The Second Coming

by David H. Burton

  The riders pulled back, rounding to gather for a second assault. The Hunters mustered together, raising their swords in readiness. Brahm’s soul lifted from her body. Row upon row, the hundreds of Hunters were a festering swamp of hatred and fear.

  The rebels barely held the Confederation army at bay. The Obek backed them, but they were entangled with the angel, and it took all twelve of the mighty beings to keep the winged creature at bay. A few Hunters tried to engage them, but their kahbeth sliced through the humans like hot pokers through fresh snow. She saw Gault, and dove into his being, sensing his soul. It exuded a soft hue of jade, its sound like the cry of the caribou. He held her there, as if in comfort. The Obek let her go and she slipped past him to see Lya's brother, dagger in hand. He waited for the Hunters to get past Great Bear and a tall blonde woman with a Hunter's helmet.

  Brahm soared over the battle as the rebels fell back, the Hunters gathering to strike once more. From the south, howls pierced the air. Brahm flanked in their direction, sailing over the bloodied, wet ground. She dodged a shadow that enveloped a Hunter and sensed its madness.

  Dïor.

  Brahm the swept towards the edge of the Witch Plains and, from among the forest of great silver maples that bordered the land, wolves dashed forward with their fangs bared. Nine of them dwarfed the others and she recognized the two that led.

  Fang. Night.

  Two hundred wolves rushed from the trees, their fur sopping with the heavy rains. They leapt among the Hunters, pulling the southern ranks into the blood-stained mud. Brahm approached Night and as the wolf leapt at one of the Hunters; he nodded as if to acknowledge her. She attempted to reach into his being, but found herself blocked.

  Fatigue flooded over her and she reeled back into her own body.

  Mason’s soul returned as well. “Bad news,” he said. “Demons are coming from the north and the Westwood is nearly here.”

  Wailing and piercing howls filled the air and Brahm lifted up once more to search north.

  One last look.

  Demons and fiends of the deepest forests rushed from the trees and launched at the Haudenosaunee and Lastborn. Exhaustion settled on her as she sailed on westward and nearly slammed into a dark haze that hung on the air.

  The Westwood.

  She sensed its lust for all living things. Brahm sped away, back to her body to hear Sephirah screaming at her.

  -He is coming!-

  Chapter 27

  Friar John searched through the chaos. He killed what beasts he could, trying to avoid killing the Hunters. He’d had enough of taking human lives for now. But the goblins, he could take them over and over. Something in him delighted in their grunts of pain as they fell under his blade, something that had lain dormant for years.

  Demons and creatures of savage darkness poured from the north and John took them as well. It was too late for anything close to an orderly approach to carrying out his plans. He continued to avoid Uriel, hoping the angel would not sense him. Fortunately, the winged being was occupied with a host of Obek; too busy attempting to kill them to be worried about a single man. He had taken three of the mighty beings already, but was hard pressed to take more.

  John turned his back on the angel, scouring the landscape for whom he searched. The Beast had not revealed himself. Then John spotted the dark-skinned woman, the one who bore Sephirah’s soul. And as if reliving a strange dream he cut a path through the demons and Hunters towards the woman he had once been in service to.

  ***

  The rain pounded and Brahm woke to its cold prickling upon her face. She was leaning against White Feather’s rising chest. He said nothing, smiled, and squeezed her good hand as she sat up. Her ghost hand still hurt and the stump throbbed. She closed her eyes once more, her body requiring sleep, but re-opened them at a persistent wet nudge upon her leg. She blinked through hazy vision to see a black form step towards her. It leaned over her.

  Her breathing labored in the musty air. The scent of the Westwood was heavy. Birds flew east from its path and small rodents scurried in the same direction, fleeing the oncoming cloud of death that she knew would follow.

  A bloodied hand held out keys in front of her. It was the man dressed in black robes. In his other hand he gripped a long dagger.

  “You will need these,” he said, unlocking the chains that bound her.

  Sephirah’s soul screamed inside her head. It was the anguish again.

  “I know who you are,” he said. “I see Sephirah’s soul bound with your own.”

  “You know?”

  His face sagged. Sorrow lay in those eyes. “I did not tell Uriel who you are.”

  He released each of the captives and paused at Mason, noticing the emblem upon his uniform and the gleaming white cross.

  “Whose side are you on?”

  Mason looked at his sister. “Yours. I want nothing to do with the Confederation. I have had enough.”

  The messenger glanced at Brahm.

  “He is with us,” she said as she tried to massage her missing hand against her body. It itched.

  He released her brother and threw the keys away.

  Mason stared into the thick of battle, to where the Hunter and demon army advanced upon the refugees and horse riders. He took one of the swords from the dead Hunters. “We must get Lya and run for the ships.”

  Diarmuid grabbed another sword, wrenching it from the body of a slain Hunter. “I am going after Paine. I will meet you there.”

  “What about the ghoul? What was your price?”

  “Not one you need to worry about,” he said.

  Her gut wrung as he left them to run towards the fighting.

  Diarmuid.

  Brahm looked at the messenger. “Why are you helping us?”

  “To right a wrong,” he said. “The second soul within you knows.”

  He looked about the field. “I am looking for the child of Sephirah. Where is he?”

  Sephirah’s soul wept uncontrollably.

  “I do not know,” Brahm said. “We are trying to save him.”

  “I’m trying to save us all,” said the man.

  -Don’t tell him.-

  But White Feather spoke. “Follow the one who just left. You can help him. He went after Paine.”

  The messenger nodded his head and ran after Diarmuid.

  “Wait!” Brahm called, wondering to what Sephirah had been referring, but the man in black robes did not turn back.

  Sephirah pleaded.

  -Go after my children! They are in peril!-

  White Feather retrieved two daggers from the Hunters. “We must go now. Already it is harder to breathe.” He handed one of the daggers to Brahm. It was silver.

  She waved him off with her stump.

  “We need to go after that man. I think he may harm Paine.”

  He nodded. “Then I will watch over you.”

  Brahm’s soul leapt from her body, sailing through the battle. Beside her, Mason’s presence skimmed across the land. Brahm surged forward, through the Hunters and demons that fought side by side. She thought of the young Firstborn girl and the second soul within her guided her steps, the same feel that for years had guided Brahm’s gut.

  They ran, and there, in the midst of the Hunters, the girl stood, unchained, unhindered, and summoning aid. Her hands were raised to the sky.

  Further ahead, Brahm noticed Paine. His features suddenly dissolved into red anger and Sephirah’s soul screamed.

  -Down!-

  Sudden cold emanated from the boy and Brahm reeled back towards her body. She grabbed her brother. Her ghost-hand grasped air as she reached for White Feather.

  “Get down!”

  The rain stopped and a wave of black fire flooded towards them. They all dove to the ground.

  ***

  Friar John ran after the pepper-haired man, darting past more demons and Hunters. The man in front was swift in his movements, yet he shifted directions with his search. He searched the borders of the battle
where those that had fallen or were maimed lay waiting to be eaten by the demons. Then he would lunge into the thick of the fighting where he moved a little too close to the archangel. Demons fought at its side and John thought of their common master.

  Who maketh his angels spirits; his ministers a flaming fire.

  They were nothing more than an elevated form of demon.

  There were three less Obek now and the fighting was not looking good for the towering beings. Uriel’s flaming sword and strength was too much for them. It wouldn’t be long before all of them fell. John tried to give as much distance as possible from the angel and continued after the man who searched for Sephirah’s son.

  The man ran back towards the perimeter and John realized what was going on. The man’s movements were erratic, and undisciplined. He was desperate. And looking closer at the man showed John the mark upon his arm; one that was very similar to his own with the exception that the soul leech was still attached to his own arm.

  He left the man to his frantic hunt and then felt a wave of cold and the souls of the dead move to the west of where he stood. He felt his own desperation fill him, the sense that if he did not ask for help he would miss the chance to kill the Beast. He had enough of pissing around; too much had gone awry and not the way that things used to for him. His plans had always been smooth and flawless. Not now.

  Why?

  John had no choice. He unwrapped the bandage around his own arm and yanked the leech from him. Then he summoned the ghoul and asked for help finding Sephirah’s son.

  ***

  Paine stood behind Great Bear and Mira, who beat back the Hunters and twisted creatures that flooded from the north. The Obek stood beside them, but they were engaged by the angel and his swift sword. He searched the fields for Fang. Hundreds of wolves poured from the woods to the south, yet he failed to find the she-wolf.

  He looked between the Obek at the wiry demons. He thought of Puck and anger boiled inside him.

  Is he here?

  He searched through the army of Hunters, wondering if the former simple-minded fool was among them. Great Bear and Mira lunged to the right, giving Paine a clear view. He spotted black hair, like midnight's cloak framing a pale face and eyes like the brightest sky. Her arms were raised to the sky and he sensed her summoning. Beside her stood Puck. He was whispering in her ear. Paine closed his eyes, feeling for the connection between his heart and hers. At first there was nothing and he searched deeper, pushing the sounds of battle from his ears. He delved further and there he found it, an insipid presence that connected his heart not only to hers. He felt the sticky strand that had been placed there securing his sister to him and he noticed something else. He was secured to Puck as well.

  He yanked both from his heart and the two turned to him when it was done.

  “Lya!” he called.

  Puck looked at Paine. He morphed to demon form.

  Paine fisted his hands. “No!”

  Anger surged from him, pure and unfettered. A field of dead souls rushed to his aid. And those within his blood, those that he carried with him, arose. They took the form of black fire. Paine shoved past those that protected him, but some of them burned as he brushed them, Mira among them. She recoiled and screamed at his touch. He stumbled forward, the black fire searing the ground on which he walked and he sent it forward in a cresting wave of blazing pain. The Hunters before him fell to the ground.

  Paine marched towards Puck and commanded the fire to burn the wraith, the fucking creature that had played him for a fool. The demon flew back from Lya, scoring the ground with his claws. He rose, commanding a powerful wind to suppress the dark flame that encircled him.

  Paine advanced.

  Puck pointed towards him with a thin, bent claw. “Get him!”

  The demons from the battle turned towards Paine and launched at him. They withered as they leapt into the dark aura that surrounded him — sagging, writhing shells of their former selves. He trampled over wild flowers and wet, red earth. He slogged through mud, his legs like weighted chains.

  Demons and Hunters ran towards him. They dropped, seared to the bone before they could get within yards of him.

  He pressed on.

  The dead from miles around flooded to Paine’s silent call. They hovered over him. He pointed with a single finger.

  “Kill him.”

  The host of souls sailed forth.

  Puck screamed as he was flung to the ground. The demon writhed in agony, leprous spots dappling his body. His fur lit up with flame, white and hot. He tried to rise and call forth souls to aid him, but his lips were suddenly stitched together. Puck thrashed about, morphing from wraith to human, in the various forms he had taken over his years. They were many, and each had a tortured expression. Among them were Billy Chapman, Farin, and then the Reverend Chapman. Paine stood, watching as the wraith mumbled his screams and kicked at the earth.

  Paine smiled. It was filled with vengeance.

  Good.

  Then the fire finally took the demon and he lay still, burning. And this time, unlike the other demons, the wraith had a soul. And with it Paine opened his arms, waiting. He welcomed the memories and the knowledge that accompanied it. He was ready for it, embracing it. He would know what this being knew.

  But the memories did not come. The soul he expected slid away from him, towards the man known as Senator Thurmond. Paine turned on him, but a tall man in black robes stepped in front. Upon his arm was a terrible wound, dripping and bloodied, and in his hand was a blackened spear.

  ***

  Brahm got up from the ground, grunting with the pain of her missing hand. Sephirah was driving her forward.

  -Get them!-

  She pulled White Feather with her one good hand. “Get up!”

  The Haudenosaunee rose, but his face was slightly seared. Red blisters were beginning to form.

  Brahm’s heart wrenched at the sight.

  Her brother was beside her quickly. He was undamaged.

  She began to run towards Lya, but her instincts told her different. She made a sudden change and instead ran after the boy.

  Demons and Hunters blocked their path. White Feather and Mason ran just ahead of her, taking each one down that dared to get in their way. Brahm felt useless and even her soul tired of running. She ran blindly behind the others, and then Sephirah spoke to her, quietly, revealing all.

  She told of a dark conception, a spell of great power, of the birth of Dark Wind, and of how one of her children might be able to command it. And then she gave Brahm the words of a spell she had once recited; one that she had hoped might bring to ruin a plan that had been laid with her own forced pregnancy.

  And in that moment, Brahm’s soul held Sephirah’s; comforted her from her pain; and vowed that she would help make everything right.

  She pushed ahead of the others, her legs moving in great stag-like strides. She ran ahead and heard White Feather and her brother calling after her.

  -I must speak.-

  And Brahm let Sephirah’s soul come forth as she arrived, just as the man in black robes did. And they both faced Sephirah’s child.

  ***

  Friar John stood facing the boy to whom the ghoul had guided him. He felt his face flush and his heart pounded, for he knew who stood before him, as sure as the truth that had plagued him for years. He had found his quarry; but not the one the Pope had sent him to find. Although it was by his hand that Sephirah had been drugged into the abominable act, and also by his own body that she had been impregnated, this was not whom the Pope had sent him to find. Yes, this boy before him had been conceived by John’s unwilling relations with the former Pope; and the one Sephirah had borne to the world — a Son of Man. But things were not as he expected.

  He twitched his fingers as he smelled the truth of this boy. He was not possessed of the dark Spirit that should inhabit his body. John’s work was not complete.

  I have found my bastard child, but this is not the Beast.

&nb
sp; Behind him a voice spoke, its cold hatred forced him to turn. It was the man in white robes he had recognized from a distance; the Senator.

  There was anger in the Senator’s face. “Heretic, what are you doing here?”

  John sucked in his breath.

  Heretic?

  The man’s face reddened as he looked at the Spear in John’s hands. “Is this what the Pope sent you to do? Fool! This one is mine. He has been promised to me.”

  “No!” said another voice. It was a woman, tall and black. She was missing a hand. John recognized her. And the voice that spoke was not her own; it was that of Sephirah.

  “You will not have my son, Aloysius,” she said.

  Aloysius?

  The Senator’s eyes widened.

  “I know that voice,” he hissed. “How do you know me?”

  “You know me, well, fool. Now, leave this place.”

  He smiled with recognition. “Sephirah. So you have managed to find a way to cheat death by taking residence in this body. Well, you are too late. The boy is mine!”

  He reached to grab the boy, but missed.

  John looked to where Uriel battled with the Obek. They were down three more. The archangel turned, and with a sudden knowing in his squinted eyes, he gritted his teeth and began to fight his way towards them.

  John gripped the black Spear. The angel lacked a soul to take, but the weapon might still do some damage.

  The boy finally spoke and spat out his words in anger. “Who sent you? Why do you want me and my sister?” A legion of dead hovered over him, waiting for his command.

  “Your sister?” The Senator laughed. “It was your sister who promised you to me. When the three of us had relations in the woods, it was she that tethered you to us, so that either one of us could find you when there was need; it was she who made the deal with the Westwood; it is she who has been calling the others to her in the darkness; it was she who had Farin send Diarmuid to you — the one human that could get you into Lindhome. It was she who had me chase and guide you to where she could examine the Soulstone Tablet for herself and once she learned that you could read it, she had to wait to use you to command Dark Wind. It was your sister who so willingly sacrificed her brother for her own purposes. And it was your sister who commanded the death of those that had raised you. The Bringer of Light calls her his own, and you — though you have abilities she does not, you are nothing! You are not worthy to inherit your birthright. When she was done with you, you were to be mine in trade for my army of Hunters. But my patience grows thin, whelp. I will have you now!”