war.”

Brahm sighed.
“I met the Peace Maker. He told me I must leave you. He said if I
stay, I will die.”

The Clan
Mother hesitated. She swallowed. “What do your instincts tell
you?”

“
I don’t know; that I am needed, that I could save
lives.”

“
And do you believe what he said?”

“
How can I not, but I know that you'll need me. People are
going to die.”

Little Doe
stood on her toes to hold Brahm's face in her weathered hands.

“
Orenda, you cannot save us all. People are going to die
whether you are with us or not. And if it has already been fated
that you should die fighting with us, then you should take the
Peace Maker's advice and go. Defy the Fates, spit in their faces,
and do what the Peace Maker suggests. Leave us and do not return
until we have dealt with the Confederation. If not for yourself,
then for me. As your Clan Mother, I command it.”

Damn
.

The woman had
her cornered. If Brahm considered herself Haudenosaunee, then she
had no choice but to obey her Clan Mother. Little Doe changed the
subject before Brahm breathed another word.

“
We will be leaving tomorrow for Haven. Messages have been
sent to let them know we are coming. The Peace Maker said none are
to remain behind. We are taking as much as we can of our supplies.
Two Moon will be sending messages to summon the tribes back from
the new villages.”

Brahm pleaded
her case. “How can I be sure the Peace Maker was right? You know
the feelings I get and how they must be obeyed.” It was a losing
argument, but the stubborn side of her refused to subside.