The Second Coming (14 page)

The others
lowered their weapons once more, seemingly placated by Truitt’s
ease.

And for the
first time in Paine’s life, Lya looked like Gertrude; eyes
unblinking. Except it wasn’t that stupid look that lay in her eyes.
It was the same forced restraint that lay in Truitt’s.

Paine stifled
the groan that surged up his gullet. He rolled his eyes
instead.

“
Lya,” she finally sputtered.

Truitt
continued to hold her hand along with her gaze. “It is a pleasure
to meet you, Lya. I am at your disposal should you need anything.”
Had Truitt’s voice been oozing with fake charm, Paine would have
made more sense of the situation, but the exact opposite was true.
The man was sincere. And it looked as if he was ready to rip off
her clothes and take her right there in front of the lot of
them.

Paine couldn’t
help but snicker.

Lya glared at
him for a moment and then cleared her throat. The tension that
permeated the group was suddenly saturated with her cold,
self-possessed air. The freaks were smiling and it was obvious they
were all thinking the same thing; whatever it was.

“
Thank you,” she muttered. “I’ve heard of strange beings in
the Westwood, but you look—”

Truitt stepped
back from her. “Surprising, I thought you were… well, never mind.
By the look on your faces, I can see your travels have not been
kind. There is something afoot in the Westwood, sightings of devils
and strange spirits. I would prefer not to linger much longer, even
upon its borders. The Westwood is agitated of late and I would not
care to scrape your remains off the trees.” There was no humor on
his face.

Diarmuid eyed
the forest. “We're being tracked by Witch Hunters and we need safe
passage through your lands.”

“
You’re fortunate we did not shoot you on the spot. You’re one
of the few outsiders we allow to walk these lands,
Diarmuid.”

Truitt then
slung his bow across his back and led them into the forest. The
others followed in his wake.

From his
shoulder bag the man pulled out a small furry rodent. It had large
ears and a small tail. It was the cutest thing Paine had ever set
eyes on. Truitt slit its throat before Paine had a chance to even
get a further look. Then the man cast a blood spell that created a
circle of protection about him. The others chanted a similar spell
to surround them all, each of them slaughtering more of the small
fuzzy creatures. Paine shuddered.

The spell cast
nothing Paine could see; it still felt as if their skin was coated
in thick oil, but there was something less dark about the vicinity
of the small troupe. It was a trifle easier to breathe; barely, but
noticeable. Paine looked to Lya, but she was busy studying the
forest as they traveled. Puck shifted in the saddle, his gaze
focused on some distant place within the trees.

Truitt and the
others flung the carcasses into the forest and Paine noticed the
remains being dragged through the shrubs by an unseen force.

A shriek
pierced the silence, and a chill tickled Paine's spine.

“
What's out there?”

Diarmuid
stared into the forest. “I don't know.”

“
I thought we would be safer here.”

“
I didn’t know the Westwood had spread this far. We will be
safe once we are in Lindhome. They will guide us north out of the
woods from there. Then we'll have a clear path to
Haven.”

Paine felt as
though the trees cast hidden eyes upon him. He did not want to
think of what might happen if he fell behind. Especially with the
freaks bringing up the rear. They were nattering behind them, often
pointing at him and Lya, whispering with their twisted mouths. He
made sure Shadow remained right next to Diarmuid.

After a time
the Westwood changed, and Paine welcomed the sight. The area was
less dead, if there could be such a thing. The slick feeling on his
skin lessened here.

“
Welcome to Lindhome,” Truitt said.

There was
likely something beautiful about this place once, but now it looked
like a hideous face caked in makeup. The buildings flowed with
delicate lines, cloaked in afghans of trailing ivy, but the leaves
were wilted. Rounded doorways peeked out of the rolling hills, each
wrapped in a blanket of dying grass.

“
Ugly,” whispered Puck. “Cabra … nicer.”

Truitt
harrumphed. “That’s because they give up their maidens to Pan. He’s
sworn to protect their town, but he might have difficulty with the
Westwood. Even his power has its limits.”

“
Who is Pan?” Paine asked.

Truitt did not
look impressed. “Someone who thinks too highly of himself.”

He escorted
them towards a colossal tree, one of many that dotted the
landscape. Its roots had been shaped to embrace a round wooden
structure. Its bark was pale and chipping off. A gathering of men
and women congregated at its base, all of them staring in their
direction, primarily focusing on Lya. She either ignored the
stares, or appeared as if she didn’t notice.

Paine leaned
towards Diarmuid. “Why are they all staring at Lya?”

A middle-aged,
bald woman strode towards them. She was draped in a long, gossamer
dress that slunk along the ground. There was a significant gap
between her teeth, but she was what Paine would consider one of the
beautiful ones. She extended her hand. Her grip was like iron.

“
Because she has the look of the Firstborn of Valbain,” the
woman said. “Although perhaps she is something else.”

Paine watched
his sister’s unflinching expression. She remained silent.

“
I am Alwhin,” she said. “Feel welcome, friends.” Her face
cracked with a pleasant smile, yet there was something firm and
dark about it. “I will come to you later as I am sure you will have
many questions.” She then disappeared and a light muttering plagued
the host who gathered. Among the freaks, some looks of distrust
were cast in Lya's direction.

His sister
leaned in close. “What did she just say about me? Firstborn?”

“
I don’t know,” he said.

“
Well I intend to find out. And I know exactly who to ask.
Where’s that fine young man who was so polite earlier?” Lya
disappeared among the crowd to search for Truitt.

Paine waited,
fiddling with his clothes. Diarmuid was off speaking to some of the
members of Lindhome. An ugly little troll of a man was doting on
Diarmuid’s every word. Paine wanted to see him removed from the
picture.

He shook his
head and laughed at himself.

Jealous
already?

Paine
distracted himself walking around a fenced in area that held
hundreds of the small rodent creatures, obviously being bred for
one reason.

When Lya
returned, Truitt offered them a tour. They departed quickly, Paine
eager to extricate himself from the stares and hushed murmurs.

As they
walked, Puck ran his hands along the flaked surface of the wilting
trees.

“
D-D-Dying?” he asked.

Truitt nodded.
“Yes. There is a barrier that protects Lindhome, but its effect is
weakening.” He returned to his rather private conversation with
Lya.

“
H-H-How?” Puck asked.

Truitt rolled
his eyes, obviously irritated with a simple mind.

“
B-B-Blood,” he mocked, and eyed Puck with a condescending
look. He smiled suddenly. “And a special jewel. It’s magic!” He
waved his hands and made conjuring gestures in the air.

Puck clapped
his hands. “Jewel!”

Truitt turned
to Lya and Paine caught some of his words to her.

“
We hold some of it back with spells, but the blood sacrifice
requires a constant flow now. And the Westwood has been growing
more deadly, out of our control. But there is a powerful charm at
the heart of Lindhome that keeps the Westwood at bay. It still
holds. For now.” Truitt took Lya's arm in his own and walked ahead,
speaking of other, more private, matters.

Diarmuid then
took it upon himself to show Puck and Paine around during the
remainder of the tour, as the other two eyed only each other. The
three chose to remain a short, but polite, distance behind.

Paine still
had a curious itch. “Diarmuid what is the Westwood?”

“
One giant, living entity. It is alive, and I don’t think
Lindhome expected it to grow this far. It’s completely covered the
town.” He paused, staring at the border of the woods. An abrupt
wall of darkness was trying to push past the barrier. “I haven’t
had a chance to find out what problems they’ve been
having.”

They journeyed
along a leaf-strewn path that snaked around the giant trees. Paine
felt lured to this place, with its once intricate gardens. The
flowers had withered and dropped to the ground. They now decayed
with the foliage upon the forest floor. Regardless, it seemed a
place of peace. They continued past the stone statues that littered
the path.

In the midst
of the garden towered the statue of a woman. She was not fully
human, appearing more like the taller, majestic-looking members of
Lindhome — the beautiful ones. Blue stones were set in place for
eyes and they sat above a streamlined nose and full lips. She stood
close to a stone doorway, leading into the earth. Puck ran over to
inspect the door and the writing etched into its arches. There was
an inscription inset at her feet.

To Sephirah
.
Lest we forget your courage.

Her features
were strong, unforgettable. He figured she was related to one of
the members of Lindhome.

Diarmuid urged
them to hurry along before he could ponder the matter further. Yet
something about the statue bothered Paine, something not obviously
visible. Whatever it was, it remained out of reach, like a
forgotten word.

He let it fall
into the piles of dead leaves at his feet, shrugged, and followed
the others.

***

John closed
the tattered bible and wiped his sweating palms on his robe. He
suspected for some time that the Dark One was stirring once
more.

Wasn't this
what the Virgin had shown him?

The reality of
his predicament wrapped about him like a burial shroud, suffocating
him in fear.

And he was to
find this child?

Miguel rounded
on him, his usually composed face aflame with rage.

He spat his
words. “This is your heresy?”

John said
nothing, but returned the brother's anger with a look of calm.

Miguel
stammered, as if he might say more, but he was interrupted as a
swarm of men and women stepped out of the cork oak and almond
trees, weapons bared. All of them were half-breeds.

Hollers and
screams pervaded the small encampment. The children among the
decrepit village attempted to run, but the entire clearing was
surrounded. They were sectioned off. Ugly children on one side,
pretty ones on the other. He didn’t want to think of what was going
to happen to the ugly ones and the use they were going to be put
to.

Liesel grabbed
Meega and put the little girl's hand in John's.

The old woman
offered him a stern look. “She has no one, Churchman.”

What?

A gray-cloaked
man stepped through the crowd, plucking out some of the children,
separating them from the rest. By the ease with which he lifted
them John knew his heritage.

Lastborn.

He approached
and spat at John’s feet. “Come to preach to the outcasts,
Churchman?”

John returned
his cold stare. “Do you now collect children to fight your war? Or
do you collect them to breed?”

The Lastborn's
face reddened. “The Rebellion is no business of yours.” He eyed
Meega. “Give me the girl.”

Meega hid
behind John's robes, gripping them.

Liesel gave
John a slight nod and a knowing look. A sick feel roiled in his
gut.

Was this a
wise choice?

He lifted
Meega up, and she slid her arms around his shoulders, resting her
head in the crook of his neck. It felt strangely natural. He
struggled to lie and skirted the truth instead.

“
I am human, and suffer human failings. I have had trysts in
the past, and sometimes they come back to haunt me. Can you not see
the resemblance?”

John held his
breath as the man stared at the two of them. A light mist of rain
sprinkled the friars.

The man spat
on the ground again. “Take your bastard child and go,
Churchman.”

Liesel stepped
between them. “Keep hold of that little book of yours, heretic, and
take good care of Meega.”

John grabbed
the reins of his horse. He turned back to Liesel. “What happened to
…” He paused, noticing the Lastborn watching him, “… the woman
clothed in the sun and the moon?”

Pangs of white
lightning stabbed the sky. The old woman stared silence at him, and
a multitude of raindrops streamed down her weathered face.

“
She was set free.”

As they made
their way through Lindhome, Paine noticed a difference in the
barricade that blocked out the Westwood. It wavered at times, in
which darkness would reach inwards, like eager fingers ready to
strangle what life was left on the inside of the barrier. And with
it came screams from the depths of the forest.

As he and Puck
walked near its border, three trees broke through the barrier,
their sagging branches drooping low enough to swipe at him. They
scratched his face and, horrified, he watched as his blood soaked
into their parched leaves. Then they withdrew.

Paine reached
to his face, but found no mark, not even a scratch. He looked to
Diarmuid, but sudden shouts from ahead caught all of their
attention. From what Paine could gather over the chaos was that the
Westwood was breaking through the north border of Lindhome. Truitt
wished Lya well and ran off. His stride was like that of a
stag.