Wolf in Shadow

by David Gemmell

  “Shame,” corrected the man, grinning. “They taste good!”

  “Good luck,” said Shannow.

  “We killed many, Thundermaker. You think they run now?”

  “No.”

  “I also. It is the end of things for us.”

  “All things must end,” said Shannow. “Why not come west, away from here?”

  “No. We will not run. We are of the blood of the lions, and we will fight. We have many thunder guns now.”

  Shannow reached into his pocket, producing a cartridge.

  “The thunder guns fire these,” he said, “and you must gather these from the bodies. Pass me your pistol.” Shannow took the weapon and flicked open the breech, emptying the spent shells one by one. Then he reloaded the weapon and handed it back.

  Swinging the horse’s head, Shannow rode to the west.

  The Carn watched him go, then cocked the pistol and headed back toward his village.

  5

  SHANNOW RODE SOUTH for an hour before swinging his horse to the northwest. He did not know how many Hellborn had been killed in the night, and now he did not care; he was bone tired, and his muscles ached. He rubbed at his eyes and rode on. Once he could have gone for three days without sleep, but not now. After another hour Shannow began to doze in the saddle. Around him the snow was falling, the temperature dropping. Ahead was a grove of pine trees, and he steered the gelding in among them.

  Dismounting near a group of young saplings, he took a ball of twine from his saddlebag. Painstakingly he pulled the saplings together, tying them tightly and creating the skeleton of a tepee. Moving slowly so as not to sweat too heavily, he gathered branches and wove them between the saplings to create a round hut that was open at the top. Then he led the gelding inside and packed snow over the branches until a solid wall surrounded him. Only then did he prepare a fire. His fingers were numb with cold, and the snow fell faster, adding to the walls of his dwelling. Once the fire was under way, he left the shelter and gathered dead wood, piling it across the opening. By dusk he felt strong enough to allow himself to sleep; he added three large chunks of wood to the fire, wrapped himself in his blankets, and lay down.

  Far off the sound of gunfire echoed in the air, and his eyes flickered open but closed again almost immediately.

  He slept without dreams for fourteen hours and awoke to a dead fire, but the snow had covered his shelter completely and he remained snug and warm in his blankets. He started a fresh fire and sat up. From his saddlebags he took some oatcakes, sharing them with the gelding.

  By midday he was once more in the saddle and heading for the village. He arrived to see a smoking ruin and rode on toward the hills, his pistol in his hand.

  In the late afternoon he approached the caves and saw the bodies. His heart sank, and he dismounted. Inside the women and children of the Corn People lay frozen in death. Shannow blinked hard and backed away. By the cave mouth he found Curopet, her eyes open, staring up at the sky. Shannow knelt beside her and closed her eyes.

  “I am sorry, lady,” he said. “I am so sorry.”

  He walked away from the corpses and remounted, steering the gelding down toward the plain.

  There, nailed to a tree with his arms spread, was Karitas. The old man was still alive, but Shannow could not free him, for the nails were too deep. Karitas’ eyes opened, and tears welled. Shannow looked away.

  “They killed all my little ones,” whispered Karitas. “All dead.”

  “I’ll try to find something to cut you loose.”

  “No, I’m finished. They were looking for you, Shannow.”

  “Why?”

  “They had orders to seek you out. Abaddon fears you. Oh, Jon, they killed my little ones.”

  Shannow drew his hunting knife and began to hack at the wood around Karitas’ right hand, but it was tough and frozen and he could make no impression. Karitas began to weep and sob piteously. Shannow dropped his knife and put his hands on Karitas’ face. He could not embrace him.

  “Jon?”

  “Yes, my friend.”

  “Read me something from the Book.”

  “What would you like to hear?”

  “Psalm 22.”

  Shannow fetched his Bible, found the passage, and began to read: “My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me, why are thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring …” Shannow read on until he reached the verse: “The assembly of the wicked have inclosed me: They pierced my hands and feet. I may tell all my bones: They look and stare upon me.” Shannow stopped reading, and the tears ran down his cheeks and dropped to the pages.

  Karitas closed his eyes, and his head fell forward. Shannow went to him, and the old man rallied briefly, but Shannow watched the light of life go out of his bright eyes. He stumbled to his Bible and lifted it from the snow, brushing it clean. Returning to the old man, he read: “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the Shadow of Death I will fear no evil, for thou art with me …” He could read no more.

  Shannow screamed in his anguish, and his voice echoed in the hills. He fell to his knees in the snow and covered his face with his hands.

  The boy Selah found him there at dusk, half-frozen and semicoherent. He pulled him to his feet and took him to a small cave, where he lit a fire. After a while Shannow slept. Selah led the horses into the cave and covered the Jerusalem Man with a blanket.

  Shannow awoke in the night. Selah was sitting staring into the fire.

  “Where are the men?”

  “All dead,” Selah said.

  “How?”

  “I took the horses as you said and headed them west. Shonal and the others joined me there, and we went north, as you ordered. There we ran into another group of Hellborn; they must have split up and attacked our women even as we were attacking their camp. They caught us in the open ground, and their guns cut into us; I was at the back, and I wheeled my horse and ran like a coward.”

  “Dying is a poor way of proving your courage, Selah.”

  “They have destroyed us, Thundermaker. All my people are gone.”

  “I know, boy. There are no words to ease the grief.”

  “Why? Why would they just kill? There is no reason. Even the Carns killed for food. Why should these Hellborn cause such pain?”

  “There is no answer,” said Shannow. “Get some sleep, lad. Tomorrow we will set out to find my people.”

  “You will take me with you?”

  “If you would like to come.”

  “Will we hunt the Hellborn?”

  “No, Selah. We will avoid them.”

  “I want to kill them all.”

  “I can understand that, but one man and a boy cannot change the face of the world. One day they will lose. God will not allow them to persevere and prosper.”

  “Your God did not protect my people,” said Selah.

  “No, but he kept you alive. And me.”

  Shannow lay back, pillowing his head on his arms and staring at the fire shadows on the ceiling of the cave. He recalled Karitas’ warning that the Hellborn were looking for him and puzzled at it. Why? What had he done to make them hunt him? Why should an army seek him?

  He closed his eyes and drifted into sleep, dreaming that he floated above a great building of stone at the center of a dark, dreary city. Sounds like great hammers on giant anvils boomed in the night, and crowds milled around taverns and squares. Shannow floated down to the stone building and saw statues of horned and scaled demons beside a long stairway leading up to doors of oak. He moved up the stairway, passing through the closed doors and into a hall lined with the carved shapes of dragons and lizards. A circular staircase led to an observatory where a long telescope pointed to the stars and several men in red robes were working with quill and parchment. Shannow floated by them. At anothe
r door two guards stood, holding rifles across their chests. Passing them, he entered a room lit with red candles.

  There sat a man studying maps. He was handsome, with dark hair graying at the temples. His nose was long and straight, his mouth full and sensual, and his eyes gray and humorous.

  He was wearing a white shirt, gray trousers, and shoes of snakeskin. He stiffened as Shannow floated behind him, and then he rose.

  “Welcome, Mr. Shannow,” he said, turning and staring directly up at him. His eyes were mocking now, and Shannow felt fear rising toward terror as a dark cloud coalesced around the man and rose toward him. The Jerusalem Man moved back, and the cloud took form. A huge bloated head, horned and scaled, and a cavernous mouth rimmed with pointed teeth gaped before him. Arms grew from the cloud, and taloned fingers reached out toward him … He fled to his body and awoke sweating, jerking up from his blankets and stifling a scream. His eyes swept around the cave past the sleeping Selah and the two horses. Fighting down his panic, Shannow drew his right-hand pistol from the scabbard beside his head. The gun was cold in his hand.

  He lay back and closed his eyes, and instantly the demon was upon him, its talons tearing at him. Again he awoke, shaking with terror. Calming himself, he prayed long and earnestly; then he sheathed his pistol, crossed his arms, and slept.

  Once more he was above the stone building with the demon racing toward him. He raised his hands, and two shining swords appeared there. He sped toward the demon, and the swords flashed into its bloated body. Talons ripped at him, but he ignored them, slashing and cutting in a maniacal frenzy. The beast was forced back, and in its blood-red eyes Shannow saw the birth of fear. Rearing up, the Jerusalem Man plunged his swords into its face. Smoke writhed up from the wounds, and the beast disappeared.

  In its place floated the handsome man wearing a robe of purest white.

  “I underestimated you, Mr. Shannow,” he said.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Abaddon. You should know the name.”

  “The name is in the Book of Revelation,” said Shannow. “The angel of the bottomless pit. You are not he. You are merely a man.”

  “Who is to say, Mr. Shannow? If a man does not die, then he is divine. I have lived for 346 years, thanks to the lord of this world.”

  “You serve the serpent,” stated Shannow.

  “I serve the one who conquered. How can you be such a fool, Mr. Shannow? Armageddon is over, and where is the New Jerusalem? Where does the wolf sit down with the lamb? Where does the lion eat straw like the cattle? Nowhere, Mr. Shannow. The world died, and your god died with it. You and I are the opposite extremes of the new order. My land flourishes; my armies can conquer the world. And you? You are a lonely man wandering the world like a shadow, unwelcome and unwanted—just like your god.”

  Shannow felt the weight of truth bear down on him like a rock, but he said nothing.

  “Lost for words, Mr. Shannow? You should have listened to old Karitas. He had the chance to join me over a century ago, but he preferred to live in the woods like some venerated hermit. Now he is dead, quite poetically so, and his grubby people died with him. You will be next, Mr. Shannow, unless you would prefer to join the Hellborn.”

  “There is no inducement under the stars that could tempt me to join you,” answered Shannow.

  “Is there not? What about the life of Donna Taybard?”

  Shannow blinked in shock and drew back. The handsome man laughed.

  “Oh, Mr. Shannow, you are truly not worth my enmity. You are the gnat in the ear of the elephant. Go away and die somewhere.” He lifted his hand, and Shannow was catapulted away at dizzying speed.

  He awoke and groaned. Reaching for his Bible, by the dawn light he searched in vain for a passage to lift the rock from his soul.

  Shannow and Selah rode from the lands of the Corn People, heading north across a great plain. For weeks they rode and camped in sheltered hollows, seeing no sign of man. Shannow remained silent and subdued, and Selah respected his solitude. The young man would sit in the evenings watching Shannow pore over his Bible, seeking guidance and finding none.

  One night Shannow put aside the Book and leaned back, staring at the stars. The horses were hobbled nearby, and a small fire blazed brightly.

  “The age of miracles is past,” said Shannow.

  “I have never seen a miracle,” replied Selah.

  Shannow sat up and rubbed his chin. Their diet had been meager for over a week, and the Jerusalem Man was gaunt and hollow-eyed.

  “A long time ago the Lord of Hosts split a sea asunder so that his people could cross it as dry land. He brought water from rocks, and he sent his Angel of Death against the enemy. In those days his prophets could call upon him, and he would grant them dazzling powers.”

  “Maybe he is dead,” said Selah. “Or sleeping,” he added swiftly, seeing the glare in Shannow’s eyes.

  “Sleeping? Yes, perhaps he is sleeping. Curopet came to me and said she would die. ‘No man for Curopet through the long winter nights.’ I wanted to save her; I wanted so much to be able to say, ‘There, Curopet, the nightmare has been proved false.’ I prayed so hard.” He fell silent and sat staring at his hands.

  “We did what we could,” said Selah. “We killed many Hellborn.”

  “Rocks in the lake,” muttered Shannow. “Perhaps she was right. Perhaps it is all predestined and we stalk through life like puppets.”

  “What does it matter, Thundermaker? As long as we do not know.”

  “It matters to me; it matters desperately to me. Just once I would like to feel that I have done something for my God, something for which I can feel pride. But his face is turned from me, and my prayers are like whispers in the wind.”

  Shannow wrapped himself in his blankets and slept fitfully.

  At midmorning they spotted a small herd of antelope. Shannow kicked the gelding into a run and brought down a young doe with a shot to the heart. Dismounting, he cut the beast’s throat, standing back as the blood drained into the soft earth. Then he skinned and quartered the doe, and the two riders feasted well.

  Two days later Shannow and Selah came out of the plain into an area of wooded hills.

  To the north was a mountain range taller than any Shannow had ever seen, rearing up into the low scudding clouds. The mountains lifted Shannow’s spirits, and he told Selah he would like to see them at close range.

  The color drained from the boy’s face. “We cannot go there,” he whispered. “It is death, believe me.”

  “What do you know of this place?”

  “All the ghosts gather there. And monsters who can devour a herd of buffalo at a single sitting; the earth shakes when they move. My father came close to this place many years ago. No one travels there.”

  “Believe me, Selah, I have traveled widely; I have seen few monsters, and most of those were human in origin. I am going there.”

  Shannow touched his heels to the gelding’s sides and rode on without a backward glance, but Selah remained where he was, his eyes fearful, his heart pounding. Shannow had saved his life, and Selah regarded himself as a debtor; he needed to repay the Jerusalem Man to be freed from obligation. Yet every ounce of his being screamed against this venture, and the two opposing forces of his intellect and his emotions left him frozen in the saddle.

  Without turning, Shannow lifted his hand and beckoned the boy to join him. It was all Selah needed to swing the balance, and he kicked his horse into a run and rode alongside the Thundermaker.

  Shannow grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. It was the first time Selah had seen him smile in weeks. Was it a form of madness? Selah wondered. Did the prospect of danger and death somehow bring this man to life?

  They rode along a deer trail that wound high into the hills, where the air was fresh with the smell of pine and new grass. A lion roared in the near distance, and Selah could picture it leaping on its prey, for the roar had been the blood-freezing attack cry that paralyzed the victim. Selah’s
horse shied, and he calmed it with soft words. A shot followed, echoing in the hills. Shannow’s Hellborn pistol appeared in his hand, and he steered his gelding toward the sound. Selah tugged Shannow’s percussion pistol from his own belt and followed, but he did not cock the pistol, nor had he handled it since Shannow had given it to him on the morning they had left Karitas’ grave. The weapon terrified him yet gave him strength, and he kept it in his belt more as a talisman than as a death-dealing thundermaker.

  Selah followed Shannow over a steep rise and down a slope toward a narrow glen. Ahead the boy could see a man on the ground, a black-maned lion straddling him. The man’s right hand was gripping the lion’s mane, keeping its jaws from ripping his throat, while his left hand plunged a knife time and again into the beast’s side.

  Shannow galloped alongside, dragged on the reins, and, as the gelding reared, fired a shot into the lion’s head. The animal slumped over the body of his intended victim, and the man pulled himself clear. His black leather trousers were torn at the thigh, and blood was seeping through; his face had been deeply cut, and the flesh hung in a dripping fold over his right cheek. Pushing himself to his feet, he sheathed his knife. He was a powerful man with wide shoulders and a deep chest, and he sported a forked black trident beard.

  Ignoring his rescuers, he staggered to a spot some yards away and retrieved his revolver, which he placed in a leather scabbard at his side. He stumbled but recovered and turned at last to Shannow.

  “It was a fine shot,” he said, “though had it been a fraction off, it would have killed me rather than the lion.”

  Shannow did not reply, and Selah saw that his gun was still in his hand and trained on the wounded man. Then the boy saw why. To the man’s right was his helm, and on it were the goat’s horns of the Hellborn.

  Suddenly the man staggered and pitched to the ground. Selah sprang from his horse and ran to him. The wound in the thigh was gushing blood, and Selah drew his knife and cut away the trouser leg, exposing a deep rip almost a foot long.

  “We must stop this bleeding,” he told Shannow, but the Jerusalem Man remained on his horse. “Give me a needle and thread,” said Selah. Shannow blinked, then reached into his saddlebag and passed a leather pouch to the boy.