The Second Coming (38 page)

“
My lady.”

His bulbous
head held vacant eyes. “We are disembarking momentarily. New
Memphis is a busy port. Should you try to escape, no effort will be
wasted to re-capture you. You will be killed on the spot.” His
hollow gaze lingered on Brahm. “The sight of you will likely stir
some heated emotions. I suggest you keep a low profile and try to
look humble. It's hard to say what might happen should an uprising
occur.” His face twitched. “I am sorry it has come to this, my
lady. The price for treason is high.”

“
You seem different since last we met, Breland. Are you
unwell?”

The man
shuffled over to where she sat on the wooden floor, his meaty
fingers bedecked with lavish gold rings. “I'm as well as always, my
lady. The Lord has been good to me.”

“
You still believe that drivel?”

His eyes
hinted brief irritation. “Though it may not seem so, God has also
smiled upon you this day. Senator Thurmond has surprised us with
his presence. He is attending a Revival tonight.”

“
A Revival?”

“
Some of the flock have strayed here,” he said. “They need the
chance to save their souls — as do you. I'm sure it has been a hard
road since you left the flock.”

Strayed?

Brahm’s face
pinched. “I think I'll pass.”

His lips
slithered into a smarmy grin. “You don't have a choice. You're
going to be held up as an example of what happens when you drift
from the presence of God. Your capture is a good omen.”

The door
opened again and Mason strode in. “Breland, what are you doing in
here?”

The shorter
man’s eyes flitted anger before his face melted into humility.

“
Encouraging your sister and her friends to find their way
back to the flock. Perhaps tonight's Revival will save their
souls.”

Mason waved
him off. “I think you should be worried less about their souls and
more about their interrogation. Leave us, I must take them down to
the docks.”

“
As you wish.” Breland bowed low, and then hobbled out the
door.

Brahm took the
opportunity to prod her brother. “You were not expecting
Thurmond.”

“
No.” He closed the door. “The Senator wants you in his
custody immediately. He will be personally escorting you back to
Charleston.”

Charleston.

She remembered
the place well, and the stench of ink and oil as bibles were
mass-printed on some ancient contraption from the Age of Marvels
that Thurmond had supposedly discovered. Despite the fact that it
was a forbidden item, it seemed the Confederation was willing to
overlook such an abomination if it furthered their cause. They sent
the neatly printed books throughout the land, even overseas, in
their bid to proselytize the Good Word. And the Senator had become
like a god to the people with his findings.

“
Is the Imp coming with us?” she asked.

Mason lifted
an eyebrow. “Did he tell you that?”

She shook her
head. “Just a guess.”

Mason said
nothing as he shackled each of the captives at the waist.

She prodded
further. “Was he involved with Lya's capture?”

He re-examined
the silver collar around Brahm's neck, ensuring the lock still
held.

His breath
caught at the question. “He ordered—.”

Mason paused,
his eyes lost in thought, and then he scowled. “I no longer answer
to you, Brahm. I see the seeds of doubt you are trying to sow. They
will not take.” He said nothing more and led them out of the
room.

They passed
the locked closet where the kahbeth and the other weapons sat.
Brahm thought of reaching out with her soul to see if they were
still there, but as Mason pulled on the chain, she left the idea
behind.

A heavy breeze
carried with it the bustling sounds of the port city. It was
tainted with the scent of raw fish. The docks were crowded with
Confederation cruisers and barges, moored in precise order. Gulls
soared through the air and alighted on the wooden docks, suffusing
the port with a thick veneer of white slurry.

The four
captives shuffled down the plank, careful not to step on each
other. Their chains clanked, drawing unwanted attention. Gawks and
hushed murmurs shadowed them as Mason and five Hunters escorted
them into the city. The onlookers muttered and Brahm dodged an
overripe tomato.

“
Witch!” a voice called from the crowds.

Another tomato
flew and struck Lya in the side of the face. Brahm caught the young
woman's look as she turned and scanned the crowd. Her expression
spoke nothing but loathing.

Another voice
called out. “Fiend! Monster!”

Mason took
stride next to Lya with his sword bared. He said nothing, yet his
presence silenced any further calls.

They continued
through the city, past horse-drawn carriages and teams of Hunters.
The nobility of the city stared from under their frilled parasols,
their faces puckered in disapproval. Brahm sensed their stares, and
their looks of recognition. As a daughter of New Memphis, she was
well known among the upper class. She supposed her parents would
have been shamed.

As if on cue,
they strode past the lofty crypts of the New Memphis Cemetery. A
warm breeze wafted through the stone vaults and Brahm caught its
silent voice.

Mother.
Father.

A morning dove
cooed from atop one of the granite mausoleums.

What would
they think of this?

Sweat trickled
down the back of Brahm's neck as she noted the neat rows of stone
tombs that lined the cemetery streets. She caught a brief glimpse
of her family's crypt with its weeping angel clinging to a cross.
On each side of the stone door were carved two elongated
swords.

When a man's
ways please the Lord, he maketh even his enemies to be at peace
with him.

She remembered
her father's wishes for that inscription, as he lay dying with her
mother on the floor of the Confederation Courthouse, an
assassination attempt on one of the senators gone awry. The same
inscription was etched into the tiled ceiling of the judicial
building, just under a stained-glass window. Brahm remembered well
the image in that window, with the angel kneeling before God, sword
in hand. It was the last thing he saw. That angel still haunted her
dreams, for it was under the image of that angel, clutching the
frail, dying hands of her parents, that she rebuked everything to
do with the Church of the Ascension. Mason never understood.

Her brother
led the captives east towards a towering, stone church that stood
upon a hill. Its soaring steeple and cross caught the light of the
setting sun, reflecting a blinding light that hurt her eyes. It had
always fascinated Brahm as a young girl.

No more
.

They strode
close enough to its entrance to see what was etched into its
keystone.

The Church of
the Ascension.

Instead of
walking through the arch, Mason led them around the side through
tall hedges to the back of a building that was being encroached
upon by tendrils of ivy. Brahm paused. A large crowd gathered upon
the hill behind the church. Hundreds milled about a grand, covered
stage while others sat upon blankets, fanning themselves from the
early evening heat. Mason ushered the captives through a narrow,
black door into the Church. Its creaking sent two mice scampering
across the strip floor.

They entered a
dank, but sizeable storage room, piled neatly with wooden boxes.
The lighting was poor. Mason ordered the Hunters to stand guard
while he waited inside with the captives. He closed the door and
only slight cracks in the boarded window allowed the sun's failing
light to filter through.

Mason paced,
slow and deliberate strides that thudded on the floor. His leaden
footsteps paused at a knock at the door.

Mason jerked
it open and torchlight from the fields flooded in.

Breland stood
in the doorway. “Captain, I must take the girl to the stage for all
to see. Senator Thurmond wants to use her in his Revival.”

Brahm thought
of something there. A suspicion about what lurked inside the small
man. Her soul leapt from her body and she fought the silver with
all her might. She captured her brother's attention as she soared
past him. For a mere second she sensed his anger as she touched his
soul and then thrust him towards Breland. She felt her brother's
shock at what he discovered. It was as she suspected.

Demon.

Mason
hesitated.

Breland
questioned his lack of response. “Is something the matter? I need
to take the girl. Unchain her and give her to me.”

Brahm reeled
back into her body. Mason looked down upon Breland. He
straightened. “I will take her myself. I want to ensure nothing
happens to her.”

Breland's lips
pouted, making his face look piggish. “Senator Thurmond's orders,
my liege. You are to remain here to make sure nothing happens to
these three.”

Mason's face
flushed and his gaze paused for a brief moment on Brahm, as if in
confusion. The chains rattled as he unchained Lya. It took him some
time to get her ankles loose, his movements deliberate and
measured. Lya did not look at either Diarmuid or Brahm.

Breland's
thick hands clasped the chains and led Lya out into the torchlight.
The rings on his fingers glittered. The door slammed closed and a
lock slid into place. Breland walked away, his feet shuffling in a
clumsy gait. Mason's fists clenched and opened repeatedly as he
stared at the closed door.

Brahm marked
time with the steady footsteps of the Hunters outside the door. She
lost count after twenty paces, her mind and body aching with
fatigue. Over the silence, voices passed, commenting on the size of
the Revival. It wasn't long before the low hum faded into the
distance.

A serpent-like
voice oozed through the cracks in the door, dripping in a thick
coat of southern drawl. “Greetings, brothers and sisters!
Greetings, children of the Almighty God!”

The crowd
cheered.

“
I thank the Lord you have made it here on this fine evening.
Praise be to the Lord for this glorious day!”

Voices cried
out in unison. “Praise be!”

Brahm rolled
her eyes, remembering how she once enjoyed his sermons.

“
Praise be to the Lord that we are able to gather in safety in
these dark times!”

“
Praise be!”

“
Dark times are upon us, but here, where we follow the Word of
the Lord, let the Light shine! We have spread the Light, my
friends, spread the Light into the dark lands that try to consume
us. For the bloodcraft and the sorcery of the Outlands is being
banished as we speak. The followers of the Horned One and their
heathen practices shall be destroyed.”

The crowd
applauded and cheered.

“
For it is written in the Good Book: Thou shalt not suffer a
witch to live.”

Again, praise
and shouts of approval.

Thurmond's
speech droned in her ears and she focused once more on the pace of
the Hunters outside the door. Above the heavy steps, the twang
slunk through the cracks in the wood, yet she ignored it. Her head
drooped, as if to fall asleep, and she felt a presence. A cold
chill entered the room, as if the door had opened upon the lands of
the North Moors.

A shadow
skulked past her. She could not see it moving, nor hear its steps,
but knew it watched her from the dark, its eyes peeling her down to
the soul.

“
Something is in the room with us,” she said.

Her soul
lifted once again from her body, and found what lurked in the
room.

The being from
the Westwood.

It leeched
onto her and battered at her soul. She felt its anger. Its hatred
of her was icefire, its cold touch burning her very essence.

She forced it
back, its dark touch freezing her.

I need
help!

She sensed
Mason over her body, his fingers around her neck. They fumbled with
the lock of the silver collar.

She reached towards him.
Mason, I
need you!

As the collar
tumbled to the ground, she recognized her brother’s intent. The
weariness withered and died. It was the silver that caused the
fatigue. Her dependence on the kahbeth had hindered her all along.
Her spirit now thrummed, strong and vibrant.

The being
withdrew, trying to merge with the shadows. She sensed its fear and
grabbed hold, the bitter bite of its frozen touch worsening. She
persisted as it melded with the dark. Her soul coiled around it,
preventing its escape, congealing it.

A knife from
the shadows flew towards her body. Brahm braced for the pain as the
blade coursed through the air. Mason stepped in front, deflecting
it with his arm. He groaned. The dark spirit emanated fury and
hatred and then its physical presence stood before her, having
solidified from the shadows. Her second soul recognized his
features.

-My love!-

It was Lya’s father
.
Startled, Brahm whipped back into her own body as
Mason thrust himself towards the Firstborn Lord.

Brahm seized
her brother's arm. “No, Mason! It's Lya's father!” Her chains
clattered as she stepped forward. She strained to see the man in
the shadows. “You're alive! I knew someone escaped us when we
ambushed the others. It was you.”

His voice
seethed. “You killed my Sephirah. I will not let you take my
daughter as well.”

“
Sephirah’s soul is twinned with mine,” she said. “And your
daughter is held captive by the Confederation, as am I.”