Bloodstone

CHAPTER TEN

The greatest folly is to believe that evil can be overcome by reason. Evil is like gravity, a force that is beyond argument.

The Wisdom of the Deacon Chapter XXVII

Jacob Moon was not given to hearing voices. Such gifts were for other men. No visions, no prophecies, no mystic dreams or revelations. Jacob Moon had only one real gift, if such it could be called: he could kill without emotion. So when the voice did come Moon was utterly astonished. He was sitting by his camp-fire in the lee of the Great Wall some twenty miles from Pilgrim's Valley. Having heard nothing from the Apostle Saul, Moon had left Domango and made the long ride across the mountains. A flash flood had diverted him from his course, delaying him, but he was now less than three hours' ride from the town. His horse was exhausted and Moon made camp beside the Wall.

The voice came to him just before midnight, as he was settling down to sleep. At first it was a whisper, like a breath of night winds. But then it grew. 'Jacob Moon! Jacob Moon!'

Moon sat up, pistol in hand. 'Who's there?'

'Behind you,' came the response and Moon spun. One of the great rectangular blocks had apparently disappeared and he found himself facing a red-skinned man, with what appeared to be painted black lines across his face and upper body. The man was seated on an ebony throne. Moon cocked his pistol.

'You will not need that,' said the man on the throne. The image drifted closer, until the strange face filled the hole in the wall: the eyes were the red of rubies, the whites bloodshot. 'I need you, Moon,' said the vision.

'Well, I don't need you,' was Moon's response as the pistol bucked in his hand, the bullet lancing through the red face.

There was no mark to show its passing and a wide smile appeared on the face.

'Save your ammunition, Moon, and listen to what I offer you — riches beyond your dreams, and life eternal. I can make you immortal, Moon. I can fulfil your wildest desires.'

Moon sat back and sheathed his pistol. This is a dream, isn't it? God damn it, I'm dreaming!'

'No dream, Moon,' the red man told him. 'Would you like to live for ever?'

'I'm listening.'

'My world is dying. I need another. A man known to you as Saul opened the Gateway for me, and I have now seen your world. It is to my liking. But it would help me to have a lieutenant here, to direct my.

. troops. From the few thoughts I could extract from the dying Saul, I gathered that you were that man.

Is that so?'

Tell me about the life eternal,' said Moon, ignoring the question.

That can begin now, Moon. Is it what you desire?'

'Aye.' Moon reeled back as a terrible burning sensation erupted on his forehead. He cried out and lifted his hand to his head. The pain subsided as suddenly as it had appeared, and now Moon could feel a small stone embedded in his brow.

'As long as you serve me, Moon, you will be immortal. Can you feel the new strength in your limbs, the power. .the life?'

Jacob Moon felt more than that. His long-held bitterness was unleashed, his anger primal. As the vision promised he felt strong, no longer tired from his journey, no longer aching from long hours in the saddle.

'I feel it,' he admitted. 'What do you want from me?'

'Ride to the ruined city north of Pilgrim's Valley. There I shall greet you.'

'I asked what you wanted from me,' said Moon.

'Blood,' responded the vision. 'Rivers of blood. Violence and death, hatred and war.'

'Are you the Devil?' asked Moon.

'I am better than the Devil, Moon. For I have won.'

Unbeknown to Gareth it was his mother who had chosen to climb next, leaving Shannow on the ledge.

When the rope suddenly gave she was dislodged from the face. Many people faced with such a moment would have panicked, screamed and fallen to their deaths. Amaziga was different.

She lived for only one prize — finding Sam.

In the moment the rope gave way and she slipped, her hand snaked out, fingers scrabbling against the wet stone. The first hold she grasped was not large enough to hold her and she slipped again. Her fingers scraped down the rock, one fingernail tearing away, then her hand clamped over a firm hold and the descent ceased. She was hanging now on the lower part of the overhang, her legs dangling below the curve of the rock. Her arm was tiring fast, and she could feel her grip loosening.

'Shannow!' she called. 'Help me!'

A hand grabbed at her belt just as her fingers lost their grip and she fell, but he dragged her back to the ledge. Slumping to her haunches, she leaned her head against the rock face and closed her eyes. The pain from her damaged hand was almost welcome: it told her she was alive.

Shannow hauled in the rope and examined the end.

'Someone cut it,' he said.

Fear coursed through her. 'Gareth!' she whispered.

'Maybe they took him alive,' said Shannow, keeping his voice low. 'The question is, what do we do now? We have enemies above and horses below.'

'If they look over the edge they will not be able to see us,' she said. They will assume we have fallen. I think we should make the climb.' She saw Shannow smile.

'I don't know if I can, Lady. I know you cannot — not with that injured hand.'

'We can't just leave Gareth.' She glanced at her watch. 'And there is only an hour left before they will kill Sam. We have no time to climb down and go round.'

Shannow stood and prowled along the ledge. There was nowhere that he could climb. Amaziga joined him, and together they examined the face. Long minutes passed; then the sound of gunfire came from above them, heavy and sustained.

'You are right,' she said at last, her voice heavy with despair. 'There is nothing we can do.'

'Wait,' said Shannow. Lifting a pistol from his belt, he pushed the end of the rope through the trigger guard and tied it in place. Stepping to the edge of the ledge he let out the rope, then began to swing it round and round. Amaziga looked up. Some twenty-five feet above them, at the narrowest point of the overhang, there was a jutting finger of stone. Shannow let out more rope and continued to swing the weighted end. Finally he sent it sailing up; the pistol clattered against the rock face, then dropped, looping the rope over the stone. Shannow lowered it, removed the pistol and holstered it.

'You think it will take your weight?' asked Amaziga.

Shannow hauled down on the doubled rope three times. 'Let us hope so,' he said.

And he began to climb.

Gareth's anger was mounting. The olive-skinned woman had cut the rope and then ordered him to rise, with his hands on his head. 'Listen to me,' he said, 'I am here to—'

'Shut it!' she snapped, and he heard the pistol being cocked. 'Walk forward, and be aware I'm right behind you and I have killed before.' She did not rob him of his weapons, which spoke either of confidence or stupidity. Gareth guessed it to be confidence. He obeyed her and walked towards the clearing, where he could see around a score of men and women kneeling behind rocks or fallen trees, rifles in their hands. A tall black man turned as they approached.

'I found this creature,' sneered the woman, 'climbing the cliff-face behind us. There were others, but I cut the rope.'

'Indeed she did,' said Gareth, 'and probably killed one of the few friends you had in this world, Sam.'

The black man's eyes widened. 'Do I know you, boy?'

'In a manner of speaking.' The sky was lightening with the pre-dawn, and the rain had cleared. 'Look at me closely, Sam. Who do I remind you of?'

'Who are you?' asked Samuel Archer. 'Speak plainly.'

Gareth could tell by his surprised expression that he had, at least in part, guessed the truth. 'My mother's name is Amaziga,' he said.

'You lie!' shouted Sam. 'I've known Amaziga all her life. She had no other sons.'

'My mother is stuck back there on that rock face. She crossed a world to find you, Sam. Ask her yourself.'

At that moment a volley of shots came from Gareth's right. Several men and a woman fell screaming.

Then the Hellborn rushed the camp, firing as they came, tall men in tunics of black leather and ram-horned helms. Sam swung away, reaching for his pistol. Gareth flipped the Uzi into position and the sound of rolling thunder exploded in the clearing. The first line of Hellborn warriors went down as if scythed. Gareth ran towards the rest with the machine pistol juddering in his hands. Other shots sounded from all around him as the rebels opened fire. He snapped clear the empty clip and rammed home another. But the first attack having failed, the Hellborn had faded back into the trees and were firing from cover. A bullet slashed past Gareth's head, another kicked up dirt at his feet. Ducking, he sprinted to a boulder and crouched down behind it. A dead young woman lay to his left, a small dark hole oozing blood from her temple. A shot glanced from the boulder above Gareth's head. Risking a glance, he saw a rifleman in the upper branches of a nearby tree. Lifting the Uzi, he squeezed off a quick burst. The sniper tipped back and fell through the tree, crashing into the undergrowth below.

Across the clearing Sam was lying behind a fallen log. He cursed himself for a fool for not realising that the Hellborn would try a sneak attack under cover of the dawn mists. The young man's arrival with the multi-firing rifle had saved them. He glanced at Gareth. In profile he could see even more clearly the resemblance to Amaziga, the fine high cheekbones, the pure sleek brow. Gareth saw him and grinned -

and that was the final proof. Sam did not understand how such a thing was possible, but it was true!

A volley came from the left and some thirty Hellborn leapt from cover, firing as they came. Sam saw several of his rebels fall. The Uzi thundered, but the charge continued. Raising his pistol, Sam shot into the charging group. Bullets ripped the air around him, one grazing his skull and knocking him from his feet. He rolled and saw Shammy, a pistol in each hand, running towards the invaders. Her life seemed charmed — until a shot caught her in the upper thigh, spinning her to the floor. Jered, firing his shotgun from the hip, leapt to her aid. Just as he reached her his face disappeared in a spray of crimson.

Sam came to his knees and emptied his pistol into the last of the attackers. Gareth's Uzi fired again, and the clearing was still. Shammy crawled to where he lay. Blood was soaking her leggings. ‘I’ll get a tourniquet on that,' said Sam.

'No point,' answered Shammy. Sam looked around. There were maybe forty Hellborn dead, leaving at least another 150. But of the rebels only he and Shammy were still alive. And the young stranger.

Gareth joined them, moving across the ground in a commando crawl. 'My rope is still back there,' he said. 'We'd at least have a chance if we pulled back.'

'No time,' answered Shammy, lifting her reloaded pistols just as the next wave of Hellborn rushed them.

Gareth rolled to his knees and emptied the last clip into the warriors. At least ten of them were hurled from their feet, but the others came on.

Then a second roll of thunder scythed through the attackers and Gareth saw Amaziga run forward, her own Uzi blazing. Behind her was Shannow, his long pistols firing steadily. The" Hellborn broke and fled back into the undergrowth.

'Let's get out of here!' said Gareth. He and Sam lifted the injured Shamshad and staggered across the clearing. Shots sounded around them, but then they were into the cover of the trees. Swiftly Gareth tied his last rope to a slender tree-trunk. 'You first, Sam,' he said. 'There's a ledge below and you'll find another rope. There are horses at the foot of the cliff.' Sam seemed not to hear. He was staring at Amaziga. 'Questions later, okay?' said Gareth, grabbing the man's arm. 'For now. . the rope! When you are on the ledge, flick the rope twice. Then the next to come will follow you.'

Sam grabbed the rope and slithered over the edge as Gareth moved alongside his mother. 'You have any more clips for the Uzi?'

'One more,' she said, handing it to him.

A Hellborn moved into sight with rifle aimed. Shannow shot him twice through the body. Gareth glanced back at the rope. 'Come on, man!' he whispered. As if obedient to his thoughts, the unseen Sam reached the ledge and the rope flicked twice. 'You next, Mother,' he said. 'Give the Uzi to Shannow.' Tossing the weapon to the Jerusalem Man, she moved to the rope and disappeared from sight.

Shots sliced the air around them. Shannow fired the Uzi and all was suddenly silent.

The rope flicked. 'Now you, Shannow!'

'I'll come last,' he said. 'Get yourself down.' Gareth handed his Uzi to Shammy and moved to the edge.

There was a silence for a while, then Shannow saw the rope jerk twice. 'Better join them,' he told the young woman.

She smiled and shrugged. 'Lost too much blood, friend. No strength left. You go. I'll hold them for a while.'

‘I’ll carry you,' he announced.

'No. The artery is cut in the groin, I'm bleeding to death. I've probably only minutes left. Save yourself -

and Sam. Get Sam away.'

Two Hellborn reared up. A bullet ricocheted from the tree by Shannow's head. Twisting, he emptied the Uzi, then cast it aside. Shammy was lying down now, a second wound in her chest. Shannow crawled to her.

'Well,' she whispered, 'that one took the pain away.'

'You are a brave woman. You deserved better.'

'You'd better go,' she said. 'Sit me up first. I may yet get off another few rounds.' Shannow lifted her to a sitting position with her back to a tree, the Uzi in her hands. Then he slithered back to the edge and dropped from sight.

As he reached the ledge he heard a burst of firing.

Then silence. .

Sam sat on the hillside above the small cluster of deserted buildings, his mind still reeling from the shocks of the day. Shammy was dead. They were all dead: Jered, Marcia, Caleb. . And Amaziga was alive.

He was filled with a sense of unreality, a pervading numbness that blocked all emotion.

They had climbed down to the foot of the cliff, the Hellborn firing down upon them, the bullets kicking up puffs of dust but none coming near. He and Amaziga had shared the lead horse, the young black man and the grim warrior following behind. They had ridden for hours, stopping at last at this deserted hamlet, its residents long since slain by the forces of the Bloodstone — the few homes empty, dust-filled reminders of a community that had vanished for ever.

Amaziga had led him into one of the houses, sitting him down and kneeling before him. There she had explained it all. But her words drifted around in his mind without meaning. He had reached out and touched her face; she had leaned in to him and kissed his fingers, just as she had always done. His tears flowed then, and he rose and staggered from the house, brushing past the young man and breaking into a run that carried him far up the hill.

Shammy was dead. Loyal, steadfast Shammy, who asked for nothing save to fight beside him.

Yet where was the grief? Amaziga, whom he had loved more than life, was back. Not his Amaziga, she said, but another woman from another world. It made no sense, and it made no difference. On the ride he had sat behind her, the scent of her hair filling his nostrils, the feel of her body against him.

Samuel Archer struggled to marshal his thoughts. He had studied the principle of multiple universes back at the Guardian Centre, had indeed theorised that other Samuel Archers might exist. Then Sarento had mutated into the Blood Beast and all Sam's studies had been forgotten in the savage Wars that followed.

Amaziga had died, cut down by a hail of bullets, her beautiful face shattered and torn.

Amaziga was alive!

Oh, God!

It was all too much. Sam stared up at the sky. Not a single bird flew, and as far as the eye could see not one living creature roamed the land. The Bloodstone had sucked the world dry. The sun was shining, the sky powder-blue and dappled with clouds. Sam lay back on the grass, his thoughts haphazard, chaotic.

Amaziga came walking up towards him and his eyes drank in her lithe movements, the swaying, unself-conscious sexuality, the lightness of step. God, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever known!

I don't know her!

'We need to talk, Sam,' she said softly, sitting beside him.

'Let's talk about our shared memories,' he said, more harshly than he intended. 'You recall the summer in Lost Hawk, near the lake?'

She shook her head sadly. 'You and I have shared no summers, though I don't doubt that some of our memories will be linked. That's not the point, Sam. I crossed the universe to find you and save you from death. I could not save my own Sam, any more than you could protect the Amaziga you knew. But we are each the identical copies of the originals. Everything I loved about my Sam you share, and that is why I can say — without fear of contradiction — that I love you, Sam. I love you and I need you.'

'Who is the boy?' asked Sam, knowing the answer but needing the confirmation.

'Your son — the son you would have sired. Whichever.'

'He's a fine man, brave and steady. I could be proud of a son like that.'

Then be proud, Sam,' she urged him. 'Come with us. Together we can try to stop a world falling. It won't be our own, but it will be a world just like the one that almost died. We can save it, Sam. We can fulfil the dream of the Guardians.'

'And what of the Bloodstone?'

She spread her hands. 'What of him, Sam? He has killed a world. He will not be able to feed. He is finished anyway.'

Sam shook his head. 'Sarento was no fool. What is to stop him from finding other worlds? No, I have pledged myself to destroy him, and that I must do.'

Amaziga was silent for a moment. This is foolish, Sam; we both know it. His powers are beyond us. You have a plan? Or is this just a quixotic impulse that will not allow you to know when you are beaten?'

'My Amaziga would not have asked that,' he said.

'Yes, she would, Sam, and you know it. You are a romantic and an idealist. She never was. Was she?'

He sighed and turned his face away from her, staring down at the small cluster of buildings and the two men who waited there. 'Who is the cold killer?' he asked, avoiding the question.

'His name is Shannow. In his own world they call him the Jerusalem Man. He too had an impossible dream — but he learned the folly of such fantasies.'

'He does not look like a dreamer. Nor does he look like a man who has lost hope.' Swinging back towards her, he smiled. 'You are right, my Ziga would have asked the same question. What interests me is how you will react to what I am about to say. Or can you predict it?'

'Oh, I can predict it, Sam,' she told him. 'You are going to say that running away would destroy you, for it would mean turning your back on everything you believe in. Or something like it. You are going to tell me that you will continue the battle against the Bloodstone, even if I say we will leave without you. Am I right?'

'I can't deny it.'

'And you are wrong, Sam. Oh, I admire you for your courage, but you are wrong. Before coming here we studied the Bloodstone. Sarento cannot be harmed by any weapon in our possession. He is invulnerable. We cannot shoot him, starve him or burn him. We could pack him in a thousand tons of ice, and it would have no effect upon him. So tell me, Sam, how will" you fight this monster?'

Sam looked away. There has to be a way. God knows there has to be.'

'If there is, my love, we will not find it here. Perhaps in the world before the Fall we can find something -

and then come back.'

Sam thought about it for a while, then slowly nodded. 'You are right — as always. How do we get to your world?'

Amaziga laughed. 'Don't look so crestfallen. There is so much we can do together for the good of all mankind. You are alive, Sam! And we are together.'

'And the Bloodstone is triumphant,' he whispered.

'Only for now,' she assured him.

Shannow glanced up at the two of them, watching their embrace.

Gareth moved alongside him. 'Well, we did it, Mr Shannow. We brought the lovers back together.'

Shannow nodded, but said nothing, turning his gaze to the distant mountains and the fringe of the desert to the north. 'You think they will follow us?' asked Gareth.

'Count on it,' Shannow told him. 'According to Lucas, it would take them most of a day to find a path down for their horses. Even so, I don't like the idea of sitting here and waiting. Four people with three tired horses? We won't outrun them, that's for sure.' He stood and wandered back to a brick-built well to the rear of the first house. Lowering the bucket, he dunked it below the surface, then hauled it back to the top. The water was cool and clear and he drank deeply. The death of the olive-skinned girl had touched him: she was so young, with untold paths lying before her. Now she would walk none of them, her life snuffed out by a murdering band of killers, serving an abomination.

Not for the first time he wondered how men could descend to such barbarism. He remembered the words of Varey Shannow: 'Jon, Man is capable of greatness, love, nobility, compassion. Yet never forget that his capacity for evil is infinite. It is a sad truth, boy, that if you sit now and think of the worst tortures that could ever be inflicted on another human being, they will already have been practised somewhere. If there is one sound that follows the march of humanity, it is the scream.'

Gareth led the horses to the well and filled a second bucket. 'You look far away, Mr Shannow,' said the young man. 'What were you thinking?'

Shannow did not reply. Turning, he saw Amaziga and Sam approaching hand in hand.

'We're ready to go,' she said.

The horses will need to rest for tonight,' said Shannow. They're worn out. We'll make use of one of these houses and leave at first light. I'll take the first watch.'

To his surprise, Amaziga offered no argument. Removing the headband and silver boxes that contained Lucas, she handed them to him, pointing out how to engage the machine, and warning him of the need to limit the use so as to conserve the energy.

Sam and Amaziga went into the first house. Gareth remained for a moment with Shannow; he grinned. 'I think I'll sleep in the next house,' he said. ‘I’ll relieve you in four hours.'

Removing his hat, Shannow slid the headband into place and then looped the shoulder rig across his right shoulder and pressed the button on the first box. Seconds later he heard Lucas's soft voice. Ts everyone safe?'

'Yes,' said Shannow.

'I can't hear you, Mr Shannow. Engage the microphone. It eases from the headband. Once in position it will activate automatically.'

Shannow twisted the slender rod into place. 'Yes, we are safe. Amaziga has Sam.'

There is sadness in your voice. I take it there was some tragedy?'

'Many people died, Lucas.'

'Ah yes… I see her now. Young and beautiful. You did not want to leave her. Oh, Mr Shannow. The world can be so savage.' Lucas was silent for a moment. 'What a lonely place this is,' he said at last. 'No birds, no animals. Nothing. Would you turn your head, Mr Shannow? There is a camera in the headband.

I will scan the countryside.' Shannow did as he was bid. 'Nothing,' said Lucas. 'Not even an insect. Truly this is a dead place. Wait… I am picking up something. .'

'What? Riders?'

'Shhh. Wait, please.' Shannow scanned the distant mountains, seeking any sign of movement, but there was nothing that he could see in the fading light. Finally the voice of Lucas drifted back. Tell Amaziga that we will be travelling back through the stone circle in Babylon; it is closer.'

'You want us to ride to the Hellborn city?' asked Shannow, astonished.

‘It will save half a day.'

There is the matter of an enemy nation to consider,' observed Shannow.

Trust me,' said Lucas. 'Ride north-east tomorrow. Now, Mr Shannow, please cut the power. I have seen all I want to see.'

Shannow flicked the switch, then removed the headband.

Else Broome could not sleep. Her enormous body tossed and turned on the rickety bed, the springs creaking in protest at the weight. She was angry. Her husband had lost his mind and shot down the Prophet, ending in one miserable moment all her dreams of status and respect. He had always been useless, weak and spineless, she thought. I should never have married him. And she wouldn't have, had Edric Scayse not rejected her. Men! Scayse would have been a considerable catch — rich, handsome, respected. He had also died young, which would have left Else as the grieving widow, heir to his fortune and able to live a life of luxury, perhaps even in Unity. The Widow Scayse. It was a delicious thought.

Yet despite every inducement she could offer, Scayse had remained immune to her advances, and she had been forced to settle for second-best. Second-best? She almost laughed at the thought. Josiah Broome was the runt of the litter. But through good fortune — and the benefit of a sensible wife — he had risen to a place of eminence among the people of Pilgrim's Valley.

Now even that small gain was gone for good. Today, on the main street, in front of everyone, several women had crossed the road to avoid Else Broome. Eyes were downcast as she passed — all except for Ezra Feard, Josiah's main competitor. He had smiled broadly and his thin witch of a wife had hurried out to stand beside him, gloating in Else's downfall.

And it would get worse. The Jerusalem Riders would bring her husband back, probably snivelling and crying, and lock him up in the Crusader jail, before the public trial which would see him hang. Oh, the shame of it!

Squeezing shut her eyes, she said a prayer. 'Oh, Lord, you know what trials I have been through with that wretched man. It is said that he was shot trying to escape. Let him die in the mountains. Let his body be devoured and never found.'

Maybe, after a few years, the memory of her mad husband would diminish in the eyes of the townsfolk.

Or she could marry again.

A sudden noise downstairs caused her eyes to jerk open.

Someone was moving around the house. 'Dear God, don't let it be Josiah! Anything but that!' she whispered.

There was a small pistol in the bedside table. Else sat up. If she crept down and killed him she would become a hero, all her status restored. Opening the drawer, she pulled out the weapon. It seemed tiny in her fat fist. Flicking open the revolver's side gate, she checked that it was loaded; then, easing her vast bulk from the bed, she moved out to the doorway and the stairs beyond. The belt of her cavernous white flannel nightgown caught on the door handle. Shaking it loose, she stepped on to the first stair which creaked loudly.

'Is that you, Josiah, dear?' she called, as she moved down into the darkness. Then she caught a flicker of movement to the left. Cocking the pistol, she stepped from the stairs. The moon emerged from behind the clouds, silver light streaming through the window and the open door. A huge shape reared up before her.

Else Broome had time for one piercing scream. .

It was heard by the Crusader Captain Leon Evans as he made his nightly rounds. The sound chilled him.

A figure moved from the shadows and Leon spun, his gun flashing into his hand.

'It's only me, sir,' said Samuel McAdam, stepping out to join him. 'Did you hear it?'

'Damn right. It came from West Street.'

'You want me to come with you?'

Leon smiled and clapped the boy on the shoulder. 'You're not a Crusader yet, Sam. Wait until you get paid for it.' Holstering his pistol, he moved along the street. A silver shape ran at him from the shadows, but Leon was moving past the alleyway and failed to see it. Samuel blinked. He couldn't believe his eyes.

No Wolver could possibly be that big!

'Captain!' he shouted, at the same time dragging out his pistol. His first shot missed the beast. But Leon Evans swung, drew and fired in one smooth motion. Samuel saw the beast stagger, its head snapping back as blood sprayed from a cut to the scalp. Samuel fired again. Dust kicked up from the beast's hide, just above the hip, and blood pumped from the wound. Leon Evans stepped in close and triggered two shots into the Devourer's chest. With a terrible howl it sank to its haunches.

Movement came from the far end of the street and screaming began in several of the houses to Samuel's right. High above a window smashed and a man's body hurtled down, smashing through the slanting wooden roof that protected the sidewalk. He landed head-first. Leon ran to the body, Samuel following.

It was Ezra Feard, his chest ripped open.

People came running from their homes, converging at the centre of the main street. A huge beast climbed from Ezra Feard's window and leapt down among them. Samuel saw a woman dragged screaming to the ground. A man ran to her aid but talons ripped into his chest. Panic swept through the crowd and they began to run. From the far end of the street came a score more of the creatures, their howls echoing above the screams of the crowd.

'Get to the Crusader building!' yelled Leon Evans, trying to make himself heard above the sounds of terror that rent the night. Pistol in hand, Samuel forced his way through the crowd, trying to reach the law officer. The Crusader Captain was standing his ground with arm extended, coolly firing at the charging beasts. The hammer clicked down on an empty chamber, Leon Evans broke open the pistol and began to reload, but a beast bore down on him and leapt. Samuel was some yards back. He fired — and missed.

Talons ripped into Leon Evans' cheek, tearing his face away. The Crusader Captain fell back, dropping his pistol. As the creature leapt again, the mortally wounded man drew a hunting-knife and lunged out, but the blade did not even pierce the hide. Talons tore into his body and he fell in a spray of blood.

Samuel backed away, trembling, then turned and ran for his life.

Many people were crowding into the stone-built Crusader building, while others continued to run along the main street. As a horse came bolting from a side street Sam jumped at it, grabbing the mane, trying to vault to the animal's bare back. He missed and was dragged for some thirty yards before falling to the dust. Scrambling up, he gazed around him. A huge Wolver was running at him. When Samuel's hand swept down to his holster… it was empty.

A shotgun blast came from the right and above. Hit full in the chest the creature staggered back, letting out a bellow of pain.

Samuel glanced up to see the youngster Wallace Nash leaning out of a window above him. 'Better get in here, Sam!' shouted Wallace. Samuel ran up the three short steps to the main door and swiftly moved inside. Out on the street the wounded beast bounded forward to hurl itself at the door, which broke into two pieces as it burst open. Samuel fled for the stairs, taking them two at a time, the beast just behind him. Wallace Nash appeared at the top. 'Drop, Sam!' shouted thp youngster.

Samuel threw himself down as the shotgun blasted, and he heard the body of the beast tumbling back behind him. Scrambling up, he joined the red-headed youngster at the top of the stairs. He did not know Wallace well, and remembered the boy was a sprinter who had once outrun Edric Scayse's racing horse, Rimfire.

'Thanks, Wallace,' he said, as the youngster thumbed two shells into the double-barrelled gun.

'We got to get out of here,' said Wallace. This old bird gun ain't going to hold them, that's for damn sure.

Where's your pistol?' he asked, glancing down at the empty scabbard.

Samuel was embarrassed. 'Dropped it out on the street. I panicked.' Wallace nodded, then reached into his belt to pull clear an old, single-action Hellborn pistol.

Fresh screaming erupted from the street and the two young men ran through to the upper front room and looked out of the window. A young woman carrying a baby was hammering on the door of the Crusader building, but the people inside were too frightened to let her in.

A beast loped towards her.

'Over here!' shouted Samuel. The woman spun, and Samuel could see her gauging the distance against the speed of the Wolver. She would never make it…

But she tried.

Wallace levelled the shotgun and let fly with both barrels, taking the beast high in the shoulder and spinning it. Regaining its balance, it lurched after the woman. Samuel pushed open the window and climbed out. To the eternal regret of his mother, Beth, he had never been blessed with great courage or stamina. Samuel believed he had failed her in almost everything. Taking a deep breath he jumped, landing heavily and twisting his ankle. The woman was almost at the steps — the beast just behind her — as Samuel moved left and fired, his first bullet smashing into the creature's open mouth. His second took it in the throat and blood sprayed from the exit wound. Still it came on.

In that instant Samuel McAdam knew he was going to die, and an icy calm settled on him.

The woman ran by him without a glance, her baby screaming. Other beasts were gathering now. The first creature loomed above Samuel and he fired twice more, straight into the heart. The Wolver slumped -

then its taloned hand slashed out.

'Get back, Sam!' he heard Wallace shout. The beast fell dead. Something hot and sticky was drenching Sam's shirt. He glanced down. It was blood, gushing from a gaping wound in his throat.

Samuel fell to his knees, all strength seeping from him. Toppling sideways, his face struck the hard-packed dirt of the street. There was no pain. 'I'm dying,' he thought dispassionately. 'This is it.' A great weariness settled over him, and an old nursery prayer drifted into his mind. Samuel tried to say it, but there was no time.

This was the day that Dr Julian Meredith had long dreaded. Isis lay in the wagon, unconscious, her pulse weak and fluttering erratically, her eyelids tinged with blue, her cheeks sunken. With hindsight he knew this day had been coming for several weeks. Her energy was low, and it was becoming an effort even to talk.

Meredith sat by the bedside as Jeremiah drove the wagon. How long, he wondered, before the end?

Leaning forward, he kissed her cold brow. His eyes misted and a warm tear splashed to the pale cheek below him. When the wagon creaked to a stop, Meredith rose and opened the rear door, climbing down to the ground. Jeremiah looped the reins around the brake handle and joined him.

'Is she any better?' asked the old man.

Meredith shook his head. 'I think it will be tonight.'

'Oh dear,' whispered Jeremiah. 'She's such a sweet lass. There's no justice, is there, Doctor?'

'Not in cases like hers,' Meredith agreed.

Jeremiah built a fire and carried two chairs down from the wagon. 'I still don't understand what's killing her,' he said. 'Cancer I can understand, or a weak heart. Not this.'

'It's very rare,' explained Meredith. 'In the old world it used to be called Addison's Disease. We all have a defence system inside our bodies, which can isolate germs and destroy them. In the case of Isis the system malfunctioned and.began to turn on itself, destroying the adrenal glands among others.'

Then she is killing herself,' said Jeremiah.

'Yes. The old race found cortisonal substitutes and these kept Addisonians alive. These days we do not know how they were manufactured.'

Jeremiah sighed and glanced around at the vast, empty prairie. They had left the other wagons outside Domango when Isis fell sick, and were heading now for Pilgrim's Valley, searching for a miracle. The Apostle Saul was the last of the Deacon's disciples, and it was said that he had performed miracles in Unity years ago. When they heard he was in Pilgrim's Valley, Jeremiah had left the others and headed the wagon across the prairie.

They were only two days from the Valley now, but those two days might just as well be two centuries.

For Isis was dying before their eyes.

Jeremiah lapsed into silence and fed the blaze as Meredith returned to the wagon. Isis lay so still he thought she had passed away, but he held a small mirror beneath her nostrils and the merest ghost of vapour appeared on the surface. Taking her hand he began to talk to her, saying the words he had longed to speak. ‘I love you, Isis. Almost from the first day I saw you. You had a basket of flowers and you were walking down the main street offering them for sale. The sun was shining, and your hair was like a cap of gold. I bought three bunches. They were daffodils, I think.' He fell silent and squeezed her fingers; there was no answering pressure and he sighed. 'And now you are going to leave me, and journey where I cannot follow.' His voice broke and the tears flowed. 'I find that hard to take. Terribly hard.'

When Meredith climbed down from the wagon, Jeremiah had a pot of stew upon the fire and was stirring it with a wooden spoon. 'Thought I saw a Wolver,' said the old man, 'over there in the trees.' Meredith squinted, but could see nothing save the breeze flickering over the top of the grass, causing the stems to imitate the actions of waves upon an ocean.

From the distance came an eerie howling. 'Do you have a gun?' asked Meredith.

'Nope. Gave it to Malcolm. Said I'd pick it up when next we met.'

Meredith sat down and extended his fingers to the blaze. Camped in the open there was little heat to be felt, for the breeze dispersed it swiftly. Normally they would have found a sheltered place to set the fire, against a rock or even a fallen tree. But the oxen were tired, and there was good grass here.

'I don't suppose we'll need a weapon,' said Meredith. 'I have never heard of a single instance of Wolvers attacking humans.'

'What will you do, Doctor, when. .?' Jeremiah stumbled to silence, unable to finish the sentence.

'When she dies?' Meredith rubbed his hand over his face. His eyes were tired, his heart heavy. 'I shall leave the Wanderers, Jeremiah. I'll find a little town that has no doctor, and I'll settle there. I only joined you to be close to Isis. You?'

'Oh, I'll keep travelling. I like to see new land, fresh scenery. I love to bathe in forgotten streams, and watch the sun rise over un-named mountains.'

A silver-grey form moved out from the grass and stood, unnoticed, some twenty yards from the wagon.

Meredith was the first to see the Wolver and he tapped Jeremiah on the shoulder. The old man looked up. 'Come join us, little friend,' he said.

The Wolver hesitated, then loped forward to squat by the fire. 'I am Pakia,' it said, head tilting to one side, long tongue lolling from its mouth.

'Welcome, Pakia,' said Jeremiah. 'Are you hungry? The stew is almost ready.'

'No hunger. But very frightened.'

Jeremiah chuckled. 'You have nothing to fear from us. I am Jeremiah, and this is my friend, Doctor Meredith. We do not hunt your people.'

'I fear you not,' said the Wolver. 'Where do you go?'

'Pilgrim's Valley,' answered the old man.

The Wolver shook her head vehemently. 'No go there. Much evil. Much death. All dead.'

'A plague?' asked Meredith. Pakia tilted her head, her eyes questioning the word. 'A great sickness?'

'Not sickness. The blood beasts come, kill everyone. I smell them now,' she added, lifting her long snout mto the air. 'Far way, but coming closer. You have guns?'

'No,' said Meredith.

'Then you will die,' said Pakia, 'and my Beth will die.'

'Who is Beth?' asked Jeremiah.

'Good friend. Farms land south of here. You go to her, she has guns. Maybe then you live. She live.'

Pakia stood and loped away without another word. 'Curious creature,' said Meredith. 'Was it a male or female?'

'Female,' said Jeremiah, 'and she was jumpy. I've travelled these lands for years, and I know of no blood beasts. Maybe she meant lions, or bears. I shouldn't have given Malcolm my rifle.'

'What do you think we should do?'

Jeremiah shrugged. 'We'll finish the stew and then head for the farm.' The howling came again and Jeremiah shivered. 'Let's forget the stew,' he said.

Beth McAdam was dozing when Toby Harris tapped lightly on the door-frame. She came awake instantly and rubbed her eyes. 'Been a long day, Tobe,' she said.

The workman doffed his cap and grinned. 'There's still some old bulls up in the thickets. Take a sight of work to move 'em out.'

Beth stretched her back and rose. Toby Harris had arrived two weeks before, on a worn-out horse that was in better condition than he was. A small wiry man, with a stoop, he had worked as a miner in Purity, a horse-breaker on 'a ranch near Unity, and had been a sailor for four years before that. On an impulse he had decided to ride into what used to be termed the wild lands and make his fortune. When he had arrived at Beth McAdam's farm he was out of food, out of Barta coin, and just about out of luck. Beth had taken an instant liking to the little man; he had a cheeky grin that took years from his weather-beaten face, and bright blue eyes that sparkled with humour.

Tobe ran a hand through his thinning black hair. 'I seen a wagon heading this way,' he said.'Wanderers, most like. Guess they'll stop by and beg a little food.'

'How many?' asked Beth.

'One wagon, all bright painted. Ox-drawn. Two men riding it.'

'Let's hope one of them's a tinker. I've some pots that need repairing, and some knives that are long overdue for a sharpening. Tell them they're welcome to camp in the south meadow — there's a good stream there.'

Tobe nodded and backed out of the door as Beth took a long, deep breath. With winter coming she had needed a good workman. Her few cattle had wandered high into the hills, deep into the thickets and the woods. Driving them out was at least a four-man job, but Tobe worked as hard as any three workmen she had employed before. Samuel used to help, but he now spent all of his time in the settlement, studying to be a Crusader. Beth sighed, they couldn't meet now without harsh words.

‘I raised him too hard,' she said aloud.

Tobe reappeared. 'Begging your pardon, Frey McAdam, but there's a rider coming. Two to be precise.

Riding double on an old mule. I think one of them's ill — or drunk.'

Beth nodded, then moved to the mantel, lifting down the old rifle. Levering a shell into the breech, she stepped out into the fading light. The riders were coming down from the mountains, and even from here she could see the sweat-streaked flanks of the mule. In the waning light she could just make out a white beard on one of the riders; the other looked familiar, but his head and upper body were bent low across the mule's neck, the old man holding him steady. The mule pounded up and the old man slid from its back, turning to support his companion. Beth saw that it was Josiah Broome and, laying the rifle aside, she ran forward to help.

'He's been shot,' said white-beard.

'Tobe!' yelled Beth. The wiry workman came forward, and together they lowered the wounded man.

Broome was unconscious, his face pale, the gleam of fever sweat on his brow. 'Get him to my room,'

said Beth, leaving the two men to carry Broome into the house.

'Pick up your rifle, Frey McAdam,' said white-beard. There's killers close by.'

They laid Broome in Beth's wide bed and covered him with a thick blanket. White-beard moved outside.

'What killers?' she asked.

'The most terrible creatures you'll ever see,' he told her. 'Huge Wolvers. Right about now they'll be moving in on Pilgrim's Valley. I hope the Crusaders there are good, steady men.'

'Wolvers would never attack anyone,' said Beth suspiciously.

‘I agree with you, but these aren't just Wolvers. Is that rifle fully loaded?'

'Be pretty useless if it wasn't!' she snapped. The old man was tall and commanding, but there was about him an unconscious arrogance that needled Beth McAdam. If there were such beasts as he described, she'd certainly never seen one and she'd lived near Pilgrim's Valley for twenty years. 'How did Josiah get his wound?' she asked, changing the subject.

'Shot down in his home. They killed Daniel Cade too.'

The Prophet? My God! Why?'

The same reason Bull Kovac was killed. Broome was going to give Oath for you.'

That makes no sense,' she said. 'What difference could it make?'

This is rich land, Frey McAdam. Saul has taken to gathering such land to himself, through Jacob Moon and his men. I should have seen what was happening. But I had other, more pressing, problems on my mind. I'll deal with Saul — if we survive what is coming.'

'You'll deal with Saul. By what right?'

White-beard turned, his gaze locking to hers. 'I made him, Beth, he is my responsibility. I am the Deacon.'

This is insane,' stormed Beth. 'Giant Wolvers and supposed murders are bad enough. You're obviously deranged.'

'Begging your pardon, Frey McAdam,' said Tobe, 'but he is the Deacon. I seen him at the Unity Cathedral last year — it's him all right.'

The Deacon smiled at Tobe. 'I remember you,' he said. 'You worked with horses, and you brought in the young rider with the broken back. He was healed, I recall.'

'Yes, sir, Deacon. Then he got killed in a flash flood.'

Beth's anger flared. 'If you are the Deacon, then you are not welcome in my house,' she said icily.

'Because of you a good man saw his church burned, his people slaughtered. And he's out there now suffering. By God, you should be ashamed of yourself.'

'And I am, lady,' he said softly. 'I gave orders that the Wolvers should be moved back away from human settlements. My reasons will be all too clear within days. There is an enemy coming with powers you could not dream of — he has mutated Wolvers into creatures of colossal power. But, yes, I am ashamed.

It does not matter that I did what I thought was right. Whatever evil was done in my name is my responsibility and I will live with that. As to not being welcome. .' He spread his hands, ‘I can do nothing about that, save to ask you to bear with me. Only I can fight what is coming.'

'Why should I believe that?' countered Beth. 'Everything you have is built on lies. The Jerusalem Man never predicted your coming. Shall I tell you how I know?'

‘I’ll tell you,' he said mildly. 'Because Jon Shannow, after sending the Sword of God through to destroy Atlantis, came back here to live a life as Jon Cade, a Preacher. He lived with you for many years, but you tired of his purity and cast him out. Now understand this: Nothing was built on lies. Shannow brought me down from the sky, but more than that. He is my reason for being! He is why I am here, at this time, to fight this enemy. It is not necessary that you believe me, Beth. It is only necessary that you put aside your disbelief.'

'I have a friend out looking for him,' she said, her words cold. 'He'll come back. Then you can explain it to him!'

An eerie howl echoed in the valley. It was answered by several others.

‘I saw a wagon to the north,' said the Deacon. 'I suggest you invite the occupants to join you. They may not survive the night if you don't.'