Chapter 17

The winds of the North Moors were sodden with the scent of caribou. Gault scratched his nose and then cleared it in a small puddle, the yellow mucous staining its clear waters. He sheathed the kahbeth across his back and perched himself upon a large rock, letting the late afternoon sun bake his thick hide. He removed the polar bear head from his crown, the sign of his status as a shaman among the Obek. About twenty yards before him stood a wolf with its head cocked to the side.

He let out a hearty laugh at the sight of it. “What is it, brother wolf? Never seen Obek?”

The wolf lowered its head, its eyes never leaving his. Gault sat, waiting. It studied him before it took two more cautious steps. He knew why it was there, and he waited with a crooked smile upon his gray face. The wolf inched closer and then delivered its message, the smells of hatred and loathing accompanying its visions.

The Obek cleared his nose again and the wolf darted off, heading back to the forest of scotch pines that thrived to the south. Its news cast a curtain of despair on his heart. Haven and Lindhome were lost. Perhaps the Obek were next. He muttered a curse, and plucked a clump of purple heather from the earth. It would bring inner peace.

The old Obek rose, looking towards those he had hand-picked to accompany him. They meditated in a circle, giving their bodies a rest from the great run.

But a run to where now?

He had received Orenda's message, and they were on their way to Haven's aid. He lowered his head, and muttered a small prayer for the souls of the dead.

May the Gods keep them.

He thought of Orenda and raised his face to the sun's rays. Something was not well with her. A chill swept through him, as if Sedna, the great Sea Goddess of the north, breathed down his neck. He sensed that Orenda’s presence in the world was lacking, weak, like she lay between the world of the living and the land of the dead. He owed her much for his nephew’s life.

Soul for soul, life for life, blood for blood.

He grabbed the rabbit-hide sack tied to his waist, and shook its contents three times. He uttered a small prayer to the gods to grant him vision, and then upturned the sack on the moss-covered earth. Four Obek finger bones collapsed to the ground; two in a heap and two off to the side. The Bone of War, red for blood, pointed southeast.

He examined the two piled together, the black and the green. Life mixing with Death.

Orenda walks the Forgotten Realm.

His fingers immediately began twitching a spell. His thick lips muttered other words; a second incantation — a spell of complement. He then sluiced off a portion of his own soul and winced with the pain of it.

Soul for soul.

The portion flew off into the world, with a voice to summon her back from whatever dark abyss she had descended into. Then Gault examined the fourth bone, stark white. It was crooked and had fallen into a small crevice, pointing into the depths of the Earth. Gault was unsure of how to read the Bone of Peace.

What did it mean?

He scooped up the bones and returned them to the sack, making his way quietly to the rest of his clan. He settled his aging body in the spot reserved for him at the northern crest of the circle. He closed both sets of eyelids, and slowed his breathing.

The answer would come.

***

Paine drifted in a land that was not land, in a white void where sensation was an empty feeling inside him. He attempted to step forward, but could not move his legs. His arms hung limp at his side. He opened his mouth to speak but no words fell from his lips. His head sat like stone upon his shoulders. He tried to breathe, but his chest would not move.

A darkness inside him worked its way up, brimming at the edge of his throat. It threatened to vomit. Paine swallowed it down.

In the white void of a distance, he caught a glimpse of a tall, dark-skinned woman. She looked familiar. He knew her. He opened his mouth to speak, but a low, wicked laugh vibrated in his bones. Paine struggled to see what was behind him. He recognized the voice.

Something whirled him about, and before him stood a demon, the one that haunted his nightmares. With it were the dead, hundreds of souls. And they were bedecked in robes of red. They danced around him with cloven feet.

The demon cocked its head, watching Paine and it moved forward, muttering the words of a spell he could not hear. Its yellow eyes glowed within the dark hood and it wore a tattered robe that fell short of its hoofed feet. In its claws it held a black leash, which circled Paine's neck. The demon leaned in towards him, its breath heavy and wet, and pulled back the hood.

Paine opened his mouth in a silent scream as his own horned face stared back at him.

***

A tall, dark-skinned woman stood in a land inundated with trees of green bark and sable leaves. She did not recognize the towering giants that shot upwards. They were rigid and tall. That made her want to remember someone, but who?

She laughed, but did not understand why.

A carpet of moss and peat covered the bog that was the forest floor, and she sniffed. She found only dead air.

A dark feeling overshadowed the forest, a presence that could only be described as despair. She shuddered.

Where am I?Who am I?

She lifted her legs to step through the moss, and struggled to pull her feet from the soft ground. She slogged forward and twitched her ears to listen.

No sounds. What is this place?

She didn't remember coming here. She didn't remember anything. There was nothing but the present, as if her life had begun in the moment she found herself standing among the great trees. She felt no thirst or hunger. She felt nothing. There was only the bog forest, a never-ending maze of mammoth trees.

Through the marsh she walked, her breathing labored, her legs sore. Something moved at the corner of her eye and she thought she saw the horns of a great stag, but it vanished before she could make it out. She continued on and wondered when she would find the end of the forest, and stumbled upon a large body of water, a muddied reflection of what she knew it should be.

How do I know that?

The trees disappeared, leaving her standing on the still, shimmering surface of the sea. She looked about, but found only water, smooth as glass.

The woman thought it strange. She knew she should not be able to walk on water.

How do I know that?What happened to the trees?

She strode forward.

Across the water she walked, and the sun beamed upon her naked form. Her long fingers caressed the smooth dark skin of her arms. They were like buttermilk.

That made her want to pleasure herself, but neither the mounds upon her chest nor the opening between her legs took delight in it.

The water under her bare feet felt dry as earth and offered no cooling touch. Time was lost to her as she walked; yet in a time that was not time, she came upon land. She stepped onto the beach and the water abandoned her as the trees had done, leaving her to stand in the midst of a vast desert. Wind blew and sandstorms rose, yet the sands did not sting her bare flesh. She strode across the desert and did not feel the heat that scorched the land.

Before her, a small bush rose from the sands, its branches aflame with tongues of red fire that did not consume the lush leaves or course bark. She approached the bush and in her mind a voice thundered.

*I am.*

The fire spread, igniting the land in a sea of crimson flame, searing everything except the woman and the bush. The voice thundered again.

*I am.*

The bush succumbed to the flames and burnt to dust before her eyes, leaving the woman to walk across a lake of fire and brimstone. She continued on, knowing of no other purpose.

Where am I going?

She stepped onto a land filled with green grass, the tall blades tossed about by a hollow wind that blew through her, sparing her the feel of its cool touch. The grass did not rustle with the wind, nor tickle her skin, nor delight her ears with a faint whisper.

Time, or the lack of time, passed, and in the distance a stone city waited for her, armored in shining white. As she walked closer, a red substance trickled down its towering walls.

It bleeds.

The blood pooled on the ground and flowed towards the craggy mountains in the distance, a river of crimson.

The iron gates to the city stood open, revealing a gaping entrance that waited to devour her. She strode forward, and as she entered the city, the walls appeared to shift. The woman looked closer. Countless bodies, all painted white and nailed in place, squirmed. They opened their mouths to cry out, but no words fell from their ruby lips. The sight of them sent a shiver through her body, but the dark-skinned woman did not avert her eyes. She knew she must bear witness.

An altar lay in the midst of the empty city and upon it sat a young man. He had mouse-brown hair, and something about his eyes looked familiar to her. Blood seeped from the corners of his mouth.

Do I know him?

She stepped towards him, but a look of horror swept across his face and he disappeared. But not before she saw a black leash around his neck.

No other signs of life did she see within the city. Rows of gnarled, lifeless olive trees lined a bone-littered path, guiding her towards a white building with spires that stretched for the heavens — a church.

The Church.

The dark-skinned woman walked the path, her feet stepping upon the skulls and bones that paved it. The bones made no sound as they cracked and crumbled beneath her feet.

She entered the church and strode into an airy room painted with scenes of human sacrifice; dark-winged demons holding swords, seven-headed beasts, dragons, horned creatures carrying scythes of death, and above them all a shining man clothed in white. Below his sandaled feet groveled the peoples of the land, praying for mercy.

The woman turned her attention to a golden throne upon a dais, far above which shone windows of stained glass. Seven was their number, and in each was painted an angel of shining white, yet with wings black as a starless night. She walked towards the throne and pressed a lever beside it. The throne swung aside, across the white marble floor.

Behind it lay a corridor, wide and beckoning. The woman entered, and touched its walls of ancient stone, which breathed beneath her fingers. She jerked her hand back as rats the size of dogs flooded into the corridor and climbed the walls in droves; rats that opened their mouths to squeal with voices she could not hear. They ran out of the church, spilling out into the streets of the city.

The woman walked the corridor, either forever or a mere moment, and stepped into a large cave where she found three people. One was a man, with a seven-spired crown upon his head. His skin was pale as the city walls, and he wore a robe of holy white. The man's right hand, with its dark fingernails, lay upon a woman's stomach. She was naked and chained to the wall. Her head hung on her chest, and her black, matted hair hung down to hide her face. Bruises covered the woman's body. A second man sat off in a corner, naked and cowering. He picked at the bugs that crawled through his unshorn hair, and ate them.

The man with the crown uttered words of sinister and terrible power. He turned and the dark-skinned woman froze, for he had no eyes, just empty, bloodied sockets that stared at her from an ashen face. A brief look of surprise crossed his face as he beheld her with his eyeless gaze, his teeth bloodied and smiling. His chill grin made her skin crawl. Yet in that brief moment, where she caught him unaware, all was laid bare to her and she knew the truth.

She opened her mouth to rebuke to him, but a black leash appeared in the man’s hands. Its loop was wrapped about her. It was like ice to her skin and she sucked in her breath with the pain of it.

It did not deter the dark-skinned woman. She stepped forward to free the other from her chains. She ran with bare feet across the stone floor. It, too, was cold and her feet burned from it.

She reached the woman, whose hands were warm and comfort. She held them to her, and caressed her own face with them. Then the dark-skinned woman heard a voice calling.

*Brahm.*

She reached for the steel shackles.

*Brahm.*

Is that my name?She struggled to remember.

The leash about her tugged and the dark-skinned woman froze in place. It burned her buttermilk skin. She gritted her teeth.

Then she felt a breeze and another voice calling her. It was warm like summer’s breath and smelled of heather and caribou.

*Orenda. Be free.*

She felt another tug and the other man, the one with the bug-infested mane, removed the leash from her with the utmost care. He wrapped the leash about himself and nodded his mangy head to her. He stepped back and giggled.

She felt another tug. Something was pulling her from this world. She fought and reached for the woman in chains once again.

I must free her.

The woman on the stone altar opened her eyes. The dark-skinned woman knew her and her eyes of sapphire. She embraced the chained woman, pulling her close to her breast. The other woman mouthed silent words that echoed in her mind and the woman's soul bonded with her own.

-My soul to your soul. We are one, Soul Runner.-

The first voice called again.

*Brahm!*

No, I am not Brahm.

-And I am not Sephirah.-

Her voice was matched by that of the woman on the altar.

We are Orenda.

-We are Orenda.-

The white king reached for them, his open mouth screaming words of silent rage.

Then Orenda, the twin-souled woman, was pulled into the blinding light.

***

Paine woke to a throbbing headache and found himself prostrate on a ramshackle cart that shifted forward at jerky intervals. Fang lay beside him. She barked.

Paine grabbed his head and groaned. “Not so loud.”

She then soaked his face with a tongue that smelled faintly of rotten meat.

Great Bear's smiling face appeared next to the cart, riding on his massive Clydesdale.

“Welcome back, Little Badger. How do you feel?” The large man’s eyes flickered with concern. Paine caught something else there as well.

Fear?

“What happened?” he moaned, trying to think of the last thing he remembered. Then it hit him, in a wave of regret. “Oh god, what did I do? Is anyone hurt?”

Great Bear offered him a smile, conciliatory, but reassuring. “Not too badly.”

Truitt appeared beside him. His face was solemn.

“Where did you learn that?” he asked. His voice was like steel.

The cart hit a hard bump and lurched. Paine reached for his head again. “Learn what?”

“To control so many souls; to sever the mind control of the Wormwood. Five years ago, we almost killed Diarmuid doing the same thing.”

Visions of the events flashed in his mind. He thought of the voice that once again guided him. And then of the souls of the dead. They had wanted blood. He immediately groped at his skin. All seemed whole.

Had they not asked their price of him yet again?

Paine shivered. “I thought I was going to die. What happened to the Hunter?”

Great Bear rode in closer. “She remembers almost nothing, except her name — Mira. She has been sleeping when she hasn't been sobbing. The Clan Mother gave her some tea to help her rest.”

“She doesn't remember anything?”

Truitt shook his head. “It was the same with Diarmuid when he was freed. Her memory will return with time.”

Great Bear cleared his throat. “You should get some more rest. We won't be stopping for some time yet. We are trying to keep ahead of the Hunters before they finish crossing the Mississippi. So far there has been no sign of the demons.”

Paine noticed that he was naked under the blanket. He lay upon straw and it, as well as he, was covered in his own filth.

“How long have I been out?”

“Three days. Gregor called it a coma, and said you would wake when you were ready.”

“What is that?”

Truitt shrugged. “We call it Walking the Forgotten Realm. You have to choose to come back to the world of the living, otherwise you waste away and remain there forever.”

Fatigue settled on Paine in thick waves. “Did you see anyone else near me? There was a voice in my head, someone helping me.” Great Bear looked pensive for a moment before answering. “There was no one. The Clan Mother stood beside you for a time, but the moment Alwhin fell, she ran to help her.”

The two then left Paine to his rest.

He drifted off, not caring about how unclean he was. He woke from time to time, passing the day in a dreamless slumber. When he finally rose the sun sat on the edge of the horizon, casting an orange glow on the evening clouds. Fang wagged her tail as he sat up.

“Well, it is good to see you up.” Little Doe stood beside the cart, her weathered face smiling. They were no longer moving. “Come, Little Badger. You'll get stiff if you remain there much longer.”

She offered her hand as he stepped down from the cart. His legs trembled.

“How do you feel?”

His stomach growled. “Hungry.”

“We are about to eat, so you are just in time.”

She led him to a stream so that he could clean himself and offered him the clothing of her people, all made from animal hides. They were comfortable, but did not breathe well. He did not want to offend her, but decided at the first opportunity he would get into some pants and a shirt that were not made of something that once had hoofed feet.

Once clean she took him to a large clearing where the entire congregation gathered. The sounds of music filled the air. It was the first time Paine heard anything musical or happy in what seemed a lifetime. Everyone busied themselves mending broken or worn items, cooking, practicing their aim, or wrestling. Fang wandered into the brush, and Puck took her place at his side.

“Paine … all right?”

Paine put his arm around Puck's shoulder. “I'm fine. You?”

Puck nodded, a faint smile decorating his simple face. Yet his eyes hesitated.

The Clan Mother smiled at the two of them. “Puck has been avoiding Mira.”

Puck blushed. “No trust … Hunter. She bad.”

If Puck was right, then Paine would see to it that she never abducted anyone again. He wondered if he should have killed her.

Would anyone have noticed, or even cared?

However, he wanted to learn of the deal she made with the Westwood and who had ordered his parents’ death, so he felt it best he had let her live.

At least for now.

As they approached the gathering, a few members stopped what they were doing to look in Paine’s direction. The rest continued about their business, oblivious to his presence. Those that gawked at him seemed more than worried. Paine clasped the Clan Mother's hand for support. He gripped harder when he saw a crest of blonde hair filing through the crowd, a head taller than most.

The Witch Hunter.

Her gaze was cast to the ground, low and humble, as she sped towards Paine. His feet felt glued to the ground. A mix of emotions coursed through him as the Hunter approached. His throat was dry as a summer's drought. Puck took two steps back, head lowered.

The Hunter stopped suddenly before Paine, but could not look into his eyes. Her gaze darted all over, avoiding his own.

“Thank you,” she muttered. Sobs escaped her lips, and she fell to the ground before him. Paine winced as she stroked his boots. Something inside him tried to surface once more. It yearned to make her suffer.

He beat it down.

She repeatedly thanked him as she wept. She rocked back and forth, cradling herself.

Nissamin ran over to the Hunter and guided her away. Paine stood frozen. Here was the woman who had hunted him, fierce and determined in her quarry, sobbing at his feet. Yet now she was like Diarmuid; free where she was once subdued by the Wormwood. He had seen himself how it had bonded to her soul. Could he still fault her?

His fists clenched in anger and frustration. He knew not how to feel.

The Clan Mother squeezed his hand. “Are you all right, Little Badger?”

Puck had a nervous look set upon his face.

Paine hesitated, then nodded. “Puck?”

Despite his simple mind, Puck knew hatred. Paine sensed it, like a warm fire. The young man remained silent.

The Clan Mother stepped between the two of them, one arm in each. “Come. Let's get some food.”

Heading towards the fire, Paine was greeted and patted on the back by many, but all held a brief flicker of hesitation in their eyes. The three strode towards Great Bear and Truitt, seated together on the ground. He sat with them, and they inquired about his health. He assured them he was fine as the Clan Mother brought him some food. She then left him in their care.

They sat around the fire listening to tales well into the evening before two Nymphs rose and took the attention of the crowd. The crackling of the fire echoed through the silence.

Nodding to each other, the shorter, dark-haired one hummed, a low vibrating pitch. The second joined her, her voice an octave higher, in harmony with the first. It was a haunting song and the hairs on Paine's neck bristled as he listened. He heard the words, and fingered the stone that hung about his neck. It sat still. Octave for octave, their voices rose, the two blending, slow and rhythmic.

Before long, three Haudenosaunee drummed with the song. The two women smiled, and sang with even more fervor. They climbed further, the melody and harmony crawling under Paine's skin. His heart raced, the song becoming a part of him. His eyes watered.

Paine held his breath, his ears afraid to drown out even one note, his heart fearing to beat. He was entranced. The song climaxed, and more drums joined in. Paine closed his eyes and let the music sweep him away. His mind's eye saw a land of great trees and unearthly beauty, filled with beings of light, and crystal waters. But the vision waned as the song slowed, the drums faded, and the voices hummed to silence.

Paine exhaled. “Wow.”

Truitt leaned over. “That was sung in a language that is rarely spoken.”

Paine thought of the tablet in Lindhome. Reaching into the pouch at his side, he pulled out the folded parchment. “Like this?”

Puck leaned over. “What …that?”

Truitt pored over the parchment and held it away from Puck’s curious eyes. “Where did you get this?”

“I think it is from my birth parents. It is in the same writing that was on the tablet in Lindhome.”

Truitt leaned in close. His firmness dissolved into concern. “What tablet?”

Paine lowered his voice. “The one with the statues around it.”

Truitt rose. His face still held a solemn look, but his eyes showed he was agitated. “Come with me.”

Paine followed the man away from the fire as their shadows danced before them. They walked to edge of the camp, Truitt ushering him with a strong hand.

“How did you see the writing on the tablet? Only one woman was able to see it among the Rebellion, and she's dead.”

Paine shrugged.

“And Alwhin said nothing of this?”

“She said that no one could read it.” In the distance, he heard two other women singing, twins.

“You don’t understand. It’s not a matter of reading it. No one can even see the writing. It’s only seen by the souls of those that are descended from its creators. And there are only ever three of them in existence at a time.”

“So how can I?”

“I don’t know, but no one among the Rebellion can. That is why we were never able to decipher the use of the Tablet. It is said it can track the dead and the use of necromancy, anywhere in the world. The Firstborn stole it from the Sidhe and used it for centuries to fight the armies of the Dark One, but then used it against the others to enslave them. Its theft from Valbain started the Rebellion, and it has remained hidden in Lindhome since its founding.” His face raged. “Now the demons have taken it.”

“Why didn't Alwhin say something to me?”

“I don't know.” Truitt cast his glance warily about, studying the patch of box elder that lay east of them for a time. “I can think of only one thing,” he said.

Paine stared at the man and his pointed ears, so much like Lya’s.

“She didn't want anyone to know who you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I said, only Sephirah could see the writing, and the souls that can read it are almost always descended from the previous generation, but there can only ever be three in existence.”

Paine blinked.

Could it be true?

“That means Sephirah was your mother.”

“And what about Lya?”

“Was she able to see the writing?”

And Paine thought back to the events of that day and even to the parchment that Truitt passed back to him. She had only ever focused on the side with the spell.

Could she read it?

“I don’t know.”