The Last Guardian

CHAPTER NINE

Shannow knew from the moment he set off in pursuit that he would be too late to help the woman

"and her family, and anger burned in him. Even so he rode with care, for in the light of the moon he could not clearly see the ground ahead. It was dawn before he came upon the bodies; they had been disturbed by carrion-eaters, the faces and hands stripped of flesh. Shannow sat his horse and stared down at them.

His respect for the unknown woman soared. Dismounting he examined the ground, finding the spot from which Beth McAdam had fired. Judging by the angle at which the other corpse lay, the second shot must have come from the wagon. Shannow remounted and headed towards the mountains.

The land rose sharply, becoming thickly wooded with towering pine. The stallion was tired and stumbled twice; Shannow stepped down and led the horse up and into the trees. They came to a crest on the mountainside and Shannow gazed down on a sprawling camp with six fires and a dozen tents. Men were working under torchlight in an immense pit from which jutted a towering structure of metal, almost triangular but with one side slightly curved. There was a wide stream to the south of the camp and, beside it, a wagon. The Jerusalem Man led his mount down into the camp-site, tethering him at a picket line and removing the saddle. A man approached him.

'You got word from Scayse?' the man asked, and Shannow turned.

'No. I've just come in from the north.' The man swore and walked away.

Shannow made his way to the largest tent and stepped into the lantern-lit interior. There were a dozen or so men inside, eating and drinking, while a large-boned, well-fleshed woman in a leather apron was ladling food into round wooden bowls. He joined the queue and took a bowl of thick broth and a chunk of black bread, carrying it to a bench table near the tent opening. Two men made room for him and he ate in silence.

'Looking for work?' asked a man across the table and Shannow looked up. The speaker was around thirty years of age, slender and fair-haired.

'No… thank you. I am heading south,' Shannow replied. 'Can I purchase supplies here?'

'You could see Deiker, he may have some spare. He's on site at the moment; he should be in any time now.'

'What are you working on?'

'It's an old metal building from before the Fall. We've found some interesting artefacts. Nothing of great value yet, but we're hopeful. It has given us a great insight into the Dark Times; they must have been living in fear to build such a great iron fortress here.'

'Why in fear?' Shannow asked.

'Oh, you can only see a section of the building from here. It goes on and on. There are no windows or doors for over a hundred feet from the foundation base, and then when you do find them they are too small to allow anyone to climb through. They must have had terrible wars in those days. By the way, my name is Klaus Monet.' The young man thrust out his hand and Shannow accepted the grip.

'Jon Shannow,' he said, watching for any response. There was none.

'And another thing,' Monet went on. 'It is all built of iron, and yet there are no significant iron ore deposits in these mountains, nor trace of any mines — save the silver mines at Pilgrim's Valley. So, the inhabitants must have carted ore right across the Big Wide. Incredible, isn't it?'

'Incredible,' agreed Shannow, finishing his meal and rising.

Outside the tent he walked to the edge of the pit and watched the men below; they were finishing their work and packing their tools away. He waited until they reached the upper level.

'Meneer Deiker!' Shannow called.

'Who wants him?' asked a thickset man with a black and silver beard.

'I do. I am looking to buy some supplies — grain, dried fruit and meat. And some oats if you have them.'

'For how many?'

'Just myself.'

The man nodded. 'I think I can accommodate you, but Pilgrim's Valley is only two days away.

You'd get better prices there.'

'Always take food where you can find it,' Shannow said.

'There's wisdom in that,' Deiker agreed. He led Shannow to the store tents and filled several small sacks. 'You want sugar and salt?'

'If you can spare it. How long have you been working on this site?'

'About a month; it's one of the best. There will be a lot of answers here, mark my words.'

'And you think it is a building?'

'What else can it be?' asked Deiker, with a broad grin.

'It is a ship,' Shannow told him.

'I like a man with a sense of humour, Meneer. I estimate that it is over three hundred feet long -

most of it still buried. And it is made of iron. Did you ever see anyone float a piece of iron?'

'No, but I have seen an iron ship before — and considerably bigger than this one.'

Deiker shook his head. 'I am an Arcanist, Meneer. I know my business. I also know you do not get ships at the centre of a land mass. That will be three full Silvers.'

Shannow said no more but paid for the food with Barta coin and carried it back to his saddle, stowing it in his cavernous bags. Then he walked back through the camp towards the wagon by the stream. He saw a woman sitting by a blazing fire with her two children asleep in blankets by her feet.

She looked up as he approached and he watched her hand slide towards the pistol scabbard on her belt.

Beth McAdam looked long at the tall newcomer. His hair was shoulder-length and dark, with silver streaks at the temples, and a white fork at the chin showed in the close-trimmed beard he wore. His face was angular and strong, his blue eyes cold. By his side were two pistols in oiled leather scabbards.

He sat down opposite her. 'You coped well with a perilous journey. I congratulate you. Very few people would have dared to cross the Big Wide without the protection of a wagon convoy.'

'You get straight to it, don't you?' she said.

'I do not understand you?'

'Well, I do not need a guide, or a helper, or a man around me. Thank you for your offer. And good night.'

'Have I offended you?' Shannow asked softly, his blue eyes locked to her own.

'I don't offend easily. Neither do you, it seems.'

He scratched at his beard and smiled; in that moment his face lost some of its harshness. 'No, I do not. If you would prefer me to leave, I will do so.'

'Help yourself to some tea,' she said. 'After that, I would like some privacy.'

That is kind of you.' As he leaned forward to lift the kettle he froze, then stood, turning to face the darkness. Two men walked into the firelight; Beth eased her hand around the butt of her pistol.

'Meneer Shannow, do you have a moment?' asked Klaus Monet. 'There is someone I would like you to meet.' He gestured to his companion, a small, balding figure with a sparse white beard.

'This is Boris Haimut; he is a leading Arcanist.' The man dropped his head in a short bow and offered his hand. Shannow took it.

'Meneer Deiker told me of your conversation,' said Haimut. 'I was fascinated. I have thought for some time that we were studying a vessel of some kind, but it seemed so improbable. We have only excavated some one-fifth of the… the ship. Do you have an explanation as to how it got here?'

'Yes,' replied Shannow. 'But I fear we are intruding on the lady's privacy.'

'But of course,' agreed Haimut. 'My apologies, Frey…'

'McAdam. And Meneer Shannow is correct; I do not wish the sleep of my children disturbed.'

The three men bowed and silently left the camp-site. Beth watched them vanish into the shadows and then reappear on the torch-lit slopes of the site.

She poured herself some tea and sipped it, Shannow's face hovering in her mind. Was he brigand or Landsman? She shook her thoughts clear of him. What difference did it make? She would not see him again. Throwing the remains of her tea to the ground, she settled down under her blankets.

But sleep did not come easily.

'You have to understand, Meneer Shannow,' said Boris Haimut with an apologetic smile, 'that Meneer Deiker is Oldview. He is a Biblical man and believes the world is currently enduring the Last Days. To him Armageddon was a reality that began — to the best of our knowledge — three hundred and seventeen years ago. For myself, I am a Longview scholar. It is my belief that we have seen at least a thousand years of civilisation following the death of the man, Jesus; that civilisation knew wonders that are now lost to us. This find has already cast great doubts on the Old-view. If it is a ship… the doubts could become certainties.'

Shannow sat silently, uncomfortable within the small tent and acutely aware that the bright lantern was casting shadows on the canvas. He knew he should be in little danger here, but years of being both hunter and hunted left him uneasy when sitting in exposed places.

'I can tell you little, Meneer,' he said. 'More than a thousand miles from here is a tall mountain.

High on a ledge there is a rotting vessel of iron, around a thousand feet long. It was a ship — I learned this from people who lived close by it and knew its history. It seems this land mass was once at the bottom of an ocean, and many ships sank during storms.'

'But the ancient cities we have found?' questioned Haimut. 'There are even ruins less than two miles from here. How is it they were built at the bottom of an ocean?'

'I too wondered this. Then I met a man named Samuel Archer — a scholar like yourself. He proved to me that the world had toppled not once, but twice. The cities themselves are indeed ancient -

from an empire called Atlantis that sank below the oceans before the time of Christ.'

'Revolutionary words, Meneer. In some areas you could be stoned to death for saying them.'

'I am aware of that,' said Shannow. 'However, when you excavate more of the ship you will find the great engines that powered it, and a wheelhouse from where it was steered. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to rest.'

'A moment, sir,' put in Klaus Monet, who had been sitting in silence as the two older men spoke.

'Would you stay with us — become part of the team?'

'I do not think so,' answered Shannow, rising.

'It is just that…' Monet looked to the elderly Haimut for support, but the scholar shook his head and Monet lapsed into embarrassed silence.

Shannow stepped from the tent and made his way to his horse. He fed the beast some grain, then spread his blankets on the ground beside it. He could have told them more: the glowing lights that burned without flame, the navigational devices — all the knowledge he had gained from the Guardians during the Hellborn War. But what would it serve? Shannow was caught in the no-man's land of the Arcane debate.

Instinctively he longed for the Oldview to be correct, but events had forced a different understanding on him. The old world was gone. Shannow had no wish to see it rise from the ashes.

Just as he was drifting to sleep, he heard a gentle footfall on the earth. He drew a pistol and waited.

The slender figure of Klaus Monet crouched beside him. 'I am sorry to intrude on you, Meneer Shannow. But… you seem a man of action, sir. And we sorely need someone like you.'

Shannow sat up. 'Explain yourself.'

Monet leaned in close. 'This expedition was led by Boris; we won the finance from a group of Longviewers in the east. But since we have been here, a man named Scayse has become involved in the project. He has put his own men — led by Deiker — in charge, and now some of the finds are being sent to him in Pilgrim's Valley.'

'What kind of finds?'

'Gold bars, gems from steel boxes in one of the deep rooms. It is theft, Meneer Shannow.'

'Then put a stop to it,' Shannow advised.

'I am a scholar, sir.'

'Then study — and do not interfere with matters beyond your strength.'

'You would condone such thievery?'

Shannow chuckled. 'Thievery? Who owns this ship? No one. Therefore there is no theft. Two groups of men desire what is here. The strongest will take what he wills. That is the way of life, Meneer Monet; strength always decides.'

'But with you, we would be stronger.'

'Perhaps… but you will never know. I leave in the morning.'

'Are you afraid, Meneer Shannow, or do you just desire more coin? We can pay.'

'You could not afford me, sir. Now leave me to sleep.'

The morning sky was grey and rain on his face woke Shannow soon after dawn. He rose from his blankets and rolled them into a tight bundle, tying them with strips of oiled hide. Then he put on his heavy, double-shouldered topcoat and saddled the stallion. Two men came walking towards him through the misty rain and Shannow turned and waited.

'Looks like you beat us to it,' said the first, a broad-shouldered man with a gaping gap where his front teeth should have been. His comrade was shorter and more lean; both were wearing pistols.

'Well, don't let us stop you,' continued the big man. 'Be on your way.'

Shannow remained silent.

'Are you deficient in the hearing?' the second man asked. 'You are not wanted here.'

A small crowd had gathered in the background and Shannow caught sight of Haimut and Klaus Monet. Of Deiker there was no sign.

'That's it, let's help him on his way,' said the big man, stepping in; but Shannow's hand shot up with fingers extended, and hammered into his throat. He fell back choking, then sank to his knees. Shannow's eyes fixed on the second man.

'Be so kind as to tie my blanket roll to my saddle,' he said softly.

The man swallowed hard and licked his lips, his hand hovering over the pistol butt.

'Today,' stated Shannow, 'is not a good day to die. A man should at least see the sun in the heavens.'

For several seconds the man stood tense; then he cast a nervous glance at his comrade who was kneeling and holding his throat, his breathing hoarse and ragged. He knew he should grab for his pistol, but could not make his hand obey him. His eyes flicked up to meet Shannow's.

'Damn you!' he whispered. His hand fell away from the gun and he moved to the blanket roll, swinging it over the back of the saddle and tying it into place.

'Thank you,' said Shannow. 'And now see to your friend.' He stepped into the saddle and swung the stallion towards the norm. The crowd parted and he resisted the urge to glance back. Now was the moment of greatest danger. But there was no shot. He angled the stallion down to where Frey McAdam's wagon had been camped; it was gone.

Shannow was angry with himself. There was no need to have shamed the men Deiker had obviously sent to see him on his way. He should have mounted and left as they had asked him.

Only pride had prevented him from doing just that, and pride was a sin in the eyes of the Almighty.

That is why you cannot find Jerusalem, Shannow, he told himself. Your sins burden you down.

There is no Jerusalem!

The thought leapt unbidden to his mind and he shivered. He had seen sb much in these last few years and his doubts were many. But what choice do I have, he wondered. If there is no Jerusalem, then all is in vain. And so the search must go on. For what purpose? For me! For as long as I search, then Jerusalem exists — if only in my mind. And that is chough. I need no more.

You lie, Shannow! Yes, yes, I lie. But what does that prove? I must search. I must know. Where next mil you search? Beyond the Great Wall. And if not there? To the ends of the earth and the borders of Hell!

Coming to the top of the rise, he turned west seeking the pass through the mountains. He rode the deer trails for more than two hours before joining the main track, which was scarred by the rims of wagon wheels and the hooves of many horses. The rain had ceased and the sun broke clear-of the clouds. He rode more warily now, halting often and studying his surroundings. With the sun at its height he stopped and rested in the shadow of a looming natural pillar of stone. It was cool here and he read his Bible for an hour, enjoying the Song of Solomon. By mid-afternoon the Jerusalem Man had passed the mountains and was following a narrow track down into the valley beyond.

To the west he could see the McAdam wagon, following the wider trail which led into the town.

To the north, beyond the buildings, the valley stretched for miles, ending in a huge wall that vanished into the distance. Shannow drew a long glass from his bags and through it he scanned the Wall. It was massive and even at this distance he could make out the flowers and lichens sprouting between its great blocks. He transferred his gaze to the sky, seeking the wonders beyond the Wall, but only huge white clouds could be seen gently rolling across the vault of Heaven. Hitching himself round in the saddle, he focused on the McAdam wagon. The woman was at the reins; he could see her honey-blonde hair and the flesh of her right leg as it rested against the brake. The children were walking behind, leading the horse. They would be in the town long before Shannow. He studied the buildings below. Most were wood structures — some timber, some log — but there were stone dwellings of several storeys, mostly at the eastern end.

There appeared to be one main thoroughfare stretching for around four hundred paces and then, in the shape of a 'T', buildings branched north and south of it. It was a thriving community and many more dwellings were in the process of completion. Beyond the town was a meadow packed with tents, large and small, and Shannow could see more than a dozen cook-fires. Families were moving in to setde the land and soon Pilgrim's Valley would house a city.

Shannow considered avoiding the town and riding on to the Wall, and beyond. But the stallion needed rest and grain feeding and the Jerusalem Man had not slept in a bed in what seemed an age. He rubbed at his chin and imagined a long, hot bath and the feel of a razor on his face. His clothes too were way overdue for a cleaning, and his boots were leaf-thin. Flicking a glance at the wagon, he could no longer see the driver nor the flesh of her leg at the brake.