The Second Coming (30 page)

Where am I
going?

She stepped
onto a land filled with green grass, the tall blades tossed about
by a hollow wind that blew through her, sparing her the feel of its
cool touch. The grass did not rustle with the wind, nor tickle her
skin, nor delight her ears with a faint whisper.

Time, or the
lack of time, passed, and in the distance a stone city waited for
her, armored in shining white. As she walked closer, a red
substance trickled down its towering walls.

It bleeds.

The blood
pooled on the ground and flowed towards the craggy mountains in the
distance, a river of crimson.

The iron gates
to the city stood open, revealing a gaping entrance that waited to
devour her. She strode forward, and as she entered the city, the
walls appeared to shift. The woman looked closer. Countless bodies,
all painted white and nailed in place, squirmed. They opened their
mouths to cry out, but no words fell from their ruby lips. The
sight of them sent a shiver through her body, but the dark-skinned
woman did not avert her eyes. She knew she must bear witness.

An altar lay
in the midst of the empty city and upon it sat a young man. He had
mouse-brown hair, and something about his eyes looked familiar to
her. Blood seeped from the corners of his mouth.

Do I know
him?

She stepped
towards him, but a look of horror swept across his face and he
disappeared. But not before she saw a black leash around his
neck.

No other signs
of life did she see within the city. Rows of gnarled, lifeless
olive trees lined a bone-littered path, guiding her towards a white
building with spires that stretched for the heavens — a church.

The Church
.

The
dark-skinned woman walked the path, her feet stepping upon the
skulls and bones that paved it. The bones made no sound as they
cracked and crumbled beneath her feet.

She entered
the church and strode into an airy room painted with scenes of
human sacrifice; dark-winged demons holding swords, seven-headed
beasts, dragons, horned creatures carrying scythes of death, and
above them all a shining man clothed in white. Below his sandaled
feet groveled the peoples of the land, praying for mercy.

The woman
turned her attention to a golden throne upon a dais, far above
which shone windows of stained glass. Seven was their number, and
in each was painted an angel of shining white, yet with wings black
as a starless night. She walked towards the throne and pressed a
lever beside it. The throne swung aside, across the white marble
floor.

Behind it lay
a corridor, wide and beckoning. The woman entered, and touched its
walls of ancient stone, which breathed beneath her fingers. She
jerked her hand back as rats the size of dogs flooded into the
corridor and climbed the walls in droves; rats that opened their
mouths to squeal with voices she could not hear. They ran out of
the church, spilling out into the streets of the city.

The woman
walked the corridor, either forever or a mere moment, and stepped
into a large cave where she found three people. One was a man, with
a seven-spired crown upon his head. His skin was pale as the city
walls, and he wore a robe of holy white. The man's right hand, with
its dark fingernails, lay upon a woman's stomach. She was naked and
chained to the wall. Her head hung on her chest, and her black,
matted hair hung down to hide her face. Bruises covered the woman's
body. A second man sat off in a corner, naked and cowering. He
picked at the bugs that crawled through his unshorn hair, and ate
them.

The man with
the crown uttered words of sinister and terrible power. He turned
and the dark-skinned woman froze, for he had no eyes, just empty,
bloodied sockets that stared at her from an ashen face. A brief
look of surprise crossed his face as he beheld her with his eyeless
gaze, his teeth bloodied and smiling. His chill grin made her skin
crawl. Yet in that brief moment, where she caught him unaware, all
was laid bare to her and she knew the truth.

She opened her
mouth to rebuke to him, but a black leash appeared in the man’s
hands. Its loop was wrapped about her. It was like ice to her skin
and she sucked in her breath with the pain of it.

It did not
deter the dark-skinned woman. She stepped forward to free the other
from her chains. She ran with bare feet across the stone floor. It,
too, was cold and her feet burned from it.

She reached
the woman, whose hands were warm and comfort. She held them to her,
and caressed her own face with them. Then the dark-skinned woman
heard a voice calling.

*Brahm
.*

She reached
for the steel shackles.

*Brahm
.*

Is that my name?
She struggled to
remember.

The leash
about her tugged and the dark-skinned woman froze in place. It
burned her buttermilk skin. She gritted her teeth.

Then she felt
a breeze and another voice calling her. It was warm like summer’s
breath and smelled of heather and caribou.

*Orenda. Be
free.*

She felt
another tug and the other man, the one with the bug-infested mane,
removed the leash from her with the utmost care. He wrapped the
leash about himself and nodded his mangy head to her. He stepped
back and giggled.

She felt
another tug. Something was pulling her from this world. She fought
and reached for the woman in chains once again.

I must free
her.

The woman on
the stone altar opened her eyes. The dark-skinned woman knew her
and her eyes of sapphire. She embraced the chained woman, pulling
her close to her breast. The other woman mouthed silent words that
echoed in her mind and the woman's soul bonded with her own.

-
My soul to your soul. We are one,
Soul Runner.
-

The first
voice called again.

*Brahm!*

No, I am not
Brahm.

-And I am not
Sephirah.-

Her voice was
matched by that of the woman on the altar.

We are
Orenda.

-We are
Orenda.-

The white king
reached for them, his open mouth screaming words of silent
rage.

Then Orenda,
the twin-souled woman, was pulled into the blinding light.

***

Paine woke to
a throbbing headache and found himself prostrate on a ramshackle
cart that shifted forward at jerky intervals. Fang lay beside him.
She barked.

Paine grabbed
his head and groaned. “Not so loud.”

She then
soaked his face with a tongue that smelled faintly of rotten
meat.

Great Bear's
smiling face appeared next to the cart, riding on his massive
Clydesdale.

“
Welcome back, Little Badger. How do you feel?” The large
man’s eyes flickered with concern. Paine caught something else
there as well.

Fear?

“
What happened?” he moaned, trying to think of the last thing
he remembered. Then it hit him, in a wave of regret. “Oh god, what
did I do? Is anyone hurt?”

Great Bear
offered him a smile, conciliatory, but reassuring. “Not too
badly.”

Truitt
appeared beside him. His face was solemn.

“
Where did you learn that?” he asked. His voice was like
steel.

The cart hit a
hard bump and lurched. Paine reached for his head again. “Learn
what?”

“
To control so many souls; to sever the mind control of the
Wormwood. Five years ago, we almost killed Diarmuid doing the same
thing.”

Visions of the
events flashed in his mind. He thought of the voice that once again
guided him. And then of the souls of the dead. They had wanted
blood. He immediately groped at his skin. All seemed whole.

Had they not
asked their price of him yet again?

Paine
shivered. “I thought I was going to die. What happened to the
Hunter?”

Great Bear
rode in closer. “She remembers almost nothing, except her name —
Mira. She has been sleeping when she hasn't been sobbing. The Clan
Mother gave her some tea to help her rest.”

“
She doesn't remember anything?”

Truitt shook
his head. “It was the same with Diarmuid when he was freed. Her
memory will return with time.”

Great Bear
cleared his throat. “You should get some more rest. We won't be
stopping for some time yet. We are trying to keep ahead of the
Hunters before they finish crossing the Mississippi. So far there
has been no sign of the demons.”

Paine noticed
that he was naked under the blanket. He lay upon straw and it, as
well as he, was covered in his own filth.

“
How long have I been out?”

“
Three days. Gregor called it a
coma
, and said you would wake when
you were ready.”

“
What is that?”

Truitt
shrugged. “We call it Walking the Forgotten Realm. You have to
choose to come back to the world of the living, otherwise you waste
away and remain there forever.”

Fatigue
settled on Paine in thick waves. “Did you see anyone else near me?
There was a voice in my head, someone helping me.” Great Bear
looked pensive for a moment before answering. “There was no one.
The Clan Mother stood beside you for a time, but the moment Alwhin
fell, she ran to help her.”

The two then
left Paine to his rest.

He drifted
off, not caring about how unclean he was. He woke from time to
time, passing the day in a dreamless slumber. When he finally rose
the sun sat on the edge of the horizon, casting an orange glow on
the evening clouds. Fang wagged her tail as he sat up.

“
Well, it is good to see you up.” Little Doe stood beside the
cart, her weathered face smiling. They were no longer moving.
“Come, Little Badger. You'll get stiff if you remain there much
longer.”

She offered
her hand as he stepped down from the cart. His legs trembled.

“
How do you feel?”

His stomach
growled. “Hungry.”

“
We are about to eat, so you are just in time.”

She led him to
a stream so that he could clean himself and offered him the
clothing of her people, all made from animal hides. They were
comfortable, but did not breathe well. He did not want to offend
her, but decided at the first opportunity he would get into some
pants and a shirt that were not made of something that once had
hoofed feet.

Once clean she
took him to a large clearing where the entire congregation
gathered. The sounds of music filled the air. It was the first time
Paine heard anything musical or happy in what seemed a lifetime.
Everyone busied themselves mending broken or worn items, cooking,
practicing their aim, or wrestling. Fang wandered into the brush,
and Puck took her place at his side.

“
Paine … all right?”

Paine put his
arm around Puck's shoulder. “I'm fine. You?”

Puck nodded, a
faint smile decorating his simple face. Yet his eyes hesitated.

The Clan
Mother smiled at the two of them. “Puck has been avoiding
Mira.”

Puck blushed.
“No trust … Hunter. She bad.”

If Puck was
right, then Paine would see to it that she never abducted anyone
again. He wondered if he should have killed her.

Would anyone
have noticed, or even cared?

However, he
wanted to learn of the deal she made with the Westwood and who had
ordered his parents’ death, so he felt it best he had let her
live.

At least for
now.

As they
approached the gathering, a few members stopped what they were
doing to look in Paine’s direction. The rest continued about their
business, oblivious to his presence. Those that gawked at him
seemed more than worried. Paine clasped the Clan Mother's hand for
support. He gripped harder when he saw a crest of blonde hair
filing through the crowd, a head taller than most.

The Witch
Hunter.

Her gaze was
cast to the ground, low and humble, as she sped towards Paine. His
feet felt glued to the ground. A mix of emotions coursed through
him as the Hunter approached. His throat was dry as a summer's
drought. Puck took two steps back, head lowered.

The Hunter
stopped suddenly before Paine, but could not look into his eyes.
Her gaze darted all over, avoiding his own.

“
Thank you,” she muttered. Sobs escaped her lips, and she fell
to the ground before him. Paine winced as she stroked his boots.
Something inside him tried to surface once more. It yearned to make
her suffer.

He beat it
down.

She repeatedly
thanked him as she wept. She rocked back and forth, cradling
herself.

Nissamin ran
over to the Hunter and guided her away. Paine stood frozen. Here
was the woman who had hunted him, fierce and determined in her
quarry, sobbing at his feet. Yet now she was like Diarmuid; free
where she was once subdued by the Wormwood. He had seen himself how
it had bonded to her soul. Could he still fault her?

His fists
clenched in anger and frustration. He knew not how to feel.

The Clan
Mother squeezed his hand. “Are you all right, Little Badger?”

Puck had a
nervous look set upon his face.

Paine
hesitated, then nodded. “Puck?”

Despite his
simple mind, Puck knew hatred. Paine sensed it, like a warm fire.
The young man remained silent.

The Clan
Mother stepped between the two of them, one arm in each. “Come.
Let's get some food.”

Heading
towards the fire, Paine was greeted and patted on the back by many,
but all held a brief flicker of hesitation in their eyes. The three
strode towards Great Bear and Truitt, seated together on the
ground. He sat with them, and they inquired about his health. He
assured them he was fine as the Clan Mother brought him some food.
She then left him in their care.