Bloodstone

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

When will we have peace? That is the cry upon the lips of the multitude. I hear it. I understand it. The answer is not easy to voice, and it is harder to hear. Peace does not come when the brigands are slain. It is not born with the end of a current War. It does not arrive with the beauty of the Spring. Peace is a gift of the grave, and is found only in the silence of the tomb.

From the Deacon's last letter to the Church of Unity

Isis moved out into the yard, enjoying the freshness of the predawn air. Several of the wolf creatures were stretched out asleep, but she sensed the presence of others within the ruined barn. She could feel them now, their pain and anguish, and as she crossed the lines of power that stretched back from them to the Bloodstone her limbs tingled and stung.

Concentrating hard, she narrowed her eyes. Now she could see the lines, tiny and red, like stretched wire, pulsing between the servants and the master, passing through the house, burrowing through the hillsides. Her body aglow with Sipstrassi power, she stared intently at the lines- severing them, watching them wither and fail. An instant later they were gone, snuffed out like candle flames.

Walking steadily forward, she approached the first sleeping beast. Reaching down she touched its brow, her index finger and thumb taking hold of the Bloodstone shard embedded there. The evil contained in the shard swept back over her and, for the merest moment, she felt a surge of hatred. It was an emotion she had never experienced and she faltered. The Bloodstone turned black and fell away from the wolf.

'I do not hate,' she said aloud. 'I will not hate.' The feeling passed, and Isis knew she was stronger now.

'Come to me!' she called. 'Come!'

The beasts rose up, growling. Others poured from the barn.

Now she felt the hatred coming at her like a tidal wave. Isis absorbed it all, draining it of energy and purpose.

A creature lunged forward, rearing up before her, but Isis reached out swiftly to touch its huge chest.

Instantly she merged. Its Wolver memories were buried deep, but she found them, drawing them up into the beast's upper mind. With a cry it fell back from her.

Isis let her power swell, enveloping the mutated animals like a healing mist and sending the power out over the mountains and hills. One by one the beasts dropped to the ground, and she watched as their great size dwindled, the dead Stones falling from their brows.

Then the power left her, drifting away as the dawn light crept over the eastern mountains. Tired now, Isis sat down. A little Wolver padded across to her, taking her hand.

The Deacon strode across the yard, holstering his pistols. The Wolvers scattered and ran, heading away into the distant hills.

'I felt him, Deacon,' she whispered. 'I felt the Bloodstone.'

The Deacon helped her to rise. 'Where is he?'

'He has rebuilt a ruined city a day's ride from Pilgrim's Valley. He has warriors with him, black-garbed men with horned helmets. And the Jerusalem Rider, Jacob Moon.'

'Evil will always gather evil,' said the Deacon.

'The wolf creatures were linked to him, feeding him. Now the supply has stopped,' she said.

Then he'll have to go hungry.'

She shook her head. The horned riders will come, Deacon. The war is only just beginning.'

Jon Shannow stood on the brow of the hill, the Sipstrassi Stone in his hand. There was no circle of stones here, and no indication that there ever had been. Yet he knew this was a point of power, mystically linked to others throughout time. What he did not know was how to harness that power, how to travel to a given destination.

Was it just imagination, or were there sets of co-ordinates needed by the users?

Back in Babylon he had learned that there were certain windows in time that would enable travellers to move across the Gateways with minimum energy from Sipstrassi. How did one know when such a window was open?

Closing his fist around the Stone he pictured the house in Arizona, the paddock, and the red jeep, the sun over the desert. The Stone grew warm in his hand. Take me to the world before the Fall,' he said.

Violet light flared around him, then faded.

There was the house. There was no red jeep there now. The paddock was gone, replaced by a tarmac square and two tennis courts. Beyond the house he could see a swimming-pool. Shannow stepped out of the circle and strolled down to the building.

The front door was locked. Leaning back he kicked hard at the wood, which splintered but did not give.

Twice more he thundered his boot against the lock, then the door swung inwards.

Swiftly he moved across the living-room. It was sweltering hot inside, and airless. Out of habit he wandered through to the lounge, flicking on the air-conditioning unit. He grinned. So long away, yet as soon as he returned he thought of the wonderful comforts of this old, doomed world.

Moving back to the main room he plugged in the computer leads, engaged the electricity and watched the screen flicker to life. Lucas's face appeared.

'Good day, Mr Shannow,' said Lucas.

'I need you, my friend,' said the Deacon.

'Is Amaziga with you?'

'No. I have not seen her in twenty years or more.' Shannow pulled up a swivel seat and sat before the screen.

'She left here some time ago for Brazil. My dates are confused. I think there must have been an electrical storm. What is today's date?'

'I don't know. Listen to me, Lucas. The Bloodstone is in my world. I need your help to destroy it.'

'There is nothing in your world to destroy it, Mr Shannow. As long as it lives it will feed. If you deny it blood, it will go dormant and wait — go into hibernation, if you will. But there is no weapon capable of causing it harm.'

'The Sword of God could have destroyed it,' said Shannow.

'Ah yes, but the Sword of God was a nuclear missile, Mr Shannow. Do you really want to see such a weapon descend on your land? It will wipe out countless thousands and further poison the land for centuries.'

'Of course not. But what I am saying is that there are weapons which could destroy him.'

'How can I help you? You can have access to all of my files, but few of them have any direct bearing on your world, save those which Amaziga supplied.'

'I want to know everything about Sarento. Everything.'

'The question, surely, is which Sarento. I know little about the man who became the Bloodstone.'

Then tell me about the Sarento you know, his dreams, his vanities, his ambitions.'

'Very well, Mr Shannow, I will assemble the files. The refrigerator is still working and you will find some cool drinks there. When you return we will go over the information.'

Shannow strolled through to the kitchen, fetching a carton of Florida orange juice and a glass. Sitting before the machine he listened as Lucas outlined Sarento's life. He was not a primary survivor of the Fall, though he sometimes pretended to be, but was born one hundred and twelve years later. A mathematical genius, he had been in the first team to discover Sipstrassi fragments, and use them for the benefit of the people who became known as the Guardians. While he listened Shannow remembered the struggle on board the restored Titanic, and the disaster in the cave of the original Bloodstone. Sarento had died there, Shannow barely escaping with his life.

There was little new to be learned. Sarento had been obsessed with the thought of returning the world to the status and lifestyle enjoyed in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. It was his life's work.

'Has that helped, Mr Shannow?'

Shannow sighed. 'Perhaps. Tell me now of the Gateways, and the points of power on which they were built.'

'You have me at a disadvantage there, Mr Shannow. The Gateways were used by the Atlanteans until the time of Pendarric and the first Fall of the world. Whether they were built by them, or not, is another matter entirely. Most of the ancient races are lost to us. It could even be that the world has Fallen many times, wiping out great civilisations. As to the power sites, they are many. There are three near here, and one is certainly as powerful as that upon which the ancients erected the stones. The earth is peppered with them. In Europe most of the sites have churches built upon them. Here in the United States some have been covered with mounds, others bearing ancient ruins. The people known as the Anasazi erected cities around the energy centres.'

'Do you have maps in your files?' asked Shannow.

'Of course. What would you like to see?'

'Show me the deserts of Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada.'

'Do you have more specific instructions?'

'I want to see all the energy centres, as you call them.'

For more than an hour Shannow pored over the maps, Lucas highlighting sites of power. 'More detail on this one,' said Shannow. 'Bring it up closer.' Lucas did so.

'I see what you are getting at, Mr Shannow. I will access other data that may be relevant to this line of enquiry. While I am doing so, would you mind if I activate the television? It annoys me that my date and time sections are down.'

'Of course,' said Shannow.

The wall-mounted unit flickered to life, the picture switching to a news text. The date and time were outlined in yellow at the top right-hand side of the screen.

'Mr Shannow!'

'What is it?'

'You have chosen a strange time to pass through the Gateway. We are only twelve minutes from the Fall.'

Shannow knew instantly how it had occurred. The last thought in his mind as the violet light had flared around him was to get to Arizona before the Fall. And he had remembered that awful morning as the plane lifted off — as indeed it was even now lifting off on that far coast.

'I need you with me, Lucas,' he said. 'Where is the portable Amaziga used?'

'She took one with her, Mr Shannow. There is a second, in the back bedroom — a small cupboard beneath the television and video units.' Shannow moved swiftly through to the room. The portable unit was even smaller than that which Amaziga had carried through to the world of the Bloodstone; Shannow almost missed it, believing it to be a stereo headset.

'Eight minutes, Mr Shannow,' came the calm voice of Lucas as the Jerusalem Man strode back into the main room.

'How do I hook up these leads?' he asked.

Lucas told him. Then: Take the blue lead and attach it to the point at the rear of the machine immediately above the main power socket.' Shannow did so. 'Transferring files,' said Lucas. 'We have five minutes and forty seconds.'

'How long will the transfer take?'

Three minutes.'

Shannow moved to the doorway, staring out over the desert. It was still, and hot, the sky a searing blue.

A huge jet passed overhead, gliding west towards the runways of Los Angeles Airport — runways that would be under billions of tons of roaring ocean long before the plane touched down.

The earth trembled beneath Shannow's feet and he reached out, taking hold of the door-frame.

'Almost there, Mr Shannow,' said Lucas. 'I managed to save forty-two seconds. Unhook me — and put on the headset.'

Shannow unplugged the lead and clipped the portable to his gun-belt. There was no ON/OFF switch and Lucas's voice sounded tinny through the headphones. ‘I think you had better run, Mr Shannow,' he said, his voice eerily calm.

The Jerusalem Man moved swiftly out of the house, leaping the porch steps and sprinting towards the old stone circle. 'One minute twelve seconds,' said Lucas.

The ground juddered. . Shannow stumbled. Righting himself, he ran up the hill and into the circle.

'Get us back,' he said.

'What are the co-ordinates?' Lucas asked.

'Co-ordinates? What do you mean?'

'A trace. A date and a place. We must know where we are going?'

'Beth McAdam's farm… but I don't know exactly when.' The wind began to build, clouds racing across the sky.

Twenty-eight seconds,' said Lucas. 'Hold tightly to the Stone, Mr Shannow.'

Violet light flared around them, as the wind shrieked and rose. 'Where are we going?' shouted Shannow.

'Trust me,' said Lucas softly.

Clem Steiner eased back from the brow of the hill, keeping his body low as he clambered down to join the others. Zerah and the children had dismounted, Nestor still sat in the saddle.

'What did you see?' asked Zerah.

'Kids, you hold on to the horses,' said Clem, with a smile to Oz.

'I want to see!' Esther complained, in a high voice.

Clem lifted a finger to his lips. 'Best stay quiet, girl, for there are bad men close by.'

'Sorry,' whispered Esther, putting her hand over her mouth.

Nestor dismounted and, together with Clem and Zerah, walked to just below the hilltop before dropping down to his belly and removing his hat. The others crawled alongside. On the plain below, no more than two hundred yards away, Nestor could see a dozen riders in horned helms and black breastplates, holding rifles in their hands. They were riding slowly alongside a walking group of men, women and children — maybe seventy of them, guessed Nestor.

'What are they doing?' asked Nestor. 'Who are they?'

'Hellborn.'

'There aren't any Hellborn,' snapped the boy. They was all wiped out.'

Then this is obviously just a dream,' responded Clem testily.

'Oh, they're Hellborn all right,' said Zerah. 'Zeb and I were with Daniel Cade during the First Hellborn War. And those people with them are being treated as prisoners.'

Nestor saw that she was right. The Hellborn — if that's what they were — were riding with their rifles pointed in at the group. They're moving towards Pilgrim's Valley,' said Nestor, thinking of the quiet strength of Captain Leon Evans and his Crusaders. They'd know how to deal with the situation.

As if reading the youngster's mind, Clem spoke. They can already see the buildings in the distance, but it don't seem to worry them none,' he whispered.

'What does that mean?'

The old woman cut in. 'It means that the town is already taken — or everyone has gone.'

Nestor, whose eyes were sharper than his companions', spotted a rider in the distance galloping out from the settlement. As he neared, Nestor squinted to see better, but he did not know the man.

Clem Steiner swore softly. 'Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle,' he said. 'Damned if that isn't Jacob Moon.'

Nestor had heard the name of the fearsome Jerusalem Rider. 'We have to help him,' he said. 'He can't take them alone!' He started to rise, but Clem dragged him down.

'Let's just watch, boy. I don't think Moon has come for a fight.'

Nestor swung on him, his face twisted in anger. 'Yes, I can believe you don't want to see Jacob Moon,'

he hissed. 'He'd make short work of a thieving brigand named Laton Duke.'

The rider closed on the Hellborn and raised his hand in greeting. One of the prisoners, a woman in a flowing blue skirt, ran to Moon, grabbing at his leg. The Jerusalem Rider kicked out to send her sprawling to the dust. A young man shouted and leapt at the rider. The gunshot echoed across the plain, and the man fell back screaming and clutching his shoulder.

'My God,' said Nestor, 'Moon is with them!'

'I'd say that was a pretty accurate assessment,' muttered Zerah. 'What I don't understand is why the Hellborn are taking prisoners. They didn't in the old days. Just blood and slaughter. It makes no sense.

There can't be that many of them, so why waste time and men guarding prisoners? You understand it, Meneer Steiner?'

'No. But if Moon is involved there must be a profit in it. The man is a thief and a murderer — and possibly the fastest man with a pistol I ever knew.'

'As fast as you?' sneered Nestor.

Steiner appeared to ignore the sarcasm. 'I'd say faster. Let's hope it doesn't need to be put to the test.'

'Scared, are you?'

'Oh, for God's sake grow up!' snapped Clem. 'You think you're the first boy who ever learned that the world isn't made up of knights and damsels? Yes, I was… am… Laton Duke. And no, I'm not proud of it. I was weak where I should have been strong, and too damn strong where I should have been weak.

But I don't owe you anything, son, and you have no right to take out your bitterness on me. Now I've taken it so far, because you're a nice lad, and learning about the Deacon's lies was a bitter blow for you.

But you'd better shape up, son, because we're in deep water here and I fear we'll be lucky to get out with our lives.'

'You heed those words, young man,' said Zerah. 'I got two children to take care of and the forces of evil seem mighty strong in these parts right now. I don't believe it would be smart to war amongst ourselves.'

Turning to Clem, she smiled. 'Where to now, Meneer Brigand?'

There's a woman I know lives near by… if she's still alive. We'll make for her place. You agreed on that, Nestor, or do you want to ride your own road?'

Nestor fought down a cutting response and took a deep breath. 'I'll ride with you that far,' he said.

Amaziga Archer's mind was calm as the wind screamed above the old Aztec temple, tearing rocks from the ancient walls, hurling them through the air as if they were made of paper. Uprooted trees smashed against the walls and the noise was deafening as she and Sam cowered in the underground chamber. The storm wind was still increasing — close to miles an hour, she remembered from her studies of the Fall of the world. As the earth toppled on its axis the setting sun rose in the west, the winds howled across the earth, to be followed by a tidal wave the like of which no man or woman had ever seen — and lived.

What strange beings we are, thought Amaziga, as she sheltered from the terrible storm. Why are we hiding, when the tidal wave will destroy us both? Why not stand outside and let the demon winds carry us up to the Heavens? She knew the answer. The instinct for survival — to cling to those precious last seconds of life.

As suddenly as it had come the wind died.

Amaziga stumbled outside, Sam following, and ran up the hill — scrambling over fallen trees, clambering up on to the steps of the pyramid, higher and higher, all the time watching the west for the gigantic wall of death that would soon be bearing down upon them. What was it the Prophet Isaiah had predicted? And the seas shall tip from their bowls, and not one stone be left upon another.

Wise old man, she thought, as she climbed the last steps to the summit.

'Look!' shouted Sam.

Amaziga swung to the west. The sight was incredible beyond belief and, just for a second, she felt privileged to see it. The oncoming wall was black and filled the sky. A thousand feet high. More. Much more, she realised, for here, in this remote jungle they were already two thousand feet above sea level.

'Oh, God!' whispered Sam. 'Dear God!'

They clung to one another as the wall raced towards them. 'I love you, Sam. Always have — always will.'

Glancing down at her, he smiled. Then he kissed her lightly upon the lips.

Violet light flared around them, and a great roaring filled their ears. .

As the light faded they found themselves standing on an island, no more than sixty yards in diameter, the ocean all around them as far as the eye could see. Jon Shannow was standing some ten feet away, but he was so much older than when last they said their farewells, his beard long and white, streaked with shades of darker grey. He was wearing the portable computer.

Amaziga grinned at him. 'I don't know how you did it, but I'm grateful,'she said.

'It wasn't me, lady,' he told her, unclipping the machine and removing the headphones, which he passed to her. Amaziga slipped them into place, and heard the soft sweet sound of Lucas's voice.

'Electronic cavalry, darling,' he said.

'What did you do?'

'I moved us forward six days. The tidal wave has passed, the sea receding.'

'How did you find me?'

'Ah, Amaziga, I am always linked with you. I need no coordinates. The man Lucas loved you until the moment he died. Beyond, perhaps — I don't know. Therefore I love you too. Is that so strange?'

'No,' she said, humbled. 'Where can we go?'

'Under normal circumstances,' he said, 'anywhere you desired. But the Stone is Mr Shannow's, and he is fighting the Bloodstone. I need co-ordinates to bring him home. A date I can home in on.'

Amaziga called out to Shannow, who came across and sat beside her. For some time she questioned him about the events leading up to his journey through the Gateway, but there was nothing she could use.

Sam joined in, asking about the positions of the stars, the cycles of the moon, the seasons. At last Amaziga gave up. 'We have to think of something else,' she said.

Shannow leaned back, weary and fighting back despair.

'You look more human as an old man,' said Amaziga, 'less fearsome.'

Shannow smiled. 'I know. I met. . myself. . Not a happy encounter. To see such youth, and to know where he was headed, yet being able to say nothing. Strange, as a young man newly wounded with no memory, I saw an ancient man who looked close to death. He said I could call him Jake. I recognised nothing of myself in him. And then to meet him again, as Jake, and see a face without lines and wrinkles, a body possessing the strength and suppleness I had long forgotten. He looked like a boy to me.'

Amaziga leaned forward. 'You met him in the mountains? Before he went to Domango?'

'One day before,' said Shannow.

'And how long after the meeting did you travel through the Gateway?'

'Eight. . nine days, I think. Why?'

'Because I met you on the outskirts of Domango. Lucas knows that date. If we move forward. . say ten days, we should get you back in the same time line. What do you think, Lucas?'

'Yes, I can do that,' Lucas told her. 'The question is where. I have no files on the power point Shannow used. We will have to come through elsewhere. You know the area. Where do you suggest?'

'There's a strong power centre close to Pilgrim's Valley. I used it myself twice,' she said.

'Then that will be our destination,' said Lucas. 'But I cannot guarantee to arrive at the same time, or on the same day. Erring on the side of caution, the margin of error could be as much as a week after he left.'

Four days had passed. Wallace Nash and Beth had repaired the damaged window shutters as best they could, while Isis and Dr Meredith had cut what meat remained from the slaughtered farm animals. On the third day the Deacon's mule had trotted back into the yard. Beth clapped her hands when she saw it.

'You son of a gun!' she said, smiling and walking forward to rub the mule's nose. 'You got away!' With ropes from the barn they hauled away the corpses of the Wolvers and the slaughtered oxen. Beth dug up vegetables from the small plot at the rear of the barn and stored them in the kitchen of the main building.

She also filled several buckets of water from the well, and left them inside the house. On the fourth day, Dr Meredith helped Beth carry Jeremiah's body out to the ground behind the ruined barn. Wallace and the doctor dug a deep grave. Isis stood beside Beth as the earth was shovelled on to the blanket-wrapped corpse.

'He was a good man,' said Isis, holding on to Beth's hand.

'Even good men die. We all die,' said Beth. 'Let's hope this is an end to the terror.'

'It isn't,' said Isis. 'Men with horned helms and black armour will be riding here soon. The Bloodstone cannot be stopped, Beth. I felt him, and his power, his lust for blood and his terrible determination. And now the Deacon is gone. I think we are all going to die.'

Beth hefted her rifle and said nothing.

Meredith stood beside the grave and laid down his shovel. His slender face was bathed in sweat and his eyes were downcast, his sorrow evident. 'I'm sorry, Jeremiah,' he said. 'You were kind to me — and I killed you.'

'Don't dwell on it,' said Beth. 'You made a mistake. We all make mistakes. You just have to learn to live with them.' She turned to the red-headed youngster. 'As I recall, Wallace, you have a fine voice. Why don't you sing for us? "Rock of Ages" ought to be just fine.'

'Riders coming,' said Wallace. Beth cocked the rifle as she swung.

Clem Steiner rode into the yard and dismounted; Nestor Garrity sat on his horse, hands on the saddle pommel. The boy looked older, thought Beth, his face gaunt, his eyes tired. Behind him came two more horses, one bearing a stick-thin old woman with leathered skin and bright blue eyes, the other carrying two children.

'Didn't find him, Beth,' said Clem, 'but he's alive.'

She nodded absently and walked to where the old woman was dismounting. 'Welcome to my home,'

said Beth, introducing herself.

The old woman gave a weary smile. 'Good to be here, child. I'm Zerah Wheeler and it's been quite a journey. I see you're burying someone. Don't let me interfere with the words of farewell.'

'There's food and drink in the house,' Beth told her. Together the two women lifted the youngsters from the horse, and Zerah led them inside. 'All right, Wallace,' said Beth. 'Let's hear the hymn!'

His voice was strong and surprisingly deep and the words of the old hymn rolled out over the hillsides, with Clem, Beth and Nestor joining in. Isis wept, and remembered the many kindnesses she had enjoyed from Jeremiah.

At last the song ended and Beth walked away from the grave, linking arms with Clem. He told her of their travels, and how Nestor had been forced to kill. She listened gravely. 'Poor Nestor,' she said. 'He always was a romantically inclined boy. But he's strong, Clem, he'll get over it. I wish Jon was here.

There's more trouble coming.'

'I know,' he said, and told her of the horned riders herding prisoners towards the town. In turn she explained about the Deacon and the Bloodstone, and the spell of changing he had placed over the Wolvers.

'Maybe we should get away from here,' said Clem. 'Far and fast.'

'I don't think so, Clem. First, we've only four horses and ten people — and one of those is badly wounded. You remember Josiah Broome?'

'Sure. Inoffensive man, hated violence.'

'He still does. He was shot down, Clem — by Jerusalem Riders.'

Clem nodded. 'Never did trust that bunch — especially with Jacob Moon in the lead. The man's rotten through to the core. I saw him with the Hellborn.' Clem grinned at her. 'So we stay here then?'

'It's my home, Clem. And you said yourself it's built like a fortress. No one's been able to drive me off it so far.'

Clem swore. 'Looks like that's going to be put to the test, Beth darlin',' he said.

Beth looked up. On the far hillside to the north she saw a line of riders, sitting on their horses and staring down at the farmhouse. 'I think we had better get inside,' she said.

Arm in arm they walked slowly towards the house. The riders were some two hundred yards distant.

Beth counted them as she walked; there were around fifty men, all wearing horned helms and carrying rifles.

Inside the house she sent Wallace and Nestor upstairs to watch from the bedroom windows, while Zerah took up a rifle and positioned herself at the downstairs window. Dr Meredith sat on the floor by the fire, beside Isis, and the young mother and her baby. Clem glanced at the sandy-haired man. 'You need a spare weapon, Meneer?' he asked.

Meredith shook his head. ‘I can't kill,' he said.

Josiah Broome, his thin chest bandaged, a bloodstain showing through it, moved into the main room.

'What's happening?' His eyes were feverish, and cold sweat bathed his face. He saw Clem and smiled.

'Well, well, if it isn't young Steiner. Good to see you, my boy.' Suddenly he sagged against the door-frame. 'Damn,' he whispered. 'Weaker than I thought.'

Clem took his arm and led him back into the bedroom, laying the wounded man on the bed. 'I think you should stay here, Meneer. You are in no condition to fight.'

'Who are we fighting, Clem?'

'Bad men, Josiah, but don't you worry. I'm still pretty good with a pistol.'

'Too good,' said Josiah sadly, his eyes closing.

Clem rejoined the others. The Hellborn had left the hillside and were riding slowly towards the building.

Beth stepped outside. Clem grabbed her arm.'What the Hell. .?'

'Let's hear what they've got to say,' said Beth.

'Why?' asked Clem. 'You think they've stopped by for Baker's and biscuits?'

Beth ignored him and waited on the porch, her rifle cradled in her arms. Clem took off his jacket and stood beside her, hand resting on the butt of his pistol.

Beth stood quietly watching the riders. They were grim men, hard-eyed and wary, their faces sharp, their eyes stern. The look of fanatics, she thought, ungiving, unbending. They wore black breastplates engraved with swirls of silver, and black horned helms buckled under the chin. In their hands were short-barrelled rifles, and pistols were strapped to their hips. Yet the most disturbing feature for Beth was that each of them had a Bloodstone in the centre of their foreheads. Like the wolves, she thought. The Hellborn rode into the yard, fanning out before the house. A lean-faced warrior kneed his horse forward and sat before her. His eyes were the grey of a winter sky, and there was no warmth in the gaze. His helmet was also horned, but the tips had been dipped in gold.

'I am Shorak,' he said, 'First Lieutenant of the Second Corps. This land is now the property of the Lord of Hell.' Beth said nothing as Shorak's gaze raked the building, noting the riflemen at the slits in the upper windows. 'I am here,' he said, returning his stare to Beth, 'to escort you to the Lord Sarento, so that you may pay homage and learn of his greatness at first hand. You will need no possessions, nor weapons of any kind, though you may bring food for the journey.'

Beth looked up at the man, then at the others who sat on their horses silently. 'Never heard of the Lord Sarento,' she told the leader.

He leaned forward, the sun glinting on the golden horns of his helmet. That is your loss, woman, for he is the Living God, the Lord of All. Those who serve him well gain eternal life, and joy beyond imagining.'

'This is my home,' Beth told him. 'I have fought for it, and killed those who would take it from me. I raised children here, and I guess I'll die here. If the Lord Sarento wants me to pay homage he can come here himself. I'll bake him a cake. Now, if that's all you wanted to tell me I suggest you ride off. I've work to do.'

Shorak seemed unconcerned by her refusal. He sat quietly for a moment, then spoke again. 'You do not understand me, woman. I shall make it plain. Gather food and we will escort you to the Lord. Refuse and we will kill you all. And the manner of your passing will be painful. Now, there are others within the house and I suggest you speak to them. Not all of them will wish to die. You have until noon to make a decision. We will return then.'

Wheeling his horse, Shorak led the riders back out to the hillside.

'Polite, wasn't he?' said Clem.

Beth ignored the humour and strode inside. The first person to speak was the young mother, Ruth. ‘I want to go with them, Frey McAdam,' she said. 'I don't want any more fear and fighting.'

'It would seem the only course,' agreed Dr Meredith. 'We can't outfight them.'

Wallace and Nestor came downstairs to join in the discussion. Beth poured herself a mug of water and sipped it, saying nothing. 'How much ammunition we got?' Wallace asked.

Beth smiled. 'A hundred rounds for the rifles. Twenty for my pistol.'

'I've got thirty,' Clem said.

'We mustn't fight them,' said Ruth. 'We mustn't! I've got my baby to think of. What's so hard about paying homage to someone? I mean, it's only words.'

'Speaking of which,' remarked Zerah Wheeler, 'we only have their word for it that paying homage is all they want. Once outside and unarmed, they can do as they damn well please with us.'

'Why would they want to harm us?' asked Dr Meredith. 'It would make no sense.'

'They are Hellborn,' put in Isis, 'and it was their master who sent the wolves against us.'

'I don't care about that!' shouted Ruth. 'I just don't want to die!'

'Nobody wants to die,' snapped Beth. 'Wallace, get back upstairs and watch them. I don't want them sneaking up on us.'

'Yes, Frey,' he said, and returned to his post.

Nestor spoke. 'When we saw them heading towards the town they were leading a group of prisoners.

They didn't kill none of them. Maybe it's just like the man said — just paying homage to their leader.'

Beth turned to Clem. 'You're not saying much?'

Clem shrugged. ‘I don't think there's much to say. I don't know where these Hellborn came from, but if they're anything like the warriors of the First War they're murdering savages: they'll rape and torture the women and mutilate the men. And I'm not surrendering my weapons to the likes of them.'

'You're crazy!' screamed Ruth. 'You'll condemn us all to death!'

'Shut your mouth!' stormed Beth. ‘I won't have it! This is no time for hysterics. What do you think, Zerah?'

Zerah put her arms around Esther's shoulder, Oz moved in close and she ruffled his hair. ‘I got less to lose than the rest of you, being old and worn out. But I've also been trying to keep these children alive, and I'm kind of torn. You look to me, Frey McAdam, like a woman who's been over the mountain a few times. What do you think?'

'I don't like threats,' said Beth, 'and I don't like men who make them. They want us alive. I don't know why; I don't much care.'

'I can tell you why,' said Isis softly. 'When I went out to the wolf-beasts I felt the power of the Bloodstone. He is hungry, and he feeds on souls. To go to him would mean death.'

'What do you mean, feeds on souls?' sneered Ruth. 'That's insane. You're making it up!'

Isis shook her head. 'He was linked to the wolves. Every time they killed, part of the life was fed back through the Stones in their heads. He is a creature of blood and death. All we are to him is food. The Deacon knew that.'

'And where is he?' hissed Ruth. 'Gone and left us days ago. Run away! Well, I'm not dying here. No matter what any of you say.'

'I think we should vote on it,' said Clem. 'It's getting close to noon.'

Beth called out to Wallace and he stood at the top of the stairs, rifle in hand. 'You called the vote, Clem, so what's your view?' she asked.

'Fight,'said Clem.

'Wallace?'

'I ain't going with them,' said the red-headed youngster.

'Nestor?'

The young man hesitated. 'Fight,' he said.

'Isis?'

'I'm not going with them.'

'Doctor?'

Meredith shrugged. ‘I’ll go with the majority view,' he said.

'Zerah?'

The old woman kissed Esther on the cheek. 'Fight,' she said.

'I think that about settles it,' said Beth.

Ruth stared at them all. 'You are all crazy!'

'They're coming back,' shouted Wallace.

Beth moved to the dresser and pulled clear three boxes of shells. 'Help yourselves,' she said. 'You youngsters stay down low on the floor.' Esther and Oz scrambled down below the table. Zerah stood and took up her rifle as Beth walked to the door.

'You're not going out there again?' asked Clem.

Beth pulled open the door and stood leaning against the frame, her rifle cocked and ready, and held across her body.

The Hellborn rode, fanning out as before.

Ruth ran across the room, brushing past Beth and sprinting out into the yard. ‘I’ll pay homage,' she shouted. 'Let me go with you!'

Shorak ignored her and looked at Beth. 'What is your decision, woman?' he asked.

'We stay here,' she said.

'It is all of you or none,' said Shorak. Smoothly he drew his pistol and shot Ruth in the head. The young woman was pole-axed to the ground. Beth swung her rifle and fired, the bullet screaming past Shorak to punch into the chest of the rider beside him and pitch him from the saddle. Clem grabbed Beth, hauling her back inside as bullets smashed into the door-frame and screamed through the room. Nestor kicked shut the door and Clem dropped the bar into place.

Zerah fired three shots through the window, then a bullet took her high in the shoulder, spinning her to the floor. A Hellborn warrior ran to the window. Clem shot him through the face. The door juddered as men hurled themselves against it.

Beth scrambled to her feet. Several more Hellborn reached the window, firing into the room. Zerah, blood drenching her shirt, rolled against the wall beneath the sill. Beth fired, taking a man in the chest. He pitched forward. Another warrior hurled himself against the window, smashing the frame and rolling into the room. Nestor shot him twice. The Hellborn hit the floor face first, twitched, then was still.

Clem ran across the room, tipping the pine table to its side. Shots ripped into the walls of the house, and ricocheted around the room. The door began to splinter. Beth pumped three shots through it, and heard a man scream and fall to the porch.

Nestor ran for the stairs, climbing them two at a time. Bullets struck the wall around him, but he made it to the top and moved to help Wallace. Meredith lay on the floor, holding tightly to Isis, trying to shield her with his body. The two children were crouched down behind the upturned table. In the back of the house the baby started to cry, the sound thin and piercing.

'They're at the back of the house!' bellowed Wallace from upstairs.

Beth looked at Clem and pointed to Josiah Broome's room. The back window!' she shouted.

Clem ducked down and crawled across the floor. As he reached the doorway he saw the shutters of the window explode inwards. Rearing up he shot the first man through the throat, catapulting him back into his comrades. Broome was unconscious, but lying directly in the line of fire. Clem dived across to the bed, dragging the wounded man to the floor. Shots exploded all around him, searing through the down-filled quilt and sending feathers into the air. A shot scorched across Clem's neck, tearing the skin.

He fired, his bullet entering under the man's chin and up through the brain.

Ducking below the level of the bed, Clem re-loaded. A bullet slashed through the mattress to smash into his thigh, glancing from the bone and ripping across the flesh. Clem hurled himself back and fired three quick shots into the bodies massed at the window. The Hellborn ducked from sight. Clem glanced down at his leg to see blood pouring from the wound. He swore softly.

A man leapt at the window. Clem shot him as he was clambering through, and the body fell across the frame, the dead man's pistol clattering to the floor. Rolling to his belly, Clem crawled across to the weapon, snatching it up.

Then all was silence.

Josiah Broome came awake, his mind floating above the fever dream. He was lying on the floor of the bedroom and young Clem Steiner was sitting some four feet away, two pistols in his hands, blood staining his leg.

'What's happening, Clem?' he whispered.

'Hellborn,' answered the shootist.

I'm still dreaming, thought Broome. The Hellborn are all gone, destroyed by the Deacon in the bloodiest massacre ever seen in this new world. A shot clipped wood from the window-frame and smashed into a framed embroidery on the far wall. Josiah Broome chuckled. It was the damnedest dream. The embroidery tilted, the centre ripped away. Broome could still read the words: The works of man shall perish, the love of the Lord abideth always.

He tried to stand. 'Get down!' ordered Steiner.

'Just a dream, Clem,' said Josiah, getting his knees under him. Steiner launched himself across the floor, his shoulder cannoning into Broome's legs as the older man straightened. Shots smashed into the far wall and the embroidery fell to the floor, the pine frame splitting.

'No dream. You understand? This is no dream!'

Josiah felt the breath forced from his lungs, and his chest wound flared, pain ripping through him.

'But… but they can't be Hellborn!'

'Maybe so,' agreed Clem, 'but trust me, Josiah, if they're not originals they are giving a passable fair impression.' The younger man groaned as he twisted up into a sitting position, guns cocked. 'If you feel strong enough, you might think of getting a tourniquet on this wound of mine. Don't want to bleed to death and miss all the fun.'

A shadow crossed the window. Clem's guns roared and Josiah saw a man smashed from his feet. 'Why are they doing this?' Josiah asked.

'I don't feel up to asking them,' Clem told him. 'Rip up a sheet and make some bandages.' Josiah glanced down at the wound in Clem's thigh. Blood was flowing steadily, drenching the black broadcloth pants.

His own clothes were laid over the back of a chair. Crawling to them, Josiah pulled the belt clear and returned to Clem. Then he broke off a section of the pine frame that had encased the embroidery. Clem wrapped the belt around his thigh above the wound, stretching the leather tight against the skin. He tried to use the pine to twist the belt tighter, but the wood snapped. The bleeding slowed, but did not stop.

'You better take one of these pistols, Josiah,' said Clem. 'I might pass out.'

Broome shook his head. 'I couldn't kill — not even to save my life. I don't believe in violence.'

‘I do so like to meet a man of principle at times like these,' said Clem wearily. Shots sounded from above, and outside a man screamed.

Clem crawled across to the doorway, and glanced into the main room. Beth was behind the table, rifle in hand. The old woman, Zerah, was below the window, a pistol in her fist. Dr Meredith was lying by the western wall, the children and Isis close to him. 'Everyone all right?' called Clem.

'Bastards broke my shoulder,' Zerah told him. 'Hurts like Hell.'

Meredith left the children and crawled across to Zerah. Swiftly he examined her. The bullet broke your collar-bone and ripped up and out through the top of your shoulder. It's bleeding freely, but no vital organs were hit. I'll get some bandages.'

'What can you see upstairs?' shouted Beth.

Nestor Garrity's voice floated down to them. 'They've taken shelter at the barn and behind the trough.

We downed fourteen of them. Some crawled back to safety, but there's nine bodies that ain't moving.

And I think Clem hit two mpre that we can't see from up here.'

'You keep watch now,' Beth called, 'and let us know when they move.'

'Yes, Frey.'

The baby began to cry, a thin pitiful sound that echoed in the building. Beth turned to Isis. 'There's a little milk left in the kitchen, girl. Be careful as you get it.'

Isis kept low as she crossed the room and went through the kitchen. The back door was barred, the shutters on the window closed tight. The milk was in a tall jug on the top shelf. Isis stood and lifted it down; then moving back to the baby, she sat beside the crib. 'How do I feed her?' she asked Beth.

Beth swore and moved from the table to a chest of drawers, laying down her rifle and removing a pair of fine leather gloves from the second drawer. They were the only gloves she'd ever owned, given to her by her first husband, Sean, just before they were married. Never even worn them, thought Beth. From a sewing box on top of the chest she took a needle and made three small holes through the longest finger of the left-hand glove. Gathering up her rifle, she made her way to the crib. The baby was wailing now and she ordered Isis to lift the infant boy and hold him close. Beth half-filled the glove, then waited until milk began to seep through the needle-holes. At first the baby had difficulty sucking on the glove, and choked.

Isis supported the back of his head and he began to feed.

They're sneaking round the back!' shouted Nestor. 'Can't get a good shot!'

Clem lurched back into the rear bedroom and waited to the right of the window. Shadows moved on the ground outside, and Clem could make out the horns of a Hellborn helmet on the hard-baked earth. There was no way he could tell how many men were outside, and the only way to stop them was to frame himself in the window and open fire. Clem's mouth was dry.

'Do it now,' he told himself, 'or you'll never have the nerve to do it at all.'

Swiftly he spun round, guns blazing through the shattered window. Two men went down, the third returned fire and Clem was hit hard in the chest, but he coolly put a shell through the Hellborn's head.

Then he slumped down and fell against the bed.

Josiah Broome crawled alongside him. 'How bad is it?' asked the older man.

'I've had better days,' Clem told him as he struggled to reload. The Hellborn pistol took a larger calibre of shell than his own pistol, and it was empty now. Angrily he cast it aside. 'Goddamn,' he said bitterly.

Those sons of bitches are really starting to get my goat!' His gun loaded, he leaned back, too frightened to check the chest wound. Broome moved out into the main room and called for Dr Meredith. The sandy-haired young man made his way to Clem, and the shootist felt the man's fingers probing.

Meredith said nothing and Clem opened his eyes. 'You want to tell me the good news?' he asked.

'It isn't good,' said Meredith softly.

'There's a surprise.' Clem was feeling light-headed and faint, but he clung on. There weren't enough defenders and he wasn't going to die just yet. He coughed. Blood rose in his throat and sprayed out on to Meredith's pale shirt. Clem sank back. The sun was setting, the sky the colour of burning copper. Clem levered himself to his feet, staggered and righted himself by gripping the window-frame.

'What are you doing?' asked Josiah Broome, reaching out to grab Clem's arm. Meredith took hold of Broome's shoulder, drawing him back.

'He's dying,' whispered Meredith. 'He has only minutes left.'

Clem fell across the ruined window, then lifted his leg over the sill. The air was fresh and cool outside, not filled with the acrid smell of black powder. It was a good evening, the sky bright. Clem dropped to the ground and half-fell. Blood filled his throat and he thought he was suffocating, but he swallowed it down and staggered to the corpses, relieving them of their pistols and tossing the weapons through the window.

One of the Hellborn was wearing a bandolier of shells. With difficulty, Clem tugged it loose and passed it to Broome.

'Come back inside!' urged Broome.

'I like… it… here,' whispered Clem, the effort of speaking bringing a fresh bout of coughing.

Clem staggered to the edge of the building. From here he could see the horse trough, and the two men hiding behind it. As he stepped into sight, they saw him and tried to bring their rifles to bear. Clem shot them both. A third man rose from behind the paddock fence and a bullet punched into Clem's body, half spinning him. He returned the fire — but missed.

Falling to his knees, Clem reached into the pocket of his coat, pulling clear his last few shells. Another bullet struck him. The ground was hard against his cheek, and all pain floated away from him. Three Hellborn ran from hiding. Clem heard the pounding of their boots on the earth.

With the last of his strength Clem rolled. There were two shots left in the pistol and he triggered them both, the first shell slamming into the belly of the leading Hellborn, pitching him from his feet, the second tearing into an unprotected throat.

A rifle boomed and Clem saw the last Hellborn stagger to a stop, the top of his head blown away. The body crumpled to the ground.

Clem lay on his back and stared up at the sky. It was unbearably bright for a moment, then the darkness closed in from the sides, until, at last, he was staring at a tiny circle of light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

Then there was nothing.

Nestor and Wallace watched him die. 'He was a tough one,' said Wallace.

'He was Laton Duke,' said Nestor softly.

'Yeah? Well, don't that beat all!' Wallace lifted his rifle to his shoulder and sighted on a man creeping along beneath the paddock fence. He fired, the bullet splintering wood above the man and causing him to dive for cover. 'Damn it! Missed him. Laton Duke, you say? He was sure good with that pistol.'

'He was good,' agreed Nestor sadly. Glancing up at the redheaded youngster, he asked, 'You frightened, Wai?'

'Yep.'

'You don't look it.'

The youngster shrugged. 'My folks were never much on showing stuff. . you know, emotions and the like. Busted my arm once and cried. My dad set the bone, then whacked me alongside the head for blubbing.' He sniffed and chuckled. 'I did love that old goat!' Wallace fired again. 'Got him, by God!'

Nestor glanced out to see the Hellborn warrior lying still in the gathering dusk.

'You think they'll attack us after dark?'

'Bet on it,' said Wallace. 'Let's hope there's a good clear sky and plenty of moonlight.'

Movement in the distance caught Nestor's eye. 'Oh, no!' he whispered. Wallace saw them too. Scores of Hellborn were riding down the hillside.

Jacob Moon was with them.

As they neared, Wallace tried a shot at the Jerusalem Rider — but missed, his shot thumping into the shoulder of a rider to Moon's left. The Hellborn dismounted and ran to the shelter of the barn. Wallace spat through the rifle slit, but said nothing.

Nestor backed from the room and called down the news to Beth McAdam.

'We saw them,' she called back. 'Clem threw in some pistols. Better come down here and help yourself, son.' Nestor moved swiftly downstairs. Isis and Meredith held pistols now, but Josiah Broome sat defiantly on the floor, his hands across his knees.

'Are you some sort of coward?' asked Nestor. 'Haven't you even got the guts to fight for your life?'

'That's enough of that!' stormed Beth. 'Sometimes it takes more courage to stick by what you believe in.

Now get back upstairs and stay with Wallace.'

'Yes, Frey,' he said meekly.

Beth knelt by Josiah Broome, resting her hand on his shoulder. 'How are you feeling?' she asked.

'Sad, Beth,' he told her, patting her hand. 'We never learn, do we? We never change. Always killing and causing pain.'

'Not all of us. Some of us just fight to stay alive. When it starts, stay low.'

'I'm ashamed to admit that I wish he was here now,' said Josiah. Beth nodded, remembering Shannow in his prime. There was a force and a power about him that made him appear unbeatable, unstoppable.

'So do I, Josiah. So do I.' Beth called the children to her, and told them to sit with Josiah. Esther snuggled down and buried her face in the old man's shoulder. Broome put his arm around her.

Oz pulled clear his small pistol. 'I'm going to fight,' said the child.

Beth nodded. 'Wait till they're inside,' she said.

'They're coming!' Nestor yelled.

Beth ran to the window. Zerah, blood seeping from her shoulder wound, stood to the left of the window with her pistol ready. Beth risked a glance. The Hellborn were coming in a solid wedge of men, racing across the yard.

The few defenders could never stop them.

There was no need to aim and Beth and Zerah triggered their pistols into the advancing wedge of attackers. Bullets smashed into the room, ricocheting around the walls.

Upstairs Nestor levered shells into the rifle, sending shot after shot into the charging Hellborn.

They were half-way to the house when Wallace gave a whoop. 'Son of a bitch!' he yelled.

More riders were thundering down the hillside. But they were not Hellborn. Many wore the grey shield shirts of the Crusaders.

As they rode they opened fire, a volley of shots ripping through the ranks of the charging men. The Hellborn slowed, then swung to meet their attackers. Nestor saw several horses go down, but the rest came on, surging into the yard.

'Son of a bitch!' yelled Wallace again.

The Hellborn scattered, but were shot down as they ran.

Wallace and Nestor continued to fire until their bullets ran out. Then they raced downstairs.

Beth staggered to a chair and sat down, the pistol suddenly heavy in her tired hand. A face appeared at the window. It was Tobe Harris.

'Good to see you, Tobe,' said Beth. 'I swear to God you have the handsomest face I ever did see.'

Nestor gathered up Beth's pistol and ran out into the yard where bodies lay everywhere, twisted in death.

The Crusaders from Purity had moved on into the fields, chasing down the fleeing Hellborn. Nestor couldn't believe it. He was going to live! Death had seemed so certain. Unavoidable and inevitable. The sun was sinking behind the mountains and Nestor felt tears well into his eyes. He could smell the gun-smoke, and through it the fresh, sweet scent of the moisture on the grass.

'Oh, God!' he whispered.

Horsemen came riding back into the yard, led by a tall, square-shouldered man in a black coat. The man lifted his flat-crowned hat from his head and produced a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his face and beard.

'By the Lord, you fought well here, boy,' he said. 'I am Padlock Wheeler. The Deacon sent for me.'

‘I’m Nestor Garrity, sir.'

'You look all in, son,' said Wheeler, dismounting and tethering his horse to a rail. Around him other Crusaders moved among the dead. Occasionally a pistol shot would sound as they found wounded Hellborn. Nestor looked away; it was so cold, so merciless. Padlock Wheeler moved alongside him, patting his shoulder. ‘I need to know what is happening here, son. The man, Tobe, told us of the giant Wolvers, but we've now had two run-ins with Hellborn warriors. Where are they from?'

Isis walked from the doorway. Padlock Wheeler bowed and the blonde girl smiled wearily. 'They are from beyond the Gates of Time, Meneer. The Deacon told me that. And their leader is a soul-stealer, a taker of life.'

Wheeler nodded. 'We'll deal with him, young lady. But where is the Deacon?'

'He vanished through one of the Gateways. He has gone seeking help.'

Nestor stood silently by, his thoughts confused. The Deacon was a liar and a fraud. It was all lies; lies and death and violence.

His mouth tasted of bile and he found himself shivering, his stomach churning with nausea.

One of the Crusaders shouted to Wheeler, and pointed to the east. Three riders were coming. Nestor leaned against the porch rail and watched them approach. In the lead was a white-bearded old man, behind him came a black woman, her head bandaged. Beside her rode a black man, blood staining his white shirt.

'The Deacon!' said Padlock Wheeler, his voice exultant. Leaving the porch, Wheeler stepped down to the yard, raising his arm in greeting.

At that moment a body moved beside his feet, springing up with gun in hand. An arm encircled Wheeler's neck and a pistol barrel was thrust under his chin. No one moved.

The gunman was Jacob Moon. 'Stay back, you bastards!' shouted the Jerusalem Rider. All was still, save for the slow walking horse which the Deacon rode. Nestor's gaze flicked from the rider to Moon and his victim, and back again. The Deacon wore a long black coat and a pale shirt. His beard shone silver in the moonlight, and his deep-set eyes were focused on Moon. Slowly he dismounted. The black woman and her companion remained where they were, sitting motionless on their horses.

'Let him go,' said the Deacon, his voice deep and steady.

‘I want a horse and a chance to ride free from here,' said Moon.

'No,' said the Deacon simply. 'What I will give you is an opportunity to live. Let Padlock go free and you may face me, man to man. Should you triumph, not a man here will stop you.'

‘In a pig's eye!' stormed Moon. 'As soon as I let him go, you'll gun me down.'

‘I am the Deacon, and I do not lie!'

Moon dragged Padlock further back towards the wall. 'You're not the Deacon!' he screamed. ‘I killed him at his summer cabin.'

'You killed an old man who served me well. The man you are holding is Padlock Wheeler, one of my generals in the Unity Wars. He knows me — as do several of these riders. Now, do you have the nerve to face me?'

'Nerve?' snorted Moon. 'You think it takes nerve to shoot down an old goat?'

Nestor blinked. The old man couldn't know who he was threatening. It was madness. 'He's Jacob Moon!' he shouted. 'Don't do it!'

Darkness had fallen now, and the moon was bright in the sky. The Deacon appeared not to hear the youngster's words. 'Well?' he said, removing his coat. Nestor saw he was wearing two guns.

'I'll go free?' asked Moon. 'I have your word on that? Your oath?'

'Let every man here understand,' said the Deacon. 'Should I die, this man rides free.'

Moon threw Padlock Wheeler aside and stood for a moment, gun in hand. Then he laughed and moved out into the open. Behind him men opened up a space, spreading out of the line of fire.

‘I don't know why you want to die, old man, but I'll oblige you. You should have listened to the boy. I am Jacob Moon, the Jerusalem Rider, and I've never been beat.' He holstered his pistol.

'And I,' said the Deacon, 'am Jon Shannow, the Jerusalem Man.' As he spoke the Deacon smoothly palmed his pistol. There was no sudden jerk, no indication of tension or drama. The words froze Moon momentarily, but his hand flashed for his pistol. He was fast, infinitely faster than the old man, but his reaction time was dulled by the words the Deacon had spoken. A bullet smashed into his belly and he staggered back a pace. His own gun boomed, but then three shots thundered into him, spinning him from his feet.

The world continued to spin as Moon struggled to his knees. He tried to raise his pistol, but his hand was empty. He blinked sweat from his eyes and stared up at the deadly old man, who was now walking towards him.

'The wages of sin is death, Moon,' were the last words he heard.

Padlock Wheeler rushed to the Deacon's side. The old man fell into his arms. Nestor saw the blood then on the Deacon's shirt. Two men ran forward, and they half-carried the Deacon into thehouse. Nestor followed them.

The first person he saw was Beth. Her face was unnaturally pale and she stood with eyes wide, hand over her mouth, as they laid the Deacon on the floor.

'Oh, Christ!' she whispered. 'Oh, dear Christ!' Falling to her knees beside him, she stroked a hand through his grey hair. 'How can it be you, Jon? You are so old?'

The man smiled weakly, his head resting in Padlock Wheeler's lap. 'Long story,' he said, his voice distant.

The black woman entered the room and knelt by Shannow. 'Use the Stone,' she commanded.

'Not enough power.'

'Of course there is!'

'Not for me. . and the Bloodstone. Don't worry about me, lady. I'll live long enough to do what must be done. Where is Meredith?'

'I'm here, sir,' said the sandy-haired young man.

'Get me into the back room. Check the wound. Strap it. Whatever.'

Wheeler and Meredith carried him through the house. Beth rose and turned to face the black woman.

'It's been a long time, Amaziga.'

'Three hundred years and more,' said Amaziga. 'This is my husband, Sam.' The black man smiled and offered his left hand; the right was strapped to his chest.

Beth shook hands. 'You've been in the wars too, I see.'

Amaziga nodded. 'We came through a Gateway north of here. We walked for a while, but we were surprised by some Hellborn warriors. There were four of them. Sam took a bullet in the shoulder. I got this graze,' she said, lightly touching the bandage on her brow. 'Shannow killed them. It's what he's good at.'

'He's good at a damn sight more than that,' said Beth, reddening, 'but then that's something you've never been capable of understanding.'

Turning on her heel, she followed the others into the bedroom. Shannow was in the bed, Meredith examining the wound, while Josiah Broome sat to the left, holding Shannow's hand. Wheeler stood at the foot of the bed. Beth moved alongside the doctor. The wound was low, and had ripped through the flesh above the hip-bone to emerge in a jagged tear on Shannow's side. Blood was flowing freely and Shannow's face was grey, his eyes closed.

'I need to stop the flow,' said Meredith. 'Get me needle and thread.'

Outside Nestor introduced himself to Amaziga Archer and her husband. The woman was astonishingly beautiful, he thought, despite the grey steaks in her hair. 'Is he really the Jerusalem Man?' asked Nestor.

'Really,' said Amaziga, moving away to the kitchen. Sam smiled at the boy.

'A living legend, Nestor.'

'I can't believe he beat Jacob Moon. I just can't believe it! And him so old.'

'I expect Moon found it even harder to believe. Now excuse me, son, but I'm weary, and I need to rest.

Is there a bed somewhere?'

'Yes, sir. Upstairs. I'll show you.'

'No need, son. I may be wounded, but I believe I still have the strength to find a bed.'

As Sam moved away Nestor saw Wallace sitting by the window with Zerah Wheeler. The red-head was chatting to the children. Esther was giggling and young Oz was staring at Wallace with undisguised admiration.

Nestor walked from the house.

Outside the Crusaders were clearing away the corpses, dragging them to the field beyond the buildings.

Several camp-fires had been lit in the lee of the barn, and men were sitting quietly talking in groups.

Isis was sitting by the paddock fence, staring out over the moonlit hills. When Nestor joined her she looked up and smiled. 'It is a wonderful night,' she said.

Nestor glanced up at the glittering stars. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'It's good to be alive.'

Beth sat beside Shannow's bed, Padlock Wheeler standing beside her. 'By God, Deacon, I never thought to hear you lie,' said Wheeler. 'But it did the trick; it threw him, right enough.'

Shannow smiled weakly. 'It was no lie, Pad.' Slowly, and with great effort, he told the story of his travels, beginning with the attack on his church, his rescue by the Wanderers, the fight with Aaron Crane and his men, and finally his meeting with Amaziga beyond the town of Domango.

'It really was you then, in my church!' said Wheeler. 'By Heaven, Deacon, you never cease to amaze me.'

'There's more, Pad,' said Shannow. He closed his eyes and spoke of the Bloodstone, and the ruined world from which it came.

'How do we fight such a beast?' asked Padlock Wheeler.

‘I have a plan,' said Shannow. 'Not much of one, I'll grant you, but, with the grace of God, it'll give us a chance.'

Zerah Wheeler entered the room, her shoulder bandaged and her arm bound across her chest. 'Leave the wounded man be,' she said, 'and say hello to your mother.'

Padlock spun, jaw agape. 'Jesus wept, Mother! I did not know you were here. And you're wounded!'

Moving to her side, he threw his arm around her shoulder.

'Whisht, you lummox! You'll set it bleeding again,' she scolded, knocking his hand away. 'Now come outside and leave the man to rest. You too, Beth.'

‘I’ll be with you soon,' said Beth quietly as Zerah led her son from the room. Josiah Broome rose and patted Shannow's arm. 'It is good to see you, my friend,' he said, and left the wounded man alone with Beth. She took his hand and sighed.

'Why did you not tell me who you were?' she asked.

'Why did you not recognise me?' he countered.

She shrugged. 'I should have. I should have done so many things, Jon. And now it's all wasted and gone.

I couldn't take it, you see. You changed — from man of action to preacher. It was such a change. Why did it have to be so drastic, so radical?'

He smiled wearily. 'I can't tell you, Beth. Except that I have never understood compromise. For me, it is all or nothing. Yet despite my efforts, I failed — in everything. I didn't find Jerusalem and, as a preacher, I couldn't remain a pacifist.' He sighed. 'When the church was burning I felt a terrible rage. It engulfed me.

And then as the Deacon… I thought I could make a difference. Bring God in to the world. . establish discipline. I failed at that too.'

'History alone judges success or failure, Shannow,' said Amaziga, moving into the room.

Beth glanced up, ready to tell the woman to leave, but she felt Shannow's hand squeeze hers and saw him shake his head. Amaziga sat down on the other side of the bed. 'Lucas tells me you have a plan, but he won't share it with me.'

'Let me speak with him.' Amaziga passed him the headphones and the portable. Shannow winced as he tried to raise his arm. Amaziga leaned forward and settled the headphones into place, slipping the microphone from its groove and twisting it into position. 'Leave me,' he said.

Beth rose first. Amaziga seemed reluctant to go, but at last she too stood up and followed Beth from the room.

Outside, Padlock and his brother Seth were sitting with Zerah, Wallace and the children. Beth walked out into the moonlight, past Samuel Archer who was sitting on the porch, watching the stars; Amaziga sat beside him. Beth walked out, breathing the night air. Nestor and Isis came towards her, both smiling as they passed.

Dr Meredith was standing by the paddock fence, looking out over the hills.

'All alone, Doctor?' she said, moving to stand beside him.

He grinned boyishly. 'Lots to think about, Frey McAdam. So much has happened these past few days. I loved that old man; Jeremiah was good to me. It hurts that I caused his death; I would do anything to bring him back.'

'There's things we can't change,' said Beth softly, 'no matter how much we might want to. Life goes on.

That's what separates the strong from the weak. The strong move on.'

'You think it will ever change?' he asked suddenly.

'What will change?'

'The world. People. Do you think there'll ever come a day when there are no wars, no needless killing?'

'No,' she said simply. ‘I don't.'

'Neither do I. But it's something to strive for, isn't it?'

'Amen to that!'

Sarento's hunger was intense, a yawning chasm within him filled with tongues of fire. He strode from the rebuilt palace and out into the wide courtyard. Four Hellborn warriors were sitting together by an archway; they stood as he approached, and bowed. Without thinking he drew their life forces from them, watching them topple to the ground.

His hunger was untouched.

An edge of panic flickered in his soul. For a vyhile, in the late afternoon, he had felt the flow of blood from the men he had sent out to the farm. Since then, nothing.

Walking on, he came out on to a ruined avenue. He could hear the sound of men singing, and on the edge of what had once been a lake garden he saw a group of his men sitting around camp-fires. Beyond them were a score of prisoners.

The hunger tore at him. .

He approached silently. Men toppled to the ground as he passed. The prisoners, seeing what was happening, began to scream and run. Not one escaped. Sarento's hunger was momentarily appeased.

Moving past the dried-out corpses, he walked to the picket line and mounted a tall stallion. There were around thirty horses here, standing quietly, half-asleep. One by one they died.

All save the stallion. .

Sarento took a deep breath, then reached out with his mind.'

Sustenance. I need sustenance, he thought. Already the hunger was returning, and it took all his willpower not to devour the life force of the horse he was riding. Closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to float out over the moonlit land, seeking the soul-scent of living flesh.

Finding it, he kicked the horse into a run. And headed out towards Pilgrim's Valley.

Shannow, his side strapped, blood seeping through the bandages, sat at the wide, bullet-ripped table, Padlock Wheeler standing alongside. At the table sat Amaziga Archer and her husband; beside Sam were Seth Wheeler and Beth McAdam. Amaziga spoke, telling them all of the Bloodstone, and the terrible powers he possessed.

‘Then what can we do?' asked Seth. 'Sounds like he's invincible.'

Sam shook his head. 'Not quite. His hunger is his Achilles heel: it grows at a geometric rate. Without blood — or life if you prefer — he will weaken and literally starve.'

'So we just keep out of his way? Is that it?' asked Padlock.

'Not quite,' admitted Amaziga. 'We none of us know how long he could survive. He could move from active life into a suspended state, being re-activated only when another life force approaches. But what we hope for is that, in a depleted state, his body will be less immune to gunfire. Every shot that strikes him will leach power from him as he struggles to protect himself. It may be that if we can corner him we can destroy him.'

Seth Wheeler glanced at the beautiful black woman. 'You don't seem too confident,' he said shrewdly.

'I'm not.'

'You said you had a plan,' said Beth, looking at Shannow. His face was grey with pain and weariness, but he nodded. His voice, when he spoke, was barely above a whisper.

'I don't know if I'll have the strength for it, and would be happier should Amaziga's. . theory. . prove accurate. Whatever happens we must stop Sarento from reaching Unity, or any major settlement. I have seen the extent of his power.' They were hushed as he told them of the amphitheatre in the other world, with its rank upon rank of dried-out corpses. 'His power can reach for more than a hundred yards. I don't know the limits. What I do know is that when we find him we must hit him with rifle shot, and make sure the riflemen stay well back from him.'

Nestor ran into the room. 'Rider coming,' he said. 'Weirdest-looking man you ever saw.'

'Weird? In what way?' Shannow asked.

'Appears to be painted all in red and black lines.'

'It's him!' shouted Amaziga, lurching to her feet.

Padlock Wheeler gathered up his rifle and ran from the building, shouting for his Crusaders to gather at the paddock fence. The rider was still some two hundred yards distant. Wheeler's mouth was dry.

Levering a shell into the breech, he levelled the weapon and fired. The shot missed, and the rider kicked his mount into a gallop.

'Stop the son of a bitch!' yelled Wheeler. Instantly a volley of shots sounded from all around him. The horse went down, spilling the rider to the grass, but he rose and walked steadily towards the farm. Three shots struck him in the chest, slowing him. A shell hammered against his forehead, snapping his head back. Another cannoned against his right knee. Sarento stumbled and fell, but rose again.

Sixty rifles came to bear, bullet after bullet hammering into the man — glancing from his skin, flattening against bone and falling to the grass. Infinitely slowly he pushed forward against the wall of shells. Closer and closer to the men lining the paddock fence.

One hundred and fifty yards. One hundred and forty yards. .

Even through the terrible and debilitating hunger Sarento began to feel pain. At first the bullets struck him almost without notice, like insects brushing his skin, then like hailstones, then like fingers jabbing at him.

Now they made him grunt as they slammed home against increasingly bruised skin. A shot hit him in the eye and he fell back with a scream as blood welled under the lid. Lifting his hand to protect his eyes he stumbled forward, the sweet promise of sustenance driving him on.

He was so close now, the scent so strong that he began to salivate.

They could not stop him.

'Sarento!' Above the sound of the gunfire he heard a voice calling his name. Turning his head he saw an old man being supported by a black woman, moving slowly out to his left away from the line of fire.

Surprised, he halted. He knew the woman: Amaziga Archer. But she was dead long since. He blinked, his injured eye making it difficult to focus. 'Cease fire!' bellowed the old man and the thunder of guns faded away. Sarento stood upright and stared hard at him, reaching out with his power to read his thoughts. They were blocked from him.

'Sarento!' he called again.

'Speak,' said the Bloodstone. He saw that the old man was wounded; his hunger was so intense that he had to steel himself not to drag the life force from the two as they approached. What helped was that he was intrigued. 'What do you want?'

The old man sagged against the woman. Amaziga took the weight, while at no time taking her eyes from the Bloodstone. He tasted her hatred and laughed. 'I could give you immortality, Amaziga,' he said softly.

'Why not join me?'

'You are a mass murderer, Sarento,' she hissed. 'I despise you!'

'Murder? I have murdered no one,' he said, with genuine surprise. They're all alive. In here,' he added, tapping his chest. 'Every one, every soul. I know their thoughts, their dreams, their ambitions. With me they have eternal life. We speak all the time. And they are happy, Amaziga, dwelling with their god. That is paradise.'

'You lie!'

'Gods do not lie,' he said. 'I will show you.' He closed his eyes, and spoke. The voice was not Sarento's.

'Oh, dear God!' whispered Amaziga.

'Get back from him, Mother,' came the voice of her son, Gareth. 'Get back from him!'

'Gareth!' she screamed.

'He's the Devil!' shouted the familiar voice. 'Don't bel—' Sarento's eyes opened, and his own deep voice sounded. 'He has yet to appreciate his good fortune. However, I think my point is made. No one is dead; they merely changed their place of habitation. Now what do you want, for I hunger?'

The old man pushed himself upright. 'I am here to offer you. . your greatest desire,'he said, his voice faltering.

'My desire is to feed,' said Sarento. 'And this conversation prevents me from so doing.'

'I can open the Gateways to other worlds,' the old man said.

'If that is true,' responded Sarento, 'then all I have to do is draw you into myself and I will have that knowledge.'

'Not so,' said the other, his voice stronger now. 'You used to understand computers, Sarento, but you will not have seen one like this,' he went on, tapping the box clipped to his belt. 'It is a portable. And it is self-aware. Through this machine I can control the Gateways. Should I die, it has instructions to self-destruct. You want to feed? Look around you. How many are here?' Sarento transferred his gaze to the farm buildings. He could see around fifty, perhaps sixty riflemen. 'Not enough, are there?' said the old man. 'But I can take you where there are millions.'

'Why would you do this?'

'To save my friends.'

'You would sacrifice a world to me, for these few?'

'I will take you wherever you choose.'

'And I am to trust you?'

'I am Jon Shannow, and I never lie.'

'You can't, Shannow!' screamed Amaziga, lunging at the portable. Shannow backhanded her across the face, spinning her to the ground. The effort caused him to stagger and his hand moved to his side, where blood oozed through the bandages. Amaziga looked up from the ground. 'How could you, Shannow?

What kind of a man are you?'

Sarento reached out and touched Amaziga's mind. She felt it and recoiled. 'So,' said Sarento, 'you are a truth speaker. And wherever I name you will take me?'

'Yes.'

‘The twentieth century on earth?'

'Where in the twentieth century?' responded the old man.

‘The United States. Los Angeles would be pleasant.'

‘I cannot promise you an arrival inside a city. The points of power are usually found in less crowded areas.'

'No matter, Jon Shannow. You, of course, will travel with me.'

'As you wish. We need to make our way to the crest of that hill,' said Shannow. Sarento's eyes followed where he pointed, then swung back to the group by the paddock fence. 'Kill even one of them and you will never see the twentieth century,' warned Shannow.

'How long will this take? I hunger!'

'As soon as we reach the crest.' The man turned and walked slowly towards the hillside. Sarento strode alongside him, lifting him from his feet. He began to run, effortlessly covering the ground. The old man was light, and Sarento felt his life draining away.

'Don't die, old man,' he said. Reaching the summit, he lowered Shannow to the ground. 'Now your promise!'

Shannow swung the microphone into place. 'Do it!' he whispered.

Violet light flared — and then they were gone. .

Amaziga staggered to her feet. Behind her the riflemen were cheering and hugging one another, but all Amaziga could feel was shame. Turning from the hillside, she walked back to the farmhouse. How could he have done it? How could he?

Beth came out to greet her. 'He succeeded then,' she said.

'If you can call it success.'

'We're still alive, Amaziga. I call that success.'

'Was the cost worth it? Why did I help him? He's doomed a world.' When the Bloodstone had appeared Shannow had called her to him.

‘I have to get close to him,' he said. 'I need you!'

‘I don't think I can take your weight. Let Sam help!'

'No. It must be you!'

Sam came out to join them now. Laying his hand on Amaziga's shoulder, he leaned down and kissed her brow. 'What have I done, Sam?' she asked.

'What you had to do,' he assured her. Together and hand in hand they walked away to the far fields.

Beth stayed for some time, staring at the hillside. Zerah Wheeler and the children joined her.

'Never seen the like,' said Zerah. 'Gone, just like that!'

'Just like that,' echoed Beth, holding firm against the yawning emptiness within. She remembered Shannow as she had first seen him, more than two decades before — a harsh, lonely man, driven to search for a city he knew could not exist. I loved you then, she thought, as I could never love you since.

'Has the bad man gone?' asked Esther suddenly.

'He's gone,' Zerah told her.

'Will he come back?'

'I don't think so, child.'

'What will happen to us, to Oz and me?'

Zerah chuckled. 'You're going to stay with old Zerah. Isn't that a terrible punishment? You're going to have to do chores, and wash and clean. I suspect you'll run away from the sheer torment of it all.'

'I'd never run away from you, Zerah,' Esther promised, her face suddenly serious. 'Not ever.'

'Me neither,' said Oz. Lifting the little pistol from his coat pocket, he offered it to Zerah. 'You'd better keep this for me, Frey,' he said. 'I don't want to shoot nobody.'

Zerah smiled as she took the gun. 'Let's go get some breakfast,' she said.

Beth stood alone. Her son was dead. Clem was dead. Shannow was gone. What was it all for, she wondered? To the left she saw Padlock Wheeler talking to a group of his men, Nestor Garrity among them. Isis was standing close by, and Beth saw Meredith take her hand and raise it to his lips.

Young love. .

God, what was it all for?

Tobe Harris moved alongside her. 'Sorry to bother you, Frey,' he said, 'but the baby is getting fractious and the last of the milk's gone bad. Not to mention the little fellow is beginning to stink the place out, if you take my meaning?'

'You never cleaned up an infant, Tobe?'

'Nope. You want me to learn?'

She met his eyes and caught his infectious grin. 'Maybe I should teach you.'

T'd like that, Beth.' It was the first time he'd used her name, and Beth realised she liked it. Turning towards the house, she saw Amaziga and Sam coming down the hillside. The black woman approached her.

'I was wrong about Shannow,' she said, her voice soft. 'Before he asked me to help him from the house, he gave this to Sam.' From her pocket she took a torn scrap of paper and passed it to Beth. On it was scrawled a single word: Trinity.

'What does it mean?' asked Beth.

Amaziga told her.

909Trinity

New Mexico, July 16, 5. 20 a.m.

The storm was disappearing over the mountains, jagged spears of lightning lashing the sky over the distant peaks. The rain had passed now, but the desert was wet and cool. Shannow fell forward as the violet light faded. Sarento grabbed him, hauling him close.

'If you have tricked me. .' he began. But then he picked up the soul scents, so dense and rich that they almost overwhelmed him. Millions of them. Scores of millions. Sarento released Shannow and spun round and round, the heady mind aroma so dizzying that it almost quelled his hunger just to experience it.

'Where are we?' he asked the old man.

Shannow sat down by a rock and looked around him at the lightning-lit desert. The sky was brightening in the east. 'New Mexico,' he said.

Sarento walked away from the wounded man, climbing a low hill and staring out over the desert.

Glancing to his left he saw a metal lattice tower, like a drilling rig, and below it a tent, its open flaps rippling in the wind.

The twentieth century! His dream. Here he could feed for an eternity. He laughed aloud and swung round on Shannow. The old man limped up behind him and was standing staring at the tower.

'We are a long way from the nearest settlement,' said Sarento, 'but I have all the time in the world to find it. How does it feel, Shannow, to have condemned the entire planet?'

'Today i am become death,' said Shannow. Wearily, the old man turned away and walked back down the hillside. Sarento sensed his despair; it only served to heighten the joy he felt. The sky was clearing, the dawn approaching.

He looked again at the metal tower, which was around one hundred feet high. Something had been wedged beneath it, but from here Sarento could not see what it was.

Who cares, he thought. The largest concentration of people was away to the north. I will go there, he decided. Shannow's words came back to him, tugging at his memory.

Today I am become death.

It was a quote from an old book. He struggled to find the memory. Ah, yes. . The Bhagavad Ghita. I am become death, the shatterer of worlds. How apt.

There was something else, but he couldn't think of it. He sat down to await the dawn, and to exult in his new-found freedom. Atop the metal lattice tower was a galvanised iron box, as large as a shed. As the sun rose it made the box gleam, and light shone down on the tower itself. Now Sarento could see what was wedged below it.

Mattresses. Scores of them. He smiled and shook his head. Someone had laid mattresses twenty feet deep under the tower. How ridiculous!

The quote continued to haunt him.

Today I am become death.

Knowledge flew into his mind with every bit as much power as the distant lightning. With the knowledge came a numbing panic, and he knew without doubt where he was — and when.

The Alamogordo bombing range, New Mexico, 180 miles-south of Los Alamos. Now that his memory was open, all the facts came flashing to his mind. The mattresses had been placed beneath the atomic bomb as servicemen hauled it into place with ropes. They had feared dropping it and triggering a premature explosion.

Swinging round, he sought the old man. There was no sign of him.

Sarento started to run. The facts would not stop flowing into his mind.

The plutonium bomb resulted in an explosion equal to 20, 000 tons of TNT. The detonation of an atomic bomb releases enormous amounts of heat, achieving temperatures of several million degrees in the bomb itself. This creates a large fireball.

On wings of fear Sarento ran.

Convection currents created by the explosion suck dust and other matter up into the fireball, creating a characteristic mushroom cloud. The detonation also produces a shock wave that goes outward for several miles, destroying buildings in the way. Large quantities of neutrons and gamma rays are emitted

— lethal radiation bathes the scene.

I can't die! I can't die!

He was one hundred and seventy-seven yards from the tower at 5. 30 a.m. on July 16 1945. One second later the tower was vaporised. For hundreds of yards around the zero point, that Oppenheimer had christened Trinity, the desert sand was fused to glass. The ball of incandescent air formed by the explosion rose rapidly to a height of 35, 000 feet.

Several miles away, J. Robert Oppenheimer watched the mushroom cloud form. All around him men began cheering. 'Today I am become death,' he said.