Bloodstone

The Deacon and his men landed near Rivervale. It was like the Second Coming. Nobody in this world knew about the decay and corruption that plagued the old cities, killers walking the streets, lust and depravity everywhere. The world, he said, was godless. The sins of Sodom and Gomorrah were multiplied a hundredfold in that old world. Before long the Deacon was a revered figure. His power grew. He said the new world must never be allowed to make the mistakes of the old; that the Bible contained the seeds of man's future prosperity. There were those who argued against him, saying that his plans were an affront to their views of personal freedom and liberty. That led to the Great War, and the Second Hellborn War. But the Deacon won both. Now he rules in Unity, and there is talk that he plans to build the new Jersualem.' Jake lapsed into silence, and added more fuel to the fire. 'Ain't much else I can tell you, boy.'

'And the Jerusalem Man?' asked Shannow.

Jake grinned. 'Well, you, if indeed that is you, were John the Baptist reborn, or maybe Elijah, or both.

You were the herald to announce the new coming of God's word to the world. Until, that is, you were taken by God in a fiery chariot to a new world that needed your talents. You still remember nothing?'

'Nothing about a fiery chariot,' said Shannow grimly. 'All I know is who I am. How I came to be here, or where I have been for the last twenty years, is a mystery to me. But I sense I was living under another name, and I did not use my pistols. Maybe I was a farmer. I don't know. I will find out, Jake. Fragments keep coming back to me. One day they will form a whole.'

'Have you told anybody who you are?'

Shannow nodded. 'I killed a man in the settlement of Purity. I told them then.'

They'll come hunting you. You are a holy figure now, a legend. It'll be said that you've taken the Jerusalem Man's name in vain. Personally I think they'd be wise to leave you alone. But that's not the way it will be. In fact there could even be a terrible irony in all this.'

'In what way?'

'The Deacon has a group of men close to him. One of them — Saul — has formed a group of riders called the Jerusalem Riders. They travel the land as judges and law-bringers. They are skilled with weapons and chosen from the very best — or perhaps it is the worst — of the Crusaders. Deadly men, Mr Shannow.

Perhaps they will be sent after you.' Jake chuckled and shook his head.

'You seem to find the situation amusing,' said Shannow. 'Is it because you do not believe me?'

'On the contrary, it is amusing simply because I do believe you.'

* * *

Nestor Garrity took careful aim. The pistol bucked in his hand, and the rock he had set atop the boulder shivered as the bullet sliced the air above it. The sound echoed in the still mountain air and a hawk, surprised by the sudden noise, took off from a tree to Nestor's left. Sheepishly Nestor looked around.

But there was no one close and he took aim again. This time he smashed fragments of stone from the boulder, low and to the right of the rock. He cursed softly, then angrily loosed the final four shots.

The rock was untouched. Nestor sat down, broke open the pistol and fed six more shells into the chambers. It had cost him eighteen Bartas, almost a month's wages at the logging camp, and Mr Bartholomew had assured him it was a fine, straight shooting-piece, created by the old Hell born factory near Babylon.

'Is it as good as the Hellborn used to make?' Nestor had asked him.

The old man shrugged. ‘I guess,' he said.

Nestor felt like taking it back and demanding the return of his money.

Sheathing the pistol, he opened the pack of sandwiches he had purchased from Mrs Broome and took out his Bible. Then he heard the horse approaching and turned to see a rider coming over the crest of the hill. He was a tall, handsome man, dark hair streaked with silver, and he was wearing a black coat and a brocaded red waistcoat. At his hip was a nickel-plated pistol in a polished leather scabbard.

The rider drew up a little way from the youth and dismounted. 'You'd be Nestor Garrity?' he asked.

'Yes, sir.'

'Clem Steiner. Mrs McAdam suggested I speak to you.'

'In connection with what, sir?'

'The Preacher. She has asked me to find him.'

'I fear he's dead, Mr Steiner. I looked mighty hard. I seen blood and wolf tracks.'

Steiner grinned. 'You don't know the man as well as I do, Nestor. His kind don't die so easy.' Nestor saw Steiner switch his gaze to the bullet-scarred boulder. 'Been practising?'

'Yes, sir. But I fear I am not skilled with the pistol. Safest place in these mountains is that rock yonder.'

In one smooth motion Steiner's gun seemed to leap to his hand. At the first shot the rock leapt several feet into the air, the second saw it smashed to powder. Steiner spun the pistol back into its scabbard.

'Forgive me, Nestor, I never could resist showing off. It's a bad vice. Now about the Preacher, were there any other tracks close by?'

Nestor was stunned by the display and fought to gather his thoughts. 'No, sir. Not of a man afoot, anyway.'

'Any tracks at all?'

'No. . well, yes. There was wheel marks to the east. Big ones. I think they were Wanderers. The tracks were recent though, sharp-edged.'

'Which way were they heading?' Steiner asked.

'East.'

'Any towns out there?'

'There's a new settlement called Purity. It's run by Padlock Wheeler. He used to be one of the Deacon's generals. I ain't. . haven't been there.'

Steiner walked to the boulder, selected another small rock and placed it on the top. Strolling back to Nestor, he said. 'Let's see how you shoot.'

Nestor took a long, deep breath, and wished he had the nerve to refuse. Drawing the pistol, he eased back the hammer and sighted along the barrel. 'Hold it,' said Steiner. 'You're tilting your head and sighting with your left eye.'

'The right is not as strong,' admitted Nestor.

'Put the gun away.' Nestor eased the hammer forward and bolstered the pistol. 'All right, now point your finger at my saddle.'

'What?'

'Just point at my saddle. Do it!' Nestor reddened, but he lifted his right hand and pointed. 'Now point at the tree on your right. Good.'

'I never had much trouble pointing, Mr Steiner. It's the shooting that lets me down.'

Steiner chuckled. 'No, Nestor. It's the lack of pointing that lets you down. Now this time draw the pistol, cock it and point it at the rock. Don't aim. Just point and fire.'

Nestor knew what would happen and wished with all his heart that he had chosen to stay home today.

Obediently he drew the long-barrelled pistol and pointed at the rock, firing almost instantly, desperate to get the embarrassing moment over and done with.

The rock exploded.

'Wow!' shouted Nestor. 'By damn I did it!'

'Yes,' agreed Steiner. That's one rock that will never threaten innocent folks again.'

Steiner moved to his horse and Nestor realised the man was about to leave. 'Wait!' he called. 'Will you join me in some lunch? I got sandwiches and some honey biscuits. It ain't much, but you're welcome.'

As they ate Nestor talked of his ambition to become a Crusader, and maybe even a Jerusalem Rider one day. Steiner listened politely, no hint of mockery in his expression. Nestor talked for longer than he ever had to one person at one time, and eventually stumbled to a halt. 'Gee, I'm sorry, Mr Steiner. I think I near bored you to death. It's just, nobody ever listened so good before.'

'I like ambition, son, it's a good thing. A man wants something bad enough, and he'll generally get it if he works at it, and he's unlucky enough.'

'Unlucky?' queried Nestor.

Steiner nodded. 'In most cases the dream is better than the reality. Pity the man who fulfils all his dreams, Nestor.'