Bloodstone

by David Gemmell

  Meredith’s mouth was dry, and his hands continued to tremble so badly that he felt that the movement must be obvious.

  Suddenly the window was smashed to shards, glass peppering the cabin. A taloned hand gripped the frame, hauling on it as the creature slowly pulled itself half into the cabin, directly over Isis. Its snout lowered, and its nose snuffled over the face of the unconscious woman. A low growl sounded, then it dropped back to the yard.

  A shot sounded, making both men jerk. The creatures outside howled, and Meredith heard the padding of their paws as they moved away from the wagon.

  “What are we going to do?” whispered Meredith.

  “Stay still, boy. Wait.”

  “They’ll come back. They’ll tear us apart.”

  Jeremiah eased himself to his knees and looked through the hatch. With great care he moved back alongside the panic-stricken doctor. “They’ve gorged on the oxen, Doctor. I think that’s why it left Isis.” Stepping over his companion, Jeremiah risked a glance from the right window. Meredith rose alongside him. The yard was empty.

  “We’ve got to try for the house,” said Jeremiah.

  “No!” The thought of going out into the open was more than Meredith could consider.

  “Listen to me, Son. I know you are frightened. So am I. But you said it yourself: to stay here is to die. The house looks solid, and there are people with guns inside. We have to risk it.”

  Meredith looked down at the comatose woman. “We can’t leave her!”

  “We surely can’t carry her, Meredith. And she is beyond this world now. Come on, my boy. Just follow me, eh?”

  Jeremiah moved silently to the rear of the cabin and unfastened the door latch. As usual it gave out with a creak as it opened. Gingerly he lowered himself to the ground, and Meredith scrambled after him.

  “Don’t make any noise,” warned Jeremiah. “We’ll walk across and hope to God the people inside are watching for us. You understand?” Meredith nodded.

  The night was silent, and there was no sign of the creatures as Jeremiah drew in a deep breath and began to make his way across the thirty yards of open space that separated the wagon from the house. Meredith was behind him. Then the young doctor started to run, and Jeremiah set off after him.

  “Open the door!” screamed Meredith.

  A creature emerged from behind the barn, howled, and set off after them, covering the ground with immense speed. Meredith managed to reach the raised walkway around the house, then stumbled and fell on the steps. Jeremiah came up behind him and grabbed for his arm, trying to haul him upright.

  The creature was close, but Jeremiah did not look back.

  The door opened.

  Jake stepped into sight with two pistols in his hands. Meredith lunged upright, colliding with Jake and knocking the old man aside. Jeremiah was just behind him. Something struck him in the back, and a terrible pain tore through him.

  Recovering his balance, Jake fired twice. The creature was smashed back from the walkway. Jake hauled Jeremiah inside, and a woman slammed the door behind him. Meredith swung to see Jeremiah lying facedown on the dirt floor with blood streaming from a terrible wound in his back. “Why the hell did you shout, boy?” stormed Jake, grabbing Meredith by his shirt.

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Meredith pulled himself clear and knelt by Jeremiah, his hands trying to cover the gaping wound.

  Jeremiah sighed and rolled to his side. Reaching up, he took hold of the doctor’s blood-drenched hand. “Don’t … blame … yourself. You’re a good … man.”

  And then he was gone. “You pitiful son of a bitch!” said Jake.

  12

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

  The Wisdom of the Deacon

  Chapter XXI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Want me to come with you, Frey?”

  “No, Son. You stay here. Look after your sister.”

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

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

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

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

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

  One of the men who had killed Oz’s father had ridden up to the house and stopped at the well for water. He had seen Oz and Esther playing by the back fence. Zerah, not knowing the man, had walked from the house to greet the newcomer.

  “Nice kids,” he had said. “Your grandchildren?”

  “They surely are,” she had told him. “You passing through?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  His hunger was almost gone.

  But the seed of it remained.

  His Devourers were roaming the countryside, and he could feel the steady trickle of sustenance. Not enough to satisfy yet adequate for the present. Reaching out, he sought other Wolvers, ready to draw them to him for the Change. But there were none within the range of his power. Curious, he thought, for he knew such beasts existed in this world; he had plucked their image from the dying memories of Saul Wilkins and read them again in the sadistic mind of Jacob Moon. A tiny flicker of concern touched him. Without new Devourers his task in this new world would be more difficult. Then he thought again of the gateway. If there was one, there must be more.

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

  In such places he would never know hunger again.

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

  “It’s my fault,” he said. “I don’t know why I shouted. I just … panicked.”

  “Damn right!” said the Deacon.

  “Leave it alone,” Beth told him icily. “Not everyone is like you, and thank God for it. Yes, he panicked. He was frightened. But even his friend told him not to blame himself.” She patted Meredith’s shoulder and stepped in closer to the Deacon. “Blood and death is all you know, Deacon. Murder and pain. Now leave it be!”

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

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

  “The shutters won’t hold them,” said the Deacon. He drew a pistol, then winced and fell against the wall. Beth moved alongside him. His face was gray with exhaustion and pain. Reaching out, she put her arm around him and led him to a chair. As he sat, she saw that her hand was smeared with blood.

  “You’re hurt,” she said.

  “I’ve been hurt before.”

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

  “I’ll live. I have to.”

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

  “Needs feeding,” said Beth, but the young woman slouched in the chair made no movement. Beth moved to her and saw that her eyes were vacant. She undid the buttons of the girl’s sweat-stained blouse, then lifted the baby to the swollen breast. As it began to suck, the girl moaned and started to cry. “There, there,” said Beth. “Everything is all right now. Look at her feed. She was real hungry.”

  “He’s a boy,” whispered the mother.

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

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

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

  “I am sorry, Son,” he said. “I hope you’ll forgive my harsh words.”

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

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

  “They’re moving on the barn,” Wallace shouted.

  “Keep your voice down!” ordered Beth.

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

  Beth lit two more lanterns, hanging them on hooks by the wall. “It is going to be a long night,” she said. The screaming of the trapped animals went on for some minutes, then there was silence. Beth sent Meredith through to the back room to check on Josiah Broome. The girl in the chair had fallen asleep, and Beth lifted the babe from her arms and sat with it on the old rocker.

  Wallace Nash came down the stairs and stood in front of her.

  “What is it, Wallace?”

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

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

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

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

  Outside a beast howled.

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

  Opening his hand, he gazed down at the golden pebble. Only the faintest thread of black showed where the power had been leached. Rising, he moved to the window. The aching pain was gone from his shoulder and knees, and he moved with a spring in his step. Glancing through the gap in the shutters, he saw Devourers clambering over Jeremiah’s wagon, moving into the cabin and up through the hatches. The barn was silent, but he could see gray shapes lying on the hard-baked dirt of the yard or squatting near the fence.