Kneeling on the hard-packed earth, he tasted bile in his mouth and began to vomit.
Shannow's head was pounding as he walked towards the group of men. The Oath Taker was riding away, but his soldiers remained, confused and uncertain.
'Your leader is gone,' said Shannow. 'Do you have other business here?' The thick-set man who had passed the burning torch to Crane was tense, and Shannow could see his anger growing. But Jeremiah stepped forward.
'You must all be thirsty after your long ride,' he said. 'Isis, fetch these men some water. Clara, bring the mugs from my wagon. Ah, my friends,' he said, 'in these troubled times such misunderstandings are so common. We are all people of the Book, and does it not tell us to love our neighbours, and to do good to those who hate us?'
Isis, her face flushed and angry, brought forward a copper jug, while the pregnant Clara moved to the group, passing tin mugs to the riders.
The thick-set man waved Isis away and stared hard at Shannow.
'What did you say to the Oath Taker?' he snarled.
'Ask him,' said Shannow.
'Damn right I will,' said the man. He swung on his comrades who were all drinking. 'Let's go!' he shouted.
As they rode away Shannow returned to the fire and slumped down into Dr Meredith's chair. Jeremiah and the doctor approached him.
'I thank you, my friend,' said Jeremiah. 'I fear they would have killed us all.'
'It is not wise to stay here the night,' Shannow told him. 'They will return.'
There are those among us,' said the Apostle Saul, the sunlight glinting on his long, golden hair, 'who shed tears for the thousands who fell fighting against us in the Great War. And I tell you, brothers, I am one of those. For those misguided souls gave their very lives in the cause of Darkness, while believing they were fighting for the Light.
'But as the good Lord told us, narrow is the path and few who will find it. But that Great War is over, my brothers. It was won for the Glory of God and his son, Jesus Christ. And it was won by you, and by me, and by the multitudes of believers who stood firm against the Satanic deeds of our enemies, both pagan and Hellborn.'
A great cheer went up, and Nestor Garrity found himself wishing he could have been one of those soldiers of Christ in the Great Wars. But he was only a child then, attending the lower school and living in fear of the formidable Beth McAdam. All around him the men and women of Pilgrim's Valley had flocked to the Long Meadow to hear the words of the Apostle. Some of the other people present could still remember the sleek white and silver flying machine that had passed over Pilgrim's Valley twenty years before, bringing the Deacon and his Apostles to the people. Nestor wished he could have seen it in the air. His father had taken him to Unity eight years ago, to the great Cathedral at the city centre. There, raised on a plinth of shining steel, was the flying machine. Nestor would never forget that moment.
'It may be over, my friends, but another battle awaits us,' said the Apostle, his words jerking Nestor back to the present. The forces of Satan are overthrown — but still there is peril in the land. For, as it is written, the Devil is the Great Deceiver, the son of the Morning Star. Do not be misled, my brothers and sisters. The Devil is not an ugly beast. He is handsome, and charming, and his words drip like honey.
And many will be deceived by him. He is the voice of discontent whispering in your ears at night. He is the man — or woman — who speaks against the word of our Deacon, and his holy quest to bring this tortured world back to the Lord.
'For was it not written, by their works shall ye judge them? Then I ask you this, brethren: who brought the truth to this benighted world? Tell me!' Raising his arms, he stared down from the podium at the crowd.
The Deacon!' they yelled.
'And who descended from the Heavens with the word of God?'
THE DEACON!' Caught up in the hypnotic thrill of the moment, Nestor stood, his right fist punching the air with each answer. The voices of the crowd rolled like thunder and Nestor found it hard to see the Apostle through the sea of waving arms. But he could hear him.
'And who did God send through the vaults of Time?'
THE DEACON!'
The Apostle Saul waited until the roar died down, then spread his hands for silence. 'My friends, by his work have you judged him. He has built hospitals and schools and great cities, and once more the knowledge of our ancestors is being used by the children of God. We have machines that will plough the land, and sail the seas, and fly through the air. We have medicines and trained doctors and nurses. And this tortured land is growing again, at one with the Lord. And He is with us, through His Servant in Unity.
'But everywhere sin waits to strike us down. That is why the Oath Takers move through the land. They are the gardeners of this new Eden, seeking out the weeds and the plants that do not bloom. No God-fearing family should fear the Oath Takers. Only those seduced by Satan should know the terror of discovery. Just as only brigands and lawbreakers should fear our new Crusaders — our fine young soldiers, like your own Captain Leon Evans.'
Nestor cheered at the top of his voice, but it was lost within an ocean of sound.
As it died down the Apostle Saul raised his voice one last time. 'My friends, Pilgrim's Valley was the first settlement over which we flew when the Lord brought us from the sky. And for that reason the Oath Taker's role shall be a special one. The Deacon has asked me to fulfil that role, and I shall do so, with your blessing. Now let us pray
As the prayers were concluded, and the last hymn sung, Nestor made his way back to the main street of Pilgrim's Valley, moving slowly within the crowd. Most of the people were returning to their homes but a select few, Nestor among them, had been invited to a reception at the Traveller's Rest, and the formal welcome for the new Oath Taker. Nestor felt especially privileged to be asked to attend, even though his role was only that of a waiter. History was being made here, and the young man could hardly believe that one of the Nine Apostles was actually going to live — if only for a month or two — among the people of Pilgrim's Valley. It was a great honour.
Josiah Broome, who now owned the Traveller's Rest, was waiting at the back of the inn as Nestor arrived. Broome was in his late sixties now, a slender, bird-boned man, balding and near-sighted.
Despite his tendency towards pompous speech Broome was a man with a heart, and Nestor liked him.
'Is that you, young Garrity?' asked Broome, leaning in close.
'Yes, sir.'
'Good boy. There is a clean white shirt in the upper back room. And a new black necktie. Put them on and help Wallace prepare the tables.'
Nestor said that he would, and moved on through the rear of the inn, climbing the stairs to the staff quarters. Wallace Nash was pulling on his white shirt as Nestor entered the back room. 'Hi, Nes. What a day eh?' said the red-headed youngster. Two years younger than Nestor, he was an inch taller, standing almost six foot three, and as thin as a stick.
'You look like a strong wind could blow you down, Wallace.'
The red-head grinned. 'I'd outrun it afore it could.'
Nestor chuckled. Wallace Nash was the fastest runner he had ever seen. Last year on Resurrection Day, when he was just fifteen, Wallace had raced three times against Edric Scayse's prize stallion, Rimfire, winning both short sprints and losing only on a longer race. It had been a fine day. Nestor remembered it well, for it was his first time drunk — an experience he had pledged to himself he would never repeat.
'You want to carry the drinks or the eats?' Wallace asked.
'Doesn't matter,' said Nestor, pulling off his faded red shirt and lifting a clean white one from the dresser drawer.