Bloodstone

'Age has its privileges,' he told her, forcing a smile.

'Laziness more like,' she told him. She swung to face the sandy-haired young doctor. 'And what is your excuse?'

Meredith reddened and rose swiftly. 'I am sorry. I… wasn't thinking. What do you want me to do?'

'You could help Clara with the gathering. You could have cleaned and prepared the rabbits. You could be out hunting with the other men. Dear God, Meredith, you are a useless article.' Spinning on her heel she stalked away, back towards the wood.

'She is working too hard,' said Jeremiah.

'She's a fighter, Jeremiah,' answered Meredith sadly. 'But she's right. I spend too much time lost in thoughts, dreaming if you like.'

'Some men are dreamers,' said Jeremiah. 'It's no bad thing. Go and help Clara. She's a little too heavily pregnant to be carrying firewood.'

'Yes. . yes, you're right,' Meredith agreed.

Alone now, Jeremiah made a circle of stone and carefully laid a fire. He did not hear Shannow approach, and glanced up only when he heard the creak of wood as the man sat in Meredith's chair. 'You're looking stronger,' said the old man. 'How do you feel?'

'I am healing,' said Shannow.

'And your memory?'

'Is there a town near here?'

'Why do you ask?'

'As we were travelling today I saw smoke in the distance.'

'I saw it too,' said Jeremiah, 'but with luck we'll be far away by tomorrow night.'

'With luck?'

'Wanderers are not viewed with great friendliness in these troubled times.'

'Why?'

'That's a hard question, Mr Shannow. Perhaps the man who is tied to a particular piece of land envies us our freedom. Perhaps we are viewed as a threat to the solidity of their existence. In short, I don't know why. You might just as well ask why men like to kill one another, or find hatred so easy and love so difficult.'

'It is probably territorial,' said Shannow. 'When men put down roots they look around them and assume that everything they can see is now theirs — the deer, the trees, the mountains. You come along and kill the deer and they see it as theft.'

That too,' agreed Jeremiah. 'But you do not share that view, Mr Shannow?'

'I never put down roots.'

'You are a curious man, sir. You are knowledgeable, courteous, and yet you have the look of the warrior. I can see it in you. I think you are a… deadly man, Mr Shannow.'

Shannow nodded slowly and his deep blue eyes held Jeremiah's gaze. 'You have nothing to fear from me, old man. I am not a war-maker. I do not steal, and I do not lie.'

'Did you fight in the War, Mr Shannow?'

'I do not believe that I did.'

'Most men of your age fought in the Unifying War.'

'Tell me of it.'

Before the old man could begin, Isis came running into view. 'Riders!' she said. 'And they're armed.'

Jeremiah rose and walked between the wagons. Isis moved alongside him, and several of the other women and children gathered round. Dr Meredith, his arms full of firewood, stood nervously beside a pregnant woman and her two young daughters. Jeremiah shaded his eyes against the setting sun and counted the horsemen. There were fifteen, and all carried rifles. In the lead was a slender young man, with shoulder-length white hair. The riders cantered up to the wagons and then drew rein. The white-haired man leaned forward on to the pommel of his saddle.

'Who are you?' he asked, his voice edged with contempt.

'I am Jeremiah, sir. These are my people.'

The man looked at the painted wagons and said something in a low voice to the rider on his right. 'Are you people of the Book?' asked White-hair, switching his gaze back to Jeremiah.

'Of course,' the old man answered.

'You have Oath papers?' The man's voice was soft, almost sibilant.

'We have never been asked to give Oaths, sir. We are Wanderers and are rarely in towns long enough to be questioned about our faith.'

‘I am questioning it,' said the man. 'And I do not like your tone, Mover. I am Aaron Crane, the Oath Taker for the settlement of Purity. Do you know why I was given this office?' Jeremiah shook his head.

'Because I have the Gift of Discernment. I can smell a pagan at fifty paces. And there is no place in God's land for such people. They are a stain upon the earth, a cancer upon the flesh of the planet, and an abomination in the eyes of God. Recite for me now Psalm 22.'

Jeremiah took a deep breath. 'I am not a scholar, sir. My Bible is in my wagon — I shall fetch it.'

'You are a pagan!' screamed Crane, 'and your wagon shall burn!' Swinging in his saddle, he gestured to the riders. 'Make torches from their camp-fires. Burn the wagons.' The men dismounted and started toward, Crane leading them.

Jeremiah stepped into their path. 'Please sir, do not do. .' A rider grabbed the old man, hurling him aside. Jeremiah fell heavily, but struggled to his feet as Isis ran at the man who had struck him, lashing out with her fist. The rider parried the blow easily and pushed her away.

And Jeremiah watched in helpless despair as the men converged on the fire.

* * *

Aaron Crane was exultant as he strode towards the fire. This was the work he had been born for, making the land holy and fit for the people of the Book, These Movers were trash of the worst kind, with no understanding of the demands of the Lord. The men were lazy and shiftless, the women no better than common whores. He glanced at the blonde woman who had struck at Leach, Her clothes were threadbare and her breasts jutted against the woollen shirt she wore. Worse than a whore, he decided, feeling his anger rise. He pictured the wagon aflame, the pagans pleading for mercy. But there should be no mercy for such as these, he resolved. Let them plead before the throne of the Almighty. Yes, they would die, he decided. Not the children, of course; he was not a savage.

Leach made the first torch and handed it to Aaron Crane. 'By this act,' shouted Crane, 'may the name of the Lord be glorified!'

'Amen!' said the men grouped about him. Crane moved towards the first red wagon. . and stopped. A tall man had stepped into view; he said nothing, but merely stood watching Crane. The white-haired Oath Taker studied the man, noting two things instantly. The first was that the newcomer's eyes were looking directly into his own, and secondly he was armed. Crane glanced at the two pistols in their scabbards at the man's hips. Acutely aware that his men were waiting, he was suddenly at a loss. The newcomer had made no hostile move, but he was standing directly before the wagon. In order to burn it, Crane would have to push past him.

'Who are you?' asked Crane, buying time to think.

' They have gaped upon me with their mouths, as a ravening and a roaring lion,' quoted the man, his voice deep and low.

Crane was shocked. The quote was from the psalm he had asked the old Mover to recite, but the words seemed charged now with hidden meaning.

'Stand aside,' said Crane, 'and do not seek to interfere with the Lord's work.'

'You have two choices, live or die,' said the tall man, his voice still low, no trace of anger in his words.

Crane felt a sick sense of dread in his belly. The man would kill him, Crane knew that with an ice-cold certainty. If he tried to fire the wagon, the man would draw one of those pistols and shoot him. His throat was dry. A burning cinder fell from the torch, scorching the back of his hand, but Crane did not move. .

could not move. Behind him were fifteen armed men, but they might as well have been a hundred miles away, he knew, for all the good they could do him. Sweat dripped into his eyes.

'What's happening, Aaron?' called Leach.

Crane dropped the torch and backed away, his hands trembling. The tall man was walking towards him now, and the Oath Taker felt panic surging within him.

Turning, he ran to his horse, scrambling into the saddle. Hauling on the reins, he kicked the beast into a gallop for almost half a mile. Then he drew up and dismounted.