“I do not understand all this, Shannow. What are you trying to tell me?”
“I owe him. I cannot go against him.”
Nu picked up a flat stone and skimmed it across the water. “There was a time when Pendarric was a good king, even a great one. But the sons of Belial came to him and showed him the power of Sipstrassi when fed by blood. He changed, Shannow. Evil swamped him. I have seen children hauled up by their ankles over the altars of Molech-Belial, their throats cut. I have seen young women slaughtered in the hundreds.”
“But I have not, though I know you speak the truth, because Pendarric told me he was the king who had destroyed the world. He will fall whatever I do or do not do.”
Nu skimmed a second stone. “I build ships, Shannow. I shape the keels, I work the wood. Everything in its place and its rightful order. You cannot start with the deck and build around it. It is the same with Pendarric. You and I are servants of the Creator, and He also believes in order. He created the universe, the suns and moons and stars. Then the world. Then the creatures of the sea. Lastly He placed man upon the earth. All in order.”
“What has this to do with Pendarric?”
“Everything. He has changed the order of the universe. Atlantis is dead, Shannow; it died twelve thousand years ago. Yet it is here, its sun shining alongside our own. The spirit Pendarric who saved you is yet to be. The king beyond is not yet him. You understand? The evil ruler who is trying to conquer worlds beyond imagination has not yet met you. Only after the doom of Atlantis will he come into your life. Therefore, you owe him nothing. There is another thought, too, Shannow. You have already gone against him, and perhaps he now knows of you. Perhaps that is why he came to you three years ago. He already knew you, though you had no knowledge of him.”
“My mind feels like a kitten chasing its tail,” said Shannow, smiling, “but I think I understand. Even so, I will not go against him directly.”
“You may be forced to,” Nu told him. “If two ships are lashed together in a storm and one is holed, what happens to the other?”
“I do not know. They both sink?”
“Indeed they do. Then think on this, my friend. Pendarric has joined our two worlds together. There is a gateway to the past. What happens when the oceans rise?”
Shannow shivered and gazed at the stars. “In Balacris,” he said, “I had a vision. I saw the tidal wave sweeping toward the city—higher than mountains and black as the pit. I watched it roar. It was a terrible sight. You think it would pour through the gateway?”
“What would stop it?”
Both men were silent for a while, then Shannow reached into his pocket and removed the golden coin he had found in Shir-ran’s cave. He stared down at the engraving.
“What is it?” asked Nu.
“The Sword of God,” Shannow whispered.
Bull reined in his horse and listened to the sudden flurry of gunshots. He had followed the Daggers at a discreet distance, watching them climb to the timberline, guessing that their objective was to circle the campsite and attack under cover of darkness. He had been about to ride back and warn the Parson when the shots shattered the silence. He glanced back at the distant camp with its twinkling fires. If he returned now, he would have little to report. He drew his gun and checked the loads, then with pistol in hand steered his horse into the trees. He rode slowly, following a deer trail, stopping often to listen. The wind was picking up, and the branches above him whispered and crackled. But every now and then the wind would drop, and then Bull thought he heard the sounds of roaring beasts. Sweat beaded his brow.
He pulled his hat from his head and wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. “You gotta be crazy, boy,” he told himself aloud, touching his heels to the mare’s side. She was a good cattle pony, mountain-bred for stamina and speed over short distances, but her ears were pressed flat against her skull and she moved skittishly, as if a scent on the night breeze had frightened her. The wind died, and Bull heard a terrible growling from ahead. He pulled on the reins and considered riding back; instead he dismounted, looped the pony’s reins around a branch, and crept forward.
Pushing aside a thick bush, he gazed on a scene of carnage. The bodies of reptiles littered the clearing beyond, and giant bears were ripping at their flesh. At the center of the clearing he saw a flash of golden hair as the body of the woman Sharazad was dragged away into the night. Swiftly he did a count. There were some forty huge creatures there, and he could hear growling from all around him. He backed away, his pistol cocked.
Suddenly a colossal beast reared up alongside him. Bull rolled and put a shot into the gaping jaws that towered over him, but a massive taloned arm swept out, hammering him to the ground. He landed heavily but managed another shot as the beast moved in, its mouth spewing blood.
Szshark leapt from the undergrowth with a serrated dagger in his hand. He landed on the bear’s back, and the knife plunged into the beast’s right eye. It fell with a great crash. Bull scrambled to his feet and ran back for the pony, the reptile moving alongside him. Reaching his mount, Bull scrambled into the saddle, dragging the reins clear. From all around him came the sounds of huge bodies crashing through the undergrowth. Szshark hissed and waited, his bloody dagger raised. Instinctively Bull stretched out a hand. “We’d best get out of here,” he shouted.
Szshark reached up, took the hand, and vaulted up behind Bull. The little pony took off down the deer trail as if its tail were on fire. They emerged onto open ground and galloped clear of the trees.
“Much good fighting,” said Szshark. “Many soulss.”
Bull dragged on the reins and glanced back. The bears had halted by the tree line and were gazing after them. He allowed the pony a short breather and then headed in a walk toward the campsite.
“I ain’t sure as how you’ll be too welcome, Szshark,” he said. “The Parson’s likely to boil you in oil.” The reptile said nothing, its wedge-shaped head resting on Bull’s shoulder. “You hear me?”
There was no movement, and Bull cursed and rode on. The sentries allowed him through, then saw his passenger. Word swept the campsite faster than a fire through dry grass. Bull climbed down, twisting to catch Szshark’s falling body. He laid him on the grass, then saw the awful talon cuts on his shoulders and back. Blood seeped to the ground as Szshark’s golden eyes opened.
“Many soulss,” he hissed. He blinked and looked up at the faces gazing down at him. His eyes misted, and his scaled hand reached up and took Bull’s arm. “Cut out my heart,” he said. “You …” The golden eyes closed.
“Why did you bring this demon here?” asked the Parson.
Bull stood. “They’re all dead, Parson, God be praised. This one was Szshark; he rescued me back in the woods. There’s creatures there, damn big—ten, twelve feet tall. Look like bears. They wiped out the reptiles. The woman’s dead, too.”
“Then we can return to Pilgrim’s Valley,” said Beth McAdam. “Now, that’s what I call a miracle.”
“No,” said the Parson. “Don’t you understand? We were led here like the children of Israel. But our work is only beginning. There is the Great Whore to be destroyed and the Sword of God to be loosed over the land. Then, in truth, God will bless us, the wolf will lie down with the lamb, and the lion will eat grass like the cattle. Don’t you see?”
“I don’t want no more fighting,” declared Beth. “I’m going home tomorrow.” Murmurs of agreement came from the listeners. “Listen, Parson, you’ve done right proud by all of us. If it weren’t for you, we’d all be dead. I’m grateful—and I mean that. You’re always welcome in my home. But that’s where I’m going—home. I don’t know anything about this whore of yours, and I don’t care a damn about some sword.”
“Then I will go on alone,” said the Parson. “I will follow God’s path.”
He walked away from the group and saddled a horse. Shannow moved across to him. “Be sure of God’s path, Parson, before you attempt to ride it,” he said.
“I have the gift,
Shannow. No harm will befall me. Won’t you ride with me? You are a man of God.”
“I have other plans, Parson. Take care.”
“My destiny lies with the sword, Shannow. I know it. It fills my mind; it swells my heart.”
“God be with you, Parson.”
“As He wills,” replied the other, stepping into the saddle.
28
ARAKSIS PUSHED THE computations away and stared at the midday sun. He was a frightened man. He had been 427 years old, sick and dying, when Pendarric had first had him summoned to the winter palace at Balacris. But the Sipstrassi had changed his life. The king had healed him, given him back his lost youth. Yet since that time there had been many astrologers, and seventeen had been put to death for causing the king displeasure. It was not that Pendarric did not wish to hear bad omens; rather, he expected the astrologers to be exact in their predictions. However, as all initiates knew, the study of the fates was an art, not a science. Now Araksis faced the same predicament that confronted many of his erstwhile colleagues. He sighed and rose, gathering his parchments.
A doorway appeared in the wall, and he stepped through, holding his head high and pulling his slender shoulders back.
“Well?” said the king.
Araksis spread the parchments on the table before Pendarric. “The stars have moved, sire—or, rather, the world has shifted. There is great difficulty in deciding how this occurred. Some of my colleagues believe that the world—which, as we know, spins around the sun—gradually changed its position. I myself tend toward the theory of a cataclysm that tipped the earth on its axis. We exhausted two stones in an effort to discover the truth. All we could determine for certain is that the land you showed us was once below the ocean.”
“You are aware of the prophecies of the man Nu-Khasisatra?” asked the king.
“I am, sire. And I thought greatly before bringing this theory to you.”
“He says the earth will topple because of my evil. Are you telling me you concur with his blasphemy?”
“Majesty, I am not a leader or a philosopher; I am a student of the star magic. All I can say on the question you raised is that all the evidence points to Atlantis resting for thousands of years on the seabed. How this will occur I cannot determine, or when. But if Nu-Khasisatra is right, it will happen soon. He said the year’s end would see the doom of Atlantis—that is six days from now.”
“Has there ever been a king with more power than I, Araksis?”
“No, sire. Not in all recorded history.”
“And yet this cataclysm is beyond my control?”
“It would appear so, sire. We have seen the future city of Ad and our own star tower encrusted with seashells and the muck of oceans.”
“Serpiat will be leading his legions through into that world in three days. Then we will see. Is it possible that we can learn from the future and alter the present?”
“There are many questions hidden in the one, sire. The future will tell us what happened. But can we change it? In the future the cataclysm has already taken place. If we avert it, then we change the future, and therefore what we have seen cannot exist. Yet we have seen it.”
“What would you advise?”
“Close all the gateways and hold all the city Mother Stones in readiness for any shift in the earth. Focus all the power of Sipstrassi on holding the world in balance.”
“All the world? That would take all the power we have. And what are we without Sipstrassi? Merely men … men who will decay and die. There must be another way. I will wait for Serpiat’s report.”
“And Sharazad, sire?”
“She is dead … killed by stupidity. Let us hope it is not an omen. What do my stars show?”
Araksis cleared his throat. “There is nothing I can tell you that is not already obvious, sire. This is a time of great stress and greater peril. A journey is indicated from which there is no return.”
“Are you speaking of my death?” stormed the king, drawing a gold-adorned dagger and holding it to the astrologer’s throat.
“I always swore to be truthful, Majesty. I have remained so,” whispered Araksis, staring into the gleaming eyes of the monarch. “I do not know.”
Pendarric hurled the astrologer from him.
“I will not die,” he hissed. “I will survive, and so will my nation. There is no other law in the world than mine. There is no other God but Pendarric!”
Clem Steiner hauled himself up from the bed in the wagon and pulled on his shirt. His chest wound dragged on the stitches and his leg felt numb, but he was healing well. He dressed slowly and climbed over into the driver’s seat. Beth was fixing the traces to the oxen, but she stopped as she saw him.
“Damn if you ain’t as stupid as you look,” she stormed. “Get back and lie down. You break those stitches and I won’t put them back.”
Samuel giggled, and Steiner smiled down at the blond boy. “Don’t she get fired up easy?” Samuel nodded, his eyes flicking to his mother.
“Suit yourself,” said Beth. “If you’re so anxious to be up and moving, climb down and help Mary with the breakfast. We’re leaving in an hour.”
Shannow arrived as the injured man was negotiating the painful climb down. Clem was out of breath by the time he made it to the ground and clung to the brake, his face chalk-white. Shannow took his arm and helped him to the cook fire. “Always there to rescue me, Shannow. I’m starting to look on you as a mother.”
“I’m surprised you’re alive, Steiner. You must be tougher than I gave you credit for.”
Clem managed a weak grin, then lay back as Shannow sat beside him. “I hope you have purged yourself of the wish to kill me.”
“I have done that,” Steiner answered. “It would be downright bad manners. What was all the commotion during the night?”
“The reptiles were wiped out. Your friend Bull can give you the details.”
A sentry gave out a shout of warning, and Shannow left Steiner and ran to the perimeter. More than a hundred of the bears were moving slowly across the open ground. One man leveled a rifle, but Shannow shouted, “Don’t shoot!” and reluctantly he laid down the weapon. The beasts were of prodigious size, with massive shoulders and hairless snouts. Their arms were out of proportion to their bodies and hung low to the ground before them. Mostly they walked on their hind legs, but occasionally they dropped to all fours. Shannow climbed over the perimeter log and walked out to meet the animals.
“You a crazy man?” shouted Scayse, but Shannow waved him to silence. He walked slowly forward and then stood, his hands hooked in his belt.
Close up, the creatures reminded him of Shir-ran. Though their bodies were bestial and twisted, their eyes were round and humanoid, their faces showing glimpses of past humanity.
“I am Shannow,” he said.
The beasts stopped and squatted down, staring at him. One, larger than the rest, dropped to all fours and moved in. Shannow found his hands itching to grasp the pistol butts, yet he did not. The beast came closer still, then reared up before him, its taloned arms flashing past his face and coming to rest on his shoulders. The creature’s face was almost touching his own.
“Sha-nnow?” it said.
“Yes. That is my name. You have killed our enemies, and we are grateful.”
A talon touched Shannow’s cheek; the great head shook. “Not enemies, Sha-nnow. Rider brought one to your camp.”
“He is dead,” Shannow said.
“What do you want in the land of the Dianae?”
“We were driven here by the reptiles. Now the wagons will return to the valley beyond the wall. We mean no harm to you—or your people.”
“People, Sha-nnow? Not people. Things. Beasts.” He growled, lifted his talons from Shannow’s shoulders, and squatted on the grass. Shannow sat beside him.
“My name is Kerril, and I can smell their fear,” said the creature, angling his head toward the camp.
“Yes, they are afraid. But then, so am I. Fear is a g
ift, Kerril. It keeps a man alive.”
“Once I knew fear,” said Kerril. “I knew the fear of becoming a beast; it terrified me. Now I am strong, and I fear nothing … save mirrors or the still water of pools and lakes. But I can drink with my eyes closed. I still dream as a man, Sha-nnow.”
“Why did you come here, Kerril?”
“To kill you all.”
“And will you?”
“I have not decided yet. You have weapons of great power. Many of my people would be struck down—perhaps all. Would that not be wonderful? Would that not be an answer to prayer?”
“If you want to die, Kerril, just say the word. I will oblige you.”
The beast rolled to its back, scratching its shoulders on the grass. Then it reared up, its talons once more touching Shannow’s cheek, but this time it felt the cold metal of his pistol resting under its chin.
A sound close to laughter came from Kerril’s fanged mouth. “I like you, Sha-nnow. Take your wagons and leave our lands. We do not like to be seen. We do not like grubbing in the ground for insects. We wish to be alone.”
Kerril stood, turned, and ambled away toward the distant woods, his people following him.
Magellas lay on his stomach, watching the scene, enhancing his vision and hearing through the power of the Blood Stone. Beside him Lindian’s cold gaze also rested on the Jerusalem Man.
“He handled that well,” said Magellas. “And did you note the speed with which his pistol came into action?”
“Yes,” answered Lindian. “But how did he know the beast would not kill him? Can he read minds? Is he a seer?”
Magellas elbowed himself back from the skyline and stood. “I don’t know, but I would doubt it. The lord, our father, would have warned us of such talent.”
“Would he?” Lindian queried. “He admitted it was a test.”
Magellas shrugged. “We will see during the next three days. Why have you remained with me, Lindian? Why did you not ride off like Rhodaeul?”
The slender warrior smiled. “Perhaps I like your company, Brother.” He walked off toward his horse, leaving Magellas staring after him.