The Second Coming (10 page)

As she walked she thought of Gault, the shaman that trained
her in their use. He had some odd notion that he owed her a life
debt for saving one of his clan from wolfen. Brahm hadn't seen
Gault in some time and hoped he fared well. He had been surprised
by her prowess with the weapons. She had found that a little
insulting, but then the Obek thought humans weren’t good for much
except ferreting dark things out of small caves. Designed by a race
that thrived on hardships, hunting, and clan wars, the
kahbeth
’s
thirst
for death could overpower those that did not know how to keep the
desire in check.

Brahm
struggled with that part, controlling the hunger. Regardless, they
were her weapon of choice.

There was no
one to see her off as she marched through the fog; no one to wish
her well. She prepped her sturdy charger, adjusting the
sidesaddles, and then mounted him to head north.

“
Come on, Roan. It's time to go.”

She was to
meet with their allies to ask their assistance. The Obek roamed the
North Moors, a vast land sparsely decorated with pines and spruces
among the predominant sea of heath and moss. She could not possibly
hope to find them. Instead, she sent a message. As for their other
allies, the Iroquois, she would travel to the land where her heart
belonged. They were close enough for Brahm to make the journey and
they knew her well. They were a generous and caring people, but
wary of strangers wandering into their lands. Centuries of
colonization had taught them that.

The days and
nights passed without event and she thanked the Great Mother for
the time to herself, though there were moments when she yearned for
the companionship she once knew. Parts of her ached for Gray Wolf
and she often had to put the woman from her mind. She missed her
winning smile, her dry humor, and the way she would dig in her
heels if she thought she was right. She had been one of the most
stubborn people Brahm had ever known. And Brahm had loved her; she
had loved her raw.

Her thoughts
also dwelled on Diarmuid, for his charming smile and determined
nature. What she would not give to have him traveling with her now.
He was some of the best company she had ever kept. A part of her
grudgingly understood Haven’s fears about him. He had been subdued
and tainted for years. It was a wonder he was ever freed; a greater
wonder he had come out of it sane, but she knew she was not fooling
herself in trusting him. He would never return to his old ways.
Diarmuid had healed.

It took Brahm
three days to arrive in the heart of the Haudenosaunee lands. She
knelt to the ground and placed the palm of her hand on the earth
giving thanks to the Great Mother. Rising, she found herself
face-to-face with a man just shy of her own height. He startled
her.

She masked her
surprise with a dry smile. “White Feather.”

He had an
aquiline nose and auburn hair that brushed his shoulders. His
striking looks would have made most women fall to their knees, but
Brahm was not most women. A smile stretched across his face in a
half-moon and a look of triumph shone in his almond-shaped eyes.
She cursed herself for not having heard his approach.

Careless.

“
It's good to see you,” he said. “I was beginning to think
you’d forgotten about us.” He said nothing of his triumph in
startling her and hugged her close. The smell of the land emanated
from him.

“
I could never forget that fool grin. It's good to see you
too.” She returned the embrace, allowing him to have his victory.
She swore to herself it would not happen again and then immersed
herself in the moment. His presence gave her a sense of
comfort.

Sizing her up,
a look of concern crossed his face. “You have not been eating well.
You're too thin. My mother will be forcing food down your throat
when she sees you. And if you ask my opinion, I think you would
look better with a little more meat.” A miscreant look sat in his
eyes, accompanied by a smirk. A part of her missed that grin and a
part of her wanted to slap it clean off.

Heat rose in
her face. “I have important matters to attend to. I must speak with
the Council. When is their next meeting?”

“
The Chiefs are together now. Things are not good. Not since
the time of the Wendigo have we seen such hardships. The crops fail
and the wolfen attack more often.”

The
Wendigo.

Brahm
shivered. That name brought back terrible memories — ones she’d
sooner forget.

“
Then I need to see them right away.”

He looked her
over and smiled. “My mother may still insist you eat first,” he
said.

Putting his
hands on his hips, he drew himself up and gave an uncanny imitation
of the Clan Mother. “One cannot face the Council on an empty
stomach! You will eat first!”

She feigned
laughter as something inside her stirred, a presence that, for a
brief moment, Brahm had almost forgotten. It had not appeared in
her dreams for months. She tried to beat it down, willing it back
into its secret lair where it hid from her, but it was futile. The
sight of the Haudenosaunee warrior brought it screaming to the
surface.

- We are one,
Soul Runner.-

She sighed.
Go away.

Within Brahm
Hallowstone a second soul resided, one not her own. She knew the
woman to whom it once belonged, and with her presence came the
guilt of her death.

- We are
one.-

***

Paine would
have huddled under his cape over the last two days had Lya not
taken it. Not that he minded being wet, but the sporadic gobs of
rain that doused the land had become an annoyance.

At least the
rain was warm.

They rode hard
for the better part of two days after fleeing the inn. Lya sent
Talon back to see if anyone followed. There were now ten Witch
Hunters on their trail. Diarmuid was reserved since the discovery
of that information. He had no idea why they pursued them. Paine
couldn’t help but wonder if what he had heard at the inn had
anything to do with it.

Fortunately,
as they followed the direction of the weather-beaten road, they did
not stumble upon a soul for which Paine gave small thanks.

He distracted
himself by talking to Puck and listening to the young man recite
children’s tales from his village. Paine shared some his own
childhood tales and rhymes. It lightened his mood. Lya rode in
silence. Between showers she reviewed the parchment, at other times
she scoured the grimoire.

Diarmuid
paused at a fork in the road. A battered path with trees leaning
into it led north. The better traveled thoroughfare led northeast.
The man looked at Lya from the corner of his eye. She was too
focused on the grimoire to notice. Diarmuid didn’t look to the
others. He then took the northward road. Puck followed blindly.

Paine
hesitated and then followed. They would come upon the Westwood
following this road.

He was proven
correct when, a day later, no longer on the road, but riding
through a vast land of marsh and mist, there was an abrupt change
in their surroundings. It felt as if they breathed oil.

“
You can taste something in the air,” said Lya as she
dismounted Sable, whispering in her ear before coaxing her onward.
She reached over to touch one of the trees. It was lifeless, like
everything that lay before them. They stood on the edge of death; a
forest of it.

She jerked her
hand back as she came within inches of its roughened surface.

“
What is this place?”

Diarmud did
not look pleased. He paced in front of the wilted trees.

“
This is the Westwood. It’s not supposed to be this far south.
What I was hoping to find now lies inside.”

Paine
grimaced. “Why are we here? I want nothing to do with this
place.”

The forest
made him uneasy.

That feeling
worsened as a horde of twisted creatures emerged from the trees;
misshapen beings that Paine would have difficulty calling human.
And they were armed with knives and bows.

***

Brahm
approached a palisade of thick, wooden stakes that surrounded the
Haudenosaunee village. Strips of bark intertwined the posts. It was
a feat of work that was woven with a power she did not understand.
There was some connection with the Ancestors and the Great Mother,
one she knew little of. What she did know was that this far north,
such measures were vital. Unexpected attacks from wolfen were more
frequent here. Strangely, the vile beasts no longer raided Haven;
at least not since the last attack, when Farin had been found,
battered and ravaged.

Roan gave a
heavy snort, and she stroked his neck.

Men and women
weaved new twine between the wooden stakes. It tweaked her
curiosity.

“
Has the Council chosen a location to relocate the village?”
she asked of White Feather.

He nodded.
“Six of them. The tribes are going to separate. Since we are now
over four thousand strong, it is difficult to feed this many in one
location. Construction has begun on the new villages. Many have
left to build them.” He paused. “The wind has whispered the
Confederation may attack Haven. Is that why you're here?”

Brahm nodded
her response.

“
I don't know how many we can spare, but I think the Council
will recall the others.” He lowered his voice. “I've been expecting
you.”

Her mouth
twitched into a smirk. “I suppose that's why you were lurking in
the forest…to surprise me?”

White Feather
closed his mouth, and Brahm was sure his tanned skin contained a
hint of red. She smiled inwardly and continued on.

To their right
a group of women tended a field of vegetables. Young corn stocks
protruded from the ground, close to a patch of tobacco plants being
cultivated by some men. Haudenosaunee warriors that were perched
atop the entrance to the village hailed her in Iroquois. Brahm
waved back and, for a brief moment, felt her troubles abandon her
at the gates.

They walked
past row after row of elongated wooden buildings. Little had
changed; everything was as she remembered. Small holes at the tops
of each longhouse billowed out the aroma of smoked fish and made
her stomach howl with anticipation. Animal skins stretched over
crooked branches lay prostate in the sun.

Waves and
slight nods greeted her as she strode into the village; frowns and
turned backs as well. Though she was Mohawk by adoption, there were
many since Gray Wolf's death that refused to openly accept her as
Haudenosaunee. She held her head high, preventing the stinging in
her heart from showing on her face. It was the sole reason she did
not visit more often. The last thing she wanted was to bring shame
upon the Clan Mother.

Children in
tanned clothing dodged around her, carrying hoops and javelins.
When one yelled out he was the Wendigo, the rest scurried off to
hide among the longhouses.

If only they
knew the true horror.

The women
scolded the children for scoffing at such an evil, one they had not
been privy to, and then shooed the children out of their way as
they performed their daily routines. But not before they scanned
the village in fear of the creature that had wreaked such terrible
pain upon their people.

Off at the far
end, two teams played at Ga-lahs. Brahm watched the players run
across the field and toss a ball with netted sticks. The game
called to her.

Brahm decided
to take White Feather's advice and visit the Clan Mother first.
Since being adopted into the Wolf Clan, she became like a daughter
to Little Doe, despite some muttered protests. Yet none openly
challenged the Clan Mother. Most assumed that if she chose to adopt
her daughter's alleged murderer, then that was her business.

White Feather
left Brahm at his mother’s longhouse which was marked with the
simple image of a wolf. She entered and walked the dark corridor,
passing the living spaces of others to Little Doe's humble
quarters. The air was saturated with the scent of sage.

“
Orenda! It is good to see you, my child,” the Clan Mother
said with a wide smile that matched her open arms. Brahm's Iroquois
name sang in her ears, a melody she did not hear often enough. The
old woman looked well for her age, now seventy-five. Her white hair
complemented her tanned, leathery skin; the results of a hearty
existence of toil. Her face shone with the simple happiness of a
life well-lived.

“
She:kon, Mother. It is good to see you,” she said and
returned her hug. As with her son, the smell of the earth and a
leafy richness emanated from the old woman. Brahm felt the worries
of life dripping away like the wax of the bitter candles in the
corner.

“
I have missed you, child. Have you met anyone?”

Brahm rolled
her eyes. It always was, and would always be, her first
concern.

“
No, there isn't anyone. Not yet anyway. And I'm fine, thanks
for asking.”

“
You look thin,” she muttered, poking Brahm in the stomach
with a thin, strong finger. “Have you been eating?”

She rolled her
eyes. “I'm here on an important errand. The Witch Hunters have
begun to gather in the south and we think they may attack soon. We
have also recalled the Missionaries and need you to watch for
them.”

“
How is Diarmuid? That one would be good for you.”

She knew where
this line of questioning was leading.

“
He’s fine. And we’re just friends, Mother.”

“
Sometimes good friends make good lovers.”

“
And sometimes they don't.”