The Second Coming (16 page)

Beside him,
Miguel huddled beneath a cloak that was too small for his rotund
frame, eyeing the roadside with a shifting gaze. John walked with
his head held high, his shaggy mane whipped about by the wind.
Though he had little idea where Meega directed them, he walked with
purpose. The east side of Barcelona was filled with a seedy lot,
the buildings as unkempt as the people that lurked in their
doorways. Shutters hung off window frames, flapping in the bitter
winds that swept through the street. Weeds stretched out of holes
in the stucco walls, as if desperate to catch some small ray of
sunshine. The smell of rotting fruit and urine hung thick on the
air, and Miguel pinched his bulbous nose.

John asked
Meega to take them to her mother so he could see her safely
returned before he and Miguel departed for Portugal. He was now
glad they accompanied her, as the looks on some of the men on the
street made his skin crawl. He heard that the poor and the
dispossessed went missing at times, never to be seen again. John
remembered when hundreds had disappeared, cleaned from the streets.
He knew those hundreds, each one of their faces forever burned into
his mind.

He glanced
towards Miguel. He had said little since leaving Liesel. The fat
friar thought his heresy was centered around the Book of
Revelation. John failed to correct him.

Perhaps he should tell him everything
.

It was becoming a burden.

Meega giggled
once more, clapping her tiny hands. She pointed to a door with
chipped blue paint, one of ten that lined a large stone building.
The slate roof was in desperate need of repair.

“
Is this your home, little one?” John could not help calling
her that. It slid off his tongue like warm butter.

“
Yes!” She clapped once more, and raised her hands to the
downpour of rain. Lightning flashed in the distance, followed much
later by rolling thunder.

They
approached the building, and found no place to tie the horses.
Miguel said nothing, but took the reins of both as John lifted an
excited Meega out of the saddle. She held his face in her hands and
stared into his eyes. Then she smiled and it felt as if time had
stopped and there was nothing in the world except John and this
little girl. She giggled, her smile stretching across her face with
the most innocence John had ever witnessed. It pierced his heart
and he found himself smiling back.

Meega wiggled
in his arms and John put her down, following her through a blue
door that creaked as it opened. The wind slammed it shut behind
him.

“
Hello,” John called.

Meega ran down
a dark corridor and disappeared into a room near the end.

He strode
forward, side-stepping the wooden blocks and stones that littered
the dirt floor. The walls were as chipped as the paint on the front
door, and pocked with holes through which mice and small beetles
scurried from his approach. He looked into the first room. A wood
table stood awkwardly on three legs. Next to it sat a small
cupboard with only one door.

Empty.

He heard
Meega's bare feet running through the hall, and another door
opening. The little girl called for her mother.

John continued
down the hall to find a wooden door on the right. He opened it and
stepped back as a rancid smell flooded his nose. He performed
enough Last Rites to know it.

Death
.

He stepped
into the room and let his eyes adjust. On a blanket on the floor,
clutching a small wooden doll, lay the body of a Firstborn woman.
Her eyes were open, but John knew no soul took residence there. In
the midst of her chest a gaping hole glared at him and branded to
her forehead was a symbol from the Firstborn alphabet. He knew what
it stood for.

Blood
traitor.

He turned back
to the door, to catch Meega, to spare her the sight, but the little
girl stood in the doorway. Thunder shook the walls. Her eyes
stared, wide as the harvest moon, and her mouth hung open. With his
amulet, he caught the only word she muttered, a faint whisper that
fell from her tiny lips.

“
Mother.”

***

The next day
was one of rest, at least for Paine. The Westwood’s attempt to
break through Lindhome had been thwarted by Truitt and the others,
leaving Lindhome in peace for a time. The sentries, however, now
stood guard, careful to observe its movements and behavior. So far,
it remained quiet, as if waiting. Its stillness did nothing for the
other members of Lindhome. It set them on edge. Fortunately Paine
and the others would be leaving Lindhome behind on the morrow. He
would be glad to go. He had no desire to remain in a place that
felt like a pot on the verge of boiling over.

Lya had left
Paine to patrol the north border with Truitt, who from Paine’s
deduction was definitively Lastborn. The man was powerful, strong,
and had a cruel streak that was unlike the Revenants or the
self-proclaimed Nymphs. He seemed to take pleasure in killing the
small rodents they used for blood spells — chinchillas they were
called.

Puck was off
roaming about Lindhome, fascinated with the Nymphs. That left Paine
alone with Diarmuid. His heart ached at the distance that Lya was
generating between them. With every footfall she moved further
away. He held his chest and then turned his attention to Diarmuid.
They sat among the knee-high grasses that cascaded from the north
stream. Its muddied waters flowed through Lindhome, feeding the
wilted willows that littered its meandering path. The water smelled
stale.

Paine was
pleased to finally have a moment alone with the man, but Fang lay
between them so he tried to keep his thoughts and intents
wholesome.

Three
Revenants passed by, smiling at them with crooked teeth. Paine
offered a smile back, but found it difficult to be sincere. They
were repulsive.

He looked back
to Diarmuid and blurted out anything to get his mind off the
foul-looking freaks.

“
Diarmuid, were you born in Haven?”

Diarmuid
nodded to the Revenants as they shuffled past. His smile was
genuine.

“
No,” he said when they were finally out of earshot. “I was
born in the east, just south of New Boston. My parents were hanged
for witchcraft when I was young. A friend of my parents brought me
to Haven. She didn't want to see me fall to the same
fate.”

Two more
Revenants passed by, followed by eight children — apparently their
offspring. They appeared and dressed like the Lastborn.

Paine paused
to study them.

“
You don’t get it, do you?” Diarmuid said.

“
What?”

“
When two Revenants mate, the result is Lastborn.”

Paine’s loins
convulsed at the thought. “What about the Nymphs?”

Diarmuid shook
his head. “Sterile.”

“
I guess that explains why the Lastborn keep encouraging the
ugly ones to breed and wear all that make-up and fancy
clothing?”

Diarmuid
nodded.

“
They’re building an army to fight the Firstborn, aren’t
they?”

Again the man
silently concurred.

“
Have you been to Valbain?”

“
No, it’s over the sea, but I've been all over the
Confederation and the Outlands, except for the north where the Obek
live.”

“
Obek?”

Diarmuid
chuckled. “Surely you've heard the stories? Massive beings that
roam the north moors. They hunt caribou.”

Paine
shrugged. “You hear stories around fires to scare people. Monsters
that are eight feet tall, things that lurk in the Westwood, spirits
that curse the newborn, ghosts searching for vengeance, and the
wolfen of course. But no one ever mentioned Firstborn or Obek, only
that there were devils and monsters.”

“
There is much that people deceive themselves with, especially
under influence of the Confederation.”

“
And the Witch Hunters,” Paine added. He paused, thinking of
how they had followed them and taken Puck. “Why didn’t the Hunters
just kill Puck? They held him as captive.”

“
They take those that are young enough to be trained. Those
that are too old are destroyed. The Witch Hunters are witches
themselves.”

Paine furrowed
his eyebrows. “I don’t understand. Why would any witch want to work
with the Confederation?”

“
The Witch Hunters are controlled with an herb. It’s called
Wormwood. It binds with their soul and their ability to cast spells
and summon the dead. Its addiction is deadly.”

“
Are you sure?”

“
Yes.” Diarmuid's voice dropped to a low murmur. “I used to be
one.”

Paine sat as
if his brain had shut down. He had no words.

The corners of
Diarmuid's lips jerked into a shy smirk. “Don’t worry. The Lastborn
freed me years ago.”

“
What happened?”

Diarmuid
leaned back against the willow that sheltered them from the sun's
late afternoon rays. He gnawed on a blade of dried grass.

“
When I was eleven, I was captured by a Witch Hunter — stolen
from right out of Haven.” Diarmuid tossed the blade into the
stream.

“
All the way to the Heartlands I prayed that someone would
rescue me, and when we finally reached Charleston, I knew no one
could. The place was swarming with Hunters. There were others like
me, all bound and gagged. One by one we were stripped of everything
except a silver collar and put in a dark room. The smell of that
place made me want to vomit. Most of those kids had soiled the
floor where they stood. I found my way to a wall and sat. Not long
after, the collar fell off. Then, everything went black.

“
I don't remember a lot of what happened in the first few
years after that. I have vague memories of learning to cast spells,
and summon spirits. I remember hunting witches and not being able
to control what I was doing. I hated what they made me do. I hated
the Confederation. I hated everything. And I could not resist them
because they supplied the herb — the Wormwood to which I was
addicted. Without its regular dose I would die. I tried to run from
them once, but the withdrawal was excruciating. I ran right back
after a single day. I remember every child I captured and every man
and woman I killed. I was under their control for ten years. Then
one day, on the trail of a young witch, I stumbled on
Fang.”

At the sound
of her name, the she-wolf thumped her tail on the ground, grinning
at Paine.

“
What I told you about her abandoning her pack was true,” he
continued. “What I didn't tell you is that something in her
compelled me to follow her. I couldn't help myself as she led me
across the land. Her hold over me was stronger than the drug they
controlled me with. I rationed the herb and despite the withdrawal
I was suffering, she led me here, to Lindhome. I was lucky they
didn't kill me, but Alwhin wouldn't allow it. She said I had some
purpose to serve and that they should find a way to free
me.”

“
So you can summon the dead?”

Diarmuid shook
his head. “When they removed my dependency upon the Wormwood they
also removed my ability to cast spells and summon. It did something
to my soul, like they took a piece of it. Somehow, the two were so
intertwined they couldn't remove one without the other. And the
withdrawal was difficult, painful. I spent a year here before I
returned to Haven.”

Paine put his
hand on Diarmuid’s arm. “I'm sorry. I won't tell anyone.”

“
It's all right. I wish I could have told you earlier, but how
would you have reacted if I had told you I was once a Witch Hunter?
Would you have come with me after you just killed one? I had to
wait until you trusted me.” Diarmuid tossed another blade of grass
into the stream. It sank under the surface.

“
I thought the Confederation outlawed witchcraft,” Paine
said.

“
They did.”

“
But they use it.”

“
They fight fire with fire, enslaving an army of witches to
destroy those that wield it freely.”

Paine watched
the murky river. Clumps of mud and rock tumbled into it as it swept
through Lindhome. As the water tore chunks from the bank, it
darkened further.

“
And once they have cleansed the land, what will they do with
their army of Hunters?” Pained asked.

“
Exactly what you think; they will be executed.”

Paine lowered
his eyes and nodded. He felt shame at the thought, but could not
help it. The bitterness was strong. Someone had to pay.

Good.

***

Paine sat upon
Shadow's back as the last of the preparations were made before they
departed Lindhome. A woman with blonde hair waited beside him. She
had something of a masculine look about her. He could not say that
he had made fast friends with Hella over dinner, but there was
camaraderie nonetheless. She was easy going and Paine liked the
quiet demeanor about her. The Lastborn woman was going to accompany
them to Haven.

“
Are you ready?” she asked.

He looked
north. “I’m not looking forward to crossing the Westwood.”

She gripped
his shoulder. It hurt.

“
All will be well,” she said.

Alwhin came to
stand before Paine and Lya, guiding them to the side for a private
conversation.

Lya quickly
spoke. “You never finished telling us of our heritage. Do you know
who we are? Do you know who our parents are?”