The Second Coming (27 page)

The Clan
Mother fiddled with a pouch at her side. “Speak true, fiend. What
are you called that we may name you?”

The voice of
the Hunter chuckled. “…I have many names, ancient and new. Tell me,
where is the fruit of your loins? You will share her fate, old
woman.”

Little Doe
paled.

The Hunter’s
head jerked for a second and opened her mouth, but the voice that
came out was softer. “…ake'nihstenha…yothore.,” it whispered.

Paine’s amulet caught the words.
…mother… it is cold.

Little Doe
wept. Her fingers tore at the earth. “Eksa'a,…”, she said.

Child…

She stroked the Hunter’s face.

“
Mother…,” said the voice, and then struggled to speak once
more, like it was fighting with the other presence within the
Hunter, or the Hunter herself.

The hunter
chuckled once more, gurgling as the first voice laughed.

“
She is mine, old woman, as you will be. All of
you—”

The Clan
Mother cried out and then stabbed the Hunter’s leg with a
yellow-coated knife. The woman shrieked in agony; Paine was unsure
if the pain was hers or that of whatever had taken her body.

“
Mine!” it shrieked and then hissed. It spat at the Clan
Mother and then the Hunter went still. Her breathing was labored
and her body and head were moist with sweat. The Clan Mother put an
herb in her mouth and saw to the wound that she had inflicted.
Everyone else stood around, saying nothing, waiting to see what
would happen to the body that had hosted the strange presence. Then
the Hunter’s breathing suddenly eased and she relaxed. As she
exhaled, so did those that watched. Each then departed with their
thoughts and their fears, except Paine.

He stood and
wondered when his chance to pay retribution to this woman would
come.

Paine strode
through groans of fatigue and laments of loss. Half way through the
previous day, the remainder of Lindhome had crossed the river. The
pale faces of the survivors had appeared drawn and haggard, with
the exception of the Lastborn. They had surrounded the Revenants
with a hardened look and a single-minded purpose; save their
progenitors.

Paine noticed
there were few Nymphs among the survivors.

Like onlookers
anticipating the traveling sideshow, a large group had gathered
along the river’s edge. Paine walked among the crowd, the silver
moonlight dancing along the water, to where the Clan Mother
motioned him over. Puck stood next to her, his weight favoring his
right leg, his arms folded across his shallow chest. What was
before them was hardly as interesting as the Wolfman, the
Lizardchild, or even the Horned Woman with the tail — and Paine
always took a secret joy in visiting them at their cages.

He briefly
clutched at his chest with the tearing at his heart and then moved
his hand away as Puck looked at him. Lya remained stationary still.
He breathed shallow breaths, trying to let the suffering pass.

Before him
stood Alwhin, Truitt, Gregor, and six others that formed a tight
cluster around the Witch Hunter. The woman knelt in the midst of
the circle. The silver collar was no longer around her neck and her
hands and feet were unbound. Yet, she did not try to flee. Instead
she rocked herself and howled at the night’s cloudless sky.

Alwhin’s voice
rose above the crowd, tinny like a dented cowbell.

“
We will try to sever the link. Follow my lead.” She closed
her eyes and chanted. The others joined her and a faint wind swept
through the clearing. The sound of the combined voices rose and
fell, reverberating through Paine’s chest. The wind and song bore
something else with it as well. A host of spirits converged upon
them; some flooding through Paine, awakening the cold fire within,
some whispering things to his innermost desires.

*Summon us. Use us.
*

They hovered
over the circle, sweeping in and out, enveloping the entire
gathering. Paine stepped forward for a better look.

The Hunter
murmured words, a summons of her own. Her fingers danced with
flame. She shuffled back and swiped at the air. She called upon
other spirits to aid her and flung fire at the man that stood in
front of Paine. He buckled as it struck, but then recovered as the
fire winked out. The Hunter cast a curse upon him and he groaned,
gripping the others next to him for support.

He stood once
more.

The Hunter’s
lips curled. Paine saw that look once before, in an injured bobcat
surrounded by a pack of armed men. But here, he felt little
sympathy.

She deserved it
.

Puck shifted
at his side.

The battle
raged, the Hunter flinging fire and summoning winds and spirits to
strike down the ring of enemies that trapped her. It was futile.
Tears of anger streamed down her face. Her teeth clenched and she
collapsed to the ground. The spirits surged towards her, converging
upon her flailing body.

The man in
front of Paine faltered, his legs trembling, his grip tightening on
the two beside him. The souls of the dead continued to probe at the
Hunter, and again the man stumbled. Paine grabbed him before he
fell, and as his arms embraced the man the hum of the souls
thrummed in Paine’s ears. The voices of the dead thundered in his
mind. And like the voices he once heard when gazing into the mirror
so many years ago, they tempted him.

*Call upon us. We offer knowledge.
*

The scent of
the dead was tenfold and he breathed a lungful of fetid air.

Who are
you?

*We are
Legion.*

Something
surged from within him, a cold anger that surfaced like vomit. It
brought with it his supper and spilled down the back of the man he
held.

*
Take us unto yourself. Call upon
us. We can sever the link your sister created.*

It seemed as
if the world paused.

Lya created?
Had she now the gift of Sight? Had she known they might be
separated and she would need to find him again?

The Hunter
screamed. She rolled towards Paine, still convulsing, yet in her
eyes lie hatred and fear. He stared the Hunter down, and righteous
anger consumed him — for the loss of his parents; for chasing him
unremittingly; for taking his sister; and finally for his sister’s
unconsented invasion of his body.

How dare she
do this to him?

His anger
brimmed and he vomited again, this time unable to stop whatever was
inside him from lunging forth. Paine moaned. The man slid from his
arms, and voices sounded in his head.

*We are Legion.
*

The dead
flooded towards him.

He yielded to
them.

Come unto
me.

A clear voice
rang out above the others, steady as a rock that stood against the
swell of thoughts — the voice from the Westwood.

-Hold on, child
.
Do not let it overwhelm you
.
Concentrate on the Hunter
.-

Paine
struggled to take hold of the force that flowed out of him, to
control the spirits that wailed in his mind. He fought.

-Surrender to it
.-

He wrestled
for control.

-Let go.
I will help
you
.-

No.

Paine gritted
his teeth, struggling. He sensed the others fall, and their screams
echoed in his ears. The circle broke, and Paine choked on the dried
venison that stuck in his throat. He gagged, struggling to breathe.
The souls of the dead swept through him, each one an ice dagger to
his heart. He fell to his knees. The pain was excruciating.

He heard
shouts of his name, and again the voice in his head sounded above
the din.

-
Let go
.
Surrender to it, or it will kill
you
.
Trust me,
child
.-

Who are
you?

-One who watches over you
.
Now let go
.-

Paine
surrendered, immersing himself in the river of darkness. He was one
with it, and the dead were a part of him. There was only the black
river. He flowed with it, breathed it. And the souls of the
netherworld waited for his command.

The voice
sounded in his head, strong, comforting.

-
Good
.
Now, focus on the
Hunter
.-

Paine did as
he was told and turned the spirits towards the Hunter. Fear played
across her face as he drove the howling legion into her. She
mouthed a scream that had no sound, and her fingers gripped the
air. He took great pleasure in her pain, and his anger
resurfaced.

You did this
to me!

He drove the
pain of his heart into the woman, forcing her to feel what he had
been feeling since his separation from Lya.

The Hunter
shrieked.

Rage seeped
from him, tainting the will of the legion. They howled joy at his
hatred.

I hope you
die.

The voice,
calm and resolute, sounded in his head again.

-
You do not want her death on your
hands
.
Find the
link to the Wormwood and sever it
.
Let go of the anger. Let go of the pain. She is
as Diarmuid once was.
-

But he
couldn't. The hatred was a part of him, as much as his own soul. He
couldn't let go of the anger, but he acceded to the voice’s wish.
He wouldn't kill the Hunter, although Alwhin and the others had
nearly killed her anyway.

Her time would
come.

Focusing his
rage on the links that welded her soul to the Wormwood, he thrust
the souls of the dead into her and unlocked it. The bond melted
away.

The Hunter
screamed, flailing on the ground.

He turned
towards the link within him and the spell that was weaved around
his own heart. It was a knot, complex and woven well.

He reached
towards it, ready to untie it, and then retracted. He needed to
find her still, so he let the bond remain, painful though it was.
It angered him that he had to suffer with this alone so he spun
another incantation, one where when he suffered, Lya would as well.
It held a hint of vengeance.

Feel my
pain.

With the spell
finished, Paine looked around. The others around him were still
upon the ground and the Lastborn were running towards them.

Now what, he
wondered. The souls needed release. The legion still swam through
him. They wanted blood.

*
Call upon us. Use us.*

The voice was
with him once again.

-
Sleep, child
.-

Paine
collapsed, and the souls reeled back into him, wracking his body
with searing cold. They still wanted blood. And they had it, inside
him. The souls of the dead and the damned swam within his veins, in
his heart. And they gloried in their toll.

Then there was
knowledge, vast and dark, but fleeting; and then there was
blackness.

***

When the
wolves returned to Brahm, the sun was hidden behind a blanket of
gray clouds that roiled across the sky. She stretched as she rose
and ate a meager breakfast while she walked.

The wolves
scouted ahead or loped along as rearguard. Brahm watched them,
intrigued. In her many years she had never encountered an entire
clan. In the past, her exchanges had been limited to a single wolf,
involving a brief message before it would scurry off. Never had she
engaged more than one. And Night's ability to communicate with her
was unsettling. Fang had never shown such a talent. It made her
wonder what other beasts might show such intelligence.

Was the world
changing?

When she
arrived at the clearing, the wolves hung back, leaving Brahm to
meet with White Feather and Diarmuid. Both grinned at her return,
White Feather's smile more pronounced than usual.

He hugged her
close to him. “You're back.”

She returned
his embrace, although she was confused by the change in his
demeanor.

“
I found the wolves, but they would prefer to remain in the
woods until they are needed.” Brahm smiled a full grin of teeth at
Diarmuid. “They don't want to get too close to the man who took
Fang from her clan.”

“
Yeah, he smells bad,” White Feather said. He clapped Diarmuid
on the shoulder, and the ridiculous grin had returned. It stretched
across his tanned face to the point she thought he would swallow
his own head.

Brahm studied
the Haudenosaunee for a brief moment. It pleased her to see that
grin again; he was too somber of late. Diarmuid still seemed
distant, but the contrived smile on his face was somewhat
reassuring.

But what had
changed?

“
It looks like you two got along fine without me,” she
said.

White Feather
winked at Diarmuid.

A private joke
.

She wondered
what it was about, but left it alone.

If the dog was
sleeping, let it lie.

“
Any sign of Talon?” she asked.

Diarmuid shook
his head, his lips pursed.

She felt the
same.

Where was the
falcon?

Night stepped
from the shadows and Brahm jumped. A sense of pleasure emanated
from the wolf for having caught her off guard.

She let it
slide and gave him the approximate location of the army. His
thoughts came to her once more.