It was a vindictive hoax of nature and one the Firstborn did not find amusing. They wanted them dead, half-breeds and Lastborn. If they could, they’d rid themselves of humans as well.
John wrinkled his nose at the heavy scent of musk and sweat on the air. Miguel sneezed. Tattered garments hung about on makeshift clotheslines all about the clearing.
Meega approached one of the small huts. It was surrounded by a sea of torn fabric. She knocked on a chipped wooden door.
Something shuffled inside before a raspy voice spoke. “Come in, Meega. I'd know that timid knock anywhere.”
John ducked into the small hut, and once inside had to adjust to the dim light offered by one lone candle that stood on what appeared to be a stone altar. Standing before it was a pile of rags that covered a wisp of a woman with wild gray hair, fine slanted eyebrows and pointed ears. She was Revenant. John stared into the piercing blueness of her repugnant gaze.
“Old and ugly am I, Churchman?” she asked.
John looked at her with calm. “I didn't say anything.”
“I didn't say you did, and I wasn't talking to you, heretic. I was talking to the fat one.”
Heretic?
The woman hobbled over to Miguel and poked him with a bony finger. “Old and ugly, am I?”
Miguel stammered and then closed his mouth. Even in the dim light, his face crimsoned. Meega covered her mouth and giggled.
The old woman patted the little girl on the head and then shuffled over to a wooden chair. It creaked as she settled herself in it.
“No matter. I've been called worse in this life and I can't deny I am old. I've lived longer than anyone should.” She reached into her rags, pulled out a small vial with a blue liquid and took a hearty swig. She belched and wiped her mouth with her torn sleeve. “So you're looking for someone?”
“Yes.”
“You won't find your quarry here.”
John’s nose twitched. The place smelled of defecation. “Are you Liesel?”
Her mouth stretched into a toothless smile. “Sometimes,” she said. “When I remember.”
John eyed her with care.
She has lost her wits.
“Do you know who I am looking for?”
A light flashed in her eyes. “I know all too well.” The old woman gave a mad cackle.
“Has he taken physical form? I must find Him.”
She gurgled, something akin to laughter. “I suppose the Pope sent you.”
John nodded.
“And what makes you think you can find Him?”
“My soul is cursed. I can find him.”
A shadow of understanding passed across her pallid face. “I see.”
He hesitated. “What can you tell me? How much do you know?”
“Enough to drive a woman mad. And no one believes this crazed old fool.” She took another swig of blue liquid. “You won't find Him, but you may find something just as important.”
“Oh?”
The old woman motioned him closer with a crooked twig of a finger. Her breath was sour, and a cold smile crept across her lips. “His child.”
John shifted under her gaze. “His child?”
Liesel nodded, the light in her eye getting brighter before she gurgled once more. “You have trouble with your ears, heretic?”
John tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry as the deserts of Babylon. “Who would have borne such a child? Was it Lilith?”
At the mention of the ancient name, Miguel made the sign of the cross over his ashen face. He reached into his robes and pulled out the rosary.
John cast him an inward smile.
Futile gesture.
“Lilith?” remarked the old woman. “Bah, she knew the truth before any did. That's why she left Eden, and why she was cursed to bear only demon children. She would never have borne such a child.”
“Then who?”
“Sephirah.”
The first woman pope.
Oh, God.
He had known her.
The reality of his past settled over him like a burial shroud. John could think of nothing to do. He fidgeted where he stood. And in the end he, too, gestured the cross.
Chapter 8
Sweat seeped down the side of Brahm’s face as she pursued the Peace Maker. Up ahead, he remained on the edge of visibility. She raced through tunnels of trees and shrubs, running until illusions of light blurred past her. She had passed out of the known world and into some bizarre pocket of unreality. It unsettled her gut like bad venison. Yet the Peace Maker had meant her to follow, and follow she would.
Eventually time and the blur of unreality caught up with her as she came to an abrupt stop. Her momentum flung her into a clearing well before her feet were prepared and she stumbled to the ground. Brahm grunted.
Not very dignified.
She brushed herself off and recovered her poise.
“Kwe kwe, Orenda.” The Peace Maker's voice was cool as an autumn morning, the words almost a rustling in the breeze.
Brahm tried to gather her bearings, but the trees shimmered around her and the clouds sat like sedentary puffs of stone. An eerie silence settled on the clearing. She sniffed at the raw air.
“What is this place?”
“Where few will look to find us,” he said. “I can only hope we are not noticed.”
She grunted again.
Fucking cryptic answer.
“Please,” he said, gesturing to a stump in front of him, “sit, child. Sit with me and listen to what I must tell you.”
Child?
His face held a smile that bordered on patronizing. Brahm would have strode out of the clearing had anyone else spoken to her in such a manner, but this was not just anyone. Instead, she perched herself on the large stump, and waited for him to elaborate.
He folded his hands in front of him. “War is coming and the Haudenosaunee will be a part of it, but not you. You must walk a different path. Though you may feel you are betraying your people, you must abandon them. The Great Mother needs your assistance. Both of you. Heed her call, Orenda.”
Both?
Brahm shook her head. “I don't understand.”
“In time, you will. For now, you must leave. If you stay, you will die.”
What?
The Peace Maker looked about, and for a brief moment fear played across his face.
“Leave tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Wait—”
“I must leave you now. I need to speak with the Council and light a fire under them. Perhaps more lives can be spared if I convince them to move quickly. Heed the Great Mother's summons, Orenda, and be wary. Now, I can say no more. There are eyes and ears everywhere.”
“Wait, who would be listening?”
He leaned in close, his voice a hiss on the wind. “God.”
The Peace Maker vanished in a haze of color and a blur of motion; so had the peculiar place in which they had conversed. Brahm looked to the sky. The clouds soared through the firmament once more and birdsong swept in. The musty scent of the forest floor tickled her nose.
She would die?
She rose from the stump and searched for any trace of the spirit being. There was nothing.
She looked back from where she had run. The stream foamed and surged behind her. She was close to where she had first encountered the Peace Maker — barely steps into the forest.
How was that possible?
Brahm groaned. It was not worth pondering.
She stepped from the trees and let the sun rid her of the slight chill that danced along her skin. White Feather still lay on the rock, no longer in meditation, but basking half naked. She needed the visual distraction of seeing his hardened body glistening in the sunlight. Like the Clan Mother had hinted, he was a good catch. A sly grin crept across her face. Were he not Gray Wolf's brother, he might have at least made for some interesting nights.
Brahm paused.
What was she thinking?
She shook it off. T
hat was the other soul lusting for him. Brahm knew where her tendencies lay.
White Feather covered his squinting eyes from the late afternoon glare of the sun and turned towards her.
“Where did you go?”
“I met the Peace Maker.”
“You pull on my leg, Orenda. Too bad it’s not my third,” he said with a grin.
Third leg, indeed. She remained silent.
“You’re serious.”
She nodded.
White Feather bolted up. “Where is he?”
“He is gone to address the Hoyaneh.”
“Do you know what this means? No one has seen him in over five hundred years. What did he say?”
“We are going to war. He didn't say when, but I would guess soon if he needs to address the Chiefs. He also told me I have a different path to walk. I must leave.” She chose to leave the dying part out. No sense in getting him too worked up.
“I don't understand. What path?” He grabbed his shirt and slipped it over his head.
“I wish I understood myself.”
“We should go back. I want to see the Peace Maker with my own eyes.” He ran off into the forest, back along the trail. Brahm hesitated, looking back to where she had conversed with the Peace Maker. There was still nothing there, other than a small blue bird that chirped and hopped about, pecking at the earth.
He knew she was twin-souled.
Did he know about the incident that caused it? And, better yet, did he know how to get rid of it?
Walking into the village, Brahm found it robust with activity. Men and women ran in and out of the longhouses, bundles carried on their backs as many of the Clan Mothers gave orders, pointing and guiding each to their respective roles. She heard whisperings of the Wendigo among them, but they were silenced as she approached.
The Peace Maker had lit a fire all right. A God-damned forest fire.
The village bordered on chaos. Brahm searched for White Feather and spotted him with the Chiefs. They called out orders and plans of their own.
Approaching Little Doe, Brahm wanted to smile, but found it impossible. She felt too much confusion inside her to fake it.
“What troubles you, child?” the Clan Mother asked. She took Brahm’s hand in her own. The softness in her eyes spoke well of the love the old woman had for her.
“I don't want to worry you.”
She shook her head. “There is little that is worse than war.”
Brahm sighed. “I met the Peace Maker. He told me I must leave you. He said if I stay, I will die.”
The Clan Mother hesitated. She swallowed. “What do your instincts tell you?”
“I don’t know; that I am needed, that I could save lives.”
“And do you believe what he said?”
“How can I not, but I know that you'll need me. People are going to die.”
Little Doe stood on her toes to hold Brahm's face in her weathered hands.
“Orenda, you cannot save us all. People are going to die whether you are with us or not. And if it has already been fated that you should die fighting with us, then you should take the Peace Maker's advice and go. Defy the Fates, spit in their faces, and do what the Peace Maker suggests. Leave us and do not return until we have dealt with the Confederation. If not for yourself, then for me. As your Clan Mother, I command it.”
Damn.
The woman had her cornered. If Brahm considered herself Haudenosaunee, then she had no choice but to obey her Clan Mother. Little Doe changed the subject before Brahm breathed another word.
“We will be leaving tomorrow for Haven. Messages have been sent to let them know we are coming. The Peace Maker said none are to remain behind. We are taking as much as we can of our supplies. Two Moon will be sending messages to summon the tribes back from the new villages.”
Brahm pleaded her case. “How can I be sure the Peace Maker was right? You know the feelings I get and how they must be obeyed.” It was a losing argument, but the stubborn side of her refused to subside.
A deep look of sorrow settled on the Clan Mother's face. She knew all too well about Brahm's premonitions. If Gray Wolf had heeded them, the woman might still be alive.
“I know, child, but if the Peace Maker has advised you to ignore your better judgment, I think it would be wise to follow his advice. There is a path being laid out for you that you must follow. The Great Mother has a purpose for us all, even in death. But if the Peace Maker believes your death will serve no good purpose, then you should challenge the Fates and do what he suggests. Orenda, I do not want to lose another daughter.” The Clan Mother’s hands shook.
Brahm stood in stubborn silence, trying to face the old woman. Looking into the eyes of the one person that could bring her world crumbling down with a command, Brahm lowered her head and resigned herself to Little Doe's wishes.
“Mother, the Peace Maker said I should heed the summons of the Great Mother. What does that mean?”
Little Doe's eyes lit up, and she sat upon one of two stumps that were perched outside of the longhouse.
“Sit,” she said, and patted the vacant one. Brahm settled herself as the Clan Mother spoke. “Years ago, before Gray Wolf brought you to us, I had a dream; a dream that came from the Great Mother.
“In the dream, I stood on a great lake. My eyes could not see its end and I walked its surface, lost. I walked until I thought I could walk no further. The hot sun burned my skin. Then, in the distance, a great land rose out of the water. I climbed onto its beautiful shores. I rested there for a time and, as I sat in the shade, a naked woman on a white horse approached. She held out her hand to me and took me upon this great steed and we rode across a vast plain with the wind blowing in our hair.
“In the distance, I saw mountain ranges and we reached them fast, as if the horse had wings. In the midst of the mountains there was a valley with a great cave, dark and bleak. It was a crevice of despair and hatred, a festering welt upon the Earth. The woman took my hand and led me into the depths of the cavern.
“Down and down we went, deep into the belly of the Earth. Finally, we came upon a doorway, inscribed with writing I could not read. We stepped forward and the fear almost killed me, for staked to the walls were the writhing bodies of people. Men, women, children; they covered the walls and the roof of the cave from end to end, top to bottom. They were alive and suffering. I slipped on the floor that was slicked with their blood.
“There was a small spot left on the wall where I saw the bare rock. It was stained red and was just large enough for one last body. I feared for my soul, that the space left was for me, and that I would remain there to suffer for all eternity.
“Then I saw a woman on an altar. Cuts and bruises covered her body. I knew she had been tortured long. The stone surface of the altar was wrapped around her wrists and ankles. She was alive, but barely. I walked towards her, but the woman with the flowing hair held me back.
“’No’, she said to me, ‘you are meant only to witness. He must not know we are here. Orenda will save her. You will know her when you meet her. Your love for her will be forever bittersweet. Tell her of this when the time is right. Tell her to heed the call of the Great Mother. Her true destiny leads her elsewhere.’ Then the woman on the altar screamed. The walls of the cave and the people nailed to it laughed with the most loathsome sound I have ever heard. Then I woke up.”
Little Doe grabbed the deerskin flask that hung about her shoulder and took a long drink. She wiped the water from her chin before she spoke again. “For months I could not sleep and prayed I never be shown that dream again. I think of it from time to time. It was a message, and the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew who you were. That is why I named you Orenda. I do not know what the meaning of the dream is, but I know the Great Mother will have need of you. Now that the Peace Maker has come and told you to heed the call, I can finally relieve myself of this burden. The woman from my dream was right about you. I love you like my own daughter, but you are a constant remind
er of Gray Wolf. It is a bittersweet love I have come to embrace. You are dear to me and I would hate to lose another daughter.”
Brahm reached over to grab Little Doe’s hand. “Mother, I don't understand any of this. Who was the woman in your dream? How am I to save her?”
“I wish I had an answer for you, child. But perhaps she can help you if you help her.” She pointed to Brahm’s chest.
Brahm offered a slight nod. Only the Clan Mother knew about the presence inside her. She had tried various concoctions and ceremonies to be rid of it. Nothing had worked. But if the Clan Mother was right, maybe she could be rid of the thing that was leeched to her soul.
Freedom.
Brahm gazed about the village, at the mass movement of supplies and wagons. If she had to leave, she at least wanted more time to enjoy herself. Her shoulders stooped.
“Do not fret, Orenda. When the time is right, you will come to live among us. Perhaps by then you will be ready to settle down with someone,” she said with a grin, changing the subject to her insidiously favorite topic.
Brahm rolled her eyes and laughed. With any luck, White Feather would leave for Haven and all thoughts of settling down would be lost for a time.
And in that moment, born from something deep within her gut, she decided she would venture out on the morrow as far away as possible. She would search for Diarmuid. It was the only thing that gave her any sense of sureness.
The Clan Mother rose and offered her arm. “Come.”
Brahm took it with neither smile nor grimace, and let Little Doe lead her into the longhouse.
***
Friar John ducked through the doorway of the crude hut, desperate for air. Dark clouds inched across the late afternoon sun as Liesel's laughter trailed him through the frail opening.
He paced, trying to think.
The old woman hobbled after him, a toothless grin adorning her leathered face.
“You did not know this.”
“The first woman Pope,” he muttered.
The Second Coming Page 9