The Second Coming (17 page)

The woman
turned her back to them and ran her fingers along one of the trees
that was nearly dead.

“
I cannot say. They certainly do not reside in
Lindhome.”

“
So am I Lastborn or Firstborn?” Lya asked. There was hunger
in her eyes.

The woman’s
face shone with pride. “I took your hand. Your grip is strong.”

“
So we’re Lastborn,” Paine said.

She looked at
him. “Not you.”

“
But that’s not possible. We’re twins.”

“
Are you?” She seemed amused by the notion. Her grin was
patronizing.

Alwhin was
then summoned to the front. Her stride was lengthy as she escaped
his pleading for more information. The crowd parted to let her pass
and then reassembled behind her. She spoke brief words of
encouragement to all, but few with advice, to which Paine overheard
murmurings about her failing Sight.

He looked at
Lya who seemed quite settled. Whether she was disappointed with the
cryptic answers or not, she was outwardly showing that she had all
she needed. Paine, however, did not. Nothing made sense any
more.

He looked to
Puck who was licking his lips as Alwhin sauntered away. No longer
was Lya the sole focus of his hungry stares. The young man had
walked around Lindhome with a permanent firmness between his legs
that had garnered snickers and some harsh rebukes. When he got
caught snooping and watching someone undress he was mostly ignored,
but Paine knew there was relief among the Nymphs and the Lastborn
that the simple-minded deviant was departing.

Puck had cast
that ravenous look at Hella but once. The woman struck him across
the side of the head and after that Puck cowered in her presence.
He remained on the other side of Paine, out of her reach, still
rubbing his face.

With a quick
wave and farewell, Truitt led the group towards the northern
borders of Lindhome. Half the day passed before they came upon the
Westwood where the wall of darkness waited for them. From what
Truitt indicated, it had spread five feet in the last day. Paine
was loath to enter. He looked for reassurance, but found none. The
others wore apprehension like a thin veil over their faces.

Truitt pressed
forward, barely hesitating as he sliced open the throat of another
wiggling chinchilla. Paine urged Shadow to follow, and after five
long strides the mare shivered. The shadow of the forest coated
him, caressing his skin with cold oil. The Lastborn cast a combined
spell that banished the darkness, making the air less foul, but it
did little to ease the tension.

Truitt paused
for a status check. Everyone nodded their heads in silent response.
His gaze lingered longest on Lya and then passed to Diarmuid, who
held up his thumb.

Paine leaned
in close to Hella, he whispered so low he barely heard himself
speak.

“
How far is it to the edge of the Westwood?”

The woman said
nothing, but splayed her fingers, then closed her fist. She
repeated the motion once more.

Paine
sighed.

Ten miles.

They rode
through silence, interrupted by only the crackle of dead leaves
under the horses’ hooves. The forest was still, no breeze, no
movement, yet there was the sense that if the barrier wasn’t
surrounding them, the trees would spring to life and rip them from
the saddle.

A weight sat
in Paine’s gut, worsened by a screech from the depths of the
Westwood. Shadow whinnied in response and Paine patted her neck,
trying to ease her worry while attempting to relieve his own. He
looked to Fang for steadfast support, but found little. Even the
wolf appeared on edge. She watched the shadows as she crept.

Hours later,
Truitt called them to a halt. A foul smell filled the air and Fang
gave a low growl. She eyed the trees ahead of them and two shapes
emerged. They were triple her size and lingered at the edge of the
darkness. Gray, matted fur shrouded their twisted forms.

Wolfen.

They inched
forward. Their muscles rippled. The beasts circled the horses with
cautious steps and Shadow whinnied. With muzzles as long as their
broad necks they sniffed at the ground.

The Lastborn
were already armed, each one holding a blade or bow. No one moved.
The wolfen paused. Paine looked to Fang. She seemed undaunted by
the beasts, paying them little heed. Her attention was focused
elsewhere, towards a shadow of a shadow; something that advanced
towards them from the depths ahead. The trees groaned as they bent
to avoid its touch. The shrubs in its path wilted.

Paine gasped. Walking in the midst of the shadow was a little
boy. He was dark of hair, with black marbles for eyes. His skin was
pale as the moon and he could not have been more than four or five
years old. He opened his mouth, a black pit of rotting teeth, and
spoke words in a hideous tongue. The only word Paine caught
was
abba
. His
translation amulet gave him the meaning —
father
.

The boy looked
at the wolfen and the beasts suddenly lunged.

The Lastborn
dodged and scattered, fending off the snaps of their jaws. Sword
met air as the wolfen danced around their parries and thrusts.
Three of the men stumbled, their ankles suddenly entwined with
roots. One struggled to recover, but not before a wolfen stole a
chunk from his leg. He screamed in agony.

He stumbled
back from the others, clutching his thigh. Blood flowed, fast and
red, and the wound blackened. He writhed as a dark rash spread
along his leg, edging upwards. It crept along his body and he
wriggled on the ground, screaming. The dark rash took him in a fit
of convulsion. He then lay still, eyes staring skyward.

Lya leapt from
her mount and sliced open her arm. Her blood dripped onto the
blackened ground. She began a spell to summon aid and the wolfen
turned their gaze upon her. Their attack changed. One of them
weaved around Diarmuid, almost reaching Lya, when Paine heard a
voice behind him.

“
No!”

A flaming
green stone flew past, striking one of the wolfen in the muzzle.
The creature yelped. Licking its lips, it looked to Puck, who
stared defiance at the wolfen.

“
No touch her!” he shouted.

With fury in
their eyes, the beasts leapt over the horses. Puck had no chance to
respond before they plucked him from the saddle and bounded once
more to drag him into the forest screaming. Three men ran after
him. Paine nearly joined them, but the ground trembled beneath his
feet.

The boy and
his darkness stood before him. Shadow whinnied in rage.

Diarmuid
pushed Paine back. He stepped in front of the boy. With the twitch
of a finger, the boy cast him aside. The pepper-haired man
collapsed in a heap as his head struck one of the trees.

Fang growled
and the boy paused, cocking his head to study her. He smiled. The
air and the earth shook as he stepped forward. Fang inched
back.

From the trees
a scream caught Paine’s ear.

Puck?

Three of the
Lastborn ran to face the boy, including Hella. She struck him in
the head with a broken branch. His head tilted with the blow and he
looked at her. There was no anger there, no annoyance, simply a
blank stare. He twitched his finger once more and Hella flew into
the forest where the shrubs and trees covered her. The other two
men swept their swords towards the boy and he cast them into the
forest behind her.

Paine then
heard a voice in his mind, clear like a bell.

-Help. Else we
all perish.-

He shook his
head. He was hearing things. More screams emanated from the forest.
He looked at Diarmuid, lying in a heap on the ground. Blood
trickled from his lips. Tree roots were beginning to wrap
themselves around his legs.

Truitt and the
others ran forward. One by one, the little boy batted them aside.
Lya pulled the parchment from her robes, her face glowering in
rage. The boy's gaze slid in her direction, his mouth opened, and
the trigger in Paine was released.

“
No!”

He then lost
himself in the crushing swell of cold, biting anger that flooded
out of him. He called upon the dead of the forest, all souls within
miles. Feeling as if his heart exploded from his chest, a dark
shadow burst forth. The boy faced him, his black hair shifting with
the power that surged towards him. A multitude of souls surrounded
him. His eyes squinted and he flicked his hand, muttering under his
breath. The howling souls sailed towards Paine. Paine clenched his
fists, his fear mixing with his anger. He reached to the souls.

“
Come unto me. Serve me.”

The boy jerked
and opened his mouth. One of his teeth fell to the ground. The
souls swept down and delved into Paine. He shivered with their
touch. Paine commanded them to turn against the boy, willing them
with everything he had to destroy the creature.

At any
cost.

The souls
sailed back towards their former master. The boy stumbled back, his
tongue flickering in his mouth, his vacant eye sockets weeping with
brown tears. He mumbled words and opened his mouth to scream. His
black locks dropped from his head in clumps.

The dark
shadow that surrounded the boy swept forward and enveloped Paine.
The fire within him burst. He cast a curse of darkness and death
and funneled it towards the pale being. The boy screamed. His
bellow shook the trees. He doubled over, twitching. He staggered
forward, reaching for Paine.

“
Abba.”

His face
collapsed inwards, leaving a hollow shell. His skin sagged like
white drapes. He gave one final, hollow wail before his shell
crumpled upon the ground.

Paine tried to
reel the souls back, but they were ravenous. They wanted blood. And
his righteous anger still burned like hot coals.

Lya stepped
back from him, horror etched upon her face. The souls at his
command probed at her. Jealousy and rage over her use of Paine to
satisfy her own ambitions flickered in his mind and danced along
his skin. Something in Paine strained to control it, but another
part of him delighted in her horror.

The parchment from his parents lay on the ground and he
picked it up, placing it in his pocket. His angry eyes challenged
her to take it from him, and she lowered her head.

A shuffling of
dried leaves behind him turned his attention. He spun around.

Puck stepped
from the trees, cut and bruised.

“
Paine, no! It's me!”

The souls flew
towards the young man. Puck cried out.

The voice
sounded in his mind again.

-No, child
.
That is enough
. -

The souls
paused and Paine fell to his knees.

They reeled
back towards him. And they brought the memories of the vile
creature that had assumed the shape of a little boy. And there was
knowledge, terrible and old. Not to mention a deal; a deal made
with a woman cloaked in shadow. Then it was gone. And the darkness
embraced him.

It was cold,
and excruciating.

***

John pulled Meega close to him as they rode along the cobbled
road, leaving Barcelona by the light of the half-moon that hung in
the sky. The girl sat quietly, stroking the straw hair of the
wooden doll she clutched in her tiny hands. From time to time she
leaned back against him and her hand would silently reach up and
touch his face. He considered leaving her with the orphans of the
Temple. Miguel had insisted upon it. Yet something about the idea
did not sit well with John. He couldn’t help but wonder if he could
somehow make amends by caring for this child. Or perhaps it was
what Liesel said to him.

She has no one, Churchman
.

It made him wonder.

Did the old
woman know the girl's mother was dead?

Meega might
have been better off with the orphans, for what sort of life would
she have with him, but he would not subject her innocent mind to a
twisted religion; especially when the little girl and her mother
feared God.

For our God is
a consuming fire.

A smile of irony twitched inside him.

Wasn’t that
the point?

Miguel rode
beside them, cloaked in anger and silence. The fat friar was still
upset with him for his comments about the Church. John wasn't sure
if the man believed what they had discovered with Liesel. He
wondered if the good friar was like all the others, burying his
head in books and rituals to ignore what loomed on a desolate
horizon.

Others have
ignored the truth, so why should he be any different?

John
sighed.

He had penned
a missive to the Pope to let her know of his findings, but he did
not leave it in the hands of the Church to deliver. When he
informed the Pope of what he knew, she had given him specific
instructions on how to reach her. He did as he was told, and hoped
the letter made its way to the Vatican with all haste.

As they
reached the top of the hill, John peered into the valley. Torch-lit
windows shone back at him, tiny embers of light compared to the
fires that lit the Temple and its towering spires. Miguel continued
onward, leaving him to stare back at the city like Lot's wife. It
was all he could do to turn his gaze away, feeling like a pillar of
salt himself. Meega stirred in front of him, leaning back to rest
her head against his chest. She still clutched the tiny wooden
doll.

John turned
his horse around, but not before he caught a shadow slide across
the face of the moon. He scanned the skies, searching, but found
only fear in the pit of his stomach.