The Second Coming (5 page)

Had he known
this might happen he might have choked his curiosity and buried it
deep within him, or he would have left ages ago. Now it was too
late. He had never wished ill upon the people that had raised him,
but now their blood was on his hands.

His silent
mourning was interrupted by a thud and he untangled himself from
the thin blanket that cocooned him. Lya was already up. She flung
her knife at one of the trees, her aim sure.

There was
something in her eyes — irritation, anger; he couldn’t tell. He
wished they shared the typical connection of other twins, but he
was never able to sense her thoughts. He only could feel her
presence. And the yearning for her nearness had worsened since that
shared night with Billy; like it had bound him to her further. He
knew it would be his undoing. It was unnatural. Yet her closeness
offered him comfort.

“
You all right?” he asked.

Lya hurled the
knife once more. It struck the same spot.

“
I don’t understand,” she muttered.

“
I can’t believe they’re dead either.“

She flung it
again and the sugar maple bled, slow and thick. She retrieved it
and licked the knife.

She avoided
his gaze. “We better go.”

The two packed
their belongings in silence, all coated in beads of cold dampness.
Paine's stomach growled as he climbed upon Shadow's back. In their
haste to run, neither of them had considered rations. And he wasn’t
sure where they would go. He jangled the bag of coins and wondered
what it would get them. He possessed limited knowledge of things
beyond their village. Little was safe in this area of the Outlands.
And he couldn’t help but feel the road they traveled upon was
leading them towards the Westwood, a forest that no one entered if
they wanted to be seen again.

The two rode
in silence along the deserted road, their only companions the
occasional jackdaws which Talon glared at while perched upon Lya’s
shoulder. The air was dead, not a breeze to be found, and with the
morning sun beaming relentlessly upon them, Paine started to sweat.
He wished for a flask of water and vowed to stop at the next
stream.

They passed
remnants of the old world as they traveled — the occasional stone
foundation of what was likely someone’s home; larger stone
buildings for which Paine had no idea its use; the occasional
rusted pile of metal he knew to be cars; and even old bridges that
collapsed into mounds of rubble. Through it all, the forest was
ever present, trees and wild shrubs poking through the ruins. Paine
had a burning fascination with the old world, but Lya’s furious
pace prevented him from pausing to study the remains. He spurred
his horse to catch up to her.

Eventually, as
the morning dragged on and the sun teetered past the brink of
midday, they came upon a man riding ahead of them. He kept a
leisurely pace, and would often pause to stare into the trees. As
they drew near, Paine recognized him as the pepper-haired stranger
from the village.

They did not
want trouble, but before he could make any decision, the man
brought his horse around. He waved, and rode north once more.

Paine brought
Shadow to a slow trot.

“
That’s the man from the village on Sunday. What if he’s with
the Witch Hunters?”

Lya withdrew a
rusted knife she carried in her belt loop. The blade was blackened
with some kind of sticky substance.

“
Then we’ll be ready.” There was a coldness to her voice that
made Paine uncomfortable.

He faltered,
then nodded. Their pause on the road was already long enough to
stir suspicion, so he urged Shadow onward.

In silent time
they drew alongside the man and his black mare. From up close, the
stranger was even more broadly-built than Paine remembered. He
appeared to be of Paine’s height and perhaps ten years his senior.
The man was not too hard on the eyes and, for a brief moment, Paine
thought of the concoction he had used on some of the men back home;
even the married ones. It sat under his bed.

Damn.

A dog stepped
out of the woods, loping along at the horse’s side. Shadow fought
with Paine as he rode in close, her head swaying and whinnying in
fear. He struggled to gain control and looked down at the dog. On
second glance, it was no dog, but a wolf — gray with dark eyes and
a rough muzzle. But with its tongue lolling down the side of its
mouth and the strange grin that adorned its face, it appeared
almost comical.

Paine patted
Shadow’s flanks and whispered in her ear. “Easy.”

Regardless,
Shadow kept one eye glued to it.

“
Good morning,” greeted the man, his voice hinting at caution;
a likely tone out on these roads.

“
Can you tell us how far to the next village?” Lya asked. She
kept one hand free from the reins, hovering over the
knife.

He studied
them and pointed north. “About fifty miles down this road.”

Lya spurred
her horse onwards. Paine nearly followed suit, but the man
interrupted him.

“
Are you two newly married?”

Paine shook
his head. “We’re twins.”

Lya reined
Sable to a trot. She wore irritation in her furrowed eyebrows.

The man
laughed. “My apologies, you don’t look it. I'm heading towards the
next town and wouldn't mind the company for awhile. My name is
Diarmuid.” He held out a calloused hand.

Paine shifted
in his saddle to reach over and shake it. “Paine.”

“
Is that your name, or how you feel?” he asked with a dimpled
grin.

Paine returned
the smile. “Funny.” He’d heard that joke before.

“
And you are?” asked the man, turning to face Lya. Both hands
held the reins and the suspicion in her eyes dimmed.

“
Lya.”

“
Well met,” he said and took her hand. His grip lingered for a
moment as he gazed at her bandaged arm. He then pointed towards the
wolf.

“
This is Fang.”

Its ears
perked at the mention of its name, but it stared into the woods,
seemingly oblivious to their presence.

He studied
Paine for a moment. “I saw you on Sunday. You live outside
Fairfax?”

“
About ten miles west.”

“
Within the new boundaries of the Confederation?”

Paine
nodded.

“
You're witches aren't you?”

Lya’s hand
twitched at her hip.

Diarmuid
failed to notice. “Do your parents know?”

Paine’s face
flushed.

What could he
say?

“
I see,” Diarmuid muttered. “The Witch Hunters got
them.”

Paine clenched
his fists.

They would
pay. They would all pay: the Reverend, Billy Chapman, and that
Hunter— her most of all.

“
I'm sorry for your loss. How did you manage to
escape?”

“
I killed him,” Paine uttered. It slid off his tongue, so
easy.

Ravens croaked
in the distance, the only thing to be heard above the slow clop of
hooves on the dusty road.

“
There's something I should tell you,” Diarmuid continued.
“It's not a coincidence we met. I waited for you to come up the
road. You see,” he said, and reined his horse to a halt. “I was
sent to find you.”

Paine yanked
on the reins and Shadow grunted her displeasure.

“
Us?” he asked. Fang scratched behind her ear, watching
Paine's reaction before her attention shifted to two squirrels that
chased each other across the leaf-strewn road.

“
I was sent to find people like you. I was in the village when
the Hunters arrived, but when I reached your farm the house was
already burned to the ground.”

“
Where are the others?” Paine asked. “There was a woman.” He
clenched his fists once more and shook off his anger. It was
causing something to brew inside of him, something cold and
angry.

Diarmuid shook
his head. “I don't know. There was no one on the farm when I
arrived.”

“
Will they follow us?”

“
Not likely. They won’t waste their time. There is much
cleansing to be done when they annex a new area.”

“
Cleansing?”

“
They search for the signs of bloodcraft, especially dead
animals, and then arrest or kill whom they suspect as witches.” He
looked at Lya. “I found carcasses around your farm, sloppily
covered. I also found this,” he said and held up a shard of
red-stained glass. Paine caught a glimpse of Lya’s reflection in it
and the unsettled look upon her face.

Diarmuid
pointed to her arm. “You must have been desperate to have cut
yourself.”

She said
nothing and stared him down. He turned to Paine.

“
Why didn't you kill the other Hunter?”

Paine
recounted their story, crafting it anew so as not to make himself
appear a threat. Paine never had much luck calling upon the dead,
but whatever had come to him had left him untouched. This man did
not need to know that.

“
Come with me,” Diarmuid said. “I don't know how much you know
of the old world, but I’m from a place in what used to be Northern
Michigan. It’s called Haven. There are people there that can help
you.”

Paine waved
him off. He knew all about Haven; the possessed, the deranged, and
the desperate fled there. “I'd rather take my chances in the
Outlands,” he said.

“
The Outlands are not safe. The Confederation has long begun
to cross the Mississippi and their full influence is not far
behind. The river no longer separates us from them. They are
sweeping through these lands and cleansing it. And there is a war
coming, one that will require anyone who can summon or cast spells.
In Haven, we can enhance your gifts, teach you things.”

Paine pondered
his limited options. Things were moving too fast and he needed time
to sort this out. He hated rushed thinking, yet what sort of life
could they have as fugitives from the Confederation?

There was
something in Lya’s eyes — intrigue, desire? She nodded her head a
little too quickly.

“
All right,” Paine said, somewhat reluctant.
What choice did he have?
“We'll go to Haven.”

With that, the
pepper-haired man spurred his horse and led them north.

If Brahm
Hallowstone could count herself among the fortunate, she would have
lived her life as something else.

A bear maybe,
or a wolf.

She looked
around her.

Maybe not a
wolf.

She sat
amongst the human equivalent of a pack, snarling at each other and
ready to take the lead at the first sign of weakness. Haven was
like that these days, with various individuals yearning to take
leadership now that Gregor was dying. The factions were split
between those content with the status quo and those eager to
confront the Confederation.

Brahm
harrumphed.

Fools.

As much as she
loathed the Confederation, she knew which side she would choose.
War with the Confederation was suicide. One need only remember the
fate of Sanctuary and the butchery that occurred there. Brahm
shivered as she thought of the men and women that were crucified,
hung, drowned, or crushed under stones. The children had been
taken. And she knew their fate. That made her tremble, yet whether
it was anger or fear she wasn’t sure.

While the
power struggle raged, she picked at the cuticles of her
fingers.

She held them
up. Even with the calluses they were good hands. They were one of
her better features, next to her chestnut skin. Someone once
commented that Brahm must have been born in buttermilk. She smiled.
That woman was rewarded well for her compliment — a night of
buttermilk delight.

She pricked
her ears. The conversation had turned. They now discussed the
Missionaries — those sent out to lure witches to Haven. In
particular there was concern about Diarmuid, a Missionary they had
not heard from in some time.

“…
I know he's had five years to recover, but he was
one of them for ten years,” said one voice. Brahm could not see the
speaker, but his nasal whine was familiar. She flicked a piece of
dirt from underneath her nail.

“
Can he be trusted not to surrender witches to them?”
questioned another, a young man whose personality grated on her
like a jagged stone in the sole of her foot. “Brahm,” he called,
“you spent considerable time with him. What do you
think?”

She wondered
why she had been invited to the meeting. She was no witch, not even
a necromancer. Bloodcraft and the dead were of no interest to her.
But she had become close with Diarmuid while he was in Haven. And
therein lay her purpose for being there.

She glanced up
from her haphazard manicure and rose. All eyes followed her
towering frame. She smirked as their heads tilted.

“
I understand your concerns,” she said. There was haughtiness
in her voice, an inflection she had practiced over many years.
“Others have brought back witches while he hasn't returned. But I
would trust him with my life. He would rather die than return to
his old ways.” She wasn’t sure if they wanted more than that, eager
for anything they could use for their own machinations. It was all
they were getting. She returned to her seat and stretched her legs
in front of her.

Most in Haven
weren’t sure of Brahm, or of her loyalties. She preferred it that
way. It kept them on edge. It also kept her safely out of the
infighting. She reverted to her grooming.