Bloodstone

Meredith wasn't listening. He was kneeling over the unconscious Isis, his tears falling to her face.

Shannow pushed closed the shutters. The locking bar had been snapped in half, but he wedged them by ramming a knife down into the window-sill. It would not hold against a Devourer, but it gave the illusion of security.

He could scarcely believe what he had seen. Meredith, the man whose panic had killed Jeremiah, had just performed an act of complete heroism. Beth came downstairs. The baby was crying now, and she lifted it from the crib. When the young mother snatched it away and fled upstairs, Beth moved alongside Meredith. There were no signs of wounds on the body of the young blonde girl he was attending. 'What's the matter with her, Doctor?' Beth asked.

'She has an illness which has corrupted her immune system: It is very rare; even in the old world it affected only a handful in every million.' He glanced up and saw that Beth did not understand him.

Meredith sighed. 'Our bodies are equipped with a… defence mechanism. When illness strikes we make antibodies to fight it. Like measles, a child generally will succumb only once, because the body identifies the invading organism, then makes defences to stop it happening again. You understand? Well, in the case of Isis, her defence mechanism has targeted organs in her own body, and is slowly destroying them.

It was called Addison's Disease.'

'And there is nothing that can be done?' asked'Wallace.

'Nothing. The elders used medicines called steroids, but we don't know how they were made.'

'Where did she come from?' asked Wallace. 'How did she get here, through all them creatures?'

'We brought her with us,' said Meredith. 'She was in the wagon. We thought she was on the verge of death and. . to my eternal shame… I left her there.'

'Jesus!' said Wallace. 'But why didn't they kill her? They was all over the wagon.'

Meredith shrugged. 'I have no answer to that.'

'No, but she does,' said the Deacon softly and, kneeling beside her, he laid his hand on her brow. 'Come back to us, Isis,' he said. Meredith watched amazed as colour seeped back into the pale face. Beneath his fingers the pulse became steadier, stronger.

Isis opened her eyes and smiled. 'Hello, Jake,' she said.

'How are you feeling?'

'Wonderful. Rested.' She sat up and looked around. 'Where is this place?'

'It's a farm near Pilgrim's Valley,' said Shannow.

'Where's Jeremiah?'

Shannow helped her to her feet. 'Do you remember the beasts in the wagon?' he asked, ignoring her question.

'Yes. Big, aren't they? Are they yours, Jake?'

'No. They are savage. They killed Jeremiah, and many others. The question is, why did they not kill you?'

'Jeremiah is dead?' Then she saw the blanket-covered body. 'Oh no, Jake!' Isis moved to the body, pulling back the blanket and gazing down on the old man's face.

Meredith moved alongside Shannow. Ts she. . healed?'

Shannow nodded. 'Completely. But I must know about the beasts.'

'Let it rest, for God's sake,' protested Beth. 'She's been through enough.'

'We cannot let it rest,' said Shannow. 'When those beasts make a concerted attack, we will be dead. If Isis knows a way to control them or render them harmless, I must know it. You hear me, child?' he asked the weeping Isis. She nodded, and covered Jeremiah's face once more. Rising, she faced the Deacon.

‘I don't know why they didn't harm me,' she said. 'I can't help you.'

‘I think you can, my love,' said Meredith. 'Animals never attack you, do they? You once told me it was because you liked them. But it is more than that, isn't it? You can. . communicate with them. Remember when you told Jeremiah about the lung disease that was crippling his lead oxen?'

'I… can't talk to them, or anything,' Isis told him. 'I just. . merge with their minds.'

'What do you remember of their minds?' asked the Deacon, pointing towards the window.

'It's very hazy. It's like their thoughts are full of angry wasps, stinging them all the time.'

'Here they come!' yelled Wallace.

* * *

Oz Hankin was more tired than frightened as they crossed the ridge and began the long descent into Pilgrim's Valley. They had walked for most of the day and there had been no sign of the wolf creatures.

The wind had been at their backs for most of the journey, and it seemed now that they would escape the beasts. Esther was being carried by Frey Wheeler, which annoyed Oz. Little girls always got the best treatment. It was the same back at the farm with Dad; if their room was a mess, or if the chores weren't completed, it was Oz who got it in the neck.

Now it was Esther who was being carried. The fact that he was ten pounds heavier than Esther, and three inches taller, made little difference to the twelve-year-old. Life just wasrr't fair!

And he was hungry. As he walked he remembered the taste of apple pie, and powdered sugar, and the sweet honey-cakes his father had made after they found the hive in the woods.

Frey Wheeler halted and swung Esther to the ground. 'Need to rest a mite, child,' she said. The woods were close and Oz saw Zerah studying them. She sniffed, then spat. It surprised Oz; ladies weren't supposed to spit. Esther immediately copied her and Zerah laughed. 'Don't imitate me, Esther,' she warned. There's things people will tolerate in the old that they won't in the young.'

'Why?' Esther asked.

'It just ain't done, child.' She turned towards Oz. 'You got sharp eyes, young Oz. What can you see in the trees yonder?'

'Nothing, Frey. Looks clear.'

'Then we'll chance it,' she said, hefting her rifle. Slowly the trio set off across the last stretch of open ground. The land dropped sharply to their right, and as they walked they saw a trail leading west across the mountains. 'Logging road,' said Zerah, as they scrambled down it. At the foot Zerah stopped again, her ancient face showing purple streaks under the eyes and beside the mouth. She was breathing heavily and Oz became concerned.

'You feeling okay, Frey?' asked Oz. The old lady was sweating now, and her eyes seemed more sunken than usual, lacking their normal brightness. She smiled, but Oz could see the effort behind it.

'Just tired, boy. But I ain't done yet. Just give me a minute to catch my breath.'

Oz sat back on a rock, while Esther ran off into the bushes at the side of the road.

The sound of horses' hooves came to him. Oz was about to warn Esther, but the riders appeared around a bend in the road. At first Oz was pleased, for if they were men from Pilgrim's Valley it would mean a pleasant ride in comparative safety. His joy was short-lived as he recognised the man on the lead horse: he was one of those who had shot his father. The men saw them and spurred their horses forward. There were seven in the group, but Oz recognised only the first as they reined in before Zerah.

'Well, well, what have we here?' asked the lead rider, a thin man with long side-burns and deep-set dark eyes. In his hands was a squat, black pistol which was pointed at Zerah. Oz saw that Zerah's rifle was still resting against the rock. There would be no time to lift it and fire. And even if she could, there were only two shots left.

'Don't harm these children,' said the old lady wearily.

'Where's the girl?' asked the leader.

Oz slipped his hand in his pocket, curling it round the butt of the little pistol. Only the lead rider had a gun in his hand, the rest were merely sitting on their horses, watching the exchange.

'You should just ride on,' said Zerah. 'Killing children is no work for grown men.'

'Don't lecture me, you hag! We was told to find them and get rid of them. That's what we aim to do.

Now tell me where the girl is and I'll kill you clean. One shot. Otherwise I'll blow away your kneecaps and make you scream for an hour or two.'

'You always was a low creature, Bell,' said a voice. 'But, by God, I swear you could walk under a door without bending your knees.'