As the light began to fail Shannow turned off the trail and up into a stand of pine, seeking a place to camp. The land rose sharply, and ahead of them a cliff face ran south to north. A narrow waterfall gushed over basaltic rock, the fading sunlight casting rainbows through the spray and a rippling stream flowing on towards the plain.
Shannow dismounted and loosened the saddle cinch. 'We could make at least another five miles,' said Amaziga but he ignored her, his keen eyes picking up a flash of red in the undergrowth some sixty yards beyond the falls. Leaving the horse with trailing reins, he waded across the narrow stream and climbed the steep bank beyond. Gareth followed him.
'Jesus Christ!' whispered Gareth as he saw the crushed and ruined remains of a red jeep.
'Do not take His name in vain,' said Shannow. 'I do not like profanity.' The jeep was lying on its back, the roof twisted and bent. One door had been ripped clear, and Shannow could see the marks of talons scoring through the red paint and the thin steel beneath. He glanced up. Torn and broken foliage on the cliff above the jeep showed that it had fallen from the cliff-top and bounced several times against sharp outcrops before landing here. Ducking down, he pulled aside the bracken and peered into the interior.
Gareth knelt alongside him.
Inside the jeep was a crushed and twisted body. All that could be seen was an outflung arm, half severed. The arm was black, the blood-soaked shirt sleeve olive-green with a thin grey stripe. Gareth's shirt was identical. 'It's me,' said Gareth. 'It's me!'
Shannow rose and moved to the other side of the wreck.
Glancing down, he saw huge paw-prints in the soft earth, and a trail of dried blood leading into the undergrowth. Drawing a pistol and cocking it, he followed the trail and twenty yards further on found the remains of a grisly feast. Lying to the left was a small box, twisted, torn wires leading from it. Easing the hammer forward, he holstered his pistol, then he picked up the blood-spattered box and walked back to where Gareth was still staring down at the body.
'Let's go,' said the Jerusalem Man.
'We've got to bury him.'
'No.'
'I can't just leave him there!'
Hearing the anguish in the young man's voice, Shannow moved alongside him, laying a hand on his shoulder. There are hoof-marks around the vehicle, as well as signs of the Devourers. If any of the riders return and find the corpses buried, they will know that others have passed this way. You understand?
We must leave them as they are.'
Gareth nodded, then his head flicked up. 'Corpses? There is only one, surely?'
Shannow shook his head and showed Gareth the blood-spattered box. 'I don't understand. .' the young man whispered.
'Your mother will,' said Shannow, as Amaziga strode to join them. He watched her as she examined the jeep, her face impassive. Then she saw the box, identical to the one she had strapped to her belt, and her dark eyes met Shannow's gaze.
'Where is her body?' she asked.
There is not much of a body left. The Devourers lived up to their name. A part of the head remains, enough to identify it.'
'Is it safe to remain here?'
'Nowhere in this land is safe, lady. But it offers concealment for the night.'
‘I take it the twin of your body is not here, Mr Shannow?'
'No,' he said.
She nodded. Then she chose to undertake the mission without you — obviously a mistake which she paid for dearly.'
Amaziga turned away and returned to the horses as Gareth approached Shannow. That's the closest she'll ever come to saying you were right about the jeep,' said the young man, attempting a smile. 'You're a wise man, Shannow.'
The Jerusalem Man shook his head. 'The wise man was the Jon Shannow who didn't travel with them.'
Gareth took the first watch, a thick blanket round his shoulders against the cool night breeze. He was sitting on a wide branch that must have snapped in a recent storm. The sight of the body in the jeep had unnerved him as nothing else had in his young life. He knew the dead man better than he knew anyone, understood the hopes and dreams and fears the man had entertained or endured. And he couldn't help but wonder what had gone through his twin's mind as the jeep had crashed over the cliff. Despair?
Terror? Anger? Had he been alive after the fall? Had the Devourers forced their way in and torn at his helpless body?
The young black man shivered and glanced to where Shannow slept peacefully beneath a spreading elm.
This quest had seemed like an adventure to Gareth Archer, yet another exciting experience in his rich, full young life. The prospect of danger had been enticing. But to see his own corpse! Death was something that happened to other people. . not to him. Nervously he glanced across at the ruined jeep.
The night was cold, and he noticed that his hands were trembling. He glanced at his watch: two more hours before he woke his mother. She had seemed unfazed by the tragedy that had befallen their twins and, just for a moment, Gareth found himself envious of her calm. Amaziga had spread out her blanket, removed the boxes and headphones and passed them to her son. 'Lucas's camera has an infra-red capacity,' she said. 'Don't leave it on for long. We must conserve the batteries. Two minutes every half-hour should be sufficient.' Now she too seemed to be sleeping.
Gareth pressed the button on the box. 'You are troubled,' whispered Lucas's voice, sounding tinny and small through the earphones. Gareth flipped the microphone into place.
'What can you see?' he asked, turning his head slowly, allowing the tiny camera on the headband a view of the plain below.
'Move your head to the right — about an inch,' ordered Lucas.
'What is it?' Gareth's heart began to pound, and he slipped his Desert Eagle automatic from its shoulder holster.
'A beautiful spotted owl,' said Lucas. 'It's just caught a small lizard,' Gareth swore. 'There is nothing on the plain to concern you,' the machine chided him. 'Calm yourself.'
'Easy for you to say, Lucas. You haven't seen your own corpse.'
'As a matter of fact, I have. I watched the original Lucas collapse with a heart attack. However, that is beside the point. Your resting heartbeat is currently one hundred and thirty-three beats per minute. That is very close to panic, Gareth. Take some long, slow, deep breaths.'
'It is a hundred and thirty-three beats faster than the poor son of a bitch in the jeep,' snapped the young man. 'And it is not panic. I've never panicked in my life. I won't start now.'
A hand touched his shoulder and Gareth lurched upright. 'One hundred and sixty-five beats,' he heard Lucas whisper, and he spun round to see Amaziga standing calmly behind him.
'I said use the machine,' she told him, 'not get into an argument with it.' She held out her hand. 'Let me have Lucas, and then you can get some sleep.'
'I've another two hours yet.'
'I'm not tired. Now do as you're told.' He grinned sheepishly and carefully removed the headband and boxes. Amaziga laid aside her Uzi and clipped the machine to her shoulder rig. Gareth moved to his blanket and lay down. The Desert Eagle dug into his waist and, easing it clear, he laid it alongside him.
Amaziga turned off the machine and walked to the edge of the trees, staring out over the moonlit landscape. Nothing moved, and there were no sounds save for the rustling of leaves in the trees above her. She waited until Gareth was asleep and then waded back across the stream, past the ruined jeep and on to the scene of the feast. The body — or what was left of it — was in three parts. The head and neck were resting against a boulder, the face — thankfully — turned away. Amaziga flicked on the machine.