'Last summer I killed three men, and I vowed never to kill again. I have been hired to rid settlements of Brigands and war-makers — and I have succeeded. But then the eyes of those who sought me turn on me, and I see the fear in their eyes, and they are glad to see me ride on. They do not say, "Thank you Mr Shannow, stay among us and farm.” They do not say, "We are your friends, Mr Shannow, and we will never forget you." Instead they hand me the Barta coins and ask when I will be leaving.’
'And when I go, Donna, the Brigands return and all is as it was. The pool settles, the ripples die.'
Donna stood and pulled him to his feet. 'My poor Jon,’ she whispered. 'Come with me.' She led him to a room at the back of the house and in the darkness she undressed him, removed her own clothes and pulled back the blankets on a wide bed. He came to her hesitantly and where she expected him to cover her with fierce passion, instead he stroked her skin with surprising gentleness. Her arm moved around his neck, pulling his face down until their lips touched. He groaned then, and the fierceness followed.
He was an inexpert and almost clumsy lover, not at all as skilled as Tomas the Carpenter, yet Donna Taybard found a fulfillment with Shannow that transcended expertise, for he was giving everything of himself, holding nothing back — and at the end he wept, and his tears flowed on to Donna's face.
And she stroked his brow and whispered soothing, loving words — and realized these were the same words she had used to Eric an hour before. And Shannow slept, just as Eric slept.
Donna moved to the porch and washed the sweat from her body with a bucket of cool fresh water, then she dressed and wandered to the pen, enjoying the freshness of the night.
People would think her a slut for taking a man so soon after her husband's disappearance, but she had never felt less like a slut. Instead she felt as if she had just come home from a long journey to find all her friends and family waiting with open arms. The Committee could offer no terror tonight. Everything was in harmony.
Shannow's gelding wandered to her, thrusting his muzzle towards her hand. She stroked his face and neck, and wished she could saddle and ride him out over the hills; wished he had wings to carry her high in the sky under the moon and over the clouds. Her father had told her wondrous stories of a winged horse from Elder legends, and of a hero who rode him to slay demons.
Old John had kept the demons from Rivervale, and when the grateful people had wished to call him Leader he had opted instead for Prester, and no one knew its meaning, bar John, and he only smiled knowingly when they asked him. Prester John had gathered the men into a tight military unit, established watch beacons on all high hills, and soon the Brigands learnt to avoid the lands of Rivervale. Outside in the wild lands, amongst the wolves and lions, the new world endured a bloody birthing. But here there was peace.
But the Prester was only mortal, and though he had ruled for forty years his strength failed him and his wisdom fled, for he allowed men like Fletcher and Bard and Enas to join the Committee.
Tomas had once told Donna that the Prester had died broken-hearted, for in his last days he opened his eyes and saw at last the stamp of the men who would soon replace him. It was even rumoured that he tried to oust Fletcher, and that the young man killed him in his own home. That would never be proved now, but not one of the Landsmen would call him Prester and Rivervale was sliding inexorably back to merge with the wild lands.
Fletcher had recruited many strangers to work his shallow coal-mine, and some of these were brutal and versed in the ways of the Outside. These Fletcher promoted, and one day — in late Autumn the year before the people of Rivervale awoke to a new understanding.
Able Jarrett, a small farmer, was hanged by Fletcher and four of his men for consorting with Brigands. An old wanderer was hanged with him. At first farmers, ranchers and Landsmen got together to discuss ways of dealing with the Committee, but then Cleon Layner — a leading spokes man — was found beaten to death in an alley behind his home and the meetings ended.
The forty-year mission of Prester John had been undone in less than three seasons.
Donna clapped her hands and Shannow's gelding ran across the pen. If Shannow felt he was merely a stone in the pool, what would John have felt before he died, she wondered?
She pictured Shannow's gaunt bearded face and his haunted eyes, and compared him with her memories of Prester John. The old man had been tougher than Shannow and that made him less deadly, but otherwise there was much about Shannow that John would have liked.
'I miss you, Prester,' she whispered, remembering his stories of winged horses and heroes.
CHAPTER TWO
For several days the little farm received no visitors. The Committee undertook no revenge raid, and Shannow spent his days helping Donna and Eric gather the small corn harvest, or picking fruit from the orchard in the west meadow. In the late afternoons he would ride the gelding over the hills and through the high woods bordering the farm, to scan the distant skyline for signs of moving men.
At night Shannow would wait until Donna invited him to share her bed, and on each occasion he reacted as to an unexpected gift.
On the fifth day a rider approached the farm in the hour after noon. Shielding her eyes against the sunlight, Donna recognized the ambling gait of Ash Hurry's mule, even before identifying the portly saint.
'You will like him, Jon,' she told Shannow as the rider approached. 'He is another who follows the old ways. There are several saints in Rivervale.' Shannow merely nodded and watched warily as the tall, overweight man dismounted. He had wavy dark hair and a friendly open face.
Burry opened his arms and hugged Donna warmly. 'God's greeting, Donna. Peace be upon your house.' His blue eyes flickered to Shannow and he held out his hand. Shannow took it; the grip was not firm and the man's hands were soft.
'And greetings to you, brother,' said Burry, with only the trace of a smile.
'Let's not stand in the sun,' suggested Donna. 'Come inside. We have some apple juice cooling in the stone jug.'
Shannow remained outside for several minutes scanning the hills before joining them.
‘There is still no sign of Tomas, I understand?' remarked Burry. 'You must be very worried, Donna.'
'He is dead, Ash. Fletcher killed him.'
Burry looked away. 'Hard words, Donna. I have heard of your accusation and it is said to be unfounded. How can you be sure?'
'Trust me,' said Donna. 'You have known me all my life and I do not lie. I have a gift of always being able to see those close to me, wherever they are. I watched him die.'
'I know of your. . gift. But once you saw the old Prester lying dead at the foot of a canyon — you remember? Yet he was alive.'
‘That is not entirely just, Ash. I thought he was dead, for he fell a fair way — and I was right about that.'
Burry nodded. 'And yet not all gifts are from the Almighty, Donna. I cannot believe that Saul Fletcher would do such a thing.'
'He hanged Able Jarrett and some poor wanderer.'
‘The man was consorting with Brigands. . and it was a Committee decision. I do not condone the taking of life, Donna, but right or wrong it was in accordance with Rivervale law — the law laid down by Prester John.'
'I do not recall the Prester hanging a Landsman, Ash.’
Shannow pulled up a chair by the window, reversed it and sat facing the saint, his arms resting on the chair-bad
'Mr Ash, might I inquire the reason for your visit?' he said.
The name is Burry, sir, Ashley Burry, and I am a longtime friend of the Prester's family. I baptized Donna many years ago, and though she does not follow the faith I regard her as my godchild.'
'So this is merely a friendly visit?' asked Shannow.