Bloodstone

'You said you had a plan,' said Beth, looking at Shannow. His face was grey with pain and weariness, but he nodded. His voice, when he spoke, was barely above a whisper.

'I don't know if I'll have the strength for it, and would be happier should Amaziga's. . theory. . prove accurate. Whatever happens we must stop Sarento from reaching Unity, or any major settlement. I have seen the extent of his power.' They were hushed as he told them of the amphitheatre in the other world, with its rank upon rank of dried-out corpses. 'His power can reach for more than a hundred yards. I don't know the limits. What I do know is that when we find him we must hit him with rifle shot, and make sure the riflemen stay well back from him.'

Nestor ran into the room. 'Rider coming,' he said. 'Weirdest-looking man you ever saw.'

'Weird? In what way?' Shannow asked.

'Appears to be painted all in red and black lines.'

'It's him!' shouted Amaziga, lurching to her feet.

Padlock Wheeler gathered up his rifle and ran from the building, shouting for his Crusaders to gather at the paddock fence. The rider was still some two hundred yards distant. Wheeler's mouth was dry.

Levering a shell into the breech, he levelled the weapon and fired. The shot missed, and the rider kicked his mount into a gallop.

'Stop the son of a bitch!' yelled Wheeler. Instantly a volley of shots sounded from all around him. The horse went down, spilling the rider to the grass, but he rose and walked steadily towards the farm. Three shots struck him in the chest, slowing him. A shell hammered against his forehead, snapping his head back. Another cannoned against his right knee. Sarento stumbled and fell, but rose again.

Sixty rifles came to bear, bullet after bullet hammering into the man — glancing from his skin, flattening against bone and falling to the grass. Infinitely slowly he pushed forward against the wall of shells. Closer and closer to the men lining the paddock fence.

One hundred and fifty yards. One hundred and forty yards. .

* * *

Even through the terrible and debilitating hunger Sarento began to feel pain. At first the bullets struck him almost without notice, like insects brushing his skin, then like hailstones, then like fingers jabbing at him.

Now they made him grunt as they slammed home against increasingly bruised skin. A shot hit him in the eye and he fell back with a scream as blood welled under the lid. Lifting his hand to protect his eyes he stumbled forward, the sweet promise of sustenance driving him on.

He was so close now, the scent so strong that he began to salivate.

They could not stop him.

'Sarento!' Above the sound of the gunfire he heard a voice calling his name. Turning his head he saw an old man being supported by a black woman, moving slowly out to his left away from the line of fire.

Surprised, he halted. He knew the woman: Amaziga Archer. But she was dead long since. He blinked, his injured eye making it difficult to focus. 'Cease fire!' bellowed the old man and the thunder of guns faded away. Sarento stood upright and stared hard at him, reaching out with his power to read his thoughts. They were blocked from him.

'Sarento!' he called again.

'Speak,' said the Bloodstone. He saw that the old man was wounded; his hunger was so intense that he had to steel himself not to drag the life force from the two as they approached. What helped was that he was intrigued. 'What do you want?'

The old man sagged against the woman. Amaziga took the weight, while at no time taking her eyes from the Bloodstone. He tasted her hatred and laughed. 'I could give you immortality, Amaziga,' he said softly.

'Why not join me?'

'You are a mass murderer, Sarento,' she hissed. 'I despise you!'

'Murder? I have murdered no one,' he said, with genuine surprise. They're all alive. In here,' he added, tapping his chest. 'Every one, every soul. I know their thoughts, their dreams, their ambitions. With me they have eternal life. We speak all the time. And they are happy, Amaziga, dwelling with their god. That is paradise.'

'You lie!'

'Gods do not lie,' he said. 'I will show you.' He closed his eyes, and spoke. The voice was not Sarento's.

'Oh, dear God!' whispered Amaziga.

'Get back from him, Mother,' came the voice of her son, Gareth. 'Get back from him!'

'Gareth!' she screamed.

'He's the Devil!' shouted the familiar voice. 'Don't bel—' Sarento's eyes opened, and his own deep voice sounded. 'He has yet to appreciate his good fortune. However, I think my point is made. No one is dead; they merely changed their place of habitation. Now what do you want, for I hunger?'

The old man pushed himself upright. 'I am here to offer you. . your greatest desire,'he said, his voice faltering.

'My desire is to feed,' said Sarento. 'And this conversation prevents me from so doing.'

'I can open the Gateways to other worlds,' the old man said.

'If that is true,' responded Sarento, 'then all I have to do is draw you into myself and I will have that knowledge.'

'Not so,' said the other, his voice stronger now. 'You used to understand computers, Sarento, but you will not have seen one like this,' he went on, tapping the box clipped to his belt. 'It is a portable. And it is self-aware. Through this machine I can control the Gateways. Should I die, it has instructions to self-destruct. You want to feed? Look around you. How many are here?' Sarento transferred his gaze to the farm buildings. He could see around fifty, perhaps sixty riflemen. 'Not enough, are there?' said the old man. 'But I can take you where there are millions.'

'Why would you do this?'

'To save my friends.'

'You would sacrifice a world to me, for these few?'

'I will take you wherever you choose.'

'And I am to trust you?'

'I am Jon Shannow, and I never lie.'

'You can't, Shannow!' screamed Amaziga, lunging at the portable. Shannow backhanded her across the face, spinning her to the ground. The effort caused him to stagger and his hand moved to his side, where blood oozed through the bandages. Amaziga looked up from the ground. 'How could you, Shannow?

What kind of a man are you?'

Sarento reached out and touched Amaziga's mind. She felt it and recoiled. 'So,' said Sarento, 'you are a truth speaker. And wherever I name you will take me?'

'Yes.'

‘The twentieth century on earth?'

'Where in the twentieth century?' responded the old man.

‘The United States. Los Angeles would be pleasant.'

‘I cannot promise you an arrival inside a city. The points of power are usually found in less crowded areas.'

'No matter, Jon Shannow. You, of course, will travel with me.'

'As you wish. We need to make our way to the crest of that hill,' said Shannow. Sarento's eyes followed where he pointed, then swung back to the group by the paddock fence. 'Kill even one of them and you will never see the twentieth century,' warned Shannow.

'How long will this take? I hunger!'

'As soon as we reach the crest.' The man turned and walked slowly towards the hillside. Sarento strode alongside him, lifting him from his feet. He began to run, effortlessly covering the ground. The old man was light, and Sarento felt his life draining away.

'Don't die, old man,' he said. Reaching the summit, he lowered Shannow to the ground. 'Now your promise!'

Shannow swung the microphone into place. 'Do it!' he whispered.

Violet light flared — and then they were gone. .

Amaziga staggered to her feet. Behind her the riflemen were cheering and hugging one another, but all Amaziga could feel was shame. Turning from the hillside, she walked back to the farmhouse. How could he have done it? How could he?

Beth came out to greet her. 'He succeeded then,' she said.

'If you can call it success.'

'We're still alive, Amaziga. I call that success.'