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'That is vile,' whispered Shannow.

'They practice the worship of Molech, and give the firstborn child to the fire. Human sacrifice takes place in their temples and their rites are truly extraordinary. All strangers are considered enemies and either enslaved or burnt alive. They also have pistols and rifles, Mr Shannow — and they have rediscovered the rimless cartridge.'

'I do not understand.'

'Think of the difference between the percussion pistols you own and the flintlocks you have come across. Well, the cartridge is as far ahead of the percussion cap as that.'

'Explain it to me.'

'I can do better than that, Mr Shannow. I will show you.' Karitas opened his sheepskin jerkin and there, nestling in a black shoulder holster, was a pistol the like of which Shannow had never seen.

It had a rectangular black grip and when Karitas pulled it clear he saw that the body of the gun was also a rectangle. Karitas passed it to Shannow.

'How does it load?'

‘Press the button to the left of the butt.'

Shannow did so and a clip slid clear of the butt. Shannow placed the gun in his lap and examined the clip. He could see a glint of brass at the top and he slid the shell into his hand; holding it up against the light from the fire.

'That,' said Karitas, 'is a cartridge. The oval shape at the point is the lead bullet. The brass section replaces the percussion cap; it contains its own propellant and, when struck by the firing pin, explodes, propelling the shell from the barrel.'

'But how does the… bullet get from the clip to the breech?'

Karitas took up the automatic and pulled back the casing, exposing the breech. 'A spring in the clip forces the shell up, and releasing the block like so. .' the casing snapped back into position

'. . pushes the shell into the breech. Now this is the beauty of the weapon, Mr Shannow: when the trigger is pulled the firing pin explodes the propellant and sends the shell on its way, but the blow-back from the explosion forces the casing backwards. A hook pulls clear the cartridge case, which is then struck from beneath by another cartridge and thrown from the pistol. As the casing springs back, it pushes the next shell into the breech. Simple and superb!'

'What is it called?'

'This, my dear fellow, is the Browning of 1911, with the single-link locking system. It is also the reason why the Carns will not raid where I am.'

'You mean it works?'

'Of course it works. It's not a patch on their later models, but it was considered a great weapon in its day.'

'I am still to be convinced,' said Shannow. 'It looks clumsy and altogether too complicated.'

‘Tomorrow, Mr Shannow, I shall give you a demonstration.'

'Where did you come by these weapons?'

'I took them from the Ark, Mr Shannow. That is one of the surprises I have in store for you.

Would you like to see Noah's Ark?'

CHAPTER FOUR

Shannow could not sleep; his mind was full of pictures of Donna Taybard. He recalled her as he had first seen her, standing before her farmhouse with a crossbow in her hand, looking both defiant and delicate. And then at the dinner-table, sad and wistful. And he remembered her in the wide bed — her face flushed, her eyes bright, her body soft.

Images of Curopet crept into his mind, blurring with Donna, and he groaned and rolled over.

Dawn found him irritable and tired and he dressed swiftly, having first exercised with the leather ball. His left hand was stronger now, yet still a shadow of what it had been.

The wind was chill and Shannow wished he had put on his leather top-coat, but he saw Karitas waiting for him by the rock pile.

'We will put this exhibition to good use,' said Karitas. Tick up a good-sized rock with your left hand and carry it to the fiat ground yonder, about thirty paces.' Shannow did as he was bid, and his arm was aching as he returned.

'Now take another,' said Karitas. Six times he ordered Shannow to pick up rocks and then he told him to watch. The rocks were now in a line, each of them the size of a man's fist. Karitas drew the Browning and cocked it, his arm levelled and the gun fired with a sharp crack. There was little smoke and one of the rocks splintered. On the ground by Karitas' feet lay a brass shell, and the weapon in his hand was cocked and ready.

'Now you try, my dear fellow.' He reversed the gun and handed it to Shannow. The balance was good, the weight nestling back into his palm rather than forward like the percussion pistols.

He lined the weapon and squeezed the trigger and a spurt of dust leapt up a foot behind the rock.

Shannow fired once more and the rock split apart. He was impressed, though he tried not to show it.

'My own pistols could duplicate the accuracy.'

'I don't doubt it, but the Browning can be loaded with nine shells in less than ten seconds.'

'And you say the Hellborn have these?'

'No, thank God. They have revolvers, copies of the Adams and some Remington replicas. But their craftsmen have evolved the weapons; their level of technology is fairly high.'

'Well, they are a problem for another day,' said Shannow. 'But tell me of Noah's Ark — or is that another joke?'

'Not at all. We will see it in the Spring, with the Guardians' permission.' 'I will not be here in the Spring, Karitas.' The old man moved forward and retrieved his pistol. He uncocked it and slid it back into his shoulder holster. 'You are recovering well, but you are not yet strong enough to ride any distance. And there is something else you should know.' Karitas' voice was grave.

'What is it?'

'Let us go to your hut, and I will explain.'

Once inside beside a warm fire, Karitas opened the leather pouch at his hip and produced a round stone which he passed to Shannow. Warm to the touch and gleaming softly gold in the firelight, it was veined with black streaks and highlighted by tiny specks of silver.

'It is a pretty piece,' said Shannow. 'But what do you have to tell me?'

'You are holding your life in your hand, Mr Shannow, for that is a healing Stone and on you it has worked a miracle.'

'I have heard of such. The Daniel Stone?'

'Indeed it is. But its significance to you is very great. You see, Mr Shannow, you are in fact dead.

When Selah brought you to me your skull was smashed. I don't know how you lived as long as you did. But the Stone held you. . as it still holds you. If you travel out of its influence, you will die.'

Shannow tossed the Stone to Karitas. 'Dead? Then why does my heart beat? Why can I still think and speak?'

'Tell me, Mr Shannow, when you lay in the Fever Hole and your heart stopped, what did you feel?'

'I felt nothing. I dreamed I sat outside the gates of Jerusalem, and they would not let me enter. It was but a dream. I do not believe that I am trapped in this village for ever.'

'Nor are you. But you must trust me, and my knowledge. I will know when you have broken the thread, when you can exist without the Stone. Have faith in me, Jon.'

'But my wife. .'

'If she loves you she will wait. And you say she has power to see great distances. Build your strength.'

Day by dreary day Shannow worked — chopping wood, carrying water, scything grass for winter feed. And the Autumn passed before the freezing northerly winds piled snow against the huts.

Night after night Shannow sat with Karitas, listening to his tales of the New World's birthing. He no longer knew nor cared if Karitas was telling the truth; the images were too many and too kaleidoscopic to contain. He listened much as he had when his father told stories, his disbelief suspended only for the telling time.