Stepping back, he looked at the shutters. The wood was less than an inch thick; it could not withstand the explosive power in the taloned arms of the Devourers. Delving into his coat, he produced a box of shells, which he tipped onto the tabletop. Twenty-three remained, plus the twelve in his pistols.
Meredith returned. “The wounded man is sleeping,” said the doctor. “His color is good, and his pulse is steady.”
“He’s tougher than he knows,” said Shannow.
“Where did these creatures come from?” Meredith asked. “I have never heard of anything like them.”
“They’re Wolvers,” answered Shannow, “but they’ve been changed by … sorcery, if you will.” He started to speak but became aware that the young man was staring at him with what Shannow took to be blank disbelief. “I know it is hard to understand,” he said. “Just take me on trust, Son. There is a creature—”
“Beth called you Deacon,” Meredith said, interrupting him, and Shannow realized that the young man had not been listening to a word of his explanation.
“Yes,” he said, his voice weary. “I am the Deacon.”
“I have always hated you,” said Meredith. “You have been the cause of great evil.”
Shannow nodded. “I don’t argue with that, Son. The butchery in the lands of the Hellborn was unforgivable.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Because he’s a killer and a savage,” said Beth, her voice flat and without anger. “Some men are like that, Doctor. He came to power by deceit and held on to it by fear. All who opposed him were killed; it was all he knew.”
Meredith swung to Shannow. “Is that how it was?”
Shannow did not answer. Rising, he moved back through the house, pausing at Josiah Broome’s bedside.
Is that how it was?
Broome stirred and opened his eyes. “Hello, Jake,” he said sleepily.
Shannow sat on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” said the wounded man.
“That’s good. You rest now.” Broome closed his eyes.
Shannow remained where he was, remembering the two armies converging on the lands of the Hellborn, remembering his fury at the Hellborn betrayal and his fears about the coming of the Bloodstone. Many of the men who had fought under him had lost family and friends to the Hellborn, and hatred ran strong in their veins. And in mine, he thought sadly.
Padlock Wheeler and the other officers had come to him on that fateful morning outside Babylon, when the Hellborn leaders were begging to be allowed to surrender.
“What orders, Deacon?”
There were many things he could have said in that moment about the nature of evil or the wisdom of forgiveness. As he had stared at them he could think only of the terror that was coming and the fact that in his previous world the Bloodstone had used the Hellborn to wreak destruction and death. And in the space of a single heartbeat he had made a decision that still haunted him.
“Well, Deacon?”
“Kill them all.”
Zerah awoke before dawn and groaned. A small stone was digging into her hip, and her shoulders ached abominably. Another groan followed her attempt to sit up, and she swore bitterly.
“That’s not nice,” said little Esther.
“Neither is the rheumatics,” grunted Zerah. “How long you been awake, child?”
“Ever since the howling,” said Esther, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “There’s lots of wolves about.”
Zerah had heard nothing. Pushing herself to her feet, she stretched, then walked to the buckskin, lifting her water canteen from the saddle pommel. After a long drink she returned to the children and the dead fire. “Wolves won’t attack us,” she said. “Now you see if you can find a spark in them ashes, and I’ll cook us up some breakfast.”
With a yawn she stepped outside. The air was fresh and cool, and Zerah could smell the dew on the leaves and the musky scents of the forest. The sky was lightening in the east, and early birdsong greeted her as she walked under the trees. Despite the rheumatic pain in her back and shoulders, she felt good, glad to be alive.
It’s the youngsters, she thought; they make everything seem fresh and new again. Zerah had not realized how much she missed company until the stranger had arrived. It saddened her that he had not come back. Jon was a good man and quiet company. But the young ones were a joy even when they squabbled. It brought back memories of her own children, back in the days of her youth, when the sky was more blue and the future was a golden mystery yet to be discovered.
Zeb had been a handsome man with a ready wit that had endeared him to everyone. And he had been kind and loving. Everybody had liked Zeb, because Zeb had liked everybody. “Never knew a man could see so much good in people,” she said aloud.
When he had died, she remembered Padlock coming home. He had put his arms around her and said, “You know, Ma, there’s no one in this world that he would ever need to say sorry to.”
Seemed like that was a good epitaph for a kind man.
Folks had come from far and wide for the funeral, and that had pleased Zerah. But after he had died, the visitors had stopped coming. I never was the popular one, she thought. Old Zerah with her sharp tongue and her sharper ways.
She glanced up at the sky. “Sometimes I wonder what you saw in me, Zeb,” she said.
Turning to go back to the cave, she saw a paw print in the soft earth. Kneeling, she ran her hand over it, opening her fingers to measure the span. It was enormous. Not a bear, though it was the right size. Not a lion. Her mouth was dry as she stood. It was a wolf print but larger than any she had ever seen.
Zerah hurried back to the cave. “What’s for breakfast?” asked Oz. “Esther’s got the fire going.”
“I think we’ll wait until we reach town,” said Zerah. “I think we should move on.”
“But I’m hungry,” complained Esther. “Really starving!”
Zerah chuckled. Good God, woman, she thought, why the panic? You have a fire and a good pistol. “All right,” she agreed. “We’ll eat first and then travel.”
Walking to the back of the cave, she approached the buck-skin. The horse was trembling, its ears tucked flat against its skull. “It’s only me, girl,” said Zerah. “Calm down, now.” As she spoke, Esther screamed, and Zerah spun around.
In the mouth of the cave stood a monstrosity. Eight feet tall, with huge shoulders and long arms, the fingers ending in curved talons, the beast was covered with silver-gray fur. Its massive head was lowered, its tawny eyes fixed on the two children cowering by the small fire. The buckskin reared and whinnied, catching the creature’s attention.
Zerah Wheeler drew her old pistol and wondered whether a bullet could bring the giant Wolver down. “You stay calm, now, kids,” she said, her voice steady. Cocking the pistol, she walked forward. “I don’t know if you can understand me,” she said, keeping her eyes on the beast, “but this here pistol has six charges. And I hit what I goddamn aim at. So back off and we’ll all be happier.”
The beast howled, the sound reverberating like thunder in the cave. Zerah glanced at the fire. Beside it lay a thick branch festooned with long-dead leaves. Keeping the pistol steady, she reached down with her left hand and lifted the branch, touching the leaves to the little blaze. They caught instantly, flames searing out. Zerah stood and walked toward the creature. “Back off, you son of a bitch!” she said.
The beast backed up but then sprang forward. Zerah did not give an inch. Thrusting the flames into its face, she shot it in the throat. The huge Wolver went down and rolled. Zerah jumped to the mouth of the cave and shot it again as it tried to stand.
“Jesus wept!” she whispered.
Outside the cave there were more of the beasts. “Kids,” she called, “I want you to climb that chimney at the back. I want you to do it now.”
Still holding the branch, she backed into the cave. A creature sprang at her, but she calmly shot it in the chest. Another ran from the ri
ght; a shot came from the back of the cave, shearing half the beast’s head away. Zerah glanced back to see that Oz had her rifle in his hands and was standing his ground.
Pride flared in her then, but her voice was sharp and commanding. “Get up that goddamn chimney!” she ordered.
The beasts were advancing cautiously. With only three shells left, Zerah knew she could not hold them all, nor would she have time to turn and climb out of their reach. “Are you climbing?” she called, not daring to glance back.
“Yes, Frey,” she heard Oz shout, his voice echoing from within the chimney.
“Good boy.”
Suddenly the buckskin bolted past her, scattering the beasts as it made a dash for the freedom of the forest. In that moment Zerah turned and sprinted for the chimney. Slamming the pistol into her holster, she grabbed a thin ledge of rock and levered herself up, her boots scrabbling on the stone. Swiftly she climbed until she could see Oz just above her, helping Esther. It was narrow in the chimney, but there was just enough room for the children to squeeze up onto a wider ledge below the cliff top.
Pain flashed through her foot. Zerah screamed and felt herself being dragged down. Oz pushed the rifle over the edge, barrel down, and fired. Zerah dragged out her pistol and put two shots into the Wolver below. It fell, its talons tearing off Zerah’s boot. Oz grabbed her, and with the boy’s help she eased her skinny body through the gap. Blood was seeping from a wound in her ankle, and a six-inch talon was embedded in her calf. Zerah prized it loose. “You are brave kids,” she said. “By God, I’m proud of you!”
From the pocket of her coat Zerah took a folding knife and opened the blade. “If you’d be so good as to give me your shirt, Oz, I’ll make some bandages and try to stop this bleeding.”
“Yes, Frey,” he said, pulling off his coat and shirt. As she worked, she told the boy to count the shells left in the rifle. It did not take long: there were two.
“I still have the little gun you gave me,” said Oz.
She shook her head. “That’ll do you no good against these creatures. Still, the noise might frighten ’em, eh?” The boy forced a smile and nodded. Zerah bandaged her ankle and then delved into the pocket of her coat, producing a strip of dried beef. “It’s not much of a breakfast,” she said, “but it will have to do.”
“I’m not hungry,” said Esther. “Are we going to die?”
“You listen to me, child,” said Zerah. “We’re alive, and I aim for us to stay that way. Now, let’s climb out of here.”
“Is that wise, Frey?” asked Oz. “They can’t get us here.”
“That’s true, boy. But I don’t think that strip of beef is going to hold us for the rest of our lives, do you? Now, we can’t be more than six, maybe seven miles from Pilgrim’s Valley. We’ll be safe there. I’ll go first; you follow.”
Zerah forced herself to her feet and climbed toward the patch of blue some twenty feet above her.
Shannow climbed the stairs to the second level and found the redheaded youngster kneeling by a window, staring out over the yard. “What are they doing now?” he asked the boy.
Wallace put down his rifle and stood. “Just sitting. Can’t understand it, Meneer. One minute they’re tearing up everything in sight, the next they’re lying like hounds in the moonlight.”
“They fed,” explained Shannow. “The question is, How long before their hunger brings them against us? You be ready now.”
“This is a strong-built house, Meneer, but the windows and doors ain’t gonna hold ’em, I can tell you that. Back in town they was ripping them apart like they was paper. And they can jump, too, by God! I saw one spring maybe fifteen feet up onto the side of a building.”
“They can jump,” agreed Shannow, “and they can die, too.”
Wallace grinned. “They can at that.” As Shannow turned to move away, the boy reached out and took hold of his arm. “You saved my life. I didn’t even know that thing was close. I won’t forget it.”
Shannow smiled. “You settled that debt when you half carried me back. I was all finished. You’re a good man, Wallace. I’m proud to know you.” The two men shook hands, and Shannow walked back to the narrow hallway, checking the other two adjoining rooms on the upper floor. Both were bedrooms, one decorated with lace curtains that were yellowed with age. Children’s drawings and sketches were still pinned to the walls, stick men in front of box houses with smoke curling from chimneys. In the corner, by the closed window, was a stuffed toy dog with floppy ears. Shannow remembered when little Mary carried it everywhere. The other room was Samuel’s. The walls were lined with shelves that carried many books, including a special gold-edged edition of The New Elijah. Shannow sighed. Another of Saul’s little vanities. When it had been published, Shannow had read the first chapter, outlining God’s call to the young Jerusalem Man, then had sent for Saul.
“What is this … garbage?”
“It’s not garbage, Deacon. Everything in that book is fact. We got most of it from primary sources, men who knew the Jerusalem Man, who heard his words. I would have thought you would have been pleased. He predicted your coming.”
“He did no such thing, Saul. And half the names in the first chapter never came within a hundred miles of Shannow. Several others have let their imaginations run riot.”
“But … how would you know that, Deacon?”
“I know. How is no concern of yours. How many have been printed?”
Saul smiled. “Forty thousand, Deacon. And they’ve sold so fast, we’re going for a second printing.”
“No, we are not! Let it go, Saul.”
Shannow lifted the book from the shelf and flipped it open. In the center was a black and white engraving showing a handsome man on a rearing black stallion, silver pistols in the rider’s hands, and a sleek black hat on his head. All around him were dead Hellborn. “At least they didn’t say I killed ten thousand with the jawbone of an ass,” whispered Shannow, tossing the book to the pine bed.
Carefully he opened the shutter and leaned out. Below him was Jeremiah’s wagon, the roof ripped apart. Several Wolvers were asleep within it; others were stretched out by the ruined barn.
What are you going to do, Shannow? he asked himself.
How do you plan to stop the Beast?
Fear touched him then, but he fought it down.
“What are you doing here?” asked Beth. “This is my son’s room.”
Shannow sat on the bed, remembering the times he had read to the boy. “I don’t need your hatred, Beth,” he said softly.
“I don’t hate you, Deacon. I despise you. There is a difference.”
Wearily he stood. “You ought to make up your mind, woman. You despise me because I gave no ground and saw my enemies slain; you despised your lover, Jon Cade, because he wouldn’t slay his enemies. What exactly do you require from the men in your life?”
“I don’t need to debate with you,” she said stonily.
“Really? Then why did you follow me here?”
“I don’t know. Wish I hadn’t.” But she made no move to leave. Instead she walked farther into the room and sat down on an old wicker chair by the window. “How come you knew about me and Jon? You have spies here?”
“No … no spies. I knew because I was here, Beth. I was here.”
“I never saw you.”
“You still don’t see me,” he said sadly, rising and walking past her. The pine steps creaked under his weight, and Dr. Meredith turned as Shannow approached.
“It’s terribly quiet,” said the younger man.
“It won’t stay that way, Doctor. You should ask if Frey McAdam has a spare weapon for you.”
“I am not very good with guns, Deacon. I never wanted to be, either.”
“That’s fine, Doctor, as long as there is someone else to do your hunting for you. However, you won’t need to be good. The targets will be close enough to rip off your face. Get a gun.”
“What does it take to make a man like you, Deacon?” asked
Meredith, his face reddening.
“Pain, boy. Suffering, sorrow, and loss.” Shannow pointed at Jeremiah’s blanket-covered corpse. “Today you had a tiny taste of it. By tomorrow you’ll know more. I don’t mind you judging me, boy. You couldn’t be harder on me than I am on myself. For now, though, I suggest we work together to survive.”
Meredith nodded. “I guess that is true,” he said. “You were starting to tell me about the gateways. Who made them and why?”
Shannow moved to the armchair and gazed down at the sleeping woman. Beth had found a small, beautifully carved crib and had placed the babe in it, beside the chair. “No one knows,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “A long time ago I met a man who claimed they were created in Atlantis twelve thousand years before the Second Fall. But they may be older. The old world was full of stories about gateways and old straight paths, dragon trails, and ley lines. There are few facts but scores of speculative theories.”
“How are they opened?”
Shannow moved silently away from the mother and child and stood by the door. “I couldn’t tell you. I knew a woman who was adept at such matters. But she remained behind on the day of the Fall and I guess was killed with the rest of the world. She once took me through to her home in a place called Arizona. Beautiful land. But how she did it …” He shrugged. “She had a piece of Sipstrassi, a Daniel Stone. There was a burst of violet light, and then we were there.”
“Ah, yes,” said Meredith, “the stones. I’ve heard of them but never seen one. A hospital in Unity used them to cure cancer and the like. Astonishing.”
“Amen to that,” said Shannow. “They can make an old man young, or heal the sick, or create food from molecules in the air. It is my belief that Moses used them to part the Red Sea, but I cannot prove it.”