“What will you do now?”
“I’ll wait until noon and then root out whoever is left.”
“This isn’t Allion, Shannow. There you had townspeople who backed you. There was a committee, I recall—all good with rifles—and they protected your back. Here it is suicidal. They will wait for you in alleys or shoot you as you appear on the street.”
“I have spoken the words, Meneer, and they are iron.”
“I guess so,” agreed Mason, rising. “God’s luck be with you.”
“It generally is,” said the Jerusalem Man.
From where he sat he could see the sun slowly ascending the heavens. It looked to be a beautiful day; a man could not choose a more beautiful day to die. One by one the children returned, and Shannow gave them each a coin, asking them where they had taken the notices and what the response had been. In most cases the recipients had read them aloud to the gathering, but in one instance a man had read out the notice and then torn it to pieces. The crowd had laughed, the boy told Shannow.
“Describe the place.” The boy did so. “And did you see men with guns there?”
“Yes. One was sitting by a window with a long rifle aimed at the street. There were two others on a balcony above and to the right of the door. And I think there was another man hidden by some barrels at the far wall by the bar.”
“You are an observant boy. What is your name?”
“Matthew Fenner, sir.” Shannow looked into the boy’s dark eyes and wondered why he had not seen the resemblance to the martyred farmer.
“How is your mother?”
“She’s been crying a lot.”
Shannow opened the hide pouch in which he kept his coins and counted out twenty pieces. “Give these to your mother. Tell her I am sorry.”
“We are not poor, sir. But thank you for the thought,” said Matthew. The boy turned and walked from the room.
It was almost noon. Shannow returned the coins to his pouch and stood.
He left the Traveler’s Rest by the back door and stepped swiftly into the alley, moving to his right with the gun poised. The alley was deserted. He walked along behind the buildings until he came to the side of the gambling house the boy had described. It was run by a man named Zeb Maddox, and Mason had told him Maddox was a fast man with a pistol: “Damn near as sudden as Steiner. Don’t give him no second chances, Shannow.”
The Jerusalem Man paused outside a tiny service door to the rear, took a deep breath, and then eased the latch open. Stepping inside, he saw the back of a man who was kneeling behind some barrels. Beyond him everyone’s eyes were on the front door. Shannow moved forward and cracked his pistol against the back of the kneeling man’s neck. As he grunted and slid sideways, Shannow caught him by the collar and eased him to the floor.
Just then someone shouted, “There’s a crowd gathering, Zeb.”
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 that housed a short-barreled 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,” Shannow whispered 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 backward, 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 colors were everywhere, hurting his eyes. And blood flowed on his face. Flames flickered at the edge of his vision, and he saw a terrible beast stalking toward 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 colors—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 that boasted a harbor 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.
17
“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 and 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 labors. 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. When you are well enough, you must come along and hear one of my sermons. Though I say it myself, the spirit moves me powerfully at such times.”
Shannow smiled. “Humility, Parson?”
“I am exceptionally proud of my humility, Shannow,” the parson replied.
Shannow chuckled. “I do not know what to make of you, but I am glad of your company.”
“I do not understand your confusion,” said the Parson seriously. “I am as you see me, a servant of the Almighty. I wish to see His plan fulfilled.”
“His plan? Which one?”
“The new Jerusalem, Shannow, coming down from heaven in glory. And the secret is here, in the southlands. Look at the world we see. It is still beautiful, but there is no cohesion. We search for God in a hundred different ways in a thousand different places. We must gather together, work together, build together. We must have laws that hold like iron from ocean to ocean. But first we must see the revelation fulfilled.”
Shannow’s unease grew. “I thought it had been. Does it not speak of terrible catastrophes, cataclysms that will destroy most of mankind?”
“I am talking of the Sword of God, Shannow. The Lord sent it to scythe the land like a sickle, yet it has not. And why? Because it is over an unholy place, peopled by the beasts of Satan and the Whore of Babylon.”
“I think I am ahead of you, Parson,” said Shannow wearily. “You seek to destroy the beasts, bring down the whore? Yes?”
“What else should a God-fearing man do, Shannow? Do you not wish to see the work of the Lord fulfilled?”
“I do not believe it to be fulfilled by slaughter.”
The Parson shook his head, eyes wide with disbelief. “How can you, of all men, say that? Your guns are legendary, and corpses mark the road of your life. I thought you were well read, Shannow. Recall you not the cities of Ai and the curse of God upon the heathen? Not one man or woman or child was to be left alive among the worshipers of Molech.”
“I have heard this argument before,” said Shannow, “from a Hellborn king who worshiped Satan. Where is the talk of love, Parson?”
“Love is for those of the chosen people created in the image of Almighty God. He made men, and he made the beasts of the earth. Only Lucifer would have the brazen gall to mold beasts into men.”
“You are swift to judge. Perhaps you are swift to misjudge.”
The Parson rose. “You may be right, for I appear to have misjudged you. I thought you a warrior for God, but there is a weakness in you, Shannow, a doubt.”
The door opened, and Beth entered, carrying a tray on which was some sliced dark bread and cheese and a jug of water. The Parson eased his way past her with a friendly smile but left without farewells. Beth set the tray down and sat at the bedside.
“Do I sense angry words?” she asked.
Shannow shrugged. “He is a man touched by a dream I do not share.” He reached out and took her hand. “You have been kind to me, Beth McAdam, and I am grateful. I understand it was you who went to the Parson and got him to form the committee which came to my aid.”
“It was nothing, Shannow. The town needed cleaning, and men like Broome would have spent a year debating the ethics of direct action.”
“Yet he was there, I recall.”
“The man doesn’t lack courage—just common sense. How’s your head?”
“Better. There is little pain. Would you do something for me? Would you fetch my razor and soap?”
“I’ll do better than that, Jerusalem Man. I’ll shave you myself. I’m longing to see what kind of a face you have hidden under that beard.”
She returned with a stiff badger-fur brush and a razor, borrowed from Mason, plus a cake of soap and a bowl of hot water. Shannow lay back with his eyes closed as she softened his beard with lather. The razor was cool on his cheek as she expertly scraped away the bristle and hair. At last she wiped his face clean of soap and handed him a towel. He smiled at her.
“What do you see?”
“You are not unhandsome, Shannow, but you’ll win no prizes. Now eat your lunch. I’ll see you this evening.”
“Don’t go, Beth. Not just yet.” His hand reached up and took her arm.
“I have to work, Shannow.”
“Yes. Yes, of course. Forgive me.”
She stood and backed away, forced a smile, and left. Outside in the corridor she stopped and pictured again the look in his eyes as he asked her to stay.
“Don’t be a fool, Beth,” she told herself aloud.
Why not? There’s an hour before you are expected back. Swinging on her heel, she opened the door once more and stepped inside. Her hand moved to the buttons of her blouse.
“Don’t you read too much into this, Shannow,” she whispered as she dropped her skirt to the floor and slid into bed beside him.
For Beth McAdam it was a revelation. Afterward she lay beside the sleeping Shannow, her body warm and wonderfully relaxed. Yet the surprise of his lovemaking had been in the inexperience he had shown and in the passive, grateful manner in which he had received her. Beth was no stranger to the ways of men and had enjoyed lovers long before she had met and seduced Sean McAdam. She had learned that there was a great similarity about the actions of the aroused male. He fumbled, he groped, and then he drove himself into a rhythmic frenzy. Not so with Shannow …
He had opened his arms to her and stroked her shoulders and back. It was she who had made all the moves. For all his awesome powers in dealing with situations of peril, the Jerusalem Man was untutored and surprisingly gentle in the arms of a woman.
Beth slid from the bed, and Sh
annow awoke instantly.
“You are going?” he asked.
“Yes. Did you sleep well?”
“Wonderfully. Will you come back this evening?”
“No,” she said firmly. “I must see to my children.”
“Thank you, Beth.”
“Don’t thank me,” she snapped. She dressed swiftly and pushed her fingers through her blond hair, roughly combing it. At the door she paused. “How many women have you slept with, Shannow?”
“Two,” he answered without a trace of embarrassment.
She walked across the street to the Jolly Pilgrim, where Broome was waiting, his face red with anger.
“You said an hour, Frey McAdam, and it has been two. I have lost customers, and you will lose coin.”
“Whatever you decide, Meneer,” she said, moving past him to where the dishes waited for cleaning. There were only two customers, and both were finishing their meals. Beth carried the plates to the rear of the eating house and scrubbed them clean with water from the deep well. When she returned, the Pilgrim was empty.
Broome approached her. “I am sorry for losing my temper,” he said. “I know he is wounded and needs attention. You will keep the coin. I was wondering … if you would join me at my house this evening.”
“For what purpose, Meneer?”
“To talk … have a little meal … get to know one another. It is important for people who work together to understand each other.”
She looked into his thin face and saw arousal in his eyes. “I am afraid not, Meneer. I am seeing Meneer Scayse this evening to discuss a business matter.”
“A lease of land, I know,” he said, and her eyes darkened. “Do not misunderstand, Frey McAdam. Meneer Scayse spoke to me because I know you. He wishes to be sure of your … integrity. I told him I felt you were honest and hardworking. But do you really want the lonely life of a farm widow?”
“I want a home, Meneer.”
“Yes, yes.”
She could see him building toward a proposal and headed him off. “I must get on with my work,” she told him, easing past him to the rear of the building.
That evening she was welcomed to Scayse’s permanent rooms at the Traveler’s Rest by a servant, who led her through to a long room where a log fire blazed in a wide hearth. Scayse rose from a deep, comfortable chair and took her hand, lifting it to his lips.
The Last Guardian Page 13
