Bloodstone (32 page)

“We can’t,” said Sam, “not while he has power. I used to believe that if we could deprive him of blood until he was weak and then attack him, we would have a chance to destroy him. Yet how would it have been possible? Whoever approached him would only feed him. You understand? He is invulnerable. He might have died here, on a planet drained of life. But now he is free to wander the universe, growing in power.”

“There must be a way,” urged Gareth.

“If there is, we’ll find it, Gareth,” said Amaziga. “I promise you that.”

Jon Shannow wandered through the deserted halls of Babylon, past columns fashioned from human bones and mosaics depicting scenes of torture, rape, and murder. His footsteps echoed, and he came out at last onto a balcony overlooking the garden. From there could be seen the original layout of the grounds, the walkways shaped like intertwined serpents, forming the number of the Beast. Nature had conspired to cover most of the walkways, and vines grew up over the repulsive
statues that ringed the six small pools. Even these were stagnant, and the fountains were silent.

Shannow felt burdened by it all, the evidence of man’s stupidity laid out before him like an ancient map. Why is it, he thought, that men can be inspired to evil more swiftly and powerfully than they can be inspired to good?

His heaviness of heart deepened. Look at yourself, Jon Shannow, before you ask such questions. Was it not you who put away the guns, pledging yourself to a life of pacifism and religion? Was it not you who took to the pulpit and reached out your mind to the king of heaven?

And what happened when evil men brought death and flames?

“I gunned them down,” he said aloud.

It always had been thus. From his earliest days, when he and Daniel had seen their parents slain, he had been filled with a great anger, a burning need to confront evil head to head, gun to gun. Through many settlements and towns, villages and communities the Jerusalem Man had passed. Always behind him there were bodies to be buried.

Did it make the world a better place, Shannow? he asked himself. Has anything you have done ensured a future of peace and prosperity? These were hard questions, but he faced them as he faced all dangers—with honesty.

No, he told himself. I have made no difference.

Twice he had tried to put aside the mantle of the Jerusalem Man, once with the widow Donna Taybard and then with Beth McAdam. Believing him to be dead, Donna had married another man. Beth had grown tired of Jon Cade’s holiness.

You are a man of straw, Shannow, he chided himself. A year before, when Daniel Cade had first moved to Pilgrim’s Valley, he had visited the Preacher in the small vestry behind the church.

“
Good morning, Brother Jon,” he said. “You are looking well for a man of your years.
”

“
They do not know me here, Daniel. Everything has changed.
”

Daniel shook his head. “Men don’t change, Brother. All
that happens is that they learn how best to disguise the lack of change. Me, I’m still a brigand at heart, but I’m held to goodness by the weight of public opinion and the fading strength of an age-weakened body.
”

“
I have changed,” said the Preacher. “I abhor violence and will never kill again.
”

“
Is that so, Jonnie? Answer me this, then: Where are your guns? In a pit somewhere, rusted and useless? Sold?” His eyes twinkled, and he grinned. “Or are they here? Hidden away somewhere, cleaned and oiled?
”

“
They are here,” admitted the Preacher. “I keep them as a reminder of what once I was.
”

“
We’ll see,” said Cade. “I hope you are right, Jon. Such a life is good for you.
”

The sun broke clear of the clouds above Babylon, and Jon Shannow felt the weight of the pistols at his side. “You were right, Daniel,” he said softly. “Men don’t change.”

Gazing down on the garden, he saw Amaziga, Gareth, and Sam sitting together. The first Samuel Archer had been a man of peace, interested only in researching the ruins of Atlantis. He had been beaten to death in the caverns of Castlemine. In this world the black man was a fighter. In neither had he won.

Amaziga said there existed an infinity of universes. Perhaps in one of them Samuel Archer was still an archaeologist who would slowly and with great dignity grow old with his family. Perhaps in that world or in another Jon Shannow did not see his family gunned down. He was a farmer, maybe, or a teacher, his sons playing around him, happy in the sunshine, a loving wife beside him.

A whisper of movement came from behind, and Shannow hurled himself to the left as a bullet ricocheted from the balcony, screaming off into the air. Spinning as he fell, Shannow drew his right-hand pistol and fired. The Hellborn warrior staggered, then tipped over the balcony wall. Drawing his left-hand gun, Shannow rose and ran back to the hall entrance.

Two Hellborn warriors were crouching behind pillars. The first, shocked by his sudden appearance, fired too swiftly, the bullet slashing past Shannow’s face. His own left-hand gun
boomed, and the man was flung back. The second warrior reared up, a knife in his hand. Shannow’s pistol slammed down, the barrel cracking home against the man’s cheekbone, and the warrior fell heavily.

Shots sounded from the garden. As Shannow ran through the hall, a rifleman leaned over the gallery rail above him. Shannow fired but missed, the bullet chipping wood from the rail. He ducked into a corridor and turned left down a stairway and right into another corridor. There he stopped and waited, listening for sounds of pursuit.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and two men ran down. Stepping out, Shannow shot them both, then ran for the garden. Halting in a shadowed archway, he reloaded his pistols. There were no sounds from the garden.

Guns in hand, he moved swiftly out into the sunshine, scanning the balconies.

No one was in sight.

Creeping silently through the undergrowth, he approached the circle of stone. The sound of voices came to him as he neared the circle.

“The Lord has left us,” said a deep voice, “and you are to blame. We were ordered to kill you, and we failed. Now that we have you, he will come back for us.”

“He’s not coming back,” Shannow heard Amaziga tell them. “Can’t you understand what has happened? He’s not a god; he’s a man—a corrupted, ruined man who feeds on life. Have you not seen the coliseum? He’s killed everyone!”

“Silence, woman! What do you know? The Lord has returned to his home in the valleys of hell, and there he has taken our people to enjoy the rewards of service. This is what he promised. This is what he has done. But my comrades and I were left here because we failed him. When your bodies bleed upon the high altar, he will return for us, and we shall know the joy of everlasting death-life.”

Sam’s strong, steady voice cut in. “I understand that you
need
to believe. Yet I also see that the demonseeds embedded in your brows are black now and powerless. You are men
again, with free will and intelligence. And deep down you are already questioning your beliefs. Is that not true?”

Shannow heard the sound of a vicious slap. “You black bastard! Yes, it is true, and all part of the test we face because of you. We will not be seduced from the true path.”

Shannow edged to the right to a break in the undergrowth and stepped out onto the walkway some fifteen yards from the Hellborn group. There were five in all, and each held a weapon pointed at his three companions. The Hellborn leader was still speaking. “Tonight we shall be in hell, with servants and women and fine food and drink. Your souls will carry us there.”

“Why wait for tonight?” asked Shannow.

The Hellborn swung to face him, and Shannow’s guns thundered. The Hellborn leader was hurled back, his face blown away; another man spun back, his shoulder shattered. Shannow stepped to his right and continued to fire. Only one answering shot came his way; it passed a few feet to his left, smashing into the stone head of a statue demon and shearing away a horn.

The last echoes faded away. Shannow cocked his pistols and moved to join the trio. Amaziga was kneeling beside Gareth. Blood was staining the olive-green shirt he wore as Shannow knelt beside him.

“Jesus wept, Shannow!” whispered the young man. “You really are death on wheels.” Blood frothed at his lips, and he choked and coughed. Amaziga pulled out her Sipstrassi Stone, but Gareth’s head sagged back.

“No!” screamed Amaziga. “Please, God, no!”

“He’s gone,” said Shannow.

Amaziga reached out and stroked the dead boy’s brow, then turned her angry eyes on the Jerusalem Man.

“Where were you when we needed you?” she stormed.

“Close by,” he said wearily, “but not close enough.”

“May God curse you, Shannow!” she screamed, her hand lashing out across his face.

“That’s enough!” roared Sam, reaching down and hauling her away from him. “It is not his fault. How could it be? And
if not for him we would all be dead.” He glanced at Shannow. “Are there more, do you think?”

“There were two inside I did not kill.” He shrugged. “There may be others.”

Sam took Amaziga by the shoulders. “Listen to me, Ziga. We must leave. What will happen if we activate the gateway early?”

“Nothing, save that it uses more Sipstrassi power. And I have little left.”

“Is there enough to get us back?”

She nodded. A shot ricocheted from the walkway, and Sam ducked, dragging Amaziga down with him. Shannow returned the fire, his bullets clipping stone from a balcony.

“Let’s go,” said Shannow calmly.

Amaziga reached down to touch her son’s face for the last time, then stood and ran for the stone circle. Sam followed. Shannow backed after them, eyes scanning the balconies. A rifleman reared up; Shannow fired, and the man ducked down.

Inside the circle Amaziga knelt behind one of the stones and engaged the computer. Shots peppered the ground around them. “They’re circling us,” said Shannow.

Violet light flickered around them …

Shannow holstered his pistols and strode out onto the hillside above Amaziga’s Arizona home.

Shannow sat on the paddock fence for more than an hour, oblivious to the blazing sunshine. The desert here was peaceful on the eye, the giant saguaros seemingly set in place by a master sculptor. His thoughts swung back to the rescue of Samuel Archer. So much death! The girl Shammy and all the other nameless heroes who had followed Sam. And Gareth. Shannow had liked the young black man; he had had a zest for life and the courage to live it to the full. Even the sight of his twin’s corpse had not kept him from his path, a path that had led to a bullet fired by a Hellborn warrior who had seen the destruction of his race and had not understood its meaning.

Amaziga’s unjust anger was hard to take, but Shannow
understood it. Every time they met it seemed that someone she loved had to die.

Sam strolled out. “Come inside, my friend. You need to rest.”

“What I need is to go home,” Shannow told him.

“Let’s talk,” said Sam, avoiding Shannow’s gaze. The Jerusalem Man climbed down from the fence and followed the black man into the house. It was cool inside, and the face of Lucas shone from the computer screen. Amaziga was nowhere in sight. “Sit down, Mr. Shannow. Amaziga will be with us shortly.”

Unbuckling his guns, Shannow let the belt fall to the floor. He was mortally tired, his mind weary beyond words. “Perhaps you should clean up first,” suggested Sam, “and refresh yourself.”

Shannow nodded. Leaving Sam, he walked through the corridor to his own room and removed his clothes. Turning on the faucets, he stepped under the shower, turning his face up to the cascading water. After some minutes he stepped out and moved to the bed, where he sat down, intending to gather his thoughts, but he fell asleep almost instantly.

When Sam woke him, it was dark, the moon glinting through the clouds. Shannow sat up. “I didn’t realize how tired I was,” he said.

Sam sat down alongside him. “I have spoken to Ziga. She is distraught, Shannow, but even so she knows that Gareth’s death could not be laid at your door. She is a wonderful woman, you know, but headstrong. She always was incapable of being wrong. I think you know that from past experience. But she is not malicious.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Sam shrugged. “I just wanted you to know.”

“There is something else, Sam.”

“That’s for her to tell you. I brought some clean clothes. Amaziga will be in the lounge when you are ready.” Sam stood and left the room.

Rested and refreshed, Shannow rose and walked to the chair where Sam had laid the fresh clothes: a blue plaid shirt, a
pair of heavy cotton trousers, and a pair of black socks. The chest of the shirt was overlarge and the sleeves too short, but the trousers fitted him well. Pulling on his boots, he walked out into the main room, where Amaziga was sitting at the computer, speaking to Lucas. Sam was nowhere in sight.

“He went for a walk,” said Amaziga, rising. Slowly she approached him. “I am very sorry,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. Instinctively he opened his arms, and she stepped into his embrace. “I sacrificed Gareth for Sam,” she said. “It was my fault.”

“He was a brave lad” was all Shannow could think to say.

Amaziga nodded and drew away from him, brushing her sleeve across her eyes. “Yes, he was brave. He was everything I could have wished for. Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

“I’ll prepare you some food.”

“If it is all the same to you, lady, I would like to go home.”

“Food first,” she said. “I’ll leave you with Lucas for a moment.”

When she had left the room, Shannow sat down before the machine. “What is happening?” he asked. “Sam out for a walk, Amaziga playing hostess. Something is wrong.”

“You came through the window earlier than anticipated,” said Lucas. “It drained her stone.”

“She has others, surely.”

“No. Not at the moment.”

“Then how will she send me back?”

“She can’t, Mr. Shannow. I have the capacity to hack into … to enter the memory banks of other computers. I have done so, and in the next few days papers will begin to arrive giving you a new identity in this world. I will also instruct you in the habits and laws of the United States. They are many and varied.”