The Second Coming (9 page)

As they
reached the horses, Diarmuid rode around the corner on a
honey-colored gelding.

“
Quickly. She may be looking for help. Puck, we can take you
home or you can come with us. We're going to Haven.”

The young
man’s slow voice seethed. “I … have … no home.”

“
Neither do we,” Paine said. “Our parents were killed by Witch
Hunters.” He chose not to mention the same Hunter was responsible
for Puck’s capture. There was a saying his father had often used
about salt in the wound.

No need for that here
.

But he
wondered how she had caught up to them.

Diarmuid
dismounted and handed the reins to Puck who climbed atop the horse
with a strained, clumsy effort. Diarmuid and Paine mounted their
horses as Lya waited for Talon to alight on her outstretched arm.
She swung aboard Sable and they all sped north.

Charging
through the ruins they fled, and within little time they reached
the outskirts of the ancient city. There was no sign of the Hunter
chasing them, but they rode for almost an hour, their mounts
snorting heavily. The sweat of Shadow's flanks seeped into Paine's
trousers.

Eventually,
Diarmuid brought his horse about and faced them.

“
How are you all holding up?”

“
Fine,” they resounded. Puck gave an exaggerated
nod.

“
We need to get off the main road. It will take us longer, but
we'll be less obvious.” Diarmuid paused, looking back to the valley
of ruins, deceptive in its tranquility. His eyebrows furrowed. “The
Hunters don't usually come into this area, and certainly not the
ruins. Perhaps the influence of the Confederation has spread faster
than I thought. From now on, no one casts a spell or summons. If
there are Hunters swarming this area, we don’t need the extra
attention. And there isn't anywhere to turn between here and Haven,
unless we go through the Westwood.”

A tingling
sensation danced along the nape of Paine's neck at the mention of
the forbidden forest. He thought of the Confederation army that had
ventured into the Westwood to cleanse it of evil. They were never
seen or heard from again. What sort of devilry lived there, he did
not know, and did not care to know. He took one last glance back at
the city.

What had Lya
summoned? And was it still back there?

She had barely
remained in control of her own body. She had struggled to release
herself from the spell.

Next time she might not be so lucky
.

He frowned.
Her presence was getting more distant and his heart began to ache.
He wallowed in it for a moment, trying to bare it, and then
followed the others.

Hours later,
Paine's thighs and backside were in a constant ache that would not
let up no matter how much he adjusted his position in the saddle.
When they stopped for the night, he groaned.

He tied up
Shadow before lying down at the foot of a small oak, ignoring the
gnawing feeling in his stomach. Puck cried until he crumpled from
fatigue. Paine remained awake for a time before exhaustion finally
took him. The respite did not last long. The sun still had sleep in
her eyes, barely rising above the hills, when Diarmuid nudged him
awake.

“
Sorry Paine, but we have to move on again.” Diarmuid helped
him up, his hand holding on to Paine’s a little longer than what
would be considered proper.

He blushed as
Diarmuid released him.

Paine then
packed his things and mounted for the long ride once more.

Almost the
entire day passed at the same rapid pace before they stumbled upon
a small village. It was rather unexpected this far west and there
seemed to be a health to the village that surprised them all.
Things grew here; pine trees laden with cones, wild grasses with
buttercups, and shrubs with red berries — redder than Paine had
ever seen. He was pleased at the sight, especially the awaiting
inn. He felt exhausted, and smelled so bad he was certain even Fang
would turn her nose up at him. A bath was in tall order.

Dismounting
outside of the small, but inviting establishment called Luna’s
Tavern, they handed the reins to a stable-hand. Diarmuid gave the
young man a second, protracted look, before leading them
onwards.

Entering the
inn, the smell of fresh bread inundated them. Lya and Puck both
licked their lips. Paine planned on stuffing himself so full they
would have to roll him to Haven.

“
Good day to you,” said the innkeeper as she wiped her hands
on an apron that clung to her buxom form. She was a short,
red-headed woman, with a lavender blouse that barely concealed her
ample bosom. Her lips were red like the berries, and she bore a
heavy perfume.

Fang
sneezed.

The woman took
a small step back. “I'm afraid there are no dogs allowed.”

“
She's well trained and will remain in our room. I will pay
extra if you think she will be an inconvenience.” Diarmuid then
explained their story to her. Paine and Lya were his nephew and
niece and they were moving to live with him after their parents had
died in a fire. Puck was the hired help.

“
I'm afraid I have only one room left and it has only one bed.
It's a little drafty, but it's better than the barn. I'm sure the
young ones and your hired man would be fine in it and we could find
another bed for you.” The innkeeper stared at Diarmuid with a look
that could only be described as yearning.

Diarmuid
looked unfazed by the insinuation. “No, thank you.”

The innkeeper
shrugged. “Let me show you to your room then.” She turned on her
heel and marched up the stairs, the trail of perfume lagging behind
her.

Sparsely
decorated, the room was small, and the innkeeper had grossly
understated the draft. Taking a bath was their first priority and
one of the maids showed them to the bathing rooms. Diarmuid
undressed. Scarred lacerations ran across the man’s chest and back.
Some looked like they had been fairly deep. Paine wanted to run his
finger along them.

Diarmuid
caught him looking and grinned.

“
A gift from the Confederation,” was his comment.

Feeling
somewhat sheepish that his roving eye had been caught, Paine
lowered his head and stepped into the large, copper tub.

The bath was
just shy of piping hot and in a short time Paine regained some
composure as he washed with soap that was a bit too acrid. It felt
good to be hot and clean. Diarmuid sang a strange song about three
men in a tub. Paine had never heard it before, but the tune was
catching and before he knew it he hummed along. Had it been two men
in a tub, his thoughts might have drifted to something a little
less proper. He was relieved Puck was there; his fat, pasty frame
deterred any such inkling. He splashed in the water like a
child.

As the bath
settled to lukewarm, Paine scampered out of the tub and dressed in
a hurry. They rejoined Lya and made their way to the small, yet
welcoming, common room.

Dinner was
hearty; goat stew and fresh bread. Puck barely chewed his food,
nearly swallowing it whole. Paine barely had any room for the
rhubarb pie. When they finished dinner, they each sat and nursed a
mug of gritty beer, listening to a rather gaunt woman crooning a
ballad in the corner. Idle chatter filled the room, but some
murmurings fouled their spirits; whispers of Witch Hunters
amassing, rumors of purging Haven, the Westwood spreading and
flooding over a place called Lindhome, and claims of wolfen attacks
along the roads in the Outlands. There was also talk of someone
named Pan keeping the Westwood from spreading this far south, but
he was looking for a bride. With the comment a number of eyes cast
glances towards Lya.

Diarmuid
fidgeted in his seat. “We should retire for the night. It's going
to be another early start in the morning.”

They did not
question him as he rose, but followed his lead, smuggling stew and
bread for Fang. They thanked the innkeeper for dinner and headed up
to their room, Diarmuid rolling his eyes as the woman winked at
him.

Paine remained
awake for a time, staring at the ceiling, lost in what was said in
the common room. He wondered what the rumors meant, especially the
part that someone named Pan had been seen dancing in the midnight
hour with goats that stood on two feet.

Eventually,
weariness got the better of him and he slept.

Memories of
what his sister had conjured plagued his dreams and he nearly cried
aloud when they were woken by a sudden knock at the door. He sat
up, and in the dark of the room, barely made out Diarmuid motioning
for quiet. The gleam from his knife reflected what little light
shone through the small window. Fang looked ready to pounce and Lya
had her bloodied dagger drawn. Puck sat in the shadows, a deadpan
expression on his face.

Diarmuid edged
closer to the door. “Who is it?”

The voice of
the innkeeper was hushed, yet hurried. “I must speak with you.”

Diarmuid
ushered her in, the candle in her hand inundating the dismal room
with soft, flickering light. “What's going on?”

“
There was a woman asking about you. She described all four of
you exactly, including the dog. She was flanked by three others,
all of them Witch Hunters. I told her there were no such people
here and to leave. I don't think she believed me, but she was
distracted by two women in the common room. She took them away in
nooses and dragged them into the forest by their ankles. If they
start asking questions in the village, it won't take them long to
figure out you're here. I don't want further trouble. I suggest you
leave immediately.” The stern tone of her voice demanded
obedience.

“
We're leaving,” Diarmuid said. “Get your things.” He then
handed the innkeeper some coins. “These are for your trouble and
your silence. Thank you.” Leaning over, he kissed her on the
cheek.

She escorted
them down the stairs, flowing with an agility that was surprising
for a woman of her girth. She cast the candlelight before her,
banishing the shadows, as she sped them through the halls to the
front of the inn where she bid them a quick farewell.

As the three
waited for Diarmuid to fetch the horses, four men escorted a
staggering young woman down the road. She was drunk with red
berries and wine, her lips as crimson as the innkeeper’s. The men
spoke of goats, weddings, and virgins. They snorted and laughed as
they stumbled along the cobbled road. They appeared almost as
inebriated. Then the drunken lot disappeared before Diarmuid
returned and the four rode off into the midnight hour, leaving the
town of Cabra behind.

Brahm crouched
until the tawny wolf bounded off into the woods. As its wiry hide
disappeared into the shrub, she envied the wolf its simple
life.

Eat, sleep, hunt, and fuck
.

A part of her
ran with it, wishing she could go in its place. A restlessness
itched inside her with its desire to get out into the wilds, to be
one with the Great Mother.

It was time to
leave Haven.

She rose.
“Diarmuid is fine,” she said, facing Gregor and the others that
gathered to hear what a wolf would have to relay. “He's found a
young man and woman in the southwest. There is bad news though. The
Witch Hunters are gathering.”

Gregor leaned
on his walking stick. “Can you tell how long ago? Where?”

“
I'd say a week ago. From what the wolf indicated, west of the
Mississippi, but human affairs are of little concern to the
wolves.”

Silence filled
the air, each lost to their own thoughts and the implication of the
wolf’s message. A putrid sigh emanated from Gregor.

“
It looks as if we will need to consider this matter sooner
than we thought. Summon the others.”

The meeting
was concise and to the point. No hand waving, no gasps, and no
long-winded explanations. War, plain and simple, was now knocking
on their door. If the Confederation decided to wage war upon Haven,
they would need every last person they had at their disposal —
witch or not. Haven was recalling the Missionaries, a unanimous
decision. The war mongers of Haven, some of which had fled the
butchery that had befallen Sanctuary, left the meeting with
sickening grins.

Brahm marched
back to the stalls and finished her chores. She would be leaving on
the morrow, an early start. After a hot bath, and declining an
invitation to join Farin in her room, she turned in for the night.
She wondered if she might regret it later, but some things took
precedence over pleasing a young woman for hours. Sleep was one of
them.

With morning
came a cloak of cool mist that shrouded the land. Brahm could
barely see twenty paces in front of her, yet the fog filled her
with exhilaration. Others waited indoors or stumbled through its
hazy, white maze. Brahm Hallowstone marched through it, its chill
touch caressing her dark skin like a phantom lover.

Her hands
hovered over the two silver daggers she carried at her sides, just
to make sure they were there. It was an obsession, she knew, but
readiness was worth the price of a little paranoia. Besides, the
kahbeth were irreplaceable.

They were
fashioned by the Obek from the north, a tribe of beings not of the
old world. They appeared after the Shift and were an unwelcome
sight, something much larger than humans; slower in both speech and
movement, but powerful. And the weapons they bore were lethal. The
kahbeth was a double-bladed weapon; one smooth and sharp, the other
serrated if sawing was required. Both blades had reverse spikes to
rip flesh when pulled from their victim.