Shannow watched as a tall, thin man in a black shirt and leather trousers emerged from behind the bar and moved to the door. He was wearing a pistol scabbard of polished leather which housed a short-barrelled gun with a bone handle.
From outside came a voice.
'You men inside, listen to me; this is the Parson speaking. We know you are armed, and we are ready to give battle to you. But think on this: There are forty men out here, and when we rush the place the carnage will be terrible. Those we do not kill will be taken to a place of execution and hanged by the neck until dead. I suggest you put down your weapons and walk — in peace — to your horses. We will wait for a few minutes, but if we are forced to storm in you all will die.'
'We got to get out of here, Zeb,' shouted a man Shannow could not see.
‘I’ll not run from a pack of Townies,' hissed Zeb Maddox.
'Then run from me,' said Shannow, moving forward with pistol raised.
Maddox turned slowly. 'You going to try to put that pistol in my mouth, Shannow, or will you be a man and face me?'
'Oh, I'll face you,' said Shannow as he strode forward and pushed his pistol into Maddox's belly.
'Draw your gun and cock it.'
'What the Hell is this?'
'Do it. Now put it against my stomach.' Maddox did so. 'Fine. There's your chance. I'll count to three and we'll both pull the triggers,' whispered Shannow coldly.
'You're crazy. We'll both die, for sure.'
'One,' said Shannow.
'This is mad, Shannow!' Maddox's eyes were wide with terror.
'Two!'
'No!' screamed Maddox, hurling away his pistol and throwing himself backwards, his hands over his face.
The Jerusalem Man looked around at the waiting gunmen. 'Live or die,' he told them. 'Choose now.'
Guns clattered to the floor. Shannow walked to the doorway and nodded to the Parson and the men gathered with him. Broome was there. And Brisley… and Mason… and Steiner. Beth McAdam was standing beside them, her pistol in her hand.
'I killed no one,' said Shannow. 'They are ready to go. Let them ride.' He walked away, his gun hanging at his side.
'Shannow!' screamed Beth and the Jerusalem Man spun as Zeb Maddox fired from the doorway.
The shell punched Shannow from his feet; his vision misting, he returned the fire. Maddox doubled over, then staggered upright, but a volley of shots from the crowd lifted him and hurled him back through the doorway.
Shannow struggled to his feet and staggered. Blood was dripping to his cheek. He bent to retrieve his hat…
And darkness swallowed him.
Bright colours were everywhere, hurting his eyes. And blood flowed upon his face. Flames flickered at the edge of his vision and he saw a terrible beast stalking towards him, holding a rope with which to throttle him. His pistol blazed and the creature staggered, but came on, blood pouring from its wound. He fired again. And again. Still the beast advanced until finally it slumped to its knees before him, its taloned claws opening.
'Why?' the beast whispered.
Shannow looked down and saw that the creature was carrying not a rope but a bandage. 'Why did you kill me, when I was trying to help you?'
‘I’m sorry,' whispered Shannow. The beast vanished and he rose and walked to the cave-mouth.
Hanging in the sky, awesome in its scale, was the Sword of God, with around it crosses of many colours — green and white and blue. Below it was a city, teeming with life: a huge, circular city, ringed with walls of white stone and a massive moat which boasted a harbour where wooden ships with banks of oars were anchored.
A beautiful woman with flame-red hair approached Shannow.
‘I will help you,' she said… but in her hand was a knife. Shannow backed away.
'Leave me alone,' he told her. But she advanced and the knife came up to sink in his chest.
Darkness engulfed him. Then there was the noise of a great roaring and he awoke.
He was sitting in a small seat, surrounded by crystal set in steel. Upon his head was a tight-fitting helmet of leather. Voices whispered in his ear.
'Calling Tower. This is an emergency. We seem to be off course. We cannot see land… Repeat…
We cannot see land.'
Shannow leaned over and looked through the crystal window. Far below he could see the ocean.
He glanced back. He was sitting in a metal cross, suspended in the air below the clouds which flashed by above him with dizzying speed.
'What is your position, Flight Leader?' came a second voice.
'We are not sure of our position, Tower. We cannot be sure just where we are… We seem to be lost…'
'Assume bearing due west.'
We don't know which way is west. Everything is wrong… strange… we can't be sure of any direction — even the ocean doesn’t look as it should…'
The cross began to tremble violently and Shannow scrabbled at the window. Ahead, the heavens and the sea appeared to merge. All around the window the sky disappeared, and blackness swamped the cross. Shannow screamed…
'It's all right, Shannow. Calm. Stay calm.'
His eyes opened to see Beth McAdam leaning over him. He tried to move his head, but sickening pain thundered in his temple and he groaned.
Beth laid a cool towel on his brow. 'You're all right, Shannow. You were turning as the bullet struck you. It did not pierce the skull, but it gave you a powerful blow. Rest now.'
'Maddox?' he whispered.
'Dead. We shot him down; the others we hanged. There is a Committee now, patrolling the town.
The brigands have gone.'
'They will return,' he said. 'They always return.'
'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,' came another voice.
'That you, Parson?'
'Yes,' answered the man, leaning over him. 'Take it easy, Shannow. All is peaceful.'
Shannow slept without dreams.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
'I see you have two Bibles,' said the Parson, sitting by Shannow's bedside and holding the leather-covered books. 'Surely one is enough?'
Shannow, his head bandaged, his left eye swollen and blue, reached out and took the first. 'I carried this with me for many years. But last year a woman gave me the second; the language is more simple. It lacks the majesty, but it makes many passages easier to understand.'
'I have no trouble in understanding it,' said the Parson. 'Throughout it makes one point — God's law is absolute. Live by it and you prosper, both here and in the Afterlife. Defy it and you die.'
Shannow eased himself back into the pillows. He was always wary of men who claimed to understand the Almighty, yet the Parson was good company, by turns witty and philosophical; he had an active mind and was strong on debate.
His presence made Shannow's enforced rest less galling.
'How goes the church building?' Shannow asked.
'My son,' said the Parson, grinning, 'it is no less than a miracle. Every day scores of the brethren hurl themselves into work with gusto. You have never seen such spirit.'
'Could it have anything to do with the Committee, Parson? Beth tells me that miscreants are now sentenced to work on the church or hang.'
The Parson chuckled. 'Faith without works is dead. These lucky… miscreants… are finding God through their labours. And only three were offered the ultimate choice. One proved to be a fine carpenter and the others are developing like skills, but most of the workers are townspeople.