The Second Coming (31 page)

They sat
around the fire listening to tales well into the evening before two
Nymphs rose and took the attention of the crowd. The crackling of
the fire echoed through the silence.

Nodding to
each other, the shorter, dark-haired one hummed, a low vibrating
pitch. The second joined her, her voice an octave higher, in
harmony with the first. It was a haunting song and the hairs on
Paine's neck bristled as he listened. He heard the words, and
fingered the stone that hung about his neck. It sat still. Octave
for octave, their voices rose, the two blending, slow and
rhythmic.

Before long,
three Haudenosaunee drummed with the song. The two women smiled,
and sang with even more fervor. They climbed further, the melody
and harmony crawling under Paine's skin. His heart raced, the song
becoming a part of him. His eyes watered.

Paine held his
breath, his ears afraid to drown out even one note, his heart
fearing to beat. He was entranced. The song climaxed, and more
drums joined in. Paine closed his eyes and let the music sweep him
away. His mind's eye saw a land of great trees and unearthly
beauty, filled with beings of light, and crystal waters. But the
vision waned as the song slowed, the drums faded, and the voices
hummed to silence.

Paine exhaled.
“Wow.”

Truitt leaned
over. “That was sung in a language that is rarely spoken.”

Paine thought
of the tablet in Lindhome. Reaching into the pouch at his side, he
pulled out the folded parchment. “Like this?”

Puck leaned
over. “What …that?”

Truitt pored
over the parchment and held it away from Puck’s curious eyes.
“Where did you get this?”

“
I think it is from my birth parents. It is in the same
writing that was on the tablet in Lindhome.”

Truitt leaned
in close. His firmness dissolved into concern. “What tablet?”

Paine lowered
his voice. “The one with the statues around it.”

Truitt rose.
His face still held a solemn look, but his eyes showed he was
agitated. “Come with me.”

Paine followed
the man away from the fire as their shadows danced before them.
They walked to edge of the camp, Truitt ushering him with a strong
hand.

“
How did you see the writing on the tablet? Only one woman was
able to see it among the Rebellion, and she's dead.”

Paine
shrugged.

“
And Alwhin said nothing of this?”

“
She said that no one could read it.” In the distance, he
heard two other women singing, twins.

“
You don’t understand. It’s not a matter of reading it. No one
can even see the writing. It’s only seen by the souls of those that
are descended from its creators. And there are only ever three of
them in existence at a time.”

“
So how can I?”

“
I don’t know, but no one among the Rebellion can. That is why
we were never able to decipher the use of the Tablet. It is said it
can track the dead and the use of necromancy, anywhere in the
world. The Firstborn stole it from the Sidhe and used it for
centuries to fight the armies of the Dark One, but then used it
against the others to enslave them. Its theft from Valbain started
the Rebellion, and it has remained hidden in Lindhome since its
founding.” His face raged. “Now the demons have taken
it.”

“
Why didn't Alwhin say something to me?”

“
I don't know.” Truitt cast his glance warily about, studying
the patch of box elder that lay east of them for a time. “I can
think of only one thing,” he said.

Paine stared
at the man and his pointed ears, so much like Lya’s.

“
She didn't want anyone to know who you are.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
Like I said, only Sephirah could see the writing, and the
souls that can read it are almost always descended from the
previous generation, but there can only ever be three in
existence.”

Paine
blinked.

Could it be
true?

“
That means Sephirah was your mother.”

“
And what about Lya?”

“
Was she able to see the writing?”

And Paine
thought back to the events of that day and even to the parchment
that Truitt passed back to him. She had only ever focused on the
side with the spell.

Could she read
it?

“
I don’t know.”

Friar John
trekked through the forest, working his way downstream to where the
waters stagnated. A sliver of moon hung in the distant sky, close
to the horizon. The skies would darken soon and John hurried his
pace. It was not a place to be left without light. In this place
would lay a fiend that could aid him; something that lived between
the worlds of the living and the dead; one that would have the
power to work with the souls of the deceased on his behalf. But it
was also one that, if hungered enough, would take his life without
question.

He walked a
lightly treaded path. Others had come before him, beseeching the
aid of the ghoul that resided in such a dismal place, but as he
looked at the growth along the way, he knew that few had been fool
enough to try. It was a risk, he knew, but one worth the
taking.

Young maples
and beech twisted and curved their way upward; fighting with each
other to reach for what little light came through the canopy above.
It was a dark place, filled with a stench that lingered and
worsened with each step. Dead things lay here, those whose bones
hadn’t yet sunk to the bottom of the swamp. The muddy path before
him led only in one direction, deeper into the wetness.

His hardened
heart thought little of his journey to this point. He concentrated
only on the task at hand and how he would find the Beast. And then,
once found, commit the act he needed to. The question before him
was twofold; how to find the Beast, and how to remain alive after
killing him. The latter was where the ghoul came into play. He
would ask its aid for escape. The former was another matter
entirely, but with patience he would find a way. He always did.

John
stopped.

Before him lay
what he looked for — a bog. The dead trees rose from the still
waters like crooked fingers. Nothing moved here and there was
little to hear aside from his own breathing. He looked into the
waters and found leeches near the bottom. This was the place.

John backed up
a few steps, ensuring that he stood upon solid earth and grabbed a
stick from the ground. He drew a circle about him. Within the
circle, he drew the pentagram and then symbols of protection. He
wasn’t taking any chances with a creature that was capable of
snatching his soul from his body. He double-checked his work. All
was set.

Then he cited
the incantation that would drag the ghoul from the depths of the
bog. He waited and watched as the leeches stirred under him. Their
movements were slow, but their widdershins pattern indicated they
sensed what was coming. Then the waters before him bubbled as
something rose from the bog. Its legs and feet were somehow secured
to the bed of the bog, like a trunk made of entwined reeds. Long
thin arms twisted out of its bent body and hung down to barely
touch the surface of the waters. Its face and hair were obscured by
the shawl of peat that cloaked it. Around its neck it wore the
shrunken skulls of the others that had come before him. Some were
still fresh.

The ghoul
towered over John, looking down upon him. It spat bog water when it
spoke and its voice was a wailing that made John’s neck muscles
tense.

“
What price are you willing to pay, heretic?”

Heretic?

John wiped the
moisture from his face. “I have this.” He held up the urn within
which was trapped the soul of the young woman. He placed it outside
the circle, careful to keep his hands within the protective
barrier.

The ghoul
plucked it from the ground with its misshapen fingers. It opened
the urn and inhaled the soul that was within. John could swear he
heard the woman screaming.

“
This soul is tainted.”

He thought of
the alleyway and the man that had lurked there. “Then I will
deliver another afterwards.”

“
What you have given is not worth half the tithe. For what you
ask, I want the soul you hunt. That will fulfill me for
years.”

John knew
better than to ask how it knew what he wanted. He’d worked with
these kinds of devils before. “That soul has another purpose.”

The ghoul
gurgled. John could not tell if it was laughter or irritation.

“
What you ask for will require much. The tithe is greater. I
need something more substantial than the souls of
whores.”

“
Then name your price.”

The beast
leaned down and crossed the barrier. John sucked in his breath. The
thing should not have been able to enter the circle. His hands
froze and he waited as it traced its fingers along his chest. It
gestured some form of spell or hex over his heart and then pulled
back into the waters.

“
I want something more succulent. Unless you can find
something more pure than this tasteless refuse, I think your own
will do fine.”

John paused.
He wondered what he would find that was pure enough to satisfy the
appetite of this thing. Meega was now lost, and he felt ashamed
that she had come first to his mind. Then he thought of another,
one who was naïve and almost as pure as the little girl. The regret
of it was temporary and then John nodded.

“
Done.”

“
Will you accept the assurance?” it asked and plucked a leech
from the bowels of the marsh.

John rolled up
his sleeve and held his arm forth. He remained within the circle to
see if it would cross the barrier once more. It did and it chuckled
as if reading his thoughts.

“
You are not what you once were, heretic. You have grown
weak.”

With its slick
fingers it seized his arm and placed the soul leech upon his skin.
As the thing bit into him and latched unto his soul the ghoul
shuddered.

“
You will do fine,” it said. It released him and the waters
from its hands anointed John’s head.

It recoiled
back into the bog once more.

John rolled
down his sleeve. He would bandage it later.

“
You will deliver what I need?”

The creature
nodded. “You will have aid when you need it. You know what to
do.”

“
How long after you fulfill the bargain will I be held
accountable?”

The creature
shrunk into the bog. “Sunset of the very day.”

Less than a
day after the deed to get Miguel’s soul.

“
That’s not a lot of time,” he said.

The ghoul said
nothing and slid back into the waters.

***

Sunshine
beamed through a window, stabbing Brahm's eyes. She rubbed at them.
They were dried and caked. She struggled to rise, feeling
unbelievably weak.

A young woman
sat beside her in a chair of lumpy, brown cushions. Her face was
easily distinguishable.

There was
something else about her and Brahm's memory grappled to recall. The
girl did not smile, just offered a blank stare. And then she
remembered. She knew this girl.

“
Lya.”

The girl
nodded. “How do you feel?”

Brahm groaned.
“Rough. You?” She stared at the girl's features, and something
niggled at her, as if she was supposed to remember something. She
had a sudden feeling of unsurpassed love for this girl. Then it was
gone like a puff of smoke. She paused, waiting for her second soul
within her to scream inside her head, but there was nothing.

Lya then
offered a timid smile. “Good.” She cocked her head to the side.
“You look troubled.”

Brahm felt her
face flush. She had been staring. “I'm sorry. You look like
someone.” There was no further doubt in her mind.

It was her
daughter; the woman whose soul was bound with her own.

But there was
something different about that woman’s presence. It seemed no
longer invasive, but rather a part of her, and it scared Brahm even
worse. As she looked at Lya, a part of her felt like this was her
own daughter.

I’ve got to
get this thing out of me before I become her.

Brahm looked
around the room. Thin, yellow curtains framed a small window,
allowing the morning sun entry into the otherwise dreary room. Her
pack rested on a scratched and tilted table on the other side of
the bed. The air in the room tasted stale and smelled of urine and
shit.

“
Where are the others?”

“
Diarmuid is getting supplies with White Feather.”

Brahm laid her
head back down. “Where are we?”

“
We're on the western shores of the Mississippi, in a town
called Bridgeport.”

Brahm put her
hand to her throbbing head. “How long have I been out?”

“
Four days. You were gone pretty deep.” The girl bit her
lip.

“
What do you mean?”

“
I can't explain it. You were not sleeping, and not
unconscious. It was like your soul was lost.”

“
It sounds like a
coma
. Gregor used that word once
when we nearly lost Farin to the wolfen.” She peered about the room
trying to fake her interest in other objects while taking note of
Lya’s hand. It was bandaged, but the blood that stained it was
fresh. “How did you get me here?”

Lya leaned
back, her chair creaking. “You can thank White Feather for that. He
strapped you to himself and rode on Roan's back. He never left your
side.”