Chapter 6

Brahm crouched until the tawny wolf bounded off into the woods. As its wiry hide disappeared into the shrub, she envied the wolf its simple life.

Eat, sleep, hunt, and fuck.

A part of her ran with it, wishing she could go in its place. A restlessness itched inside her with its desire to get out into the wilds, to be one with the Great Mother.

It was time to leave Haven.

She rose. “Diarmuid is fine,” she said, facing Gregor and the others that gathered to hear what a wolf would have to relay. “He's found a young man and woman in the southwest. There is bad news though. The Witch Hunters are gathering.”

Gregor leaned on his walking stick. “Can you tell how long ago? Where?”

“I'd say a week ago. From what the wolf indicated, west of the Mississippi, but human affairs are of little concern to the wolves.”

Silence filled the air, each lost to their own thoughts and the implication of the wolf’s message. A putrid sigh emanated from Gregor.

“It looks as if we will need to consider this matter sooner than we thought. Summon the others.”

The meeting was concise and to the point. No hand waving, no gasps, and no long-winded explanations. War, plain and simple, was now knocking on their door. If the Confederation decided to wage war upon Haven, they would need every last person they had at their disposal — witch or not. Haven was recalling the Missionaries, a unanimous decision. The war mongers of Haven, some of which had fled the butchery that had befallen Sanctuary, left the meeting with sickening grins.

Brahm marched back to the stalls and finished her chores. She would be leaving on the morrow, an early start. After a hot bath, and declining an invitation to join Farin in her room, she turned in for the night. She wondered if she might regret it later, but some things took precedence over pleasing a young woman for hours. Sleep was one of them.

With morning came a cloak of cool mist that shrouded the land. Brahm could barely see twenty paces in front of her, yet the fog filled her with exhilaration. Others waited indoors or stumbled through its hazy, white maze. Brahm Hallowstone marched through it, its chill touch caressing her dark skin like a phantom lover.

Her hands hovered over the two silver daggers she carried at her sides, just to make sure they were there. It was an obsession, she knew, but readiness was worth the price of a little paranoia. Besides, the kahbeth were irreplaceable.

They were fashioned by the Obek from the north, a tribe of beings not of the old world. They appeared after the Shift and were an unwelcome sight, something much larger than humans; slower in both speech and movement, but powerful. And the weapons they bore were lethal. The kahbeth was a double-bladed weapon; one smooth and sharp, the other serrated if sawing was required. Both blades had reverse spikes to rip flesh when pulled from their victim.

As she walked she thought of Gault, the shaman that trained her in their use. He had some odd notion that he owed her a life debt for saving one of his clan from wolfen. Brahm hadn't seen Gault in some time and hoped he fared well. He had been surprised by her prowess with the weapons. She had found that a little insulting, but then the Obek thought humans weren’t good for much except ferreting dark things out of small caves. Designed by a race that thrived on hardships, hunting, and clan wars, the kahbeth’sthirst for death could overpower those that did not know how to keep the desire in check.

Brahm struggled with that part, controlling the hunger. Regardless, they were her weapon of choice.

There was no one to see her off as she marched through the fog; no one to wish her well. She prepped her sturdy charger, adjusting the sidesaddles, and then mounted him to head north.

“Come on, Roan. It's time to go.”

She was to meet with their allies to ask their assistance. The Obek roamed the North Moors, a vast land sparsely decorated with pines and spruces among the predominant sea of heath and moss. She could not possibly hope to find them. Instead, she sent a message. As for their other allies, the Iroquois, she would travel to the land where her heart belonged. They were close enough for Brahm to make the journey and they knew her well. They were a generous and caring people, but wary of strangers wandering into their lands. Centuries of colonization had taught them that.

The days and nights passed without event and she thanked the Great Mother for the time to herself, though there were moments when she yearned for the companionship she once knew. Parts of her ached for Gray Wolf and she often had to put the woman from her mind. She missed her winning smile, her dry humor, and the way she would dig in her heels if she thought she was right. She had been one of the most stubborn people Brahm had ever known. And Brahm had loved her; she had loved her raw.

Her thoughts also dwelled on Diarmuid, for his charming smile and determined nature. What she would not give to have him traveling with her now. He was some of the best company she had ever kept. A part of her grudgingly understood Haven’s fears about him. He had been subdued and tainted for years. It was a wonder he was ever freed; a greater wonder he had come out of it sane, but she knew she was not fooling herself in trusting him. He would never return to his old ways. Diarmuid had healed.

It took Brahm three days to arrive in the heart of the Haudenosaunee lands. She knelt to the ground and placed the palm of her hand on the earth giving thanks to the Great Mother. Rising, she found herself face-to-face with a man just shy of her own height. He startled her.

She masked her surprise with a dry smile. “White Feather.”

He had an aquiline nose and auburn hair that brushed his shoulders. His striking looks would have made most women fall to their knees, but Brahm was not most women. A smile stretched across his face in a half-moon and a look of triumph shone in his almond-shaped eyes. She cursed herself for not having heard his approach.

Careless.

“It's good to see you,” he said. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about us.” He said nothing of his triumph in startling her and hugged her close. The smell of the land emanated from him.

“I could never forget that fool grin. It's good to see you too.” She returned the embrace, allowing him to have his victory. She swore to herself it would not happen again and then immersed herself in the moment. His presence gave her a sense of comfort.

Sizing her up, a look of concern crossed his face. “You have not been eating well. You're too thin. My mother will be forcing food down your throat when she sees you. And if you ask my opinion, I think you would look better with a little more meat.” A miscreant look sat in his eyes, accompanied by a smirk. A part of her missed that grin and a part of her wanted to slap it clean off.

Heat rose in her face. “I have important matters to attend to. I must speak with the Council. When is their next meeting?”

“The Chiefs are together now. Things are not good. Not since the time of the Wendigo have we seen such hardships. The crops fail and the wolfen attack more often.”

The Wendigo.

Brahm shivered. That name brought back terrible memories — ones she’d sooner forget.

“Then I need to see them right away.”

He looked her over and smiled. “My mother may still insist you eat first,” he said.

Putting his hands on his hips, he drew himself up and gave an uncanny imitation of the Clan Mother. “One cannot face the Council on an empty stomach! You will eat first!”

She feigned laughter as something inside her stirred, a presence that, for a brief moment, Brahm had almost forgotten. It had not appeared in her dreams for months. She tried to beat it down, willing it back into its secret lair where it hid from her, but it was futile. The sight of the Haudenosaunee warrior brought it screaming to the surface.

- We are one, Soul Runner.-

She sighed.Go away.

Within Brahm Hallowstone a second soul resided, one not her own. She knew the woman to whom it once belonged, and with her presence came the guilt of her death.

- We are one.-

***

Paine would have huddled under his cape over the last two days had Lya not taken it. Not that he minded being wet, but the sporadic gobs of rain that doused the land had become an annoyance.

At least the rain was warm.

They rode hard for the better part of two days after fleeing the inn. Lya sent Talon back to see if anyone followed. There were now ten Witch Hunters on their trail. Diarmuid was reserved since the discovery of that information. He had no idea why they pursued them. Paine couldn’t help but wonder if what he had heard at the inn had anything to do with it.

Fortunately, as they followed the direction of the weather-beaten road, they did not stumble upon a soul for which Paine gave small thanks.

He distracted himself by talking to Puck and listening to the young man recite children’s tales from his village. Paine shared some his own childhood tales and rhymes. It lightened his mood. Lya rode in silence. Between showers she reviewed the parchment, at other times she scoured the grimoire.

Diarmuid paused at a fork in the road. A battered path with trees leaning into it led north. The better traveled thoroughfare led northeast. The man looked at Lya from the corner of his eye. She was too focused on the grimoire to notice. Diarmuid didn’t look to the others. He then took the northward road. Puck followed blindly.

Paine hesitated and then followed. They would come upon the Westwood following this road.

He was proven correct when, a day later, no longer on the road, but riding through a vast land of marsh and mist, there was an abrupt change in their surroundings. It felt as if they breathed oil.

“You can taste something in the air,” said Lya as she dismounted Sable, whispering in her ear before coaxing her onward. She reached over to touch one of the trees. It was lifeless, like everything that lay before them. They stood on the edge of death; a forest of it.

She jerked her hand back as she came within inches of its roughened surface.

“What is this place?”

Diarmud did not look pleased. He paced in front of the wilted trees.

“This is the Westwood. It’s not supposed to be this far south. What I was hoping to find now lies inside.”

Paine grimaced. “Why are we here? I want nothing to do with this place.”

The forest made him uneasy.

That feeling worsened as a horde of twisted creatures emerged from the trees; misshapen beings that Paine would have difficulty calling human. And they were armed with knives and bows.

***

Brahm approached a palisade of thick, wooden stakes that surrounded the Haudenosaunee village. Strips of bark intertwined the posts. It was a feat of work that was woven with a power she did not understand. There was some connection with the Ancestors and the Great Mother, one she knew little of. What she did know was that this far north, such measures were vital. Unexpected attacks from wolfen were more frequent here. Strangely, the vile beasts no longer raided Haven; at least not since the last attack, when Farin had been found, battered and ravaged.

Roan gave a heavy snort, and she stroked his neck.

Men and women weaved new twine between the wooden stakes. It tweaked her curiosity.

“Has the Council chosen a location to relocate the village?” she asked of White Feather.

He nodded. “Six of them. The tribes are going to separate. Since we are now over four thousand strong, it is difficult to feed this many in one location. Construction has begun on the new villages. Many have left to build them.” He paused. “The wind has whispered the Confederation may attack Haven. Is that why you're here?”

Brahm nodded her response.

“I don't know how many we can spare, but I think the Council will recall the others.” He lowered his voice. “I've been expecting you.”

Her mouth twitched into a smirk. “I suppose that's why you were lurking in the forest…to surprise me?”

White Feather closed his mouth, and Brahm was sure his tanned skin contained a hint of red. She smiled inwardly and continued on.

To their right a group of women tended a field of vegetables. Young corn stocks protruded from the ground, close to a patch of tobacco plants being cultivated by some men. Haudenosaunee warriors that were perched atop the entrance to the village hailed her in Iroquois. Brahm waved back and, for a brief moment, felt her troubles abandon her at the gates.

They walked past row after row of elongated wooden buildings. Little had changed; everything was as she remembered. Small holes at the tops of each longhouse billowed out the aroma of smoked fish and made her stomach howl with anticipation. Animal skins stretched over crooked branches lay prostate in the sun.

Waves and slight nods greeted her as she strode into the village; frowns and turned backs as well. Though she was Mohawk by adoption, there were many since Gray Wolf's death that refused to openly accept her as Haudenosaunee. She held her head high, preventing the stinging in her heart from showing on her face. It was the sole reason she did not visit more often. The last thing she wanted was to bring shame upon the Clan Mother.

Children in tanned clothing dodged around her, carrying hoops and javelins. When one yelled out he was the Wendigo, the rest scurried off to hide among the longhouses.

If only they knew the true horror.

The women scolded the children for scoffing at such an evil, one they had not been privy to, and then shooed the children out of their way as they performed their daily routines. But not before they scanned the village in fear of the creature that had wreaked such terrible pain upon their people.

Off at the far end, two teams played at Ga-lahs. Brahm watched the players run across the field and toss a ball with netted sticks. The game called to her.

Brahm decided to take White Feather's advice and visit the Clan Mother first. Since being adopted into the Wolf Clan, she became like a daughter to Little Doe, despite some muttered protests. Yet none openly challenged the Clan Mother. Most assumed that if she chose to adopt her daughter's alleged murderer, then that was her business.

White Feather left Brahm at his mother’s longhouse which was marked with the simple image of a wolf. She entered and walked the dark corridor, passing the living spaces of others to Little Doe's humble quarters. The air was saturated with the scent of sage.

“Orenda! It is good to see you, my child,” the Clan Mother said with a wide smile that matched her open arms. Brahm's Iroquois name sang in her ears, a melody she did not hear often enough. The old woman looked well for her age, now seventy-five. Her white hair complemented her tanned, leathery skin; the results of a hearty existence of toil. Her face shone with the simple happiness of a life well-lived.

“She:kon, Mother. It is good to see you,” she said and returned her hug. As with her son, the smell of the earth and a leafy richness emanated from the old woman. Brahm felt the worries of life dripping away like the wax of the bitter candles in the corner.

“I have missed you, child. Have you met anyone?”

Brahm rolled her eyes. It always was, and would always be, her first concern.

“No, there isn't anyone. Not yet anyway. And I'm fine, thanks for asking.”

“You look thin,” she muttered, poking Brahm in the stomach with a thin, strong finger. “Have you been eating?”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm here on an important errand. The Witch Hunters have begun to gather in the south and we think they may attack soon. We have also recalled the Missionaries and need you to watch for them.”

“How is Diarmuid? That one would be good for you.”

She knew where this line of questioning was leading.

“He’s fine. And we’re just friends, Mother.”

“Sometimes good friends make good lovers.”

“And sometimes they don't.”

A mischievous look twinkled in the old woman's eyes, one that resembled her son's. “Well then, we'll just have to find you someone else.”

Brahm just glared at her in return.

The Clan Mother quickly changed the subject. “Well, we should have you talk to the Chiefs. War is the realm of the Hoyaneh and they should know about this right away.”

Taking Brahm's arm, the old woman led her out towards the Onondaga meeting house, where the Council sat. They entered the building and the smell of tobacco was so thick Brahm coughed. The room was barely lit and she waited for her eyes to adjust to see the circle of fifty men that gathered.

“Welcome, Clan Mother.”

“Hoyaneh,” she addressed Brown Bear, the Council Leader. “Orenda is here. She is on an urgent errand from Haven.”

Knowing, silent nods passed around the circle.

“She may speak.”

“Nia:wen,” said the Clan Mother and gave Brahm's hand a squeeze as she left.

Brown Bear rose to greet her. His hands were dry. “She:kon, skennenkowa ken?”

She nodded. It was a lie. She did not really carry the Great Peace. She carried something else.

Someone else.

And she needed to get rid of it.

“Orenda, we have not had the pleasure of your company for some time. We miss your bright smile.” There was affection in Brown Bear’s eyes, but frowns soured a number of the faces present.

“I wish I were here under happier circumstances, but Haven needs your help.”

He resumed his seat. “We know. We too have heard the rumors. We’ve been expecting you.”

Brahm looked about the room, sensing trouble.

“We must ask some difficult questions of you, Orenda. You hold in your head much knowledge of the Confederation.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her gut churned and the second soul that dwelt within her body stirred again.

“The rumors of your past flit about like fireflies. There is some doubt about you among the tribes, but all have agreed if they leave here satisfied with your answers, there will be no doubt about your standing among us. We must have the truth, Orenda, and we must have all of it. Will you give it to us?”

One of the Oneida Hoyaneh offered his pipe to her. Without hesitating, she accepted it and sat next to him. It would bring good thoughts. Perhaps the truth might help to purge her of the guilt, of the horrors of a past she kept trying to outrun, and of whom she had once served.

The second soul inside her laughed and then screamed at her.

-Repent!-

“What do you want to know?” Brahm asked, and braced herself for the bitter remembering.