Bloodstone

'Ah yes, but the Sword of God was a nuclear missile, Mr Shannow. Do you really want to see such a weapon descend on your land? It will wipe out countless thousands and further poison the land for centuries.'

'Of course not. But what I am saying is that there are weapons which could destroy him.'

'How can I help you? You can have access to all of my files, but few of them have any direct bearing on your world, save those which Amaziga supplied.'

'I want to know everything about Sarento. Everything.'

'The question, surely, is which Sarento. I know little about the man who became the Bloodstone.'

Then tell me about the Sarento you know, his dreams, his vanities, his ambitions.'

'Very well, Mr Shannow, I will assemble the files. The refrigerator is still working and you will find some cool drinks there. When you return we will go over the information.'

Shannow strolled through to the kitchen, fetching a carton of Florida orange juice and a glass. Sitting before the machine he listened as Lucas outlined Sarento's life. He was not a primary survivor of the Fall, though he sometimes pretended to be, but was born one hundred and twelve years later. A mathematical genius, he had been in the first team to discover Sipstrassi fragments, and use them for the benefit of the people who became known as the Guardians. While he listened Shannow remembered the struggle on board the restored Titanic, and the disaster in the cave of the original Bloodstone. Sarento had died there, Shannow barely escaping with his life.

There was little new to be learned. Sarento had been obsessed with the thought of returning the world to the status and lifestyle enjoyed in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. It was his life's work.

'Has that helped, Mr Shannow?'

Shannow sighed. 'Perhaps. Tell me now of the Gateways, and the points of power on which they were built.'

'You have me at a disadvantage there, Mr Shannow. The Gateways were used by the Atlanteans until the time of Pendarric and the first Fall of the world. Whether they were built by them, or not, is another matter entirely. Most of the ancient races are lost to us. It could even be that the world has Fallen many times, wiping out great civilisations. As to the power sites, they are many. There are three near here, and one is certainly as powerful as that upon which the ancients erected the stones. The earth is peppered with them. In Europe most of the sites have churches built upon them. Here in the United States some have been covered with mounds, others bearing ancient ruins. The people known as the Anasazi erected cities around the energy centres.'

'Do you have maps in your files?' asked Shannow.

'Of course. What would you like to see?'

'Show me the deserts of Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada.'

'Do you have more specific instructions?'

'I want to see all the energy centres, as you call them.'

For more than an hour Shannow pored over the maps, Lucas highlighting sites of power. 'More detail on this one,' said Shannow. 'Bring it up closer.' Lucas did so.

'I see what you are getting at, Mr Shannow. I will access other data that may be relevant to this line of enquiry. While I am doing so, would you mind if I activate the television? It annoys me that my date and time sections are down.'

'Of course,' said Shannow.

The wall-mounted unit flickered to life, the picture switching to a news text. The date and time were outlined in yellow at the top right-hand side of the screen.

'Mr Shannow!'

'What is it?'

'You have chosen a strange time to pass through the Gateway. We are only twelve minutes from the Fall.'

* * *

Shannow knew instantly how it had occurred. The last thought in his mind as the violet light had flared around him was to get to Arizona before the Fall. And he had remembered that awful morning as the plane lifted off — as indeed it was even now lifting off on that far coast.

'I need you with me, Lucas,' he said. 'Where is the portable Amaziga used?'

'She took one with her, Mr Shannow. There is a second, in the back bedroom — a small cupboard beneath the television and video units.' Shannow moved swiftly through to the room. The portable unit was even smaller than that which Amaziga had carried through to the world of the Bloodstone; Shannow almost missed it, believing it to be a stereo headset.

'Eight minutes, Mr Shannow,' came the calm voice of Lucas as the Jerusalem Man strode back into the main room.

'How do I hook up these leads?' he asked.

Lucas told him. Then: Take the blue lead and attach it to the point at the rear of the machine immediately above the main power socket.' Shannow did so. 'Transferring files,' said Lucas. 'We have five minutes and forty seconds.'

'How long will the transfer take?'

Three minutes.'

Shannow moved to the doorway, staring out over the desert. It was still, and hot, the sky a searing blue.

A huge jet passed overhead, gliding west towards the runways of Los Angeles Airport — runways that would be under billions of tons of roaring ocean long before the plane touched down.

The earth trembled beneath Shannow's feet and he reached out, taking hold of the door-frame.

'Almost there, Mr Shannow,' said Lucas. 'I managed to save forty-two seconds. Unhook me — and put on the headset.'

Shannow unplugged the lead and clipped the portable to his gun-belt. There was no ON/OFF switch and Lucas's voice sounded tinny through the headphones. ‘I think you had better run, Mr Shannow,' he said, his voice eerily calm.

The Jerusalem Man moved swiftly out of the house, leaping the porch steps and sprinting towards the old stone circle. 'One minute twelve seconds,' said Lucas.

The ground juddered. . Shannow stumbled. Righting himself, he ran up the hill and into the circle.

'Get us back,' he said.

'What are the co-ordinates?' Lucas asked.

'Co-ordinates? What do you mean?'

'A trace. A date and a place. We must know where we are going?'

'Beth McAdam's farm… but I don't know exactly when.' The wind began to build, clouds racing across the sky.

Twenty-eight seconds,' said Lucas. 'Hold tightly to the Stone, Mr Shannow.'

Violet light flared around them, as the wind shrieked and rose. 'Where are we going?' shouted Shannow.

'Trust me,' said Lucas softly.

* * *

Clem Steiner eased back from the brow of the hill, keeping his body low as he clambered down to join the others. Zerah and the children had dismounted, Nestor still sat in the saddle.

'What did you see?' asked Zerah.

'Kids, you hold on to the horses,' said Clem, with a smile to Oz.

'I want to see!' Esther complained, in a high voice.

Clem lifted a finger to his lips. 'Best stay quiet, girl, for there are bad men close by.'

'Sorry,' whispered Esther, putting her hand over her mouth.

Nestor dismounted and, together with Clem and Zerah, walked to just below the hilltop before dropping down to his belly and removing his hat. The others crawled alongside. On the plain below, no more than two hundred yards away, Nestor could see a dozen riders in horned helms and black breastplates, holding rifles in their hands. They were riding slowly alongside a walking group of men, women and children — maybe seventy of them, guessed Nestor.

'What are they doing?' asked Nestor. 'Who are they?'

'Hellborn.'

'There aren't any Hellborn,' snapped the boy. They was all wiped out.'

Then this is obviously just a dream,' responded Clem testily.

'Oh, they're Hellborn all right,' said Zerah. 'Zeb and I were with Daniel Cade during the First Hellborn War. And those people with them are being treated as prisoners.'

Nestor saw that she was right. The Hellborn — if that's what they were — were riding with their rifles pointed in at the group. They're moving towards Pilgrim's Valley,' said Nestor, thinking of the quiet strength of Captain Leon Evans and his Crusaders. They'd know how to deal with the situation.