“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.”
“Dark Wind?”
“That is its true name. We renamed it the Westwood, trying to mask what we had done.”
A sickness settled in his stomach.
“With Elenya’s Soul, we used what spells we could to stunt its growth until we could find a way to destroy it completely. Your mother even attempted to use the Soulstone Tablet to try to destroy it.”
“The Soulstone Tablet?”
Alwhin looked to the night sky. “The tablet on which you saw the writing in Lindhome. Your mother and Dïor were the only ones who could read it. We lost track of Dïor after your mother’s death at the hands of the Confederation so we were never able to use it.”
“We hoped, in time, that Lya might be able to read what was on the Tablet and find a way to destroy your mother’s creation.”
Paine pulled the parchment from his pocket. “With the writing like this?”
He handed the note to Alwhin and Gregor. The woman tipped the parchment to read it in the faint light.
“I do not see any writing on this, other than the spell on the back. Are you telling me there is writing on this similar to the Soulstone Tablet?”
He nodded.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was left with the people who raised me. We found it when they died and figured it was from our birth-parents.”
Alwhin pored over it, muttering some guttural words. She tilted the parchment. “Your mother left you to be raised by her wet nurse. She left this with you?”
“Gwen was her wet nurse? She was there when we were born?”
Alwhin nodded.
It didn’t make sense.
If Gwen had known about his mother, why had she treated him so cruelly?
“She did not give you this note?”
“Her husband did when he died. Can you read it?”
“This is beyond my sight and knowledge.” She handed it to Gregor to examine.
Paine pondered the note, wondering. “Perhaps it is information on how to use the Tablet?”
Gregor shifted where he stood. “Even if it was, the Tablet is lost to us. There is little we can do now, but run.” His hands shook as he handed it back to Paine. It dropped to the forest floor.
Paine bent over to retrieve it.
He brushed it off and stared at the script.
“What if it is a message on who I am?”
But Gregor and Alwhin were already out of earshot, the urgency of Nissamin’s news hastening their steps.
He looked for Fang. She stood some distance into the trees. The wolf gave him a protracted look and then left him as well.
And Paine stood there for a time, in the embrace of a night that was warm, but lonely.
Chapter 22
A harsh pinch surged through Paine's leg, jarring him from his slumber. He jerked awake.
Fang leaned over him, her whiskered muzzle poking him as she growled. In the dim light, he barely made out her hackles, rising as she stared towards the edge of the camp.
Movement skirted the shadows and a dank smell fouled the night. Gleaming eyes of yellow shone, beacons filled with malice. Paine's eyes adjusted to the dark as towering demons crept from the night. The pit of his stomach hardened.
Not again.
He rose to wake the others, but cries at the north end of the camp indicated the slaughter had already begun. Over the screams, Great Bear and Truitt called for arms and order. Paine fumbled about, wondering where to run. Fang nipped at his ankle, and bounded to the side.
She barked and Paine followed, dodging others who ran towards the battle. He passed by Mira's blanket, ruffled and cast aside. Further along, Puck's bedding lay empty and untouched. He looked north, the screams piercing the night air. Again, Fang nipped at his ankle and he followed her east once more.
The wolf led him to Great Bear's horse, where she jumped up against the side of the Clydesdale. Whinnying in panic, the horse reared back against the rope that tethered it to an elm.
Paine reached for the horse, trying to calm it. “Easy, Booker.”
Booker’s eyes were wide and it yanked on the rope once more, nearly snapping the elm in two. Fang jumped again at the side pack, yipping and eyeing Paine.
“What is it?”
Wishing he had his sister's gift, he tried to decipher Fang's actions.
Was it the horse?
The wolf jumped up again, her teeth tearing at rope. Booker whinnied and bucked. Fang jumped twice more and Paine noticed a gnarled branch under the horse’s feet. Fang barked in triumph, eyes agleam.
Leery of Booker's frantic steps, he groped for the branch. He fumbled about, dodging the horse’s hooves. His fingers slid along its rough surface, and he pulled it out. Fang took it from his hands and dragged it away. He reached for it, but she growled at him.
Paine retracted his hand.
Then Fang dragged the wood into the dark of the trees and barked. Another wolf bounded after her; one that was slightly smaller but with the same coloring.
Paine watched as the demons flooded from the north.
<
br /> What I am I supposed to do?
He pulled out the parchment from his sister and reviewed the words of the summoning, preparing himself.
***
Fang dragged the oak branch into the trees, determined to have some privacy for what she needed to do. She risked exposing herself and her kind, but there was no choice. This boy needed protection, and not just from the demons that butchered the witches and the people of the longhouse.
She looked upwards and a winged creature flew past the moon. She caught the faint glimmer of its winged tips.
Time was running short.
She growled and the lone wolf that followed her approached.
One of her own.
Fang lowered her body and raised her tail, as if to play. The other wolf’s ears pricked and she bounded towards him. He leapt towards her, eager to participate. He hadn’t played like this with his mother since he was a pup. She toyed with him awhile, nipping at his legs here, mounting him there. She hated this, yet continued with her coy game until he rolled onto his back and then she pounced, piercing his throat with her jaws. The wolf’s eyes widened and he struggled to free himself. This was not part of the game. He yelped but his voice was muffled in his opened throat. She clamped her jaws harder and he thrashed about, scratching her open with his claws. She dropped her weight onto him and bit down further. The taste was tangy.
Fang let the blood soak into the earth and held her offspring until enough blood spilled, until he was nearly dead; almost, but not quite. She needed his soul. The wolf no longer resisted her and lay still, but his eyes were still aware. There was confusion there and it pained her to see it.
One of her own.
But that was the purpose of this spell.
It had to be.
Fang dragged the oak branch over and forced one end into the moist ground. She then drew from what little power was available to her and summoned a spirit that was born of the Earth itself. She reached deep within the wells of her ancient soul and brought forth everything she could muster — a spell to create a staff that would act as a buffer. She had witnessed its creation once before.
She leaned over the wolf, her own offspring. His breathing slowed and his eyes glazed over. As the last raspy breath escaped his gurgling throat, Fang inhaled his soul through her nose. She carried the offering towards the pool of blood and exhaled.
One of her own.
***
Paine watched the slaughter play out before him. He paced in the darkness, close to the woods, waiting for Fang.
What was he supposed to do?
He eyed the note again in the faint light, muttering the words in his mind, cautious not to speak them aloud. Fang was in the brush; he could hear yipping and growling from the two wolves. There was silence for a time, the occasional padded movement and the sound of something being dragged across leafy ground whispering through the trees.
What was going on?
Facing northward he clenched his fists as Nissamin fell. The demons pounced on her and ripped open her chest as she wailed for help. It did not come and after a few moments, one of the demons raised her lifeless heart to the sky before devouring it. Paine turned away, unable to bear the sight and found Fang behind him. The branch was placed between them. One end was dark and moist. She nodded her head. Paine picked it up.
What was he supposed to do with it?
As he placed the butt of it to the earth, something surfaced within him, a multitude of thoughts and desires. All at once they were there, screaming in his head. They were the souls he had called upon before. They surfaced from a secret place within him, hidden from his knowledge. They had been living inside him. They called to him, begged for his command.
*We are yours.*
Paine bit his lip, waiting for the cold and vomit to spew forth. Yet there was nothing, nothing but the taste of blood in his mouth. And the impatient waiting of the dead. They were eager to serve. He gripped the staff and called upon others. The land released hundreds more to his summons.
They, too, whispered to him.
-We are yours.-
Paine laughed, a mad howl he could not stifle.
They are mine! I am in control.
Fang nuzzled him in the leg.
He looked north. The demons flooded from the trees, spilling into the camp. He ran towards the fight, the screams summoning him. He followed their call, feeling the strength of twenty men and the courage of fifty.
I am Little Badger.
He jerked his head at movement in the shadows. Before him, with its hoofed feet and matted fur crawling up its legs, a horned demon towered over him. It smiled with stained teeth and nodded its head. Fang bounded from Paine's side into the thick of battle, leaving him to face the creature alone.
I am in control.
He laughed and fear flitted in the demon's eyes. It lasted for only a breath, and the creature lunged forward. Paine winced and stepped back as he held aloft the staff. He thought of a ring of fire and it was so. The demon hesitated as a circle of flames flared to life before it. It snarled and summoned a fire of its own, green flames that sat in its opened claws. It flung it at Paine. The fire struck him, and the searing pain soaked into his skin. He groaned.
No!
He clung to the staff and the fire winked out. His skin was untouched, yet the memory of the pain was still there. It smoldered. The creature slashed at him, its claws swiping inches from his face. Paine ducked. The demon crept around him, hissing. It slashed at Paine again and flung green fire once more.
No!
The ring of flames that surrounded Paine blazed and consumed it before the fire could reach him. He opened his palm and divined a fire of his own, crimson and smoldering. It caressed his fingers and he toyed with it, laughing.
Was this how Lya felt? This powerful?
He held up his hand, outstretching his palm and let the flames dance. He blew upon it and the ground around the demon flared to life with fire. It screamed as the flames engulfed it, dropping to the ground. Its hooves kicked as the fire consumed it. The smell of burnt hair and rotting flesh soured the air. Paine licked his lips and smiled.
Die!
He turned away as the demon lay still. Its knowledge and memories did not come to him. It had no soul. It was a mindless beast, knowing only to hunt and slaughter.
Another approached.
Like the last, this one had horns, but a goat's face. It cried out, a rumbling bellow. Paine summoned the fire from the earth once more. This demon dropped, thrashing on the ground. Another approached, and Paine dealt it the same fate.
Two more.
Euphoria welled inside him to match the power he wielded, taking demon after demon.
Five.
He closed his eyes and summoned forth locusts that swarmed the demons. He called upon the ground to swallow them. Fire fell from the heavens, striking them down.
He took the parchment from his pocket and read the spell.
It required blood.
The land was soaked in it.
He summoned the five souls listed there, no longer frightened.
I am Little Badger.
A chill wind swept through the trees. He heard their wailing in his ears, and their ancient souls touched his own. They were his to command and he sent them forth. The spell worked and demons were dropped and pulled into the forest where their screams were short and agonizing.
Paine continued on. The staff was cold in his sweaty grip. The demons lurched towards him, and tumbled at his feet.
Ten.
He brimmed with ecstasy, slaughtering all before him. Some fell from a sickness that weakened their bones, their legs splintering into pieces; others crumpled over and were consumed by beetles and scarabs that flooded from their mouths.
From among the crowd, Puck ran directly towards Paine through the crowds. A demon was on his heels.
“Paine!”
Paine summoned scarlet fire once more and with a wisp of a thought he struck the cr
eature down.
Puck gasped for air as he reached him and collapsed to the ground. “We m-m-must leave.”
“I can destroy them, Puck. You are safe.”
Two more demons approached, a wolfen at their side. Paine summoned the protective ring of fire once more. He pulled Puck up with one hand, and summoned hailing brimstone with the other. It pummeled the foul spawn before him, all three howling as they fell to the ground.
“This staff lets me control the spells and the dead.” He laughed. “They cannot stop me.”
The orb from Puck's dead mother glowed in the young man's hand, violet and dark. A feather crack ran along its surface.
“Puck, what is that?”
Puck slid his hand along the staff and took a step towards him. “Mine.”
His presence shifted. His fingers slipped along Paine’s skin, and with a cold touch brushed his soul. The orb pulsed and Paine froze in place, unable to move. He tried to release the power he had summoned, but it was too late. It throbbed with the orb and Puck's presence slunk further into him. His chill touch snaked under Paine’s skin.
Then Puck changed before him, appearing as Billy Chapman, then as the Reverend. Paine sucked in his breath. Puck’s feet morphed to hooves and his hands to claws. He towered over Paine, his muzzle smiling with a tooth-filled maw, yet the eyes remained the same, green and chilling.
“You are mine,” he hissed.
Paine’s legs trembled. He tried to control the souls, but as Puck's presence continued to creep into him, they slipped from his grasp.
The creature breathed in Paine’s ear. “I have been forced to bide my time, playing simple around a sniveling little whelp. My patience has its limits and I will not wait any longer. I will have you now.”
The Second Coming Page 26
