'But the books? The chariot to Heaven. Is it all lies?'
'Mostly,' said Clem, with a wry grin. 'But then legends are like that, son. We misremember them. We don't do it intentionally most of the time. Take me, for example. When I was a kid I had a teacher who told me that I would be a brigand or a war-maker. He expelled me from school and told my folks there was no good in me. Now I own three hundred thousand acres and I'm a rich, powerful man. I saw that teacher last year, he came to live in Pernum. Know what he said? "Clem, I always knew you had the seeds of greatness in you." He wasn't lying. Understand?'
The young man shook his head. ‘I don't understand any of it.
‘It's all built on lies. The Deacon, everything. It's all lies! All that Bible shit. All the studying. Lies!'
'Whoa, son! Don't lump it all in together!' warned Clem. 'We all need heroes — and Shannow was… is…
a good man. No matter what other people may write about him, he always did what he thought was right, and he would never pass by and let evil have its way. And some of the things he did can't be disputed.
He fought the Hellborn, and he destroyed the Guardians who were behind the War. Nestor, he is a good man; it is not his fault that others — of a more political mind — chose to take his name in vain.'
'I want to go home,' said Nestor. 'I don't want to do this any more.'
'Sure, son,' said Clem. 'I understand that.'
Clem paid for the meal and stood. Nestor rose also, his shoulders hunched, his eyes distant. Clem felt for the boy. The iron hooves of reality had ground his dreams to dust. 'Let's go,' said the older man, and together they walked out on to the street. A shot sounded, and shards of wood exploded from the post beside Clem's head; he ducked, drew his pistol and dived forward. A rifleman stepped into sight and Clem fired, the bullet striking the man in the shoulder and spinning him, the rifle falling from his hands.
Nestor stood transfixed; then he saw the man from the tavern.
Sachs was aiming a pistol at Clem's back. Without thinking Nestor drew his pistol and triggered it, the shell hammering home into Sachs' chest. Suddenly all of Nestor's anger welled up and, walking towards the wounded man, he fired again. And again. Each shot thundered home and Sachs was hurled back against the wall of a building.
'You bastard!' screamed Nestor, continuing to pull the trigger even after the gun was long empty and the lifeless would-be assassin was dead at his feet. Clem came alongside him, gently pulling the pistol clear.
Nestor was crying, his body racked by deep, convulsive sobs. 'It's all lies!' he said.
'I know,' said Clem.
Seth Wheeler appeared, a long-barrelled pistol in his hands. 'What in Hades is happening here?' he asked Clem.
'We had an argument earlier with. . him,' he said, pointing down at the corpse. 'When we left the eating-house they opened fire on us. There's a man back there with a busted shoulder; I guess he'll tell you more.'
'Well,' said Wheeler, 'it's for damned sure that Sachs ain't going to tell us anything. You boys better walk with me to the office. I'll need to make a report for the town elders.'
'He was a damn fool,' said Clem bitterly. 'He's dead over a spilled beer.'
'He's killed others for less, I reckon,' muttered Wheeler. 'But there was never any proof.'
Later, when Seth Wheeler had painstakingly written out his report, he put down his pen and looked up at Nestor. The young man's face had a ghostly pallor and his eyes were distant. 'You all right, son?' asked the Crusader. Nestor nodded, but said nothing and Wheeler looked at him closely. 'I guess you've never been in a killing fight before?' Nestor just stared at the floor. Wheeler turned his attention to Clem. 'I think you should both ride out. Sachs wasn't popular, but he had drinking friends. Tough men. They may feel the need to… well. . you know.'
Clem nodded. 'We were leaving anyway in the morning. But now's as good a time as any.'
Wheeler nodded. 'I take it you'll be travelling towards Domango? It's where your friend was last seen.'
'I guess so,' agreed Clem.
Then I'd take it as a kindness if you'd stop by and see that my mother is well. She has a farm just over the mountains. You take the Domango trail and you won't miss it. An old place in a valley east of the trail.
She'll fix you a good meal and give you a roof for the night.'
'Any message?'
Wheeler shrugged, and gave a boyish grin. 'Just tell her that Seth and Pad are fine, and we'll be coming by at summer's end.'
Wheeler lifted Nestor's empty pistol and opened the side drawer of his desk, taking out a box of shells.
Swiftly he loaded the revolver and handed it to Nestor. 'An empty gun is no good to anyone,' he said.
'And you might as well keep these,' he added, tossing the box to Clem.
'It might be better if all the guns were empty,' replied Clem, reaching out to shake the Crusader's hand.
'Amen to that,' said Seth Wheeler.
Shannow lay awake in the spare bedroom, staring out of the window at the bright stars. He and Amaziga had talked into the early hours, then she had shown him through to this curious room. The bed had a metal frame and a thick mattress, but instead of blankets there was a single, down-filled covering. Beside the bed was a small table, on which sat one of the strange lamps that burned brightly without oil. It was lit, and extinguished, by what appeared to be a coat button attached to the base. Beside this was a small box, which at first bore the glowing numbers 03. 14. When Shannow next glanced at it the numbers had changed: 03. 21. He watched it, and soon worked out that it changed at regular intervals. A timing device!
Climbing from his bed, he walked naked to the window and opened it. The night air was fresh, but not cool. Indeed, it was considerably warmer outside than in. A humming sound began, coming from the wall by his bed. There was a metal grille there and he moved to it. Cold air was spilling from the vent.
Shannow walked across the room and entered the second room Amaziga had shown him. Stepping inside the tall glass box, he turned the small steel wheel as she had demonstrated. Cold water streamed from a dish above him. Taking a tablet of soap, he began to scrub the dust of travel from his body. But the water grew steadily more hot until at last he had to leap from the box. Kneeling down, he examined the wheel. There were painted arrows upon it pointing to two coloured circles, one blue, one red. The coloured circles were repeated on the faucets at the sink beside the glass box. Shannow pressed each: one hot, the other cold.
Returning to the shower, he twisted the metal wheel back towards the blue. Gradually the steam subsided and the water cooled. Satisfied, he stepped back into the box and rinsed the soap from his body.
Refreshed, he towelled himself down and wandered back to his bed. The humming was still sounding from above him and he found the noise irritating, like making camp close to a beehive. Standing on the bed he stared into the vent, seeking some way of closing it. There was a lever, and just as he was about to press it he heard Lucas's voice echoing in the vent. '. . too dangerous, Amaziga. It has already all but destroyed a world. Why take such a terrible risk?'
Shannow could not hear her response, but Lucas cut in swiftly, 'Nothing, as you know, is certain. But the probabilities are too high. Let me show you the data.'
Stepping down from the bed, Shannow waked to the door, easing it open and moving into the carpeted hallway. Now the voices were louder and he could hear Amaziga: '. . probabilities are high; they are bound to be. But they would be high regardless of whatever action I take. Sarento has become the Bloodstone, and with the power it gives him, and with his extraordinary intelligence, he is almost bound to discover Gateways. Is that not so?'