The Second Coming (35 page)

Had they known
of her when they took the two of them in?

In a clearing
about twenty feet from where he sat, witch, Haudenosaunee and
half-breed gathered by a blazing fire, and Paine’s gaze settled on
Little Doe. He declined her invitation to eat for the third night
in a row, his appetite abandoned on the shores of the Mississippi.
He noticed the look of concern in her eyes over the last few days —
days of little food and sleep, but did not let on what kept his
mind occupied. Questions plagued him about his birth-mother and his
own heritage.

Who was he?
And for that matter, what was he? Why did his mother give them
up?

The last
thought he had been prone to during his youth, usually when Gwen
had sought to use the rod on him. He eyed Little Doe once more. She
doted on the Hunter, like a mother. He smiled, if only briefly, for
that was how she also treated him.

He turned his
attention to the grimoire in his lap. He’d flipped through it
plenty over the years. Some of the spells he knew by rote.

Lya knew them
all.

He searched
for the spell that Lya would have cast upon him. He was still
angered with her for whatever it was she had done to him, but there
was satisfaction in knowing that she was paying the price for it
now, for when his heart ached so did hers.

Stains dappled
the parchment; some fresh from Lya dripping blood on them. The
others had been there when they found the book. The page in front
of him was a spell to summon a soul that would create a plague on
livestock. Towards the back of the book were the more complex
spells that involved invoking multiple spirits into your body. He
pulled the parchment from his pocket as he realized something.

The
handwriting was identical to that of the grimoire. He thumbed
through the pages until he reached the end.

A sheet was
torn from the final page and he looked at the serrated edges of the
parchment he had in his pocket. He held it up against that of the
book. They matched, as did the script; not only the writing with
the spell, but the other side as well. That meant the grimoire was
from his birth-mother, written in her own hand.

The spell on the sheet was one that summoned five spirits,
all powerful names: Agares, Morax, Balam, Tephros, and Vepar. Each
one had different powers and were a deadly combination.

Where did she
learn such spells?

Paine sighed
and closed the book. He picked at the dirt, pulling small pebbles
from the earth. He recalled the statue in Lindhome, how the
sharpness of its features were familiar to him, so familiar he had
missed it in his own sister.

He looked up
when a shadow settled upon him.

Little Doe
stood over him, blocking the light of the fire. Even in the failing
light he saw the worry in her eyes.

“
I am glad to see you smile, Little Badger. You have been
distant since the night you freed Mira.”

As if on cue,
the Hunter stepped from behind the Clan Mother, her mouth set with
an awkward curve.

“
Hello.”

It was the
second day in a row that the Clan Mother had brought Mira with her.
The former Hunter warranted little from him; certainly no longer
fear, but the anger still smoldered. He was biding his time with
her, deciding what he wanted. In the meantime, he wanted nothing to
do with her and felt the unease of two strangers who had little to
say to each other.

Paine tucked
the grimoire away and spread out the woolen blanket on which he
sat, the dampness leaching into his pants. The two women sat across
from him. Fang opened an eye, seemingly to ensure they did not
invade her space, and then returned to her nap.

The Clan
Mother placed some flat bread wrapped around some spiced meat
before him. “I thought perhaps you might eat something.”

His tongue
bathed in saliva at the smell. Though he wouldn’t care to admit it,
he was actually hungry.

“
Thank you.” He accepted the food, taking a bite immediately.
Warm juices escaped his lips and he wiped his face with his
sleeve.

The Clan
Mother smiled. “It is good to see you eat.”

More liquid
dribbled down his chin.

The Clan
Mother sighed and pursed her lips for a moment. “I suppose you
wonder why I have brought Mira over to you again.”

Paine stopped
chewing.

“
I hoped your presence might jar her memory. I tried to bring
her to Puck, but he refused. Perhaps he cannot accept she is
released, or perhaps he cannot forgive her. I do not
know.”

Paine
swallowed and the food inched down his gullet like half-eaten
sawdust. He put it down.

“
Perhaps I will let Mira speak. Is that all right with
you?”

Paine
remembered that Diarmuid was once like this woman, controlled. He
knew what he felt about Diarmuid, but his parents were dead. And
this woman had had a hand in it, if even an unwilling one.

Mira shuffled
closer to him. She still shook from the withdrawal, but the Clan
Mother’s tea helped her cope.

“
I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I remember little. I remember
your face and the hunt. I remember the Westwood and I waited for
you. I took your sister. I had to. I had orders. Please forgive
me.”

“
Orders from who?” The words spat from his mouth.

She looked him
in the eye. “I do not remember.”

“
Lies!” he spat.

The Clan
Mother put her hand in Paine’s. “Little Badger, would you mind
telling us what you remember?”

The scent of
the spiced meat and onions tickled his nose, yet it no longer
tantalized him. He wanted to retch. He opened his mouth to speak,
but was distracted by movement in the distance; Puck, staring at
them with a look of anger etched into his thick eyebrows. The young
man turned away after one last sulky look. Paine looked back at
Mira.

“
Perhaps another time.”

Mira nodded
her head, and regret swam in her eyes. The Clan Mother took his
other hand.

“
Something weighs heavily on your shoulders, Little Badger. I
am a good listener if you need one.”

The warmth of
her smile was the exact opposite of Gwen’s. It was less calculated,
genuine.

“
I do not know who I am,” he said.

The Clan
Mother stroked his face with her gnarled hands, a touch of soft
leather.

“
We are who we are meant to be. Before me, I see Little
Badger, but if you must know more than that, perhaps the answer
lies in the nature of your heritage. I know little of such things,
but there are others here more knowledgeable in these matters.” She
cast her glance towards the gathering by the fire. Paine’s eyes
slid across the blur of half-breed, Haudenosaunee and witch to
settle on someone who sat with Gregor, head lowered in a private
conversation —Alwhin.

The Clan
Mother patted Paine’s knee and groaned as she rose, Mira helping
the older woman up. As she did so, Paine noticed on her shoulder
the marking of a goat.

“
Just be wary, and come see me when you need to talk, Little
Badger. My tent is always open.”

Mira took one
last look at Paine. “Thank you.”

Paine nodded
his head in return and the two women walked away as he ate what
remained of his meal. Mira veered off to join an awaiting Great
Bear, his wide face chiseled with the smile of the crescent moon.
He had taken a keen interest in her recovery.

Fang nudged
Paine with her nose, her tail thumping the ground. Dark now settled
upon the land and the only light by which to see shone in the
distance like a fading, orange beacon.

Paine
scratched the wolf behind the ears.

“
All right, let’s go.”

The she-wolf
sauntered at his side as he walked towards the fire, the dying
flames taking low, rhythmic breaths. The night air embraced him
with an uncomfortable warmth, sapping the energy from his legs.

To the north
of where he walked, three Lastborn stood guard in the shadows of
the trees. Every day was the same, with guards posted at the four
corners for signs of danger. It gave him some sense of safety, but
he wondered if it would last.

He approached
the fire.

Gregor smiled,
and Alwhin seemed to search him, stripping him down to his
soul.

“
What can we do for you, child?”

Paine ran his
fingers along the edge of the folded parchment in his pocket.

“
I want to know about Sephirah, my mother.”

Paine failed
to read either of their eyes in the dim light of the fire. Alwhin
rose and offered her hand to Gregor.

“
Let us walk together.”

The clouds
lingered in the sky, dawdling over the surface of the nearly full
moon. The smell of pine was faint on the air, masked by the
lingering scent of burning wood. The singing and voices faded to a
distant murmur as they walked through the trees. Finally, they
stopped at a fallen log, and Paine sat across from the two.

Alwhin’s face
was unreadable. “I see you know more than when last we spoke.”

“
Did you know?”

She
nodded.

“
When we last spoke you said you knew nothing of my
parents.”

Alwhin cast
him a sidelong glance. “I said I could not tell you.”

His neck and
face warmed. An angry fire stoked within him.

“
I don’t understand. Why could you not tell us?”

The woman’s
face was blank and unreadable in the dark. “Because of your sister.
My Sight eludes me again, so I am unsure if it is wise to tell you
this, but she is heir to the throne of Valbain.”

“
What?”

“
I knew from the moment I saw her. And there are those among
the Lastborn who would delight in her slaughter, or who might use
her to their own ends to get back at the Firstborn.”

“
So Sephirah is our mother?”

She
nodded.

“
And our father?”

“
I believe you have different fathers.”

“
But we’re twins, that’s not possible.”

She laughed.
“Breeding with only one male is an anomaly reserved for humans. The
beings of the Fifth Day commonly breed with multiple partners. I
myself had two fathers, both Revenant. Assuming Lya had more than
one father, the most important one is the heir to Valbain, Dïor. He
remained in Sephirah’s shadow when she came to us, always hooded. I
caught a glimpse of him when they thought they were alone. There
was no mistaking his face, for I was once slave to his family. I
spoke with Sephirah about his presence in Lindhome. I knew the
others would want him hanged, and she begged my silence on the
matter. When I set eyes upon Lya, I knew she was the seed of
Dïor.”

“
What about me?”

“
You are Sephirah’s son, but you are not Dïor’s
offspring.”

“
Then who is my father?”

She paused.
“That I do not know.”

He shook his
head. This was absurd. “How do I know you are telling the
truth?”

Alwhin cast
him a frigid glance. “I did not lie to you. I could not tell you at
that time, and I’m not even sure I should be telling you this
now.”

“
You twisted the truth,” he said, his words spitting from his
mouth. “How can I know you are not doing the same now?”

Gregor reached
towards him, but his hand fell short as Paine glared at him.

“
Alwhin tells you the truth.” The old man’s voice was calm as
the night air. “The hope was to get you to Haven, so you could both
decide your own path without pressure from the Rebellion. Do not
blame Alwhin for trying to protect you.”

The old man’s
voice soothed the tension in Paine’s neck, but just barely.

“
I just want to know who I am and who ordered my parents’
deaths.”

Gregor’s head
spun at the presence of someone at the edge of the clearing.
Nissamin approached, holding a torch to guide her steps.

“
Alwhin, Gregor, we just received word, the Westwood is
moving.”

Gregor’s face
blanched, and he clung to his staff as he rose.

“
How do you know this?”

“
Birds have arrived. The Westwood is on the move, and leaving
nothing alive.”

Alwhin looked
at the old man, and then to Nissamin. “We will be there in a
moment.”

Nissamin
departed, and Alwhin rose. “It would seem we have bigger problems
than the Confederation. And Elenya’s Soul is lost.”

Paine jumped
on the opportunity to ask. “What is that?”

Gregor pursed
his lips. “There is great power in death. Much of the craft relies
upon blood to feed it. And death is an even greater tool in the
most powerful of spells. But there is a greater power when one
gives their life freely. Elenya was Lastborn, and she gave her life
to trap the Westwood in the place where we created it.”

Paine
remembered the horror of the Westwood and the strange boy-creature
that would have killed them all.

“
You created that thing?”

The man hung
his head. “Your mother did.”

“
My mother created that thing?”

He nodded, as
did Alwhin.

“
We thought we could create something against the Firstborn,
an entity we called Dark Wind. Your mother gave birth to the two of
you while casting the spell. She was alone with her wet nurse when
she cast it. We hoped we could control it, but it grew too powerful
and beyond our control. And after your birth, your mother was too
weak to try again. Our folly cost us many lives, and the heart of
my soul — my Elenya. We were unable to destroy Dark Wind, so she
gave her life to stop it from wreaking havoc upon the land, and
trapped it in the lair of its birth.”