Bloodstone (40 page)

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 women 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.

Meredith shook his head. “I can’t kill,” he said.

Josiah Broome, his thin chest bandaged, a bloodstain showing through it, moved into the main room. “What’s happening?” His eyes were feverish, and cold sweat bathed his face. He saw Clem and smiled. “Well, well, if it isn’t young Steiner. Good to see you, my boy.” Suddenly he sagged against the door frame. “Damn,” he whispered. “Weaker than I thought.”

Clem took his arm and led him back into the bedroom, laying the wounded man on the bed. “I think you should stay here, Meneer. You are in no condition to fight.”

“Who are we fighting, Clem?”

“Bad men, Josiah, but don’t you worry. I’m still pretty good with a pistol.”

“Too good,” said Josiah sadly, his eyes closing.

Clem rejoined the others. The Hellborn had left the hillside and were riding slowly toward the building. Beth stepped outside. Clem grabbed her arm. “What the hell …?”

“Let’s hear what they’ve got to say,” said Beth.

“Why?” asked Clem. “You think they’ve stopped by for Baker’s and biscuits?”

Beth ignored him and waited on the porch, her rifle cradled in her arms. Clem took off his jacket and stood beside her, hand resting on the butt of his pistol.

Beth stood quietly watching the riders. They were grim men, hard-eyed and wary, their faces sharp, their eyes stern. The look of fanatics, she thought, ungiving, unbending. They wore black breastplates engraved with swirls of silver and black horned helms buckled under the chin. In their hands were short-barreled rifles, and pistols were strapped to their hips. Yet the most disturbing feature for Beth was that each of them had a Bloodstone in the center of his forehead. Like the wolves, she thought. The Hellborn rode into the yard, fanning out before the house. A lean-faced warrior kneed his horse forward and sat before her. His eyes were the gray of a winter sky, and there was no warmth in the gaze. His helmet was also horned, but the tips had been dipped in gold.

“I am Shorak,” he said, “first lieutenant of the Second Corps. This land is now the property of the Lord of Hell.” Beth said nothing as Shorak’s gaze raked the building, noting the riflemen at the slits in the upper windows. “I am here,” he said, returning his stare to Beth, “to escort you to the Lord Sarento so that you may pay homage and learn of his greatness firsthand. You will need no possessions or weapons of any kind, though you may bring food for the journey.”

Beth looked up at the man, then at the others, who sat on their horses silently. “Never heard of the Lord Sarento,” she told the leader.

He leaned forward, the sun glinting on the golden horns of his helmet. “That is your loss, woman, for he is the living God, the lord of all. Those who serve him well gain eternal life and joy beyond imagining.”

“This is my home,” Beth told him. “I have fought for it and killed those who would take it from me. I raised children here, and I guess I’ll die here. If the Lord Sarento wants me to pay homage, he can come here himself. I’ll bake him a cake. Now,
if that’s all you wanted to tell me, I suggest you ride off. I’ve work to do.”

Shorak seemed unconcerned by her refusal. He sat quietly for a moment, then spoke again. “You do not understand me, woman. I shall make it plain. Gather food and we will escort you to the Lord. Refuse and we will kill you all. And the manner of your passing will be painful. Now, there are others within the house, and I suggest you speak to them. Not all of them will wish to die. You have until noon to make a decision. We will return then.”

Wheeling his horse, Shorak led the riders back out to the hillside.

“Polite, wasn’t he?” said Clem.

Beth ignored the humor and strode inside. The first person to speak was the young mother, Ruth. “I want to go with them, Frey McAdam,” she said. “I don’t want any more fear and fighting.”

“It would seem the only course,” agreed Dr. Meredith. “We can’t outfight them.”

Wallace and Nestor came downstairs to join in the discussion. Beth poured herself a mug of water and sipped it, saying nothing.

“How much ammunition we got?” Wallace asked.

Beth smiled. “A hundred rounds for the rifles. Twenty for my pistol.”

“I’ve got thirty,” Clem said.

“We mustn’t fight them,” said Ruth. “We mustn’t! I’ve got my baby to think of. What’s so hard about paying homage to someone? I mean, it’s only words.”

“Speaking of which,” remarked Zerah Wheeler, “we only have
their
word for it that paying homage is all they want. Once outside and unarmed, they can do as they damn well please with us.”

“Why would they want to harm us?” asked Dr. Meredith. “It would make no sense.”

“They are Hellborn,” put in Isis, “and it was their master who sent the wolves against us.”

“I don’t care about that!” shouted Ruth. “I just don’t want to die!”

“Nobody wants to die,” snapped Beth. “Wallace, get back upstairs and watch them. I don’t want them sneaking up on us.”

“Yes, Frey,” he said, and returned to his post.

Nestor spoke. “When we saw them heading toward the town, they were leading a group of prisoners. They didn’t kill none of them. Maybe it’s just like the man said, just paying homage to their leader.”