Bloodstone

by David Gemmell

  “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 had been to get to Arizona before the Fall. And he had remembered that awful morning as the plane had 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 the one 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 said, “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 toward the runways of the 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 toward the old stone circle. “One minute twelve seconds,” said Lucas.

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

  “Get us back,” he said.

  “What are the coordinates?” Lucas asked.

  “Coordinates? 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, smiling at 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,” Esther whispered, 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, Nestor guessed.

  “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 was what they were—were riding with their rifles pointed in at the group. “They’re moving toward Pilgrim’s Valley,” said Nestor, thinking of the quiet strength of Captain Leon Evans and his Crusaders. They would 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 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 among 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 agree with 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 and 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 six hundred 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 howling across the earth, to be followed by a tidal wave the likes of which no man or woman had ever seen and lived through.

  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, clinging 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 onto 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 on 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 realized, 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 toward them. “I love you, Sam. Always have, always will.”

  Glancing down at her, he smiled. Then he kissed her lightly on 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 had said their farewells, his beard long and white, streaked with shades of darker gray. 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, and the sea is 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 coordinates 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 not to be able to say anything. 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 recognized 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 center close to Pilgrim’s Valley. I used it myself twice,” she said.

  “Then that will be our destination,” said Lucas. “But I cannot guarantee that we will 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 had clapped her hands when she had seen 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 shoveled onto 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 armor 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 redheaded 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 and 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 wom
en 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 received 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 toward 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 toward 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.