The Second Coming (45 page)

Brahm looked
to White Feather as they ran. “Your people are not getting on the
ships. They head north.”

Though he ran
at her side, his eyes delved deep into hers. “My place is with you,
Orenda.”

She held out
her hand to him, only to find it missing. The second soul within
her cradled her with both its arms. Brahm let herself melt into the
other woman’s presence.

We are
one.

-We are
Orenda.-

***

Paine knelt in
the mud where blackness slithered into him. It was not slow and
subtle. Instead it was swift and abrupt, invading every orifice. It
thrust its way along his spine, through his veins, and straight to
his soul. He moaned with its impact.

He struggled
to fight, but it siphoned his will. He thought of Dïor's heated
words and they burned through him. He thought of the Clan Mother,
of his parents, all slaughtered because of his sister. His anger
was righteous.

Paine looked
up at soft footsteps that padded the ground ahead of him. A being
of great magnificence stood within the darkness. It had six wings;
two which covered its face, two which covered its feet, and two
with which it could fly. Then it changed and morphed into the boy
of the Westwood.

You should be
dead.

The boy opened
his cherry lips to speak, but the words were uttered in Paine’s
head.

*Let me help
thee.*

He offered
Paine his little hand.

Paine called
forth everything he could summon and drove it at the boy.

Who are
you?

The boy
smiled.

*Once I was
called Nahash.*

The boy
flicked his wrist and the souls turned on Paine, funneling back
towards him.

*I can give ye
power.*

Paine gripped
the earth. He sent the dead forward again, screaming.

The boy stood
in front of him. His smile was pure and white.

*I can give ye
all that thou desires.*

He turned his
head away from Paine for a brief moment. A light emanated from
behind him. Paine followed the boy’s gaze to see a white aura and
five beings walking towards him, a wolf at their lead. The boy
squinted and the ground shuddered.

*I will spare
thy companions.*

The terrible
weight of the darkness forced itself upon Paine. He crawled out of
their sight. He could not let them share his fate.

Not like Little Doe
.

The boy
extended his hand once more.

*
I can end thy guilt. I can promise
ye control.*

Paine
paused.

The boy’s
black eyes blinked.

*I can give ye
knowledge. Eat of the tree. Your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall
be as gods, knowing good and evil.*

Paine reached
up, hesitant. His hand trembled.

*I can help
thee against thy sister.*

Paine clasped
his strong, tiny hand. And with the cold tightening of the boy’s
fingers, Paine felt a similar grip on his soul and heart. He closed
his eyes, embracing it. There was always a price.

What do you
want?

*I need a new
body. This one hungers greatly and I wish to leave this land.*

He invited the
boy and his darkness into him.

Come unto
me.

The boy’s form
dissipated into a black cloud, leaving behind the great darkness
that hungered for living things. Paine inhaled his presence. His
nose bled as the entity once known as Nahash swept into him and
encased his soul. Its presence was not what he expected, barely
noticeable. And with its insipid invasion came knowledge, old and
deep. Paine nodded his head, understanding Dark Wind’s intent.

And he smiled.
All was clear
now
.

A sudden
shadow enveloped him, something foreign to Dark Wind’s shadow. It
slunk over Paine. He knew it instantly, a being that had been
trapped for seventeen years. And Paine knew what Nahash had done to
the man.

Paine got to
his knees and Dïor’s voice spoke to him.

“
You saved my daughter, whelp as well as the woman who holds
my Sephirah’s soul. For that I will honor her request to give you
what you need.”

Paine buried
his own thoughts, masking them from the Firstborn’s probing.

This was
easier than I thought.

Dïor cast a
spell that unlocked something in Paine, and with it there was the
knowledge he required.

The man
departed, leaving him there.

From the
corner of his eye, he sensed someone reaching towards him. He knew
that hand before he could even see it. Nahash had given him gifts
beyond comprehension, things that the voices and the images in the
mirror had promised years ago. And now those gifts were palpable,
and they were his.

He faked a
clumsy rising and waited for Diarmuid to reach him. There was a
hole in the man’s arm, similar to the black-robed man.

Gregor stood
with him. The old man smiled, Elenya's Soul in his hand. Paine
sucked in his breath. He knew that thing and its blasted intent. He
masked his fear behind doe-like eyes.

“
What are you going to do with that?”

“
I will take care of this mess I helped create and stop Dark
Wind before it gets any further. Your mother would be proud of
you.”

Paine offered
a shy smile.

Perhaps I will
ask her.

Dïor
materialized beside Gregor. The two gave Paine one last look before
striding further into what remained of Dark Wind’s shadow. It still
clouded the land, siphoning off all living things.

Paine rose
from the ground and Nahash stroked his soul with its tentacles. Its
evil laughed within him and shared a thought. Paine acknowledged
its wicked intent.

Someone needed
to be sacrificed. Something needs to take residence in Dark Wind’s
body.

And with the
souls of the dead floating about him, Paine saw his opportunity to
be rid of the former High Magus of the Valbain. He no longer needed
the man.

As the others
drew near, Paine rose and commanded the dead. He lifted his hands
to the air as if commanding a final act of great summoning. The
dead were eager, whispering in his ear.

-Use us.-

He sent them
to precede Dïor and Gregor, spiraling towards the location where
the heart of Dark Wind once resided and they took the form of a
little boy. Its appearance flickered and pointed. It was a good
replica and enough of a ruse to fool them.

Diarmuid,
Great Bear, and Mira ran up to him.

I should have
killed her.

At their feet
loped a large wolf, its white fur almost glowing in the aura.

“
Fang,” he said, feigning a choking voice.

The wolf's
eyes shone. A voice, calm and soothing, echoed in Paine’s mind, a
voice he recognized.

-
It is time.
The ships await.-

Once again
Paine buried his thoughts, this time from the wolf, for he knew her
true nature now. He needed to shield his mind from her.

He struggled
to speak, the words gurgled. He almost laughed at this coy little
game.

“
You're the voice,” he said to the wolf.

The she-wolf
did not flinch.

Diarmuid
pulled him towards him, his tugging on Paine’s arm a little too
urgent for that of a mere friend. The man held him. “You're safe
now, Paine.”

The air
lightened, Paine coughed as if his lungs were trying to purge the
soot that saturated them. He rasped a single word, as if Dark Wind
had taken his voice from him.

“
Diarmuid,” he said. He offered a soft smile, one of innocence
and relief. What lay under it was filled with lustful notions. He
licked his lips.

Paine turned
his thoughts from what he would do with this man. He would have him
later, for now he knew the secret to whispering an enchantment in a
man’s ear and to get what you wanted from him. Something Lya had
learned to perform in what seemed another lifetime.

Paine paused
to watch Gregor and Dïor as they entered the depths of Dark Wind.
They disappeared from sight and he bit back his glee, thinking of
the trap that awaited them. He turned as Fang now led them over the
Witch Plains. The small troupe ran to escape the cloud of death,
the ground rumbling behind them. As they slipped through the edge
of the shadows, he caught a whisper.

“
Seventeen. Seventeen. Seventeen.”

Mira’s legs
buckled under her. Dark Wind was proving too much for her. She fell
to the ground and Great Bear scooped her up in his arms. They
continued on, Dark Wind’s shadow looming over them, chasing them
towards New Boston.

The muddied
ground was littered with the bodies of the dead and pools of red.
So much could be done with this much blood. It was glorious.

Fang ran far
ahead of them, leading them towards the city. Paine dodged body
after body, his breath labored. Diarmuid put his arm around him and
Paine smiled. He almost laughed at the ease of this.

Having him
would be almost too simple.

Dark Wind
trailed them, licking at their heels as they ran.

Paine smelled
its musty odor nearly tumbling over them. Then it stopped and he
knew his trap had been sprung.

Excellent.

A tortured
voice echoed across the land.

“
Seventeen!”

***

Dïor strode
with Gregor into the heart of the thing that had trapped him for
years.

Seventeen.
Seventeen.
Seventeen.

He grabbed
Gregor by the arm and cloaked him in the darkness of his own being.
It would hide them within Dark Wind’s shadow.

Gregor's
presence gave off a scent of calm and longing, of finality and
love.

The Firstborn
Lord surfed the waves of shadow that tried to consume him, knowing
that the heart of Dark Wind lay close.

I can smell
it.

It flung demon
shadows in his direction, but failed to find him as he slunk
through its own darkness. Gregor gripped the Soul Orb in one hand
and a bone dagger in the other.

A dark pulse
throbbed around them and Dïor knew they finally stood in the heart
of Dark Wind. Yet something seemed amiss.

“
Are you ready, ancient one?” he asked.

Gregor ripped
open his tunic to bare his white, spotted flesh and muttered the
words of the spell that would trap his own soul. He was going to
heal the Soul Orb and trap Dark Wind once more.

Dïor thought
of his daughter and the Empress she could have become. For the
first time in seventeen years, the Firstborn Lord smiled.

Gregor
finished the spell and thrust the dagger into his own chest,
spilling his blood and trapping his soul in the black orb with the
woman who had once done the same.

“
Elenya,” the old man muttered and then his body
crumpled.

Dïor
materialized, snatching the Soul Orb from Gregor’s dead hand as he
fell. He held it aloft, eager to call upon its power.

Sephirah must
be saved.

The Soul Orb
thrummed in his ears and throbbed in his hand. He felt it work its
power and then sensed a trap. Dark Wind’s heart was no longer
there. The Soul Orb worked its magic, but upon Dïor instead,
paralyzing him within Dark Wind’s ethereal body. The shadow of the
creature that had once tortured him threw itself at Dïor, invading
his body and he screamed his rage and fury. He would be trapped
there, within Dark Wind’s body, forever.

“
Seventeen!”

***

Friar John
ran, cutting his way through the demons once more as they fled. The
wolves had been the turning point in the battle, tipping the odds
even greater than John would have thought possible. From where they
had come he did not know, but their numbers were impressive.

The sun was
nearing the horizon as John reached the outskirts of New Boston.
Others fled before him, making for galleons that were to sail them
across the ocean. John ducked through alleyways and side streets,
yet still made an easterly direction. He had little time to lose
and the people that fled from Dark Wind were increasing in number.
They were getting in his way and he felt his impatience rising.

The shawl of
his dark self he still wore about him. He needed to once again
deliver himself to wickedness if he was to save his own skin. The
sun now perched upon the western rise casting his shadow before him
as he ran. He knew the location of the church. His only hope before
the ghoul came for its toll was to find Miguel.

He dashed
through the entrance, past the statue of the virgin. The pews
reeked of fresh pine oil and his darkened self had to keep from
retching with the smell. He pulled off his pack to pull out the
sigil-covered urn. The Spear of Destiny was already in his hand. He
scanned the mostly empty wooden rows. A few heads were knelt in
prayer – mostly the old and the particularly devout. A man and
woman knelt together as they lit some candles. Their packs were
large upon their backs; likely travelers that had found a sanctuary
of peace.

Near the front
he found a tonsured man that had Miguel’s roundness. He knelt
before the cross, fingering beads with fat fingers. John had no
time to waste. None would try to stop him here and he would be gone
before the City Guard would have time to react. They had their
hands full attempting to stem the fear and panic that was now
flooding into the city.

He marched
forward, letting the floorboards groan beneath his quickened steps.
The man did not look back to see who hastened through the rows.
John gripped the Spear and hoped beyond hope that this was Miguel.
If not, it would be too late. John rounded the last row and walked
up to the man, grabbing him by his brown friar’s robes and spun him
round.