Bloodstone

CHAPTER TWO

It is often asked, How can the rights of the individual be balanced evenly with the needs of a society?

Consider.the farmer, my brothers. When he plants the seeds for his harvest of grain he knows that the crows will descend and eat of them. Too many birds and there will be no harvest. So the farmer will reach for his gun. This does not mean that he hates the crows, nor that the crows are evil.

The Wisdom of the Deacon Chapter IV

Beth swung the axe. It was an ungainly stroke, but the power of her swing hammered the nine-pound blade deep into the wood, splitting it cleanly. Woodlice crawled from the bark and she brushed them away before lifting the severed chunks of firewood and adding them to the winter store.

Sweat ran freely on her face. Wiping it away with her sleeve, she rested the axe against the wood-store wall, then hefted her long rifle and walked to the well. Looking back at the axe and the tree round she used as a base, Beth pictured the Preacher standing there and the fluid poetry of his movements. She sighed.

The Preacher. .

Even she had come to regard Shannow as the man of God in Pilgrim's Valley, almost forgetting the man's lethal past. But then he had changed. By God he had changed! The lion to the lamb. And it shamed Beth that she had found the change not to her liking.

Her back was aching and she longed for a rest. 'Never leave a job half done,' she chided herself. Lifting the copper ladle from the bucket she drank the cool water, then returned to the axe. The sound of a horse moving across the dry-baked ground made her curse. She had left the rifle by the well! Dropping the axe she turned and walked swiftly back across the open ground, not even looking at the horseman.

Reaching the rifle, she leaned down. 'You won't need that, Beth, darlinY said a familiar voice.

Clem Steiner lifted his leg over the saddle pommel and jumped to the ground. A wide grin showed on Beth's face and she stepped forward with arms outstretched. 'You're looking good, Clem,' she said, drawing him into a hug. Taking hold of his broad shoulders, she gently pushed him back from her and stared into his craggy features.

The eyes were a sparkling blue and the grin still made him look boyish, despite the grey at his temples and the weather-beaten lines around his eyes and mouth. His coat of black cloth seemed to have picked up little dust from his ride, and he wore a brocaded waistcoat of shining red above a polished black gunbelt.

Beth hugged him again. 'You're a welcome sight for old eyes,' she said, feeling an unaccustomed swelling in her throat.

'Old? By God, Beth, you're still the best-looking woman I ever saw!'

'Still the flatterer,' she grunted, trying to disguise the pleasure she felt.

'Would anyone dare lie to you, Beth?' His smile faded. 'I came as soon as I heard. Is there any news?'

She shook her head. 'See to your horse, Clem. I'll prepare some food for you.' Gathering her rifle, Beth walked to the house, noticing for the first time in days how untidy it was; how the dust had been allowed to settle on the timbered floor. Suddenly angry, she forgot the food and fetched the mop and bucket from the kitchen. 'It's a mess,' she said, as Clem entered. He grinned at her.

'It looks lived-in,' he agreed, removing his gunbelt and pulling up a chair at the table.

Beth chuckled and laid aside the mop. 'A man shouldn't surprise a woman this way — especially after all these years. Time has been good to you, Clem. You filled out some. Suits you.'

'I've lived the good life,' he told her, but he looked away as he spoke, glancing at the window set in the grey stone of the wall.

Clem smiled. 'Strong-built place, Beth. I saw the rifle slits at the upper windows, and the reinforced shutters on the ground floor. Like a goddamn fortress. Only the old houses now have rifle ports. Guess people think the world's getting safer.'

'Only the fools, Clem.' She told him about the raid on the church, and the bloody aftermath when the Preacher strapped on his guns. Clem listened in silence. When she had finished he stood and walked to the kitchen, pouring himself a mug of water. Here also there was a heavy door, a strong bar beside it.

The window was narrow, the shutters reinforced by iron strips.

'It's been hard in Pernum,' he said. 'Most of us thought that with the War over we'd get back to farming and ordinary life. Didn't work out that way. I guess it was stupid to think it would, after all the killing in the north. And the war that wiped out the Hellborn. You had the Oathmen here yet?' She shook her head. Crossing the room, he stood outlined in the open doorway. 'It's not good, Beth. You have to swear your faith in front of three witnesses. And if you don't. . well, at best, you lose your land.'

‘I take it you swore the Oath?'

Returning to the table, he sat opposite her. 'Never been asked. But I guess I would. It's only words. So tell me, any sign of him since the killings?'

She shook her head. 'He's not dead, Clem. I know that.'

'And he's wearing guns again.'

Beth nodded. 'Killed six of the raiders — then vanished.'

'It will be a hell of a shock to the Righteous if they find out who he is. You know there's a statue to him in Pernum? Not a good likeness, especially with the brass halo around his head.'

'Don't joke about it, Clem. He tried to ignore it, and I think he was wrong. He never said or did one tenth of the things they claim. And as for being the new John the Baptist. . well, it seems like blasphemy to me. You were there, Clem, when the Sword of God descended. You saw the machines from the sky.

You know the truth.'

'You're wrong, Beth. I don't know anything. If the Deacon claims he comes direct from God, who am I to argue? Certainly seems that God's been with him, though. Won the Unifier War, didn't he? And when Batik died and the Hellborn invaded again he saw them wiped out. Scores of thousands dead. And the Crusaders have mostly cleaned out the brigands and the Carns. Took me six days to ride here, Beth, and I didn't need the gun. They got schools, hospitals, and no one starves. Ain't all bad.'

There's lots here that would agree with you, Clem.'

'But you don't?'

'I've no argument with schools and the like,' she said, rising from the table and returning with bread, cheese and a section of smoked ham. 'But this talk of pagans and disbelievers needing killing, and the butchery of the Wolvers — it's wrong, Clem. Plain wrong.'

'What can I do?'

'Find him, Clem. Bring him home.'

'You don't want much, do you? That's a big country, Beth. There's deserts, and mountains that go on for ever.'

'Will you do it?'

'Can I eat first?'

Jeremiah enjoyed the wounded man's company, but there was much about Shannow that concerned him and he confided his worries to Dr Meredith. 'He is a very self-contained man, but I think he remembers far less than he admits. There seems to be a great gulf in his memory.'

'I have been trying to recall everything I read about protective amnesia,' Meredith told him. The trauma he suffered was so great that his conscious mind reels from it, blanking out vast areas. Give him time.' Jeremiah smiled. Time is what we have, my friend.' Meredith nodded and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the darkening sky. A gentle wind was drifting down across the mountains, and from here he could smell the cottonwood trees by the river, and the scent of grass from the hillsides. 'What are you thinking?' asked Jeremiah.

'It is beautiful here. It makes the evil of the cities seem far away, and somehow inconsequential.' Jeremiah sighed. 'Evil is never inconsequential, doctor.' 'You know what I mean,' chided Meredith. Jeremiah nodded, and the two men sat for a while in companionable silence. The day's journey had been a good one, the wagons moving over the plains and halting in the shadows of a jagged mountain range. A little to the north was a slender waterfall and the Wanderers had camped beside the river that ran from it. The women and children were roaming a stand of trees on the mountainside, gathering dead wood for the evening fires, while most of the men had ridden off in search of meat. Shannow was resting in Jeremiah's wagon.

Isis came into sight, bearing a bundle of dry sticks which she let fall at Jeremiah's feet. 'It wouldn't do you any harm to work a little,' she said. Both men noticed her tired eyes, and the faintest touch of purple on the cheeks below them.

'Age has its privileges,' he told her, forcing a smile.

'Laziness more like,' she told him. She swung to face the sandy-haired young doctor. 'And what is your excuse?'

Meredith reddened and rose swiftly. 'I am sorry. I… wasn't thinking. What do you want me to do?'

'You could help Clara with the gathering. You could have cleaned and prepared the rabbits. You could be out hunting with the other men. Dear God, Meredith, you are a useless article.' Spinning on her heel she stalked away, back towards the wood.

'She is working too hard,' said Jeremiah.

'She's a fighter, Jeremiah,' answered Meredith sadly. 'But she's right. I spend too much time lost in thoughts, dreaming if you like.'

'Some men are dreamers,' said Jeremiah. 'It's no bad thing. Go and help Clara. She's a little too heavily pregnant to be carrying firewood.'

'Yes. . yes, you're right,' Meredith agreed.

Alone now, Jeremiah made a circle of stone and carefully laid a fire. He did not hear Shannow approach, and glanced up only when he heard the creak of wood as the man sat in Meredith's chair. 'You're looking stronger,' said the old man. 'How do you feel?'

'I am healing,' said Shannow.

'And your memory?'

'Is there a town near here?'

'Why do you ask?'

'As we were travelling today I saw smoke in the distance.'

'I saw it too,' said Jeremiah, 'but with luck we'll be far away by tomorrow night.'

'With luck?'

'Wanderers are not viewed with great friendliness in these troubled times.'

'Why?'

'That's a hard question, Mr Shannow. Perhaps the man who is tied to a particular piece of land envies us our freedom. Perhaps we are viewed as a threat to the solidity of their existence. In short, I don't know why. You might just as well ask why men like to kill one another, or find hatred so easy and love so difficult.'

'It is probably territorial,' said Shannow. 'When men put down roots they look around them and assume that everything they can see is now theirs — the deer, the trees, the mountains. You come along and kill the deer and they see it as theft.'

That too,' agreed Jeremiah. 'But you do not share that view, Mr Shannow?'

'I never put down roots.'

'You are a curious man, sir. You are knowledgeable, courteous, and yet you have the look of the warrior. I can see it in you. I think you are a… deadly man, Mr Shannow.'

Shannow nodded slowly and his deep blue eyes held Jeremiah's gaze. 'You have nothing to fear from me, old man. I am not a war-maker. I do not steal, and I do not lie.'

'Did you fight in the War, Mr Shannow?'

'I do not believe that I did.'

'Most men of your age fought in the Unifying War.'

'Tell me of it.'

Before the old man could begin, Isis came running into view. 'Riders!' she said. 'And they're armed.'

Jeremiah rose and walked between the wagons. Isis moved alongside him, and several of the other women and children gathered round. Dr Meredith, his arms full of firewood, stood nervously beside a pregnant woman and her two young daughters. Jeremiah shaded his eyes against the setting sun and counted the horsemen. There were fifteen, and all carried rifles. In the lead was a slender young man, with shoulder-length white hair. The riders cantered up to the wagons and then drew rein. The white-haired man leaned forward on to the pommel of his saddle.

'Who are you?' he asked, his voice edged with contempt.

'I am Jeremiah, sir. These are my people.'

The man looked at the painted wagons and said something in a low voice to the rider on his right. 'Are you people of the Book?' asked White-hair, switching his gaze back to Jeremiah.

'Of course,' the old man answered.

'You have Oath papers?' The man's voice was soft, almost sibilant.

'We have never been asked to give Oaths, sir. We are Wanderers and are rarely in towns long enough to be questioned about our faith.'

‘I am questioning it,' said the man. 'And I do not like your tone, Mover. I am Aaron Crane, the Oath Taker for the settlement of Purity. Do you know why I was given this office?' Jeremiah shook his head.

'Because I have the Gift of Discernment. I can smell a pagan at fifty paces. And there is no place in God's land for such people. They are a stain upon the earth, a cancer upon the flesh of the planet, and an abomination in the eyes of God. Recite for me now Psalm 22.'

Jeremiah took a deep breath. 'I am not a scholar, sir. My Bible is in my wagon — I shall fetch it.'

'You are a pagan!' screamed Crane, 'and your wagon shall burn!' Swinging in his saddle, he gestured to the riders. 'Make torches from their camp-fires. Burn the wagons.' The men dismounted and started toward, Crane leading them.

Jeremiah stepped into their path. 'Please sir, do not do. .' A rider grabbed the old man, hurling him aside. Jeremiah fell heavily, but struggled to his feet as Isis ran at the man who had struck him, lashing out with her fist. The rider parried the blow easily and pushed her away.

And Jeremiah watched in helpless despair as the men converged on the fire.

Aaron Crane was exultant as he strode towards the fire. This was the work he had been born for, making the land holy and fit for the people of the Book, These Movers were trash of the worst kind, with no understanding of the demands of the Lord. The men were lazy and shiftless, the women no better than common whores. He glanced at the blonde woman who had struck at Leach, Her clothes were threadbare and her breasts jutted against the woollen shirt she wore. Worse than a whore, he decided, feeling his anger rise. He pictured the wagon aflame, the pagans pleading for mercy. But there should be no mercy for such as these, he resolved. Let them plead before the throne of the Almighty. Yes, they would die, he decided. Not the children, of course; he was not a savage.

Leach made the first torch and handed it to Aaron Crane. 'By this act,' shouted Crane, 'may the name of the Lord be glorified!'

'Amen!' said the men grouped about him. Crane moved towards the first red wagon. . and stopped. A tall man had stepped into view; he said nothing, but merely stood watching Crane. The white-haired Oath Taker studied the man, noting two things instantly. The first was that the newcomer's eyes were looking directly into his own, and secondly he was armed. Crane glanced at the two pistols in their scabbards at the man's hips. Acutely aware that his men were waiting, he was suddenly at a loss. The newcomer had made no hostile move, but he was standing directly before the wagon. In order to burn it, Crane would have to push past him.

'Who are you?' asked Crane, buying time to think.

' They have gaped upon me with their mouths, as a ravening and a roaring lion,' quoted the man, his voice deep and low.

Crane was shocked. The quote was from the psalm he had asked the old Mover to recite, but the words seemed charged now with hidden meaning.

'Stand aside,' said Crane, 'and do not seek to interfere with the Lord's work.'

'You have two choices, live or die,' said the tall man, his voice still low, no trace of anger in his words.

Crane felt a sick sense of dread in his belly. The man would kill him, Crane knew that with an ice-cold certainty. If he tried to fire the wagon, the man would draw one of those pistols and shoot him. His throat was dry. A burning cinder fell from the torch, scorching the back of his hand, but Crane did not move. .

could not move. Behind him were fifteen armed men, but they might as well have been a hundred miles away, he knew, for all the good they could do him. Sweat dripped into his eyes.

'What's happening, Aaron?' called Leach.

Crane dropped the torch and backed away, his hands trembling. The tall man was walking towards him now, and the Oath Taker felt panic surging within him.

Turning, he ran to his horse, scrambling into the saddle. Hauling on the reins, he kicked the beast into a gallop for almost half a mile. Then he drew up and dismounted.

Kneeling on the hard-packed earth, he tasted bile in his mouth and began to vomit.

Shannow's head was pounding as he walked towards the group of men. The Oath Taker was riding away, but his soldiers remained, confused and uncertain.

'Your leader is gone,' said Shannow. 'Do you have other business here?' The thick-set man who had passed the burning torch to Crane was tense, and Shannow could see his anger growing. But Jeremiah stepped forward.

'You must all be thirsty after your long ride,' he said. 'Isis, fetch these men some water. Clara, bring the mugs from my wagon. Ah, my friends,' he said, 'in these troubled times such misunderstandings are so common. We are all people of the Book, and does it not tell us to love our neighbours, and to do good to those who hate us?'

Isis, her face flushed and angry, brought forward a copper jug, while the pregnant Clara moved to the group, passing tin mugs to the riders.

The thick-set man waved Isis away and stared hard at Shannow.

'What did you say to the Oath Taker?' he snarled.

'Ask him,' said Shannow.

'Damn right I will,' said the man. He swung on his comrades who were all drinking. 'Let's go!' he shouted.

As they rode away Shannow returned to the fire and slumped down into Dr Meredith's chair. Jeremiah and the doctor approached him.

'I thank you, my friend,' said Jeremiah. 'I fear they would have killed us all.'

'It is not wise to stay here the night,' Shannow told him. 'They will return.'

There are those among us,' said the Apostle Saul, the sunlight glinting on his long, golden hair, 'who shed tears for the thousands who fell fighting against us in the Great War. And I tell you, brothers, I am one of those. For those misguided souls gave their very lives in the cause of Darkness, while believing they were fighting for the Light.

'But as the good Lord told us, narrow is the path and few who will find it. But that Great War is over, my brothers. It was won for the Glory of God and his son, Jesus Christ. And it was won by you, and by me, and by the multitudes of believers who stood firm against the Satanic deeds of our enemies, both pagan and Hellborn.'

A great cheer went up, and Nestor Garrity found himself wishing he could have been one of those soldiers of Christ in the Great Wars. But he was only a child then, attending the lower school and living in fear of the formidable Beth McAdam. All around him the men and women of Pilgrim's Valley had flocked to the Long Meadow to hear the words of the Apostle. Some of the other people present could still remember the sleek white and silver flying machine that had passed over Pilgrim's Valley twenty years before, bringing the Deacon and his Apostles to the people. Nestor wished he could have seen it in the air. His father had taken him to Unity eight years ago, to the great Cathedral at the city centre. There, raised on a plinth of shining steel, was the flying machine. Nestor would never forget that moment.

'It may be over, my friends, but another battle awaits us,' said the Apostle, his words jerking Nestor back to the present. The forces of Satan are overthrown — but still there is peril in the land. For, as it is written, the Devil is the Great Deceiver, the son of the Morning Star. Do not be misled, my brothers and sisters. The Devil is not an ugly beast. He is handsome, and charming, and his words drip like honey.

And many will be deceived by him. He is the voice of discontent whispering in your ears at night. He is the man — or woman — who speaks against the word of our Deacon, and his holy quest to bring this tortured world back to the Lord.

'For was it not written, by their works shall ye judge them? Then I ask you this, brethren: who brought the truth to this benighted world? Tell me!' Raising his arms, he stared down from the podium at the crowd.

The Deacon!' they yelled.

'And who descended from the Heavens with the word of God?'

THE DEACON!' Caught up in the hypnotic thrill of the moment, Nestor stood, his right fist punching the air with each answer. The voices of the crowd rolled like thunder and Nestor found it hard to see the Apostle through the sea of waving arms. But he could hear him.

'And who did God send through the vaults of Time?'

THE DEACON!'

The Apostle Saul waited until the roar died down, then spread his hands for silence. 'My friends, by his work have you judged him. He has built hospitals and schools and great cities, and once more the knowledge of our ancestors is being used by the children of God. We have machines that will plough the land, and sail the seas, and fly through the air. We have medicines and trained doctors and nurses. And this tortured land is growing again, at one with the Lord. And He is with us, through His Servant in Unity.

'But everywhere sin waits to strike us down. That is why the Oath Takers move through the land. They are the gardeners of this new Eden, seeking out the weeds and the plants that do not bloom. No God-fearing family should fear the Oath Takers. Only those seduced by Satan should know the terror of discovery. Just as only brigands and lawbreakers should fear our new Crusaders — our fine young soldiers, like your own Captain Leon Evans.'

Nestor cheered at the top of his voice, but it was lost within an ocean of sound.

As it died down the Apostle Saul raised his voice one last time. 'My friends, Pilgrim's Valley was the first settlement over which we flew when the Lord brought us from the sky. And for that reason the Oath Taker's role shall be a special one. The Deacon has asked me to fulfil that role, and I shall do so, with your blessing. Now let us pray

As the prayers were concluded, and the last hymn sung, Nestor made his way back to the main street of Pilgrim's Valley, moving slowly within the crowd. Most of the people were returning to their homes but a select few, Nestor among them, had been invited to a reception at the Traveller's Rest, and the formal welcome for the new Oath Taker. Nestor felt especially privileged to be asked to attend, even though his role was only that of a waiter. History was being made here, and the young man could hardly believe that one of the Nine Apostles was actually going to live — if only for a month or two — among the people of Pilgrim's Valley. It was a great honour.

Josiah Broome, who now owned the Traveller's Rest, was waiting at the back of the inn as Nestor arrived. Broome was in his late sixties now, a slender, bird-boned man, balding and near-sighted.

Despite his tendency towards pompous speech Broome was a man with a heart, and Nestor liked him.

'Is that you, young Garrity?' asked Broome, leaning in close.

'Yes, sir.'

'Good boy. There is a clean white shirt in the upper back room. And a new black necktie. Put them on and help Wallace prepare the tables.'

Nestor said that he would, and moved on through the rear of the inn, climbing the stairs to the staff quarters. Wallace Nash was pulling on his white shirt as Nestor entered the back room. 'Hi, Nes. What a day eh?' said the red-headed youngster. Two years younger than Nestor, he was an inch taller, standing almost six foot three, and as thin as a stick.

'You look like a strong wind could blow you down, Wallace.'

The red-head grinned. 'I'd outrun it afore it could.'

Nestor chuckled. Wallace Nash was the fastest runner he had ever seen. Last year on Resurrection Day, when he was just fifteen, Wallace had raced three times against Edric Scayse's prize stallion, Rimfire, winning both short sprints and losing only on a longer race. It had been a fine day. Nestor remembered it well, for it was his first time drunk — an experience he had pledged to himself he would never repeat.

'You want to carry the drinks or the eats?' Wallace asked.

'Doesn't matter,' said Nestor, pulling off his faded red shirt and lifting a clean white one from the dresser drawer.

'You take the drinks then,' said Wallace. 'My hands ain't too steady today. Lord, who would have believed that an Apostle would come to our town?'

Nestor pulled on his shirt and tucked it into his black trousers. For a minute or so he fumbled with the necktie, then he moved to the mirror to see if the knot was in place. 'You think he'll perform any miracles?' asked Wallace.

'Like what?'

'Well, I guess he could try to raise the Preacher from the dead.' The red-head laughed.

That ain't funny, Wallace. The Preacher was a good man.'

'That's not so, Nes. He spoke out against the Deacon during one of his sermons. Can you believe that?

Right there in a church. It's a wonder God didn't strike him dead there and then.'

'As I recall hearing it, he just said he thought it weren't necessary to have Oath Takers. That's all.'

'Are you saying the Apostle Saul ain't necessary?' asked Wallace.

Nestor was about to make a light-hearted remark, but then he saw the shining glint in Wallace's eyes.

'Of course I'm not. Wallace. He's a great man,' he said carefully. 'Now come on, we'd better get to work.'

The evening was long, and Nestor found his back aching as he stood against the wall holding the brass tray in his hands. Few were drinking now, and the Apostle Saul was sitting by the fire with Captain Leon Evans and Daniel Cade. The old prophet had been late arriving; most of the welcoming party had long since gone to their homes before the old man made his entrance. The Apostle had welcomed him warmly, but it seemed to Nestor that Daniel Cade was ill at ease.

'It is a privilege to meet you at last,' said Saul. 'Obviously I have read of your exploits against the Hellborn in the First War. Vile times, calling for men of iron — much as now. I am sorry to see that you have such difficulty with your movements. You should come to Unity; our Hospital is performing miracles daily, thanks to the discoveries of our medical teams.'

The Daniel Stones, you mean,' said Cade.

'You are well informed, sir. Yes, the fragments have been most helpful. We are still seeking larger Stones.'

'Blood and death is all they'll bring,' Cade said. 'Just like before.'

'In the hands of the Godly all things are pure,' said Saul.

Excited as he had been earlier in the evening Nestor was now tired, and becoming bored. He was due at the lumber site soon after dawn to collate the orders for timber, and issue working instructions to the men at the sawmill. Uncle Joseph was not an easy man to serve, and one yawn from Nestor would earn an hour's lecture at the end of the day.

'You knew the Jersualem Man, I understand,' remarked Saul to Cade. Instantly Nestor's weariness was forgotten.

'I knew him,' grunted the old man. 'And I never heard him say a word of prophecy. I don't reckon he'd be pleased to read what's said of him now.'

'He was a holy man,' said Saul, showing no sign of irritation, 'and the words he spoke have been carefully gathered from sources all over the land. Men who knew him. Men who heard him. I regard it as a personal tragedy that I never met him.'

Cade nodded solemnly. 'Well, I did, Saul. He was a lonely man, heartsick and bitter, seeking a city he knew could not exist. As to his prophesying… as I said, I never heard it. But it's true to say that he brought you and the Deacon into this world, when he sent the Sword of God thundering through the Gates of Time. We all know that's true.'

'The ways of the Lord are sometimes mystifying,' said Saul, with a tight smile. 'The world we left was a cesspool, owned by the Devil. The world we found had the potential for Eden — if only men would return to God. And by His grace we have conquered. Tell me, sir, why you have refused all invitations to travel to Unity, and be honoured for your work in the Lord's name?'

'I don't need honours,' Cade told him. ‘I lived most of my life, after the Hellborn War, in Rivervale. Had me a good woman and raised two tall sons. Both died in your Wars. Lisa was buried last Autumn and I came here to wait for death. Honours? What are they worth?'

Saul shrugged. 'A worthy point, from a worthy man, Mr Cade. Now tell me, do you think Pilgrim's Valley is a Godfearing community?'

There are good people here, Saul. Some better than others. I don't think you can judge a man merely because three of his friends say he's a believer. We got farmers on the outskirts, newcomers who wouldn't be able to raise three men who know them that well. It doesn't make 'em pagans.'

'You also had a church that welcomed Wolvers,' Saul pointed out, 'And a preacher who offered them the word of God. That was an obscenity, Mr Cade. And it took outsiders to put an end to it. That does not reflect well on the community.'

'What have you got against Wolvers?' Cade asked.

Saul's eyes narrowed. They are not true creations, Mr Cade. In the world I came from, animals were being genetically engineered to resemble people. This was done for medical reasons; it was possible then for a man with a diseased heart, or lungs, to have them removed and replaced. That was an abomination, Mr Cade. Animals have no souls, not in the strictest sense of eternal life. These mutated creatures are like plague germs, reminding us all of the dangers and disasters of the past. We must not repeat the errors that led God to destroy the old world. Not ever. We are on the verge of a new Eden, Mr Cade. Nothing must be allowed to halt our progress.'

'And we're going to find this new Eden by hounding people from their homes, by killing Wolvers and anyone who doesn't agree with us?'

'Not the Deacon, nor any of his Apostles take any joy in killing, Mr Cade. But you know your Bible. The Lord God does not tolerate evil in the midst of his people.'

Cade reached for his sticks and slowly, painfully, pushed himself to his feet. 'And the next war, Saul?

Who is that going to be with?'

The ungodly wherever we find them,' answered Saul.

'It's late, and I'm tired,' said Cade. ‘I’ll bid you good night.'

'May God be with you,' said Saul, rising.

Cade did not reply as, leaning heavily on his sticks, he made his way to the door. Nestor stifled a yawn and was about to ask if he could be excused from his duties when Saul spoke to Captain Evans.

'A dangerous man, Captain. I fear we may have to deal with him.'

Nestor blinked in surprise. At that moment Leon Evans looked up and saw him and the captain grinned.

'Go on home, Nestor,' he said, 'otherwise you're going to keel over like a felled tree.'

Nestor thanked him, bowed to the Apostle and walked out into the night where the old prophet was leaning against his buggy, unable to mount the steps. Nestor moved alongside him and took his arm. With an effort, he half-lifted Cade to the seat. 'Thank you, boy,' grunted Cade, his face red from the exertion.

'It was a pleasure, sir.'

'Beware the words of brass and iron, boy,' whispered the prophet. He flicked the reins and Nestor watched as the buggy trundled off into the night.

Alone now, Shannow waited among the rocks, his horse tethered some fifty paces to the north in a small stand of trees. Glancing to the east, he could make out the last of the wagons as they travelled further into the mountains. The sky was lightening. Dawn was close.

Shannow settled down with his back against a rock and stared to the west. Maybe he had been wrong.

Maybe the white-haired Oath Taker had decided against a punitive raid. He hoped so. The night was cool and he breathed deeply of the crisp mountain air. Glad to be alone, he let his mind wander.

Twenty years had passed since his name was feared among the ungodly. Twenty years! Where have I been, he wondered. How did I live? Idly he began to review what he remembered of his life, the gunfights and the battles, the towns and settlements.

Yes, I remember Allion, he thought, and saw again the day Daniel Cade led his brigands into the town. In the blaze of gunfire that had followed several of Cade's men had been shot from their saddles, while Cade himself took a bullet in the knee. Daniel Cade. Brother Daniel. For some reason that Shannow could never fathom, God had chosen Daniel to lead the war against the Hellborn.

But what then? Hazy pictures drifted into his mind, then vanished like mist in the breeze. A blonde woman, tall and strong, and a young fighter, lightning-fast with a pistol. . Cram? Glen?

'No,' said Shannow aloud. 'Clem. Clem Steiner.'

It will all come back, he promised himself. Just give it time.

Then came the sound of horses moving slowly through the darkness, the creak of leather saddles, the soft clopping of hooves on the dry plain. Shannow drew his pistols and eased himself further down into the rocks as the horses came closer. Removing his wide-brimmed hat, he risked a glance to the west; he could see them now, but not well enough to count them.

I don't want to kill again.

Aiming high, he loosed a shot. Some of the horses reared in fright, several others stampeded. Shannow saw one man thrown from the saddle, and another jumped clear of his bucking mount. Several shots were fired in his direction, but the bullets struck the rocks and screamed off into the night.

Dropping to his belly, Shannow peered round the rocks. The riders had dismounted and were now advancing on his position. From the east he heard the distant sound of gunfire.

The wagons! In that instant he knew there were two groups, and the blood-letting had already begun.

Anger surged within him.

Swiftly he pushed himself to his feet and stepped out from the rocks. A man reared up… Shannow shot him through the chest. Another moved to his right and again his pistol boomed.

He walked in amongst the men, guns blazing. Stunned by this sudden attack, the raiders broke and ran.

A man to Shannow's right groaned as the Jerusalem Man strode past him. A bullet whipped by Shannow's face, so close he felt its passing, the sound ringing in his ears like an angry bee. Twisting, he triggered both pistols and a rifleman was punched from his feet.

Two horses were standing close by. Shannow strode to the first and vaulted to the saddle. A man reared up from the undergrowth. Shannow shot him twice; then kicking the animal into a run, he headed east, reloading his pistols as the horse thundered across the plain. Anger was strong upon him now, a deep, boiling rage that threatened to engulf him. He did nothing to quell it.

Always it was the same, the evil strong preying on the weak, violence and death, lust and destruction.

When will it end, he wondered? Dear God, when will it end?

The full moon bathed the land in silver, and in the distance the red of fire could be seen as one of the wagons blazed. The firing was sporadic now, but at least it suggested that some of the Wanderers were still fighting.

Closer still he came, and saw five men kneeling behind a group of boulders; one of them had long white hair. A rifleman rose up, aiming at the wagons. Shannow loosed a shot which missed the man but ricocheted from the boulder, making the rifleman jerk back. The white-haired Oath Taker swung round, saw Shannow and began to run. Ignoring him, Shannow trained his guns on the riflemen.

'Put down your weapons,' he ordered them. 'Do it now — or die!'

Three of the four remaining men did exactly as they were told, then raised their hands, but the last — the thick-set man he had spoken to earlier — suddenly swung his rifle to bear. Shannow put a bullet into his brain.

'Jeremiah! It's me, Shannow,' shouted the Jerusalem Man. 'Can you hear me?'

'He's been shot,' came the answering call. 'We've wounded here — three dead, two badly hit.'

Gesturing to the captured men, Shannow ordered them towards the wagons. Once inside he gazed around. The pregnant Clara was dead, half her head blown away. A burly man named Chalmers was lying beside her. By Jeremiah's wagon lay the body of a child in a faded blue dress: one of Clara's two daughters. Shannow dismounted and moved to where Dr Meredith was kneeling beside the wounded Jeremiah. The old man had taken two shots, one to the upper chest and a second to the thigh. His face was grey in the moonlight.

‘I’ll live,' the old man whispered.

The wagons had been formed into a rough circle, and several of the horses were down. Isis and two of the men were battling to put out a fire in the last wagon. Guns in hand, Shannow strode back to the captured men, who were standing together at the centre of the camp.

'The bellows are burned, the land is consumed of the fire; the founder melteth in vain, for the wicked are not plucked away.' His guns levelled and he eased back the hammers.

'Shannow, no!' screamed Jeremiah. 'Let them be! Christ, man, there's been enough killing already.'

Shannow took a deep, slow breath, 'Help put out the fire,' he ordered the men. They obeyed him instantly, and without another word he walked to his horse and stepped into the saddle.

'Where are you going?' called Dr Meredith.

Shannow did not answer.

Aaron Crane and the survivors of the raid galloped into Purity and drew up before the long stone meeting-hall. Crane, dust-covered and dishevelled, dismounted and ran inside. The hall was crowded, the prayer meeting under way. On the dais Padlock Wheeler was reaching the midpoint in his sermon', concerning the path of the righteous. He stopped as he saw Crane and inwardly he groaned, but it was not wise to incur the wrath of the Oath Taker. The black-bearded minister fell silent for a moment, then forced a smile.

'You seem distraught, brother,' he said. Heads turned then, among them Captain Seth Wheeler and the twelve men of Purity's Crusaders. Crane drew himself up and ran a slender hand through his long white hair.

The forces of the Devil have been turned against us,' he said. 'The Lord's riders have been cut down.'

There was a gasp from the congregation and several of the women began to shout out questions concerning the fate of their husbands, brothers, or sons.

'Silence!' thundered Padlock Wheeler. 'Let the Oath Taker speak.'

'As you all know,' said Crane, 'we came upon a band of pagan Wanderers. With them was a demonic force: I recognised the power of Satan instantly. We tried, in vain, to overcome it. Many are dead. A few of us escaped, through the intervention of the Lord. We must have more men! I demand that the Crusaders ride out after these devils!'

Padlock Wheeler glanced down at his brother Seth. The captain rose from his seat. He was a tall, slim man with a long face and a dour expression. 'Let the women go to their homes,' he said. 'We'll discuss what's to be done.'

'Where's my boy?' screamed a woman, rushing at Crane. 'Where is Lemuel?'

'I fear he perished,' Crane told her, 'but he died in the Lord's work.' The woman's hand snaked out to slash across Crane's cheek. Two other women grabbed her, hauling her back.

'Stop this!' thundered Padlock Wheeler. This is a house of God!' The commotion died instantly. Slowly the women filed from the hall, the men gathering around Crane.

Seth Wheeler moved forward. Tell us of this demon,' he ordered Crane.

'It is in the guise of a man, but it is Satan-inspired. He is a killer. A terrible killer!' Crane shivered. 'He cast a spell upon me that took all the power I had to overcome.'

'How many are dead?' asked the Crusader captain.

‘I don't know. We advanced on two fronts. The killer was waiting in the east and shot down four men: Lassiter, Pope, Carter and Lowris. Then he rode west and slew. . everyone but me. I managed to escape.'

'You ran?'

'What else could I do?'

Seth Wheeler glanced at the men gathered in the hall. There were some twenty in all, plus his twelve Crusaders. 'How many Wanderers were there?'

'Eleven wagons,' Crane told him. 'Perhaps thirty people. They must be destroyed. Utterly destroyed!'

Still on the dais, Padlock Wheeler saw the door at the back of the hall open, and a tall man step inside.

Dressed in a dust-stained black coat, patched on the left arm, he wore two long guns.

'Where are the lawmakers of this community?' he said — his voice, though not loud, cutting through the conversation at the centre of the hall.

Crane saw him and screamed. 'It's him! It's the Devil!' Backing away, the white-haired Oath Taker ducked down behind a line of benches.

This is a house of the Lord,' said Padlock Wheeler. 'What do you want here?'

'Justice,' answered the man. 'You are sheltering a murderer, a killer of women and children.'

'He tells it differently,' said Padlock. 'He claims you are demon-possessed.'

The newcomer shook his head. Twenty miles from here they are burying a woman named Clara. She was pregnant; half her head was shot away. They will bury one of her daughters beside her. The man Crane rode up to the wagons yesterday and demanded to hear Psalm 22. I gave him to understand that I knew it. As indeed I do. But he is an evil man, and was determined upon murder. So tell me this: How will you judge him?'

Padlock looked down at where Crane was cowering. The minister felt exultant. All along he had believed Crane to be a dangerous man, and this was the opportunity to bring him down. He would ask Seth for an inquiry, and he had no doubt that the Oath Taker would be shown to be a lawbreaker. But just as he was about to speak he saw Crane draw a pistol from his belt and cock it.

Within a heartbeat all was chaos and confusion. 'You lie!' screamed Crane, rearing up and pointing his pistol. The shot splintered the wood of the door by the stranger's head. The gathered men dived for cover, but the stranger calmly drew one of his pistols and fired once. Crane's head exploded.

The Oath Taker's body stood for a moment, his black coat drenched in blood and brain. Then it crumpled to the floor.

'I am the Jerusalem Man,' said the stranger, 'and I do not lie.'

Sheathing his pistol, he left the hall.

One by one the watching men rose and moved back to view the body. Padlock Wheeler, his legs unsteady, climbed down from the dais. His brother Seth stood by the corpse and shook his head.

'What happens now?' asked Padlock.

'We'll send a message to Unity,' said Seth. 'They'll have to send another Oath Taker.'

Padlock took his brother's arm and led him away from the other men. 'He claimed to be Jon Shannow.'

'I heard him. That was blasphemy! I'll take some men to the Wanderers tomorrow. We'll speak to them, find out what really happened.'

'Crane was a wretch! I'll shed no tears for him. Why not let them go their way?'

Seth shook his head. 'He claimed to be the Jerusalem Man. He took the saint's name in vain. Everyone heard it; he's got to answer for that.'

'I don't want to see anyone else die for the sake of Crane's evil. Not even a blasphemer.'

Seth smiled thinly. 'I am a Crusader, Pad. What do you expect me to do?'

'Walk warily, brother. You saw him shoot. He was under fire, but he calmly aimed and blew Crane's soul to Hell. And if what the wretch said was true — and I don't doubt it was — he shot down a number of other armed men.'

'I've no choice, Pad. I'll try to take him alive.'