Bloodstone

CHAPTER TWELVE

Nothing that lives is without fear. It is a gift against recklessness, a servant against complacency in the face of danger. But like all servants it makes a bad master. Fear is a small fire in the belly to warm a man in the coldness of conflict. Let loose, it becomes an inferno within the walls which no fortress can withstand.

The Wisdom of the Deacon Chapter XXI

Esther had fallen asleep and Oz was manfully trying to hold her steady in the saddle. Zerah Wheeler glanced back, and smiled at the boy. 'We'll rest soon,' she promised, leading the horse higher into the hills and cutting towards the west. There were many caves close by, hidden in the trees, and only a very good tracker could follow the trail she had left. The rifle was heavy in her hands, and the holstered pistol was beginning to chafe her leg. It's been too long since I strolled these hills, thought Zerah: I'm getting old and useless.

A cave-mouth beckoned, but it was narrow and south-facing, the wind whistling into the opening, stirring up dust. Zerah moved on, leading the old buckskin along a narrow ledge that widened into a deep, pear-shaped cave. At first the buckskin was reluctant to enter the dark, but Zerah coaxed her in with soft words and a firm pull of the rein. Inside it was as large as the biggest room back at the house, with a long, natural chimney opening out on to the stars. Zerah looped the reins over the buckskin's head, leaned the rifle against the rock wall and moved back to lift Esther. The little girl moaned in her sleep, then looped her arms around Zerah's neck.

'You get down by yourself, boy. Untie the blanket roll before you do.'

Oz untied the rawhide strips that held the roll, then lifted his leg over the saddle and jumped to the ground. 'You think they'll find us?' he asked.

'They'll wish they hadn't if they do,' said Zerah. 'You still got that pistol safe?'

'Yes, Frey,' he answered, patting the pocket of his black broadcloth jacket.

Zerah ruffled his fair hair. 'You're a good boy, Oz. Your father would be proud of you. Now you wait here with Esther while I gather some wood for a fire.' Oz spread the blanket roll and Zerah knelt and laid Esther upon it. The six-year-old turned to her side, her thumb in her mouth. She did not wake.

'Want for me to come with you, Frey?'

'No, son. You stay here. Look after your sister.'

Gathering up the rifle, she passed it to the boy. 'It's a mite long for you, Oz, but it'll do no harm to get used to the feel.'

Zerah left the cave and walked back along the ledge. From this height, more than a thousand feet, she could see vast area of the plains below. There was no sign of pursuit. But then, she reasoned, they could be in the trees, beneath the vast dense carpet of green below and stretching far away to the east.

Leaning back, she stretched the muscles around her lower spine. They ached like the devil, but she took a good deep breath and walked back into the shadows of the trees. Night was falling fast, and the temperature would soon drop. Zerah gathered an armful of dead wood and walked back to the cave, returning for five more loads before weariness called a halt. From the pocket of her old sheepskin coat she took a pouch of tinder and carefully built a small fire.

Oz moved in close to her. 'They won't find us, will they, Frey?' he asked again.

'I don't know,' she told him, putting her thin arm around his shoulders and drawing him to her.

One of the men who had killed Oz's father had ridden up to the house and stopped at the well for water.

He had seen Oz and Esther playing by the back fence. Zerah, not knowing the man, had walked from the house to greet the newcomer.

'Nice kids,' he said. 'Your grandchildren?'

'They surely are,' she told him. 'You passing through?'

'Yep. Well, thank you for the water, Frey,' he said, reaching for the pommel of his saddle.

Esther, looking up and seeing him, screamed and jumped to her feet. 'He shot my daddy!'

The man dropped to the ground, but in that moment Zerah had dragged her pistol clear and pulled the trigger, the shell hammering into his thigh. His horse had reared and run, he grabbed for the pommel and was dragged for thirty yards. Zerah fired twice more, but missed. She had watched him haul himself into the saddle and ride off.

Knowing he would return, Zerah had packed some food and supplies and taken the children back into the mountains, heading for Purity. But the pursuers had cut her off and were camped across the trail as she reached the last rise. Luckily Zerah had not ridden over the rise, but had left the buckskin with Oz and had crawled to the lip to check the road.

Now they were deep in the mountains and, Zerah was pretty sure, they had lost their pursuers.

With the fire blazing Zerah rose and moved outside the cave-mouth, checking to see if any reflected light was flickering there. A carelessly laid camp-fire could be seen for miles. However, once outside the cave no light could be seen, and high above what little smoke there was had been dissipated by the undergrowth and trees on the cliff-top.

Satisfied, Zerah walked back inside. Oz was curled up alongside Esther, and both were fast asleep.

'Makes you feel young again, woman,' said Zerah, covering the two children. And she felt a sense of pride. She had saved them from killers. 'You're not so useless,' she whispered.

Tomorrow they would be safe in town, and the Crusaders would be hunting the villains.

It had been a long time since she had visited Pilgrim's Valley, and she wondered what changes she would see.

In the distance a wolf howled. Zerah settled down to sleep alongside the children.

Sarento strolled through the wooded hills above the Atlantean ruin, enjoying the cloudless blue sky and the sounds of early morning birdsong. The wind was cool upon his red-gold skin, and for the first time in years he had no sense of hunger. With a thrill of intense pleasure, he recalled the gathering in the colosseum, the anticipation and, at the last, the inflow of life. Rich and fulfilling and infinitely warming. .

Below him was the camp of his elite, the five hundred Hellborn warriors he had sent through ahead of him. With them, and men like Jacob Moon, he would feed in this new world, and dream.

The Gateway was a desperately needed boon. His hunger in the old world had been painful, agonising, its clawing demands dominating his days. But here he could appreciate once more the beauty of a blue sky. His golden eyes focused on the ruined city. This was no fit place for a god, he thought as he gazed upon the derelict palace. Before it was two fallen pillars and a smashed lintel.

'Up!' he said. The distant stones groaned and raised themselves, powdered sections re-forming into shaped stone, the shards of the lintel flowing back into one whole and rising through the air to settle into place. Tiny remnants of paint grew, spreading out over the motifs on the lintel — fierce reds, vibrant blues, golden yellows. Golden tiles reappeared on the roof of the palace, catching the sunlight.

Trees flowered in the palace gardens, rose-bushes sprouted. Cracked and broken walkways repaired themselves, fallen statues climbing back to their plinths, their stone limbs as supple as the warriors who in ages past inspired them.

Gold leaf decorated the windows of the palace, and long-dry fountains sent sprays of water high into the air in the gardens.

Sarento gazed down on the city and smiled. . Then the smile faded.

The hunger had returned. Not great, as yet, but a gnawing need. Glancing down at his naked torso, he saw that the thin black lines across his skin had thickened, the red-gold was fading. Raising his arms, he reached out with his mind.

The birds of the forest flew around him, foxes awoke and emerged from their holes, squirrels ran down from their tree-top homes. A huge bear let forth a roar and padded from his cave. Sarento was almost hidden from sight by the fluttering birds and the scrambling mass of furred creatures scurrying around his feet.

Then, in an instant, all was silence. The birds fell lifeless to the ground, the bear collapsing in on itself to crumble like ancient parchment.

Sarento walked across the corpses, which cracked underfoot like long-dead twigs.

His hunger was almost gone.

But the seed of it remained.

His Devourers were roaming the countryside, and he could feel the steady trickle of sustenance. Not enough to satisfy, yet adequate for the present. Reaching out he sought other Wolvers, ready to draw them to him for the change. But there were none within the range of his power. Curious, he thought, for he knew such beasts existed in this world; he had plucked their image from the dying memories of Saul Wilkins, and read them again in the sadistic mind of Jacob Moon. A tiny flicker of concern touched him.

Without new Devourers his task in this new world would be made the more difficult. Then he thought again of the Gateway. If there was one, there must be more.

He pictured the teeming cities of the old world: Los Angeles, New York, London, Paris.

In such places he would never know hunger again.

Beth covered the dead man with a blanket and took hold of the weeping Meredith's shoulders. 'Come on,' she said gently. 'Come away.'

'It's my fault,' he said. 'I don't know why I shouted. I just. . panicked.'

'Damn right!' said the Deacon.

'Leave it alone,' Beth told him icily. 'Not everyone is like you — and thank God for it. Yes, he panicked.

He was frightened. But even his friend told him not to blame himself.' She patted Meredith's shoulder and stepped in closer to the Deacon. 'Blood and death is all you know, Deacon. Murder and pain. Now leave it be!'

At that moment there was a splintering of wood upstairs, and the sound of a rifle booming. 'Are you all right, Wallace?' shouted Beth.

The young man appeared at the head of the stairs. 'One of them jumped up to the window. It's all right now. There's more coming across the meadows, Frey McAdam. Maybe fifty of them.'

The shutters won't hold them,' said the Deacon. He drew a pistol, then winced and fell against the wall.

Beth moved alongside him. His face was grey with exhaustion and pain. Reaching out, she put her arm around him and led him to a chair. As he sat she saw that her hand was smeared with blood.

'You're hurt,' she said.

'I've been hurt before.'

'Let me see it.' He half-turned in the chair. The back of his old sheepskin coat was ripped open, the flesh beneath it gashed and torn, and she remembered the snapping of the fence rail as his frail body was hurled against it. 'You may have broken a rib or two,'she said.

‘I’ll live. I have to.'

Meredith leaned over her. 'Let me look to it,' he said. 'I am a doctor.' Together they helped the Deacon to rise, removing his coat and torn shirt. Gently Meredith probed the wound. The old man made no sound. Two ribs at least,' said Meredith. In the background the baby began to cry.

'Needs feeding,' said Beth, but the young woman slouched in the chair made no movement. Beth moved to her and saw that her eyes were vacant. She undid the buttons of the girl's sweat-stained blouse, then lifted the baby to the swollen breast. As it began to suck the girl moaned and began to cry. There, there,'

said Beth. 'Everything is all right now. Look at her feed. She was real hungry.'

'He's a boy,' whispered the mother.

'Of course he is. What a fool I am!' Beth told her. 'And a handsome boy he is. Strong, too.'

'My Josh was strong,' said the girl. They tore his head off.' Tears welled in her eyes and she began to tremble.

'You just think of the babe,' said Beth swiftly. 'He's all that matters now. You understand?' The girl nodded, but Beth saw that she was once more drifting away and with a sigh she returned to Meredith and the Deacon. The young doctor had cut up a tablecloth to make bandages. The old man reached up as Meredith completed his work.

'I am sorry, son,' he said. 'I hope you'll forgive my harsh words.'

Meredith nodded wearily. 'It's easier to forgive you, than to forgive myself. I have never been more frightened, and I am ashamed of my actions.'

'It's in the past, boy. You've been to the edge, and looked in the pit. Now you can be either stronger or weaker. It's a choice — but it's your choice. In life a man has to learn to be strong in the broken places.'

'They're moving on the barn,' Wallace shouted.

'Keep your voice down!' ordered Beth.

From across the yard came the sound of wood being splintered and broken, followed by the terrified neighing of horses. In the chair by the fire the young mother began to weep.

Beth lit two more lanterns, hanging them on hooks by the wall. 'It is going to be a long night,' she said.

The screaming of the trapped animals went on for some minutes, then there was a silence. Beth sent Meredith through to the back room to check on Josiah Broome. The girl in the chair had fallen asleep, and Beth lifted the babe from her arms and sat with it on the old rocker.

Wallace Nash came down the stairs and stood in front of her. 'What is it, Wallace?' The red-headed youngster was ill at ease.

'I'm sorry, Frey McAdam. There's no other way to tell, but to go at it straight out. Samuel, well, he died saving the girl yonder and the child. Jumped from a window as one of them creatures was bearing down on her. Calm as you like. He killed it sure enough, but it got him too. I'm terrible sorry, Frey.'

'Best get back upstairs, Wallace,' she said, hugging the baby to her. 'Best keep a good watch.'

‘I’ll do that,' he said softly. 'You can rely on me, Frey.'

Beth closed her eyes. She could smell the burning oil in the lamps, the seasoned cedar-wood on the fire and the milky, newborn scent of the child in her arms.

Outside a beast howled.

Shannow reached into his pocket, his arthritic fingers curling around the golden Stone. I don't want to live for ever, he thought. I don't want to be young again. The pain in his chest was intensifying, linking and merging with the agony of his fractured ribs. You have no choice, he told himself. Gripping the Stone, he willed away the pain in his heart and felt new strength and vitality pounding through his veins. The ribs too he healed, drawing on the strength of the Stone.

Opening his hand, he gazed down at the golden pebble. Only the faintest thread of black showed where the power had been leached. Rising, he moved to the window. The aching pain was gone now from his shoulder and knees, and he moved with a spring in his step. Glancing through the gap in the shutters, he saw Devourers clambering over Jeremiah's wagon, moving into the cabin and up through the hatches.

The barn was silent now, but he could see grey shapes lying on the hard-baked dirt of the yard or squatting near the fence.

Stepping back, he looked at the shutters. The wood was less than an inch thick; it could not withstand the explosive power in the taloned arms of the Devourers. Delving into his coat, he produced a box of shells which he tipped out on to the table-top. Twenty-three remained, plus the twelve in his pistols.

Meredith returned. 'The wounded man is sleeping,' said the doctor. 'His colour is good, and his pulse is steady.'

'He's tougher than he knows,' said Shannow.

'Where did these creatures come from?' Meredith asked. 'I have never heard of anything like them.'

'They're Wolvers,' answered Shannow, 'but they've been changed by… sorcery, if you will.' He started to speak, but then became aware that the young man was staring at him with what Shannow took to be blank disbelief. ‘I know it is hard to understand,' he said. 'Just take me on trust, son. There is a creature.

. '

'Beth called you Deacon,' Meredith said, interrupting him, and Shannow realised that the young man had not been listening to a word of explanation.

'Yes,' he said, his voice weary. ‘I am the Deacon.'

'I have always hated you,' said Meredith. 'You have been the cause of great evil.'

Shannow nodded. ‘I don't argue with that, son. The butchery in the lands of the Hellborn was unforgivable.'

‘Then why did you do it?'

'Because he's a killer and a savage,' said Beth, her voice flat and without anger. 'Some men are like that, Doctor. He came to power by deceit, and held on to it by fear. All who opposed him were killed — it was all he knew.'

Meredith swung to Shannow. 'Is that how it was?'

Shannow did not answer. Rising, he moved back through the house, pausing at Josiah Broome's bedside.

‘Is that how it was?

Broome stirred and opened his eyes. 'Hello, Jake,' he said sleepily.

Shannow sat on the edge of the bed. 'How are you feeling?'

'Better,' said the wounded man.

‘That's good. You rest now.' Broome closed his eyes. Shannow remained where he was, remembering the two armies converging on the lands of the Hellborn, remembering his fury at the Hellborn betrayal and his fears about the coming of the Bloodstone. Many of the men who fought under him had lost family and friends to the Hellborn, and hatred ran strong in their veins. And in mine, he thought sadly.

Padlock Wheeler and the other officers had come to him on that fateful morning outside Babylon, when the Hellborn leaders were begging to be allowed to surrender.

'What orders, Deacon?'

There were many things he could have said in that moment, about the nature of evil, or the wisdom of forgiveness. As he stared at them he could think only of the terror that was coming, and the fact that in his previous world the Bloodstone had used the Hellborn to wreak destruction and death. And in the space of a single heartbeat he made a decision that still haunted him.

'Well, Deacon?'

'Kill them all.'

Zerah awoke before the dawn, and groaned. A small stone was digging into her hip and her shoulders ached abominably.

Another groan followed her attempt to sit up, and she swore bitterly.

‘That's not nice,' said little Esther.

'Neither is the rheumatics,' grunted Zerah. 'How long you been awake, child?'

'Ever since the howling,' said Esther, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. There's lots of wolves about.'

Zerah had heard nothing. Pushing herself to her feet she stretched, then walked to the buckskin, lifting her water canteen from the saddle pommel. After a long drink she returned to the children and the dead fire.

'Wolves won't attack us,' she said. 'Now you see if you can find a spark in them ashes, and I'll cook us up some breakfast.'

With a yawn she stepped outside. The air was fresh and cool, and Zerah could smell the dew on the leaves and the musky scents of the forest. The sky was lightening in the east, and early bird-song greeted her as she walked under the trees. Despite the rheumatic pain in her back and shoulders, she felt good, glad to be alive.

It's the youngsters, she thought; they make everything seem fresh and new again. Zerah hadn't realised how much she missed company until the stranger had arrived. It saddened her that he hadn't come back.

Jon was a good man, and quiet company. But the young ones were a joy, even when they squabbled. It brought back memories of her own children, back in the days of her youth, when the sky was more blue and the future was a golden mystery yet to be discovered.

Zeb had been a handsome man, with a ready wit that endeared him to everyone. And he was kind and loving. Everybody liked Zeb, because Zeb liked everybody. 'Never knew a man could see so much good in people,' she said, aloud.

When he died she remembered Padlock coming home. He put his arms around her and said, 'You know, Ma, there's no one in this world that he would ever need to say sorry to.'

Seemed like that was a good epitaph for a kind man.

Folks had come from far and wide for the funeral, and that pleased Zerah. But after he died the visitors had stopped coming. I never was the popular one, she thought. Old Zerah with her sharp tongue and her sharper ways.

She glanced up at the sky. 'Sometimes wonder what you saw in me, Zeb,' she said.

Turning to go back to the cave, she saw a paw-print in the soft earth. Kneeling, she ran her hand over it, opening her fingers to measure the span. It was enormous. Not a bear, though it was the right size. Nor yet a lion. Her mouth was dry as she stood. It was a wolf print — but larger than any she had ever seen.

Zerah hurried back to the cave. 'What's for breakfast?' asked Oz. 'Esther's got the fire going.'

'I think we'll wait until we reach town,' said Zerah. 'I think we should move on.'

'But I'm hungry,' complained Esther. 'Really starving!'

Zerah chuckled. Good God, woman, she thought, why the panic? You have a fire and a good pistol. 'All right,' she agreed. 'We'll eat first, and then travel.'

Walking to the back of the cave, she approached the buckskin. The horse was trembling, its ears tucked flat against its skull. 'It's only me, girl,' said Zerah. 'Calm down, now.' As she spoke Esther screamed, and Zerah spun round.

In the mouth of the cave stood a monstrosity. Eight feet tall, with huge shoulders and long arms, the fingers ending in curved talons, the beast was covered with silver-grey fur. Its massive head was lowered, its tawny eyes fixed on the two children cowering by the small fire. The buckskin reared and whinnied, catching the creature's attention.

Zerah Wheeler drew her old pistol, and wondered whether a bullet could bring the giant Wolver down.

'You stay calm, now, kids,' she said, her voice steady. Cocking the pistol she walked forward. 'I don't know if you can understand me,' she said, keeping her eyes on the beast, 'but this here pistol has six charges. And I hit what I god damn aim at. So back off and we'll all be happier.'

The beast howled, the sound reverberating like thunder in the cave. Zerah glanced at the fire. Beside it lay a thick branch festooned with long-dead leaves. Keeping the pistol steady, she reached down with her left hand and lifted the branch, touching the leaves to the little blaze. They caught instantly, flames searing out. Zerah stood and walked towards the creature. 'Back off, you son of a bitch!' she said.

The beast backed up — then sprang forward. Zerah did not give an inch, but thrusting the flames into its face she shot it in the throat. The huge Wolver went down and rolled. Zerah jumped to the mouth of the cave and shot it again as it tried to stand.

'Jesus wept!' she whispered.

Outside the cave were more of the beasts. 'Kids,' she called, 'I want you to climb that chimney at the back. I want you to do it now.'

Still holding the branch, she backed into the cave. A creature sprang at her, but calmly she shot it in the chest. Another ran from the right; a shot came from the back of the cave, shearing half the beast's head away. Zerah glanced back to see that Oz had her rifle in his hands and was standing his ground.

Pride flared in her then, but her voice was sharp and commanding. 'Get up that God damn chimney!' she ordered.

The beasts were advancing cautiously. With only three shells left, Zerah knew she could not hold them all

— nor would she have time to turn and climb out of their reach. 'Are you climbing?' she called, not daring to glance back.

'Yes, Frey,' she heard Oz shout, his voice echoing from within the chimney.

'Good boy.'

Suddenly the buckskin bolted past her, scattering the beasts as it made a dash for the transient freedom of the forest. In that moment Zerah turned and sprinted for the chimney. Slamming the pistol in her holster, she grabbed a thin ledge of rock and levered herself up, her boots scrabbling on the stone.

Swiftly she climbed until she could see Oz just above her, helping Esther. It was narrow in the chimney, but there was just room for the children to squeeze up on to a wider ledge below the cliff-top.

Pain flashed through her foot. Zerah screamed, and felt herself being dragged down. Oz pushed the rifle over the edge, barrel down, and fired. Zerah dragged out her pistol and put two shots into the Wolver below. It fell, its talons tearing off Zerah's boot. Oz grabbed her, and with the boy's help she eased her skinny body through the gap. Blood was seeping from a wound in her ankle, and a six-inch talon was embedded in her calf. Zerah prised it loose. 'You are brave kids,' she said. 'By God, I'm proud of you!'

From the pocket of her coat Zerah took a folding knife and opened the blade. Tf you'd be so good as to give me your shirt, Oz, I'll make some bandages and try to stop this bleeding.'

'Yes, Frey,' he said, pulling off his coat and shirt. As she worked she told the boy to count the shells left in the rifle. It didn't take long: there were two.

'I still have the little gun you gave me,' said Oz.

She shook her head. 'That'll do you no good against these creatures. Still, the noise might frighten 'em, eh?' The boy forced a smile and nodded. Zerah bandaged her ankle and then delved into the pocket of her coat, producing a strip of dried beef. 'It's not much of a breakfast,' she said, 'but it will have to do.'

'I'm not hungry,' said Esther. 'Are we going to die?'

'You listen to me, child,' said Zerah. 'We're alive, and I aim for us to stay that way. Now let's climb out of here.'

'Is that wise, Frey?' asked Oz. 'They can't get us here.'

That's true, boy. But I don't think that strip of beef is going to hold us for the rest of our lives, do you?

Now we can't be more than six, maybe seven, miles from Pilgrim's Valley. We'll be safe there. I'll go first, you follow.'

Zerah forced herself to her feet and climbed towards the patch of blue some twenty feet above her.

Shannow climbed the stairs to the second level and found the young red-headed youngster kneeling by a window, staring out over the yard. 'What are they doing now?' he asked the boy.

Wallace put down his rifle and stood. 'Just sitting. Can't understand it, Meneer. One minute they're tearing up everything in sight, the next they're lying like hounds in the moonlight.'

They fed,' explained Shannow. 'The question is, how long before their hunger brings them against us?

You be ready now.'

This is a strong-built house, Meneer, but the windows and doors ain't gonna hold 'em — I can tell you that.

Back in town they was ripping them apart like they was paper. And they can jump too, by God! I saw one spring maybe fifteen feet up on to the side of a building.'

They can jump,' agreed Shannow, 'and they can die too.'

Wallace grinned. They can that.' As Shannow turned to move away, the boy reached out and took hold of his arm. 'You saved my life. I didn't even know that thing was close. I won't forget it.'

Shannow smiled. 'You settled that debt when you half-carried me back. I was all finished. You're a good man, Wallace. I'm proud to know you.' The two men shook hands and Shannow walked back to the narrow hallway, checking the other two adjoining rooms on this upper floor. Both were bedrooms, one decorated with lace curtains, yellowed now with age. Children's drawings and sketches were still pinned to the walls, stick men in front of box houses, with smoke curling from chimneys. In the corner, by the closed window, was a stuffed toy dog with floppy ears. Shannow remembered when little Mary carried it everywhere. The other room was Samuel's. The walls were lined with shelves which carried many books, including a special gold-edged edition of The New Elijah. Shannow sighed. Another of Saul's little vanities. When it was published Shannow had read the first chapter, outlining God's call to the young Jerusalem Man, then sent for Saul.

'What is this. .garbage?'

'It's not garbage, Deacon. Everything in that book is fact. We got most of it from primary sources, men who knew the Jerusalem Man, who heard his words. I would have thought you would have been pleased. He predicted your coming.'

'He did no such thing, Saul. And half of the names in the first chapter never came within a hundred miles of Shannow. Several others have let their imaginations run riot.'

'But. . how would you know that, Deacon?'

‘I know. How is no concern of yours. How many have been printed?'

Saul smiled. 'Forty thousand, Deacon. And they've sold so fast we're going for a second printing.'

'No, we are not! Let it go, Saul.'

Shannow lifted the book from the shelf and flipped it open. In the centre was a black and white engraving showing a handsome man on a rearing black stallion, silver pistols in the rider's hands, and upon his head a sleek black hat. All around him were dead Hellborn. 'At least they didn't say I killed ten thousand with the jawbone of an ass,' whispered Shannow, tossing the book to the pine bed.

Carefully he opened the shutter and leaned out. Below him was Jeremiah's wagon, the roof ripped apart.

Several Wolvers were asleep within it, others were stretched out by the ruined barn.

What are you going to do, Shannow? he asked himself.

How do you plan to stop the Beast?

Fear touched him then, but he fought it down.

'What are you doing here?' asked Beth. This is my son's room.'

Shannow sat upon the bed, remembering the times he had read to the boy. ‘I don't need your hatred, Beth,' he said softly.

'I don't hate you, Deacon. I despise you. There is a difference.'

Wearily he stood. 'You ought to make up your mind, woman. You despise me because I gave no ground and saw my enemies slain; you despised your lover, Jon Cade, because he wouldn't slay his enemies.

What exactly do you require from the men in your life?'

'I don't need to debate with you,' she said stonily.

'Really? Then why did you follow me here?'

'I don't know. Wish I hadn't.' But she made no move to leave. Instead she walked further into the room and sat down on an old wicker chair by the window. 'How come you knew about me and Jon? You have spies here?'

'No… no spies. I knew because I was here, Beth. I was here.'

'I never saw you.'

'You still don't see me,' he said sadly, rising and walking past her. The pine steps creaked under his weight and Dr Meredith turned as Shannow approached.

'It's terribly quiet,' said the younger man.

'It won't stay that way, Doctor. You should ask if Frey McAdam has a spare weapon for you.'

‘I am not very good with guns, Deacon. I never wanted to be, either.'

'That's fine, Doctor, as long as there is someone else to do your hunting for you. However, you won't need to be good. The targets will be close enough to rip off your face. Get a gun.'

'What does it take to make a man like you, Deacon?' asked Meredith, his face reddening.

'Pain, boy. Suffering, sorrow and loss.' Shannow pointed at Jeremiah's blanket-covered corpse. 'Today you had a tiny taste of it. By tomorrow you'll know more. I don't mind you judging me, boy. You couldn't be harder on me than I am on myself. For now, though, I suggest we work together to survive.'

Meredith nodded. 'I guess that is true,' he said. 'You were starting to tell me about the Gateways. Who made them, and why?'

Shannow moved to the armchair and gazed down at the sleeping woman. Beth had found a small, beautifully carved crib and had placed the babe in it, beside the chair. 'No one knows,' he said, keeping his voice soft. 'A long time ago I met a man who claimed they were created in Atlantis, twelve thousand years before the Second Fall. But they may be older. The old world was full of stories about Gateways, and old straight paths, dragon trails and ley lines. There are few facts, but scores of speculative theories.'

'How are they opened?'

Shannow moved silently away from the mother and child and stood by the door. 'I couldn't tell you. I knew a woman who was adept at such matters. But she remained behind on the day of the Fall, and I guess was killed with the rest of the world. She once took me through to her home in a place called Arizona. Beautiful land. But how she did it. .?'He shrugged.'She had a piece of Sipstrassi, a Daniel Stone. There was a burst of violet light, and then we were there.'

'Ah, yes,' said Meredith, 'the Stones. I've heard of them but never seen one. A hospital in Unity used them to cure cancer and the like. Astonishing.'

'Amen to that,' said Shannow. 'They can make an old man young, or heal the sick, or create food from molecules in the air. It is my belief that Moses used them to part the Red Sea — but I cannot prove it.'

'God had no hand in it, then?' asked Meredith, with a smile.

'I don't try to second-guess God, young man. If He created the Sipstrassi in the first place, then they are still miracles. If He gave one to Moses, you could still say that God's power parted the waves. However, this is not the time for Biblical debate. The Stones make imagination reality. That's all I know.'

'Be nice to have one or two at this moment,' said Meredith. 'With one thought we could kill all the wolves.'

'Sipstrassi cannot kill,' Shannow told him.

Meredith laughed. That's your problem, Deacon. You lack the very imagination you say the Stones need.'

'What do you mean?'

Meredith stood. 'Take this chair. It is of wood. Surely a Stone could transform it into a bow and arrows?

Then you could shoot something and kill it. Sipstrassi would have killed it, albeit once removed. And these Gateways you speak of, well, perhaps there is no technique. Perhaps the woman you knew was not adept at all — merely imaginative.'

Shannow thought about it. 'You think she merely wished herself home?'

'Quite possibly. However, it is all academic now.'

'Yes,' agreed Shannow absently. 'Thank you, Doctor.'

'It is a pleasure, Deacon.' Meredith moved to the window and leaned down to peer through the gap in the shutters. 'Oh, God!' he said suddenly. 'Oh, my dear God!'

Isis floated back to consciousness on a warm sea of dreams, memories of childhood on the farm near Unity — her dog, Misha, unsuccessfully chasing rabbits across the meadow, barking furiously in his excitement. His enjoyment was so total that when Isis gently merged with his feelings tears of joy flowed from her eyes. Misha knew a happiness no human — bar Isis — could ever share. He was a mongrel, and his heritage could be seen in every line of his huge body. His head was wolf-like, with wide tawny eyes.

But his ears were long and floppy, his chest powerful. According to Isis's father, Misha was quite possibly the worst guard-dog ever born; when strangers approached he would rush up to them with tail wagging, and wait to be petted. Isis loved him.

She was almost grown when he died. Isis had been walking by the stream when the bear erupted out of the thicket. Isis stood her ground and mentally reached out to the beast, using all her powers to calm its rage. She was failing, for the pain within it was colossal. The young girl even had time to note the cancerous growth that was sending flames of agony through the bear's belly, even as it bore down on her.

Misha had charged the bear, leaping to fasten his powerful jaws on the furred throat. The bear had been surprised by the ferocity of the attack but had recovered swiftly, turning on the hound and lashing out with its talons.

A shot rang out, then another, and another. The bear had staggered and tried to lumber back into the thicket. A fourth shot saw it slump to the ground and Isis's father had run up, dropping his rifle and throwing his arms around his daughter. 'My God, I thought you were going to die,' he said, hugging her to him.

Misha had whimpered then. Isis tore herself loose from her father's embrace, and threw herself down alongside the dying hound, stroking its head, trying to draw away its pain. Misha's tail had wagged weakly, even as he died.

Isis had wept, but her father drew her upright. 'He did his job, girl. And he did it well,' he said gently.

'I know,' answered Isis. 'Misha knew it too. He was happy as he died.'

The sadness was still with her as she opened her eyes in the wagon. She blinked and found herself staring at the stars. Half of the roof was missing, and she could see great tears in the wooden canopy. Her right side was warm and she reached out, her hand touching fur. 'Oh, Misha,' she said, 'you mustn't get on the bed. Daddy will scold me.'

A low rumbling growl sounded, but Isis drifted off to sleep again, the terrible strength-sapping power of her illness draining her of energy. A weight came down over her chest, her eyes opened and she saw a huge face above hers, a long lolling tongue and sharp fangs. Her hand was still touching the fur, and she could feel the warmth of flesh beneath it. ‘I can't stroke you,' she whispered. ‘I’m too tired.'

She sighed and tried to turn to her side. At least the pain is gone, she thought. Maybe death will not be so very bad after all. Isis wanted to sit up, but she didn't have the strength. Opening her eyes again she saw that the side of the wagon was also partially destroyed. Something had happened! Some calamity.

'I must get up,' she said and lifting her hand, she looped her arm over Misha's neck and pulled. He growled, but she succeeded in raising her body. Dizziness swamped her and she fell in towards Misha, resting her head on his shoulder.

A second growl came from below the bed and a monstrous creature loomed up from the floor of the cabin. Isis looked at it, and yawned. Her head was spinning, her thoughts fragmented. Misha felt so warm. Reaching out, she touched his mind. There was anger there, a poisonous fury held in check only by… by what? Memories of a hollow by a lake, young Wolvers running around his feet. A… wife?

'You're not my Misha,' said Isis, 'and you are in pain.' Softly she stroked the fur.

The second beast lunged at her. The first hit it with a backhand blow, sending it smashing against the cabin wall.

'Stop it! Stop it!' said Isis wearily. 'You mustn't fight.' She sagged against the beast. 'I'm thirsty,' she said.

'Help me up.' Pulling once more she rose on trembling legs, pushing past the Devourer and stumbling to the rear of the cabin where she almost fell down the steps and out into the yard.

The moon was high, and she was almost at the end of her strength. There was no sign of Jeremiah, Meredith or the others. No wagons camped in a circle. No fires burning. Her vision swam and she swayed, catching hold of the left rear wheel.

The yard was full of hounds, big hounds.

She saw the house, bars of golden light showing through the closed shutters. Everyone must be there, she thought. But I can't reach it.

I must! I don't want to die here, alone. Drawing in a deep breath, she let go of the wheel and took two faltering steps.

Then she fell.

The Deacon saw Meredith stumble away from the window.

Shannow stepped up to the shutters, peering out through the crack. He saw a young woman in a dress of faded blue, her blonde hair shining white in the moonlight, lying stretched out on the ground. Before he could speak he heard the door open. 'No!' he hissed.

But Meredith was already moving out into the yard.

With a muttered curse Shannow followed him, drawing his pistols. The beasts were everywhere, most lying quietly under the stars, their bellies full, but a few prowling now at the edge of the barn, or gnawing on the bloody bones of the butchered horses, milk cows and oxen. Shannow cocked the pistols and stood in the doorway, watching the young doctor make his way across to the fallen girl. Meredith was moving slowly, and for the moment the beasts seemed to be ignoring him.

A Devourer moved from the rear of the wagon and saw the walking man. A deep growl sounded and it ambled forward. Several others looked up. One stretched and howled, the sound chilling. Meredith faltered, but then walked on and knelt beside Isis. Reaching down, he took hold of her wrist. The pulse was weak and fluttering. Pushing his hands under her shoulders he hauled her into an upright position, then twisted down to lift her legs. Her head fell to his shoulder.

A Devourer reared above him, saliva dripping from its fangs. Isis moaned as Meredith backed away, the beast following.

In the doorway Shannow aimed his pistol, but now other beasts were closing in on the doctor. Meredith turned his back on them and started to walk back towards the house. Shannow's mouth was dry, his palms greasy with sweat. The doctor stumbled, but righted himself and walked on. Shannow stepped aside as he climbed the porch steps and entered the house. Swiftly Shannow followed him, slamming shut the door and dropping the bar into place.

Outside a great howl went up. The shutters on the window exploded inwards and a beast thrust its upper body through the frame. Shannow shot it through the head. Another clambered over the body of the first; Shannow fired twice into its huge chest and it slumped forward, leaking blood to the dirt floor.

The young mother lurched to her feet, screaming, 'Don't let them get me! Don't let them get me!'

Talons raked at the door, splintering the wood. Wallace Nash ran half-way down the stairs and levelled his shotgun. A section of timber on the door was torn away as a taloned arm lunged through. Wallace fired both barrels. The arm jerked as blood sprayed from it. Shannow shot through the door.

The sounds of gunfire echoed away. Shannow moved to the window, seeing that the beasts had pulled back.

'I've never seen anything like it,' said Wallace Nash. 'Son of a bitch! Man, that took some nerve.'

Meredith wasn't listening. He was kneeling over the unconscious Isis, his tears falling to her face.

Shannow pushed closed the shutters. The locking bar had been snapped in half, but he wedged them by ramming a knife down into the window-sill. It would not hold against a Devourer, but it gave the illusion of security.

He could scarcely believe what he had seen. Meredith, the man whose panic had killed Jeremiah, had just performed an act of complete heroism. Beth came downstairs. The baby was crying now, and she lifted it from the crib. When the young mother snatched it away and fled upstairs, Beth moved alongside Meredith. There were no signs of wounds on the body of the young blonde girl he was attending. 'What's the matter with her, Doctor?' Beth asked.

'She has an illness which has corrupted her immune system: It is very rare; even in the old world it affected only a handful in every million.' He glanced up and saw that Beth did not understand him.

Meredith sighed. 'Our bodies are equipped with a… defence mechanism. When illness strikes we make antibodies to fight it. Like measles, a child generally will succumb only once, because the body identifies the invading organism, then makes defences to stop it happening again. You understand? Well, in the case of Isis, her defence mechanism has targeted organs in her own body, and is slowly destroying them.

It was called Addison's Disease.'

'And there is nothing that can be done?' asked'Wallace.

'Nothing. The elders used medicines called steroids, but we don't know how they were made.'

'Where did she come from?' asked Wallace. 'How did she get here, through all them creatures?'

'We brought her with us,' said Meredith. 'She was in the wagon. We thought she was on the verge of death and. . to my eternal shame… I left her there.'

'Jesus!' said Wallace. 'But why didn't they kill her? They was all over the wagon.'

Meredith shrugged. 'I have no answer to that.'

'No, but she does,' said the Deacon softly and, kneeling beside her, he laid his hand on her brow. 'Come back to us, Isis,' he said. Meredith watched amazed as colour seeped back into the pale face. Beneath his fingers the pulse became steadier, stronger.

Isis opened her eyes and smiled. 'Hello, Jake,' she said.

'How are you feeling?'

'Wonderful. Rested.' She sat up and looked around. 'Where is this place?'

'It's a farm near Pilgrim's Valley,' said Shannow.

'Where's Jeremiah?'

Shannow helped her to her feet. 'Do you remember the beasts in the wagon?' he asked, ignoring her question.

'Yes. Big, aren't they? Are they yours, Jake?'

'No. They are savage. They killed Jeremiah, and many others. The question is, why did they not kill you?'

'Jeremiah is dead?' Then she saw the blanket-covered body. 'Oh no, Jake!' Isis moved to the body, pulling back the blanket and gazing down on the old man's face.

Meredith moved alongside Shannow. Ts she. . healed?'

Shannow nodded. 'Completely. But I must know about the beasts.'

'Let it rest, for God's sake,' protested Beth. 'She's been through enough.'

'We cannot let it rest,' said Shannow. 'When those beasts make a concerted attack, we will be dead. If Isis knows a way to control them or render them harmless, I must know it. You hear me, child?' he asked the weeping Isis. She nodded, and covered Jeremiah's face once more. Rising, she faced the Deacon.

‘I don't know why they didn't harm me,' she said. 'I can't help you.'

‘I think you can, my love,' said Meredith. 'Animals never attack you, do they? You once told me it was because you liked them. But it is more than that, isn't it? You can. . communicate with them. Remember when you told Jeremiah about the lung disease that was crippling his lead oxen?'

'I… can't talk to them, or anything,' Isis told him. 'I just. . merge with their minds.'

'What do you remember of their minds?' asked the Deacon, pointing towards the window.

'It's very hazy. It's like their thoughts are full of angry wasps, stinging them all the time.'

'Here they come!' yelled Wallace.

Oz Hankin was more tired than frightened as they crossed the ridge and began the long descent into Pilgrim's Valley. They had walked for most of the day and there had been no sign of the wolf creatures.

The wind had been at their backs for most of the journey, and it seemed now that they would escape the beasts. Esther was being carried by Frey Wheeler, which annoyed Oz. Little girls always got the best treatment. It was the same back at the farm with Dad; if their room was a mess, or if the chores weren't completed, it was Oz who got it in the neck.

Now it was Esther who was being carried. The fact that he was ten pounds heavier than Esther, and three inches taller, made little difference to the twelve-year-old. Life just wasrr't fair!

And he was hungry. As he walked he remembered the taste of apple pie, and powdered sugar, and the sweet honey-cakes his father had made after they found the hive in the woods.

Frey Wheeler halted and swung Esther to the ground. 'Need to rest a mite, child,' she said. The woods were close and Oz saw Zerah studying them. She sniffed, then spat. It surprised Oz; ladies weren't supposed to spit. Esther immediately copied her and Zerah laughed. 'Don't imitate me, Esther,' she warned. There's things people will tolerate in the old that they won't in the young.'

'Why?' Esther asked.

'It just ain't done, child.' She turned towards Oz. 'You got sharp eyes, young Oz. What can you see in the trees yonder?'

'Nothing, Frey. Looks clear.'

'Then we'll chance it,' she said, hefting her rifle. Slowly the trio set off across the last stretch of open ground. The land dropped sharply to their right, and as they walked they saw a trail leading west across the mountains. 'Logging road,' said Zerah, as they scrambled down it. At the foot Zerah stopped again, her ancient face showing purple streaks under the eyes and beside the mouth. She was breathing heavily and Oz became concerned.

'You feeling okay, Frey?' asked Oz. The old lady was sweating now, and her eyes seemed more sunken than usual, lacking their normal brightness. She smiled, but Oz could see the effort behind it.

'Just tired, boy. But I ain't done yet. Just give me a minute to catch my breath.'

Oz sat back on a rock, while Esther ran off into the bushes at the side of the road.

The sound of horses' hooves came to him. Oz was about to warn Esther, but the riders appeared around a bend in the road. At first Oz was pleased, for if they were men from Pilgrim's Valley it would mean a pleasant ride in comparative safety. His joy was short-lived as he recognised the man on the lead horse: he was one of those who had shot his father. The men saw them and spurred their horses forward. There were seven in the group, but Oz recognised only the first as they reined in before Zerah.

'Well, well, what have we here?' asked the lead rider, a thin man with long side-burns and deep-set dark eyes. In his hands was a squat, black pistol which was pointed at Zerah. Oz saw that Zerah's rifle was still resting against the rock. There would be no time to lift it and fire. And even if she could, there were only two shots left.

'Don't harm these children,' said the old lady wearily.

'Where's the girl?' asked the leader.

Oz slipped his hand in his pocket, curling it round the butt of the little pistol. Only the lead rider had a gun in his hand, the rest were merely sitting on their horses, watching the exchange.

'You should just ride on,' said Zerah. 'Killing children is no work for grown men.'

'Don't lecture me, you hag! We was told to find them and get rid of them. That's what we aim to do.

Now tell me where the girl is and I'll kill you clean. One shot. Otherwise I'll blow away your kneecaps and make you scream for an hour or two.'

'You always was a low creature, Bell,' said a voice. 'But, by God, I swear you could walk under a door without bending your knees.'

Oz looked to the right, where two riders had arrived unnoticed. The man who spoke was wide-shouldered, wearing a dust-stained black coat and a red brocade waistcoat. His hair was dark, though silver at the temples. Beside him was a younger man.

'By Heaven,' said Bell, 'you're a long way from home, aren't you, Laton? Heard they butchered your gang and that you ran off with your tail between your legs. I always knew you weren't so salty. Now be on your way, we've business here.'

Threatening women?' taunted the rider. 'That's about all you're worth, Bell.'

Bell laughed and shook his head. 'Always one for words, Laton,' he said. Oz saw the killer suddenly swing the black pistol towards the rider. Laton swayed to the side, a nickel-plated pistol seeming to leap into his hand. Bell fired — and missed. Laton returned the shot, and Bell pitched from his saddle. Seizing the chance, Oz pulled the little pistol clear and fired at the closest man. He saw the shot strike home as a puff of dust came from the man's jacket and he sagged in the saddle. Horses reared and shots exploded all around him. Oz tried to aim but Zerah dived at him, dragging him down and covering him with her body.

He heard the thunder of hooves and saw the three remaining hunters fleeing. One horse was down and there were four bodies lying on the logging road. The other three horses had run off a little way and were now standing some fifty yards distant. 'It's all right, Frey, they've gone,' he said.

The man in the brocade waistcoat knelt by them, lifting Zerah from him. 'Are you hurt, lady?' he asked.

'Only my pride,' she said, allowing Laton to help her rise. 'Don't know how I let them get so close.'

Laton grinned. A groan came from the left where Bell was pushing himself to his knees, his right hand gripping his belly, blood pouring through his fingers. Oz watched as the rescuer approached the wounded man.

'By damn, Bell, you are a hard man to kill,' he said. His pistol came up and fired, and Bell pitched backwards and lay still.

'He was one that needed killing,' said Zerah, struggling to rise. Oz helped her, then recovered his pistol from the road.

'I should have done it a long time ago,' said Laton. Turning away, he called out to his friend, 'Hey, Nestor, catch those horses yonder and we'll offer these folks company on the road.'

Esther peeped out from the bushes. Zerah called to her and she scampered across to the old lady, hugging at her leg. Zerah leaned down and kissed the top of the child's head.

As the younger man rode off for the riderless horses, the older one turned to Oz. 'You did right well there, son. I like a lad with spirit.'

'Are you Laton Duke, sir?' asked Oz.

The man grinned and extended his hand. The name is Clem. ClemSteiner.'

'But he called you. .'

'Just a case of mistaken identity. I never saw him before,' he said, with a wink.

Oz shook the man's hand as Zerah gathered up her rifle. 'Idon't much care who you are,' she said. Td have welcomed the Devil himself, with open arms, just to see that piece of scum go to Hell.'

'Your grandma is one tough lady,' observed Clem.

'Yes sir!' agreed Oz. 'You don't know the half of it.'

The attack was short-lived, only four of the creatures charging at the house. Wallace took out the first with a double-barrelled blast while it was still in the yard, Shannow shot down two others as they tore the shutters away from the window. The last leapt to the porch awning and tried to enter an upstairs window.

Beth ran into the room and fired three shots into the beast's chest, catapulting it back to the yard, where Wallace killed it as it tried to rise.

The downstairs rooms stank of cordite and a haze of blue smoke hung in the air. Dr Meredith approached the Deacon. 'You have a Stone, don't you?' he said, as the Deacon reloaded his pistols.

'Yes. One small Stone.'

'Surely, with its power, you could block all the windows and the doors?'

'I could,' the Deacon agreed, 'but I don't know how long the power would last, and I need that Stone, Doctor, for when the real evil shows up.'

Meredith's eyes widened. The real evil? These beasts are not the real evil?' Quietly Shannow told him about the Bloodstone, and how it had destroyed its own world. He told him of the colosseum, and the forty thousand dead, of the absence of birds, animals and insects.

'Oh, God. . you really saw this?' asked Meredith.

'I saw it, Doctor. Trust me. I wish I hadn't.'

Then what can stop him?'

The Deacon gave a weary smile. That is a problem that has haunted me for twenty years. I still have no answer.'

Isis joined them. Leaning forward, she kissed the Deacon's cheek and the old man smiled up at her. 'A kiss from a beautiful girl is a wonderful tonic.'

'It must be working,' said Isis, 'for I'm sure your beard is darker, Jake, than when first I saw you.'

That's true,' agreed Meredith. 'How is your wound?'

'I healed it,' said Shannow.

‘I think you did more than that,' said Meredith. Tsis is right-your skin is looking less wrinkled and ancient.

You're getting younger.' He sighed. 'Good Lord, what wonders could be achieved if we had more of those Stones!'

The Deacon shook his head. The Guardians had them, but the Stones were corrupted — just like everything man touches. Sipstrassi has its dark side, Doctor. When fed with blood the result is terrifying.

Look at the creatures yonder, the Bloodstones in their brows. Once they were Wolvers, gentle and shy.

Look at them now. Consider the Bloodstone himself: once he was a man with a mission, to bring back the earth to a Garden of Eden. Now he is a destroyer. No, I think we would all be better off without any Stones of power.'

Beth called out to Meredith, to come and help her prepare food. The doctor moved away and Isis sat beside Shannow.

'You are sad,' she said.

'You see too much,' he told her, with a smile.

'I see more than you think,' she said, her voice low. 'I know who you are.'

'Best to say nothing, child.'

‘I felt as if I was floating on a dark sea. Then you came to me. We merged when you drew me back. We were one — as we are one now.' She took his hand and squeezed it, and he felt a sudden warmth within his mind, a loss of loneliness and sorrow. He heard her voice inside his head. 'I know all of your thoughts and concerns. Your memories are now mine. That's why I can tell that you are not an evil man, Jake.'

'I am responsible for the deaths of thousands, Isis. By their fruits shall ye judge them. Women, children -

an entire race. All dead by my order.' Harsh memories erupted into his mind, but Isis flowed over them, forcing them back.

‘That cannot be changed. . Deacon. But an evil man would not concern himself with guilt. He would have no conception of it. Putting that aside for a moment, I also share, now, your fears about the Bloodstone. You don't know what to do, but in your memories there is one who could help. A man with great imagination and the powers of a seer.'

'Who?' As swiftly as she had merged with him, she was gone, and Shannow felt the pain of withdrawal, a return to the solitary cell of his own being.

'Lucas,' she said, aloud.

He looked into her beautiful face and sighed. 'He went down with the Fall of the world hundreds of years ago.'

'You are not thinking,' she said. 'What are the Gateways, if not doorways through time? Amaziga took you back to Arizona. Could you not travel the same route? You must get Lucas.'

‘I have no horse, and even if I did it's a three-day ride to Domango. I haven't the time.'

'Why go to Domango? Did not Amaziga tell you that the stone circles were placed where the earth energy was strongest? There must be other places where they did not place stones, yet the energy is still there.'

'How would I find one?'

'Ah, Deacon, you lack the very quality that the Stones need. You do not have imagination.'

'Meredith has already pointed that out,' he said testily.

'Give me the Stone,' she ordered him. Fishing it from his pocket, he placed it in her hand. 'Come with me,' she said, and he followed her upstairs into Mary's old room. She opened the shutter. 'Look out and tell me what you see.'

'Hills, the slope of the valley, woods. The night sky. What would you have me see?'

Placing the Stone against his brow, she said,’I want you to see the land and its power. Where would a circle of stone be placed? Think of it, Deacon. The men who erected the stone circles must have been able to identify the power points. Draw from the Sipstrassi. See!'

His vision swam and the dark grey of the night landscape began to swirl with colour- deep reds and purples, yellows and greens, constantly shifting, flowing, blending. Rivers of colour, streams and lakes, never still, always surging and vibrant. 'What is the colour of power?' he heard her ask, as if from a great distance.

'Power is everywhere,' he told her. 'Healing, mending, growing.'

'Close your eyes and picture the stone circle at Domango.' He did so, seeing again the hillside and Amaziga's Arizona house, and the distant San Francisco Peaks.

'I can see it,' he told her.

'Now gaze upon it with the eyes of Sipstrassi. See the colours.'

The desert was blue-green, the mountains pink and grey. The rivers of power were lessened here, sluggish and tired. Shannow gazed upon the old stone circle. The hillside was bathed in a gentle gold, flickering and pulsing. Opening his eyes, he turned to Isis. 'It is a golden yellow,' he said.

'Can you see such a point from here, Jake?' she asked, pointing out of the window.