The Second Coming (34 page)

Dïor sniffed
at the air, the musty smell of his own hair tickling his nose. The
trail had taken him far, north of Lindhome and then south once
more. He followed through marshes and swamps where he cavorted with
the undead and half-men that dwelt in their depths, he swept past
towns and villages and through the remains of the Confederation
camp where he heard rumor of the Westwood moving — a dark curtain
of death and despair that prowled the land. Through it all his
thoughts dwelt upon his daughter.

He thought
perhaps the Westwood might come for him; it hadn’t taken everything
from him, but that thought was brief. He knew it hunted much bigger
prey than he. The Firstborn Lord chuckled, wondering how the
Lastborn would fare against the Westwood now that it was free.

No matter.

Dïor’s
attention turned as Confederation soldiers approached. He slipped
into the shadows, becoming one with the darkness. The Hunters
passed, failing to notice him, nor sense the darkness that shrouded
him.

Kill.
Kill.
Kill.

His fingers
danced along the handle of the dagger that hung at his side. Yet he
let the Hunters pass, and focused his attention once more on the
sailing ship.

Lya
.

He stirred
from the shadows and slunk into the forest, following the
Mississippi.

I come for
you, my child.

***

Brahm sat on
the deck of The Lady Maiden, the wind stroking her bare scalp. Lya
sat next to her, in lighter chains than the ones that shackled
Brahm to the rigging. Mason must have assumed that she posed little
threat to him.

Her brother
stood behind them as guard, his gaze never meeting hers. His anger
was still palpable. She faced back to the water, his rejection
taking more of a bite from her than she thought possible. She felt
his shame of her, but she held her head high.

His shame is
not mine.

Lya was absent
with her thoughts. Mason had informed the girl of Sephirah’s death;
something Brahm had wished he had left for her to do. He obviously
felt it his duty. Regardless, Lya asked to join Brahm on the deck
and for some reason Mason was inclined to oblige.

Lya had shown
neither kindness nor cruelty, but Brahm accepted her company as a
good sign. The guilt of it bore through her heart. She considered
telling the girl the rest of the story; about whose soul resided
with her own.

Perhaps it
would ease the guilt.

She held her
tongue.

White Feather
was another matter. He distanced himself from Brahm, refusing to
even look at her. Where the guilt and shame from Lya tore open her
heart, White Feather’s rejection ripped it to shreds.

Lya briefly
clutched at her chest. The pain was not readable on her face, but
her eyes hinted at something other than the calculated look she
usually carried. Whether it was pain or not was another matter.
That made Brahm think of Lya’s brother.

She did not
lean over, but looked from the corner of her eye. Mason was some
distance away, now talking with Breland. She spoke through her
teeth. “Your brother, would he be able to help us? You are twins,
can you call to him?”

Lya shook her
head, a slight movement. “Even if I could reach out to him, he is
weak, useless.”

Brahm tried
not to wince at the cold words.

Mason’s boots
thumped the deck behind them. She overheard his words. “…we are a
day’s journey from New Memphis. We disembark to head northeast to
join the rest of the army.”

New
Memphis.

There were two
ports at which to cross the Mississippi easily, where it flowed its
thinnest at fifty miles wide. The rest was treacherous. Brahm
figured the army must have gone north to cross.

Strange, she
thought. The northern crossings were ill used by the Confederation
and how they were going to catch up to the army was something of a
mystery. It would be a long walk, indeed.

Mason appeared
briefly hurt as he stared towards the direction they sailed. Then
he uttered something she never expected.

“
Why did you leave?”

He shifted
behind her, the sound of his boots clicking the deck.

Brahm
answered, as if eager to tell him. It was cleansing.

“
I was sent to investigate a rumor about a Missionary that was
attacking the Hunters and leading witches to Haven. We knew about
the Missionaries, but there was one who was better skilled than
most; one who seemed able to call the wild things of the forests
for aid. It was thought Haven had a new weapon to fight the
Hunters. So I went to find out for myself.”

A squawk and
fluttering of feathers turned her attention. Brahm rolled her
eyes.

Stupid gull
.

Yet she
recognized the opportunity, and opened her mind to its thoughts.
The images and instincts spilled from its simple mind — flashes of
a hooded darkness skirting the trees, something akin to the
Westwood. She sensed the gull’s fear. She then gave it a message to
relay to the Haudenosaunee, to alert them of her situation. The
white bird squawked once more, and she remained open to its
thoughts as she continued with her story.

“
I headed for a small town south of New Boston and spent the
better part of two weeks there, searching.”

Brahm focused
the bird’s attention to Lya, to turn its thoughts towards her and
spoke within her mind.

-
Lya.
Can
you hear me?-

The girl’s
gaze remained unwavering, towards the river.

*
Yes.
I
hear you. What craft is this?*

Brahm spoke
aloud her story to Mason.

“
I heard nothing from the locals, but did not trust them as
they seemed to suspect I was from the Confederation.”

-The Tongue is not a talent of the craft.
We can communicate through the gull’s mind.
Pay attention to its thoughts.
-

She paused for
a moment, for Lya to sense the gull’s warning, and then continued
speaking. “I had given up on my last night there and decided to
entertain myself in one of the local bars. I noticed someone eyeing
me, a wild-looking woman I was instantly attracted to. She was as
tall, with tanned skin and dark eyes. She sauntered over to me with
two beers in hand. I had no reason to suspect she might be anything
more than a one night stand, so I accepted the beer and we talked
through the night.”

-Something tracks us.
I have left a
message with the gull to get help.
We will
discuss this later.-

Brahm released
her mind from the gull and it fluttered and rose upwards.

“
Gulls are stupid birds,” she muttered aloud.

Mason nudged
her. “Go on.”

“
Well, needless to say we woke up in each other’s arms the
following morning. I spent two more days there, hunting and
drinking with her, and falling hard and fast for this strange
woman. We talked a lot during those two days, about the
Confederation and the Hunters. We discussed different views on
witchcraft, and I listened to what she said. On the third day, I
told her who I was, deciding not to hide from her. She then told me
she was a Missionary with a gift to speak with animals. I then
realized she was the one I was looking for.” The gull perched upon
the mast of the ship, seeming to watch them.

Fucking gull.
Fly!

Mason
shifted.

“
We argued that day, and fought; and nearly killed each other.
Finally, she asked me a question: ‘Do you know who the man is that
discovered how to control the Hunters? Do you know why it is kept a
secret?’ I told her what I knew, that Senator Thurmond read an
ancient text and found an herb to turn the tides, to prevent
another Witch War from ever happening again. She told me the secret
of that weapon was kept a secret so no one could learn to use this
weapon against the Confederation.”

She listened
for Mason. Silence sat behind her. The gull took flight.

“
Gray Wolf also told me that Senator Thurmond was a former
member of Haven. He was ex-communicated. Gregor ousted him because
he wanted to use the herb to control the Confederation. Thurmond is
a blood witch and the Hunters answer only to him.”

Lya sat quiet,
biting her lip. Brahm heard nothing from her brother.

The gull flew
towards the western shore of the Mississippi and Brahm nearly
choked on her words as the bird dropped from the sky. She scanned
the trees, and let her soul slip into its dance. She sailed the
wind currents in unison with the bobbing of the small wooden
cruiser, its sails unfurled and taut. She floated along the water’s
edge, traveling towards shore. She searched for the remains of the
gull, feeling for its broken body, and her soul gasped at what
loomed over the dead bird. It was something dark, a blot on the
fabric of life. The thoughts of the gull came back to her.

Something from
the Westwood.

A chill swept
through her soul as the shadow turned its attention towards her.
She sensed some incoherent thought from it.

*Seventeen.
Seventeen. Seventeen.*

She reeled
back from its touch, fleeing for the safety of the ship.

What is that
thing?

She soared
over the water, and sensed a presence watching her. Her face stung
from a harsh slap.

Mason stood
over her, shaking her. “No!”

She thought he
would not like her revelations about Thurmond.

Her brother
said nothing more as he pulled her to her feet and unshackled the
chains from the ship’s rigging. He dragged her below deck, marching
her through the bowels of the ship. His boots pounded the wooden
floor. He shoved her forward and Brahm realized it wasn’t her tale
of Thurmond that had upset him. It was that she had done something
to defy him, right under his nose and bold as a peacock. She
smiled, realizing her opportunity. The soul that had watched her
was kindred.

She kept her
pace through the stale wooden hull, and turned back to face him.
“It was you. You sensed me in the Confederation camp. It was you
just now. You are a Soul Runner. Did you see what was out
there?”

He stopped in
front of a closet and flung open the door. The kahbeth sat upon the
floor, still and lifeless. Mason grabbed a silver collar and
clamped it about her neck. “I should have thought of this
before.”

He slammed the
door shut and yanked the chains to drag her once more along the
hall.

“
Mason, you have the same skill. It isn’t
witchcraft.”

He opened the
door. “Convince yourself of what you want, traitor. No witchcraft
runs through these veins.” Her brother pushed her in and locked the
door.

His boots
echoed down the hall.

White Feather
looked at her with concern and then anger filled his eyes once
more. He rolled over.

Diarmuid sat
up. “What happened?”

“
My fresh air was cut short. Mason sensed my abilities as a
Soul Runner. He has the same skill.”

“
What? Is that why you wear the silver?”

She nodded.
“He thinks it’s witchcraft.”

“
Is it?”

“
I don’t think so, but then I’ve never been clamped in silver
before.”

Brahm released
her soul from her body. It was heavier than usual, and could not
travel more than a few feet in front of her. The familiar feeling
of fatigue wafted through her. She slipped back into her skin and
fisted her hands. “I cannot command its use more than a few feet
from where I sit.”

The second
soul within her cackled.

Friar John sat
with the urn on the outskirts of New Boston. He had reset the
sigils upon it so that he could take Miguel’s soul with it. He had
asked of the Church within the city and learned that Miguel had
taken up residence there. There were a few followers, not as many
as the Church of the Ascension, but enough to warrant a humble
structure within the port city. He did not contact the man; that
would be done soon enough. Instead, he left the fat friar to his
pious ways and headed for the forests to take care of the business
at hand. He needed to find this gathering of evil and confine the
soul of the Beast. He rubbed at the bandage on his arm and felt the
leech wriggle beneath it.

John pulled
out the Baron’s mirror and spoke some words of incantation. With
one of his newly sharpened tools he slit his own hand and smeared
the blood along the edges of the mirror. This was a window to
shadow if used properly, he knew, but he did not want to summon
forth what lay within. He wanted only to listen. The trick was not
to turn mad in the process.

John propped
the mirror against a stone and sat before it, waiting.

He closed his
mind to all else, and for twelve days and nights, eating only bread
and honey, he waited for the dark whisperings, and temptation.

***

Upon a damp,
woolen blanket, Paine sat with Fang at his side, the warmth of her
body seeping into his legs. Patches of cloud covered the evening
sky, remnants of the days of rain that plagued the fugitives as
they ran from the army of Hunters. It left in its wake a dusk of
humid air, still and stagnant. Sweat slid down the back of his neck
and he stroked the wolf behind the ears before shifting away from
the heat of her body.

He pondered
what Truitt told him of his birth-mother, of who she had been
before she abdicated.

Through his
parents he knew of the Church and the power it wielded across the
sea.