The Second Coming by David H. Burton Page B

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