Bloodstone

'You got a name, young man?' she asked, as he reached the door and looped his gun-belt over his shoulder.

'Jon,' he said, and stepped out into the dusk.

The barn was warm, and he slept on a bed of straw. His dreams were many, but they ran together chaotically. He saw himself in a small church, and then on a ship, set on a mountain. Faces fled past his eyes, names danced in his mind.

He awoke with the dawn and washed in cold water. Locating a box of tools, he mended the broken fence, then replaced several tiles that had slipped from the slanting roof of the woodshed. The winter store was low, but there was a saw and an axe and he set about preparing logs for the fire. He had been working for an hour when Zerah called him for breakfast.

'I like a man who knows how to work,' she said, as he sat down at the table. 'I had three sons, and not one of them was lazy. How'd you get the wound to your head?'

'I was shot,' he told her, spooning fried eggs and bacon to his plate.

'Who by?'

'I don't know. I have no memory of it.'

'I expect you shot back,' she said. 'You don't look the kind of man to be set upon and not smite them hip and thigh.'

'Where are your sons?' countered Shannow.

'One died in the Unity War. Seth and Padlock are over in Purity. Seth's a Crusader now. It suits him, he's a man who likes order. You pass through there?'

'Yes.'

'You know, it's strange. I'm sure I've seen you someplace. Just can't put a finger on where.'

'If it comes to you I'd be glad to hear it,' said Shannow. Finishing the breakfast, he helped the old woman clear away the dishes and then returned to the wood-store. The labour was tiring, but his muscles felt good, and the mountain air was fresh in his lungs. Zerah came out just after noon, bringing a mug of a hot, sweet tisane.

'I've been thinking,' she said, 'and it wasn't you after all. There was a man back in Allion, where I grew up. He was a brigand-slayer named Shannow. You look a little like him. Not as tall or as big in the shoulders. But you've a similar shape to the face. You planning to keep that beard?'

'No. But I have no razor.'

'When you've finished what you're doing, come on over to the house. I still have Zeb's shaving blade.

You're welcome to it.'

CHAPTER FIVE

There was a wolf who slew the lambs, the goats and the geese. One day a holy man went to see the wolf and said to him: 'My son, you are a wicked beast, and a long way from God.' The wolf thought about this for a while, and realised that the man was right. He asked how he could come nearer to Heaven. The holy man told him to change his ways and pray. The wolf did so, and became known for his purity and the sweetness of his prayers. One summer the wolf was walking by the riverside when a goose mocked him.

The wolf turned and leapt, killing the goose with one bite from his terrible jaws. A sheep standing close by said: 'Why did you kill it?' The wolf replied: 'Geese should not cackle at a holy wolf.'

The Wisdom of the Deacon Chapter XI

* * *

Shannow stared into the oval mirror and wiped the last of the soap from his chin. He looked younger without the salt-and pepper beard, but the sight of his clean-shaven face brought back no new memories.

Disappointed, he stepped back, cleaned the razor and returned it to its carved wooden box.

He was tired. The journey through the mountains had been long and hard, for the land was unfamiliar to him. Once convinced that the pursuit had ended he had still to find a path through the peaks. He had tried many trails, but some of these had ended in box canyons, or had led up to treacherous, narrow ridges where only bighorn sheep or mountain-bred mules could walk with safety. City dwellers had no conception of the vastness of the wild lands, the endless mountains', ridges and hills stretching into eternity and beyond. On his journey Shannow had come across the rotted remains of a wagon, still packed with furniture and the beginnings of a home. It was in a boxed canyon, low down at the foot of a steep slope. Close to it he found a skull and a broken section of a thigh-bone. These people too had tried to cross the peaks, and had found only a lonely, unmarked grave beneath the sky.

Back in the main room Zerah Wheeler looked at him closely. 'Ye're not exactly a handsome lad,' she said, 'but it's a face that wouldn't curdle milk neither. Sit at the table and I'll bring ye some lunch. Cold ham and fresh onions.'

While he waited he looked around the room. Every piece of furniture was lovingly carved, giving the home a tranquil quality. There was a triangular corner cabinet, inset with leaded-glass windows, containing tiny cups and saucers beautifully painted and glazed. Shannow walked to the cabinet and peered inside. Zerah saw him there as she returned with the food.

'Zeb found them on a ship in the desert. Beautiful, ain't they?'

'Exquisite,' agreed Shannow.

'He liked beautiful things, did Zeb.'

'When did he die?'

'More than ten years ago now. We were sitting on the couch watching the sunset. It was Summer and we used to move the couch out on to the porch. He leaned back, put his arm round me, then rested his head on my shoulder. "Beautiful night," he said. Then he just died.' Zerah cleared her throat. 'Best tuck into that ham, Jon. I don't want to get all maudlin. Tell me about yourself.'

There's not a great deal to tell,' he said. 'I was wounded and some Wanderers found me. I know my name, but precious little else. I can ride, and I can shoot, and I know my Bible. Apart from that. .'he shrugged, and cut into the ham.

'You might have a wife somewhere, and children,' she said. 'Have you thought of that?'

‘I don't think so, Zerah.' But as she spoke he saw in his mind a brief glimpse of a blonde woman, and two children, a boy and a girl. . Samuel? Mary? Yes, that felt right. But they were not his children. He knew that.

'So what do you remember about the wound?' she asked.

There was a fire. I was. . trapped. I got out.' He shook his head. 'Gunshots. I remember riding up into the mountains. I think I found the men who caused the burning. .'

Were they ashamed when they had committed the abomination?

'You killed them?'

‘I believe so.' Finishing his meal, he made to rise.

'You sit there,' she said. ‘I've got some cakes in the oven. Long time since I made cakes, and they may not be so grand. But we'll see.'

So many brief memories lying in the dust of his mind, like pearls without a string to hold them together.

Zerah returned with the cakes; they were soft and moist, and filled with fruit preserve.

Shannow chuckled. 'You were wrong, Zerah. They are grand.'

She smiled, then her expression became thoughtful. 'If you're of a mind to stay awhile you'd be welcome,'

she said. The Lord knows I need help here.'

That is most kind,' he said, seeing her loneliness, 'but I must find out where I come from. I don't think it will come back to me here. But, if I may, I'd like to stay a few days more?'

The stream that feeds my vegetable patch is silted up. That could be dug out,' she said, rising and clearing away the dishes.

That would be my pleasure,' he told her.

* * *

As the dawn sun broke clear of the mountains, the Apostle Saul eased himself from the wide bed. One of the sisters stirred, the other remained deeply asleep. Saul rose and wrapped his robe about his shoulders.

The golden Stone lay on the bedside table. Gathering it up, he moved quickly from the room.

Back in his own quarters he stood before the long, oval mirror, surveying his square-chinned, handsome face and the flowing golden hair that hung to his broad shoulders. A far cry from the balding, slight, stoop-shouldered Saul Wilkins who had landed with the Deacon twenty years before. But then Saul had almost forgotten that man. Now he stared hard at the tiny lines around the eyes, the almost imperceptible web marks of ageing upon his cheeks and throat. Gazing down at the coin-sized Stone, he saw there were now only four slender lines of gold in the black. Yesterday there had been five.