The Second Coming (24 page)

The young
man's hand held her down. “Don't bother, Cat. I hear he has an eye
for Jimmy if you know what I mean.”

She pouted for
a moment. “What's he doing here?”

“
He heard about the Confederation comin' here and takin' Jimmy
off in chains. Paul said he relied on him to shoe his horses, but
rumor has it there was more between the two. He's here to get him
back.”

“
If those bloody Hunters had come when we weren't in the
mines, why I'd of let 'em have it.” A flicker of fire danced along
her fingers.

With a deft
motion, the young man grabbed a towel and covered Cat's hands. His
eyes hinted caution and the woman cast a wary gaze in Brahm's
direction. Brahm nodded and smiled.

The woman’s a
diviner. She can summon the elements.

Brahm looked
about the bar. A large number of the men and women were as
frail-looking as the two sitting next to her, yet they were coated
in soot. Not the hardy sort she would have expected for such
difficult labor. She knew their secret instantly.

The miners are
witches.

She was about
to lean over to Diarmuid, but the young man and woman still watched
her. Brahm sifted another sip of beer and feigned interest in the
old Sioux’s tale. She nearly dropped the mug as the door to the bar
slammed open.

Three Witch
Hunters stormed in, weapons bared. The crosses on their vests
glinted orange in the bar's torchlight.

Brahm rose, as
did Diarmuid and White Feather, but before they could react, an
arrow sliced through one of the Hunters from one of the Sioux
women. The Hunter dropped and a dozen men and women rose. The
Hunters cast their gaze about the bar. Fire flitted on the fingers
of seven miners, and others had knives drawn, ready to call upon
the dead using their own blood. From the looks on their faces, the
Hunters knew they were outnumbered. They seemed to struggle with
what to do. One of them finally spoke.

“
Surrender in the name of the Confederation.”

Paul Cathman
strode forward to face them. His ice blue eyes stared down the
Hunters.

“
What did you do with Jimmy Jackson?”

They stared
back, mute.

His face
leaned in to theirs. Brahm thought he might bite them.

“
I think we should make them talk,” he said.

Something
stirred in Brahm's gut. She voiced it.

“
Wait! There may be another way.”

All eyes
turned in her direction.

“
You could free them,” she said. Perhaps they knew about Lya
and how they could retrieve her. She looked at Diarmuid. Perhaps if
she found a way to retrieve the girl, he could avoid calling upon
the ghoul.

The old Sioux
from the corner walked over.

“
Who are you, stranger? What business do you have in
Underwood?”

“
My name is Brahm Hallowstone. I'm from Haven.”

He nodded at
the name. “What is this about freeing them?”

“
The Witch Hunters don't act of a free will. They're
mind-controlled with an herb.” She snatched a pouch that hung at
the Hunter’s belt. She dumped the contents on the table closest.
The Hunter reached for it and Paul Cathman snapped the man’s
finger. The Hunter voiced his pain aloud, whether at the loss of
his herb or the broken finger, Brahm wasn’t sure. She assumed the
former.

Grumblings
emerged from the crowd in slow, steady waves.

The old man
standing in front of Brahm looked her over.

“
What sort of devilry is this?”

“
The Confederation uses this herb to control witches. It is
the most addictive substance known and it binds to your
soul.”

The grumblings
grew louder.

“
So what would freeing these Witch Hunters do? How do we know
they will help us?”

Diarmuid
stepped to Brahm's side, but she spoke before he had a chance to
open his mouth. “You don't. They could be just as committed to the
cause without the herb. But it can be done. These Hunters might
know something that can help you, once they overcome the
withdrawal. So, you can either kill them where they stand, or you
can try to gain some understanding of what the Confederation plans
to do with your town, its silver trade, and its people.”

The old man
pondered for a moment. “I think someone better get the mayor.”

The mayor
turned out to be Mumford Banyon, and as he hobbled from the back of
the bar, the murmurings among the crowd lessened. The Witch Hunters
were herded to the far corner and were surrounded by eight men and
women, all wielding arrows, bags of powders and fire.

The old Sioux,
who called himself Yellow Hawk, whispered in the mayor's ear, as
did Paul Cathman before they both walked out the door.

Mumford Banyon
approached Brahm and sat across from her. She took another sip of
beer. He leaned in close, and the caustic smell of him stung her
nose.

“
What's this about lettin' Witch Hunters live?”

Brahm smiled
at the unkempt man, and then told him about the secret of the Witch
Hunters. When she finished, Mumford reached over and took a long
draught of her beer.

“
Well, that's some tale. Let's suppose you're tellin' the
truth. How do we free ‘em?”

“
I see that you have a good number of witches here. They must
band together and sever the powers of the Witch Hunters. If you
sever their souls from the herb, the effect will be lost. But they
will suffer for awhile before you can use them.”

“
And what if these blasted Hunters still don't talk. Then
what?”

“
They may not remember things for a time, but if you don't get
what you want, do what you will with them. Kill them now or kill
them later. But you stand to gain something from them if you
wait.”

Mumford
pondered the notion and studied the Hunters in the corner. “I need
to think on this.” He rose from the table, and called to the
innkeeper. “Greta, time to close up.”

Greta nodded
her head, and ushered everyone out the creaking door. After the
masses departed, Mumford turned back to Brahm.

“
I think you should retire for the night. I won't be makin' a
decision right away.”

Brahm took the
hint and rose, Diarmuid and White Feather following her lead. She
looked back to the Witch Hunters, wondering what they might get out
of them, and then followed the innkeeper to their rooms.

The following
morning, the common room was empty. Only thin Greta, with her
dirtied apron, waited for them with a plate of hot eggs and fresh
bread. They savored every mouthful and pondered their options.

Diarmuid
gulped down a mug of water. He dribbled some. He looked tired. “I
wonder how much the mayor knows.”

“
About what?”

“
About the Hunter army.”

“
We'll have to ask him.” Brahm looked over to the innkeeper.
“Greta, we’d like to speak with the mayor.”

“
Mayor's gone to the Gorge — left first thing.”

“
And Yellow Hawk?”

“
Went back to his people.”

Brahm
nodded.

“
Mayor left a message. Says you have to go.”

“
Why?”

The woman
shrugged her bony shoulders. “Said you had to go first thing.” She
adjusted her sleeve, covering a tattoo on her shoulder. It was that
of a goat.

Diarmuid
nodded. “We don't want to overstay our welcome.” He paid the
innkeeper and they rose from the table.

They found the
horses waiting. Roan whinnied at the sight of Brahm. She stroked
the charger's nose and mounted.

“
We should just head east then, and search out this
army?”

Diarmuid
nodded. “We'll have to be careful. There could be more Hunters
along the way.”

Brahm led them
out of the stables and gasped as they rounded onto the main road.
In the midst of the town, two bodies hung lifeless from makeshift
gallows. They had been branded. The pearly-white crosses on their
uniforms gleamed in the morning sun.

A faint bell
chimed in the distance, not like the obnoxious bells of the Church
of the Ascension, something more delicate. Brahm shook her head and
spurred Roan to a gallop, leaving the hanging bodies of the
Hunters, and the town of Underwood, behind.

***

Favorable
winds swept the Lady Misia across the sea, her sails unfurled and
tight. Beside her sped her sisters, the Lady Milene the Lady
Saldanha. Friar John searched the seascape for land and anxiety
welled inside him at the sight of it. On the horizon, New Boston
slipped towards them. Beside him, Miguel leaned over the rails,
retching incessantly. The Baron had offered him a potion to stop
his heaving, but he had refused.

Stubborn
fool.

Meega danced
with her wooden doll near the prow of the ship, the wind playing
with her hair, blowing it about like scarlet feathers. He told her
to stay within his sight and to remain out of the bowels of the
ship. The Barons were known to sail with the Nameless Ones in the
depths of their galleons — ravenous beings that plucked out their
own eyes and tongues in service to their god. He wanted her nowhere
near them.

He smiled as
she frolicked, and hoped that one day he could find a quiet place
to raise such a child. Somehow his heart thought it might help to
redeem his former actions, but a part of him thought otherwise.
Some things were beyond forgiveness.

The men called
out orders and clambered up the rigging, adjusting the sails. Off
to the side of the ships a whale spouted and splashed its tail
before submerging. John smiled at the great being and her calf.

The wonders of
this world.

He looked back
to Meega, but she was no longer there. He stepped towards the front
of the ship, searching for the little girl.

Where is
she?

Her doll lay
upon the deck, its straw hair straggled and knotted.

“
Meega?” he called.

He thought he
heard faint giggling, and perked his ears.

“
Meega?” he called again, his voice louder.

Worry settled
in the pit of his gut.

Miguel
stumbled over. “What has happened? Where is Meega?”

John searched
for the girl as he clung to the hair of the wooden doll. He
hastened his stride as he scoured the deck.

“
Meega!”

Oh God,
no!

He ran to the
stern of the ship and peered over the edge, searching the wake and
the water. His heart pounded as he searched for stark red hair, but
found nothing.

He turned
around and Miguel waddled up to him, Baron Jorge in tow. The man
carried a look of concern.

“
What has happened to the girl?”

“
I don't know. She was dancing near the front of the ship and
then she was gone. Here’s her doll.” John held it up, the straw
hair slipping through his sweaty fingers.

“
Did you see her fall over?”

“
No.”

The Baron ran
to the edge of the ship and scanned the waters. The ship swiftly
approached the docks of New Boston. Regret dappled his eyes.

“
I must see to mooring my Lady. If you did not see her fall
over, then likely she is still on the ship.” He paused. “My keen
eyes do not see her floating on the water, but if she has fallen
over I am afraid she is lost to us. Wait here and I will help you
search for her once we are docked.”

John wanted to
protest, but as the ship neared the dock, he knew the Baron could
do little. He nodded and the man left them.

Miguel rounded
on him, his face puffed and crimson.

“
I told you we should not have brought her with us! It is too
dangerous for a little girl. We are on a fool's errand, don't you
see that? The Pope sent you out to be rid of you. There is no
substance to your so-called truth. And now you have jeopardized the
life of an innocent girl with your folly.”

Doubt riddled
him.

Was I wrong to bring her?
Was he
right about the Pope?

He gripped the
rails as a thought niggled him. It sat in a dark place within him
and he rebuked himself for thinking it.

Perhaps it was
for the best.

She might get
in the way of what he needed to do. Guilt caught in his throat and
he swallowed it down. He then cast his gaze out to the water as
they sailed to port, losing himself in the swell of the sea and
thoughts of a little girl's shrill laughter.

***

They rode for
half the day, and Brahm scanned the firmament, watching for any
sign of Talon.

There was
nothing.

The bird was
absent from the skies and a heavy feeling sat in her stomach.

The ride had
been quiet, all three keeping to themselves, until Diarmuid halted
and dismounted, leading them off the main road and well into the
brush. White Feather sat on a moss-covered log, sharpening his
dagger with slow, meticulous strokes.

“
It seems we have an advantage in not being
expected.”

Diarmuid
nodded. “We have to be careful. They might kill Lya. The Witch
Hunters are probably aware of Talon and we can't afford to lose the
only advantage we have.”

White Feather
continued to whet the blade.

Brahm sighed.
“I wish Fang was here. We need a wolf to scout.”

“
I’ve seen no sign of Talon. Do you think she’s in trouble?”
Diarmuid asked.

She looked up
through the canopy of trees once more. Still nothing. Her gut
twisted.