The Second Coming (4 page)

Lya glided
around the cow, drawing the circle with precise motions. She
sprinkled some powder from one of the leather sacks that hung on
her belt before stepping inside the circle. Paine joined her,
patting the cow’s flanks. Lya placed the torch at the south end of
the circle, a pile of dirt at the north, incense at the east, and a
bowl of water at the west.

“
Be ready,” she said. “Since the stupid cow won’t let me near
her, you’re going to have to look in her eyes to see what’s going
on.”

Paine nodded
and grabbed the harness. He stroked Gertrude’s muzzle.

“
Easy, girl.”

Lya raised the
knife into the air and whispered her call to the elements. She then
waved the knife in front of the cow, as if teasing it, letting the
light that reflected off the blade flicker in the cow’s eyes. Paine
pulled Gertrude to face him.

He saw
nothing.

He continued
to stare, letting his sight focus on the back of the cow’s
eyeballs, straining to see anything. It was nothing like scrying in
a bowl of water under the moon. It was nothing like a mirror
either, but then mirrors were doorways for things unmentionable;
things which should not be seen standing behind you as you looked
upon your own reflection.

Gertrude
snorted and he shook his head.

Still
nothing.

Lya shoved him
and snatched the harness. She stared into Gertrude’s eyes. The cow
groaned; either at her presence or her firm grip.

She clung to
the cow and her mouth dropped open.

Lya shook her
head. “No,” she muttered.

“
What is it?”

She withdrew
the knife from her belt and slid it across the top of her forearm,
reopening an old wound in a swift motion. Blood dripped into the
straw at her feet and Lya mumbled words under her breath. Paine
caught only “bidding” and “dark”.

Biting cold
pierced his skin.

Oh, shit.

Lya pulled
Gertrude’s head closer to her and the cow’s eyes widened. The barn
doors slammed closed. There was something else with them; and its
intent was anything but good. Cold swirled through the barn, and
the air misted with Paine’s breath. The unseen presence hissed
words Paine could not make out, but its voice sounded willing,
eager.

Lya nodded and
muttered some words in return. The cold slipped through Paine
again, slow and bone-deep. He sucked in his breath as it passed.
The barn doors flew open and the presence departed. Paine granted
his feet some latitude and took a few steps back into the sun’s
rays. He rubbed his arms.

Lya released
Gertrude and the cow pulled back, lowering its head almost to the
ground. She sprinkled a powder on her bloodied arm and then wrapped
it in a ripped piece of cloth from her shirt.

“
They’re coming,” she said.

“
What do you mean?”

“
A number of men — including Witch Hunters.”

“
How can you tell?”

“
Billy Chapman is following them and I saw through his eyes.
They’re traveling along the Fairfax Road, heading in this
direction. I’ve bought us some time, but not much.”

“
You may have given them reason to hang us for
witchcraft.”

“
They’re going to hang us anyway. I saw the rope. And they’re
all armed with silver.”

Silver?

Paine had seen
its effect once, when a witch was clamped in silver cuffs. The man
had been reduced to a whimpering dog. For those that dabbled in
bloodcraft, silver not only prevented them from casting spells and
summoning, but it did things to the body that was unnatural. The
man did not survive the ordeal long, and wasted away to nothing
over a period of weeks. Paine never forgot the image of that man,
and swore to himself it would not happen to him or Lya.

“
We need to leave,” she said. Her voice was solid,
iron.

He shook his
head in disbelief. There had to be some way to avoid this. Yet he
knew there was nothing. Those men were coming as surely as God’s
wrath. He pressed his lips together and looked over to the old
beech. The hammocks were swinging, and empty.

“
I—“

Shouts echoed
from the house, followed by shattering glass. Gwen screamed and
then heavy silence drifted across the farm. Even the wind
hesitated, as if waiting for their reaction.

Immediately
Paine dashed towards the house. The goats fled from his path,
stumbling over each other to get out of the way. Paine and his
sister scrambled inside.

Scattered
about the immaculate kitchen were smashed dishes and the splinters
of a broken chair. The small pine table was upturned on the floor.
Shards of broken glass lay strewn about, splattered with blood.

They stepped
across the floor and heavy breathing emanated from the family room.
They rounded the corner and found a man standing over Charles'
body, his head nearly touching the ceiling. He wore blood-stained
leathers and a dull metal helmet that half-covered his face. On the
front of his vest was stitched a pearly white cross, spotted with
crimson.

Witch
Hunter.

His parents’
bodies lay on the floor, butchered.

The Witch
Hunter bore a silver cross. It was bulky and crooked. He swept his
crossbow in front of him. Lya growled and dropped to her knees. She
put her hands in Gwen’s bloodied wound and mumbled a curse.

“
Your sorcery doesn’t work on me, witch. See the Holy Silver.
I am protected by the Almighty.” He aimed the silver-tipped arrow
at Lya. “Now, surrender in the name of the Confederation and I will
make this quick for you.”

Lya’s curse
surged towards the Hunter in an invisible rush and thrust him
against the wall. The man held up the cross and wriggled free.

He stepped
forward. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of
death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy
staff they comfort me!”

She spat out
another curse, calling upon a throng of hornets. He swatted the air
around him, aiming his cross above and below him. The Hunter
screamed and covered his face.

“
Back you fiends of darkness! You cannot harm me. I bear the
silver cross!”

The curse was
broken.

“
I will not be deceived by your lies!”

He aimed the
crossbow once more at Lya.

Paine’s feet
moved as if an unseen force dragged him forward. He cried out.
“No!”

In his mind he
called upon anything that would help him; anything within miles
that had the ability to end this. He did not care the price.

Souls sprouted
around him, responding in a single heart’s beat. They were eager to
serve. Paine sent them forward, every one.

The man
screamed as they swarmed him. He recoiled from their touch and
raised his cross once more. It was futile. Each soul dove within
him, taking their life’s pain and misery with them. The Hunter bent
over, convulsing. The crossbow tumbled from his hands, misfiring
and knocking over the oil lamp. The glass shattered and the oil
spilled across the wooden floor. He gripped the silver cross
holding it forth once more, but it seared the Hunter’s fingers and
the scent of burnt flesh fouled the air. He foamed at the mouth.
The Hunter slid down the wall and writhed on the floor. The cross
slipped from his fingers. His body tensed and convulsed. He choked
on his own tongue, and then finally went still.

The souls of
the dead withdrew from the Hunter and slid towards Paine. He stood
his ground, waiting for them.

The price had
to be paid. It was always in blood.

He braced
himself as each one slipped across his skin. They touched his
heart. It was biting. He exhaled with the pain of each and clenched
his fists, waiting for one or all to take him. He knew he would go
mad.

Yet there was
nothing; nothing but the cold; the cold and a sudden knowing. There
were things in his head, memories that were not his own. Paine
shook his head. They belonged to the dead Hunter. Images of the
man’s life flashed, too quickly to make out. Only one memory
offered Paine any hint of clarity— a female voice that had ordered
his parents’ death.

“
Kill the old man and woman.”

It was a
pitiless voice.

Then the
memories were gone. And so were the souls upon whom he had
called.

A puddle of
red formed on the ground, streaming from his parents’ bodies.

Perhaps there
was enough.

Lya studied
the dead Hunter. She bit her lip and kicked the cross. It slid
towards the oil, where it smoldered. Charles shifted, the wound in
his chest sucking air.

Paine dropped
to the floor beside him. He took the man’s large, gnarled hands.
They had always been gentle.

“
Father.”

“
Box…in the bedroom,” he gasped.

“
See to him,” he said to Lya, and then ran down the hall. His
heart raced, hot and fast.

Inside his
parents' tiny room, beyond the four-poster bed, were loose
floorboards. He lifted them, and grabbed the black polished box
that held the valuables. He scrambled back to find Lya still
standing over Charles.

The old man’s
body lay still, his eyes wide open.

“
What happened?”

“
He's dead.”

“
No!” He knelt at Charles’ side. He put his ear to his silent
chest. “Why didn’t you heal him?”

“
I need a spell and ointment, and he has been too badly hurt.
What did you want me to do?” She turned her back to him.

Paine clenched
his jaw. Gwen and Charles were dead.

"We can't stay
here,” he growled. “We’ll be hanged."

Lya wiped her
face with her sleeve. "We can only go north from here."

Paine looked
at what he held in his hands. He smashed the box open and found
everything his parents had saved. He dumped the contents on the
floor and peered into the box. A yellowed piece of parchment was
stuck to the bottom.

He removed it,
unfolding it with care. There was a fine script dancing along the
page, the lettering indecipherable. On the back was written a few
lines he could read. It appeared to be a spell; a spell that
summoned names Paine recognized — all from Sunday sermons. He
dropped the parchment on the floor and wiped his hands on his
trousers.

Lya snatched
it up. Her lip was bleeding. "What does it say?"

He shook his
head. "I don't know."

He gathered the coins and Lya folded the parchment to put it
in her pocket. Paine eyed her and then shrugged.

She could have
it.

The oil
ignited and flared to life. The fire inched towards them.

Paine rose.
“We have to leave.”

They each ran
to their rooms, and Paine scanned the small space that was his own.
The bed sheets were still piled in the corner, a reminder of his
nights of unrest since Sunday’s sermon. Some junk from the old
world sat on a shelf; plastic bits and shards that were of no
value. He even owned pieces of a relic gun, a device rumored to
kill a man from almost a mile away. But like most things from the
old world, it was thought to be cursed. It was whispered that the
Earth herself had ended the Age of Marvels and most thought it best
to avoid objects of the past. Paine found them fascinating, yet
they would serve no purpose now. Instead he bundled some clothes
and a blanket into a sack and ran out into the hall.

"Are you
ready?" he shouted. The fire was moving towards the kitchen.

Lya stepped
from her own room, sack in hand. "Yes."

"Then, let's
get out of here."

Lya ran out
and Paine paid his final respects to his parents. He set his
father's tattered bible between his hands, the book from which they
had learned to read, and on Gwen's chest he placed the string of
beads she always carried. He paused to close his father’s eyes.
Despite all of the hardships and the rigid rules, he had still
loved the old man. This was not something he had ever wished upon
his parents, not even Gwen.

He then ran
after Lya.

When Paine
reached the barn she was stuffing the grimoire into her pack and
Talon was perched upon one of the watering troughs, screeching. He
herded the two horses in to tack them; Sable for his sister, Shadow
for him. When they were ready, they mounted and looked back to the
house. The fire was reaching out the windows with fingers of orange
flame.

A voice from
down the road jerked his attention.

"The girl is a
succubus!"

Paine glimpsed
a shadow of a figure, a cloaked being on the edge of the woods. The
hood was pulled back. It was Billy Chapman.

Another Witch
Hunter stepped from behind the house — blonde, towering, and
swift.

A female
voice.

She raised her
crossbow and Paine didn't wait. He dug his heels into his mare's
flanks. And as he fled north he swore to himself that when the time
was right, that woman would pay with more than just her life. And
if she had orders from someone else, he didn’t care how many of
them there were or how high they ranked; he would find them.

And they, too,
would pay. They would all pay.

The morning’s silence immersed Paine in his guilt and the
damned events of his life. Perhaps his desire for knowledge was to
blame. Maybe if he hadn’t gone snooping under his parents’ bed,
searching for some sense of who he was, he might not have come
across the grimoire under the floorboards. Perhaps he might not
have learned of the spells that lay within its hand-written pages.
And maybe his father would still be among the living and not left
to a bloodied fate, dealt by the hands of an overzealous minion of
the Confederation.