The Law of the One touched her and her name was born. And she knew. Yet in knowing she also realised that she had lost a great gift — something wonderful — and it grieved her. Her son was born, but was no god. He was a man. He spoke like a man, and walked like a man. He knew his name and the name of his mother, and many more names. But he too sensed a loss: an empty place in the depths of his soul. And he was the father of the Dianae, and the people grew. And they lived in the Great Garden, with the walls of crystal. But one day the Law of the One was assailed by many enemies. The land was in turmoil, the walls split asunder and great waters destroyed the garden. The Dianae themselves were almost destroyed. Then the waters subsided and the people gazed upon a different world. The Law of the One visited his presence upon Pen-ran, and he became the Prophet. He told us what was lost and what was gained. We had lost the Road to Heaven, we had gained the Path to Knowing. He was the first to lead us here, and the first to leave the Path and find the Road.'
The old man opened his eyes. 'There is far more, Chreena, but only the Dianae could understand.'
'You believe that knowledge prevents you from seeing Heaven?'
'It is the great barrier. The soul can exist only in purity. Knowledge corrupts, it fills us with dreams and desires. Such ambition keeps our eyes from the Law of the One.'
'Yet a savage lion knows only hunger and lust.'
'Perhaps. But he does not slay wantonly, and if his belly is full a young antelope can walk to a pool beside him and drink in safety.'
'You will forgive me for not sharing your… faith?'
'Even as you have forgiven me for not sharing yours. Perhaps we are both correct,' said Men-chor. 'For do we not have similar origins? Did you not also originate in a Garden, and were you not also cast from it? And did you not also, with the sin of Adam and the crime of Cain, lose the Road to Heaven?'
Chreena had laughed then, and politely conceded the argument. She liked the old man. But she had one last question.
'What happens when, like the Bears, all the Dianae are lions?'
'We will all be close to God,' he told her simply.
'But there will be no more songs.'
'Who knows what songs are heard in the heart of a lion? But can they be more discordant than the songs of death we hear from Beyond the Wall?'
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Shannow left the stallion at the stock paddocks, paid the hostler to grain-feed and groom the beast, then hitched his saddlebags over his left shoulder and made his way to the Traveller's Rest, a three-storey building to the west of the town. They had one room vacant but the owner — a thin, sallow-faced individual called Mason — asked Shannow if he could wait for an hour while they
'cleaned it up'.
Shannow agreed and paid for a three-day stay. He left his saddlebags behind the counter and walked into the next room where a long bar stretched some fifty feet. The barman smiled as he entered.
'Name it, son,' he said.
'Beer,' ordered Shannow. He paid for the drink and took the brimming jug to a corner table where he sat with his back to the wall. He was tired and curiously on edge; his thoughts kept drifting to the woman with the wagon. Slowly the bar began to fill with working men — some straight from the mine, their clothes black, their faces streaked with grime and sweat. Shannow cast his eyes swiftly over each newcomer. Few wore pistols, but many carried knives or hatchets. He was ready to move to his room when a young man entered. He was wearing a white cotton shirt, dark trousers and a fitted jacket of tanned leather; and he wore a pistol with a smooth white grip.
Watching him move, Shannow felt his anger rise. He pulled his eyes from the newcomer and finished his beer. They always looked the same, bright-eyed and smooth as cats: the mark of the hunter, the killer, the warrior.
Shannow left the bar, collected his belongings and climbed the two flights to his room. It was larger than he had expected, with a brass-fitted double bed, two easy chairs and a table on which sat an oil light. He dumped his bags behind the door and checked the window. Below it was a drop of around forty feet. Stripping off his clothes, he lay back on the bed and slept for twelve hours. He awoke ravenous, dressed swiftly, strapped on his guns and returned to the ground floor.
The owner, Mason, nodded to him as Shannow approached.
'I could do with a hot bath,' he said.
'Outside and turn to your left. About thirty paces. You can't miss it.'
The bath-house was a dingy shed in which five metal tubs were separated by curtains hung on brass rings. Shannow moved to the end and waited while two men filled the bath with steaming water, then he stripped and climbed in. There was a bar of used soap and a hard brush. He lathered himself clean and stepped from the tub; the towel was coarse and gritty, but it served its purpose. He dressed, paid the attendants and wandered across the main street, following the aroma of frying bacon.
The eating house was situated in a long cabin under the sign of The Jolly Pilgrim. Shannow entered and found a table against the wall, where he sat facing the door.
'What will you have?' asked Beth McAdam.
Shannow glanced up and reddened. Then he stood and swept his hat from his head. 'Good morning, Frey McAdam.'
'The name's Beth. And I asked what you wanted?'
'Eggs, bacon… whatever there is.'
'They've got a hot drink here made from nuts and tree bark; it's good with sugar.'
'Fine. I'll try some. It did not take you long to find work.'
'Needs must,' she said and walked away. Shannow's hunger had evaporated, but he waited for his meal and forced his way through it. The drink was bitter, even with the sugar, and black as the pit, but the after-taste was good. He paid from his dwindling store of Barta coins and walked out into the sunshine. A crowd had garnered, and he saw the young man from the night before standing in the centre of the street.
'Hell man, it's easy,' he said. 'You just stand there and drop the jug any time you're ready.'
'I don't want to do this, Clem,' said the man he was addressing, a portly miner. 'You might kill me, goddammit!'
'Never killed no one yet with this trick,' said the pistoleer. 'Still, there's always a first time.' The crowd hooted with laughter. Shannow stood against the wall of the eating house and watched the crowd melt away before the two men, forming a line on either side of them. The fat miner was standing some ten feet from the pistoleer, holding a clay jug out from his body at arm's length.
'Come on, Gary. Drop it!' someone shouted.
The miner did so as Shannow's eyes flicked to the pistoleer. His hand swept down and up and the crack of the shot echoed in the street. The jug exploded into shards and the crowd cheered wildly.
Shannow eased himself from the wall and walked around them towards the hotel.
'You don't seem too impressed,' said the young man, as Shannow passed.
'Oh, I was impressed,' Shannow assured him, walking on, but the man caught up with him.
'The name's Clem Steiner,' he said, falling into step.
'That was exceptionally skilful,' commented Shannow.-'You have fast hands and a good eye.'
'Could you have done it?'
'Never in a million years,' Shannow replied, mounting the steps to the hotel. Returning to his room, he took the Bible from his saddlebag and flicked through the pages until he came to the words that echoed in his heart.
'And he carried me away in the spirit to a mountain great and high and showed me the Holy City, Jerusalem, coming down out of Heaven from God. It shone with the glory of God, and its brilliance was like that of a very precious jewel, like a jasper, clear as crystal. It had a great high wall with twelve gates and with twelve angels at the gates… The city does not need the sun or the moon to shine on it for the glory of God gives it light, and the Lamb is its lamp… Nothing impure will ever enter it, nor will anyone who does what is shameful or deceitful… '