Bloodstone (39 page)

Violet light flared around him, then faded.

There was the house. There was no red jeep there now. The paddock was gone, replaced by a tarmac square and two tennis courts. Beyond the house he could see a swimming pool. Shannow stepped out of the circle and strolled down to the building.

The front door was locked. Leaning back, he kicked hard at the wood, which splintered but did not give. Twice more he thundered his boot against the lock, then the door swung inward.

Swiftly he moved across the living room. It was sweltering hot and airless inside. Out of habit he wandered through to the lounge, flicking on the air-conditioning unit. He grinned. So long away, yet as soon as he returned, he thought of the wonderful comforts of this old doomed world.

Moving back to the main room, he plugged in the computer leads, engaged the electricity, and watched the screen flicker to life. Lucas’s face appeared.

“Good day, Mr. Shannow,” said Lucas.

“I need you, my friend,” said the Deacon.

“Is Amaziga with you?”

“No. I have not seen her in twenty years or more.” Shannow pulled up a swivel seat and sat before the screen.

“She left here some time ago for Brazil. My dates are
confused. I think there must have been an electrical storm. What is today’s date?”

“I don’t know. Listen to me, Lucas. The Bloodstone is in my world. I need your help to destroy it.”

“There is nothing in your world to destroy it, Mr. Shannow. As long as it lives, it will feed. If you deny it blood, it will go dormant and wait, go into hibernation, if you will. But there is no weapon capable of causing it harm.”

“The Sword of God could have destroyed it,” said Shannow.

“Ah, yes, but the Sword of God was a nuclear missile, Mr. Shannow. Do you really want to see such a weapon descend on your land? It will wipe out countless thousands and further poison the land for centuries.”

“Of course not. But what I am saying is that there are weapons which could destroy him.”

“How can I help you? You can have access to all my files, but few of them have any direct bearing on your world save those which Amaziga supplied.”

“I want to know everything about Sarento. Everything.”

“The question, surely, is
which
Sarento. I know little about the man who became the Bloodstone.”

“Then tell me about the Sarento you know, his dreams, his vanities, his ambitions.”

“Very well, Mr. Shannow. I will assemble the files. The refrigerator is still working, and you will find some cool drinks there. When you return, we will go over the information.”

Shannow strolled through to the kitchen, fetching a carton of Florida orange juice and a glass. Sitting before the machine, he listened as Lucas outlined Sarento’s life. He was not a primary survivor of the Fall, though he sometimes pretended to be, but had been born 112 years later. A mathematical genius, he had been in the first team to discover Sipstrassi fragments and use them for the benefit of the people who became known as the Guardians. While he listened, Shannow remembered the struggle on board the restored
Titanic
and the disaster in the cave of the original Bloodstone. Sarento had died there, with Shannow barely escaping with his life. There was little
new to be learned. Sarento had been obsessed with the thought of returning the world to the status and lifestyle enjoyed in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. It was his life’s work.

“Has that helped, Mr. Shannow?”

Shannow sighed. “Perhaps. Tell me now of the gateways and the points of power on which they were built.”

“You have me at a disadvantage there, Mr. Shannow. The gateways were
used
by the Atlanteans until the time of Pendarric and the First Fall of the World. Whether they were built by them is another matter entirely. Most of the ancient races are lost to us. It could even be that the world has fallen many times, wiping out great civilizations. As to the power sites, they are many. There are three near here, and one is certainly as powerful as that on which the ancients erected the stones. The earth is peppered with them. In Europe most of the sites have churches built upon them. Here in the United States some have been covered with mounds, with others bearing ancient ruins. The people known as the Anasazi erected cities around the energy centers.”

“Do you have maps in your files?” asked Shannow.

“Of course. What would you like to see?”

“Show me the deserts of Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada.”

“Do you have more specific instructions?”

“I want to see all the energy centers, as you call them.”

For more than an hour Shannow pored over the maps as Lucas highlighted sites of power. “More detail on this one,” said Shannow. “Bring it up closer.” Lucas did so.

“I see what you are getting at, Mr. Shannow. I will access other data that may be relevant to this line of inquiry. While I am doing so, would you mind if I activate the television? It annoys me that my date and time sections are down.”

“Of course,” said Shannow.

The wall-mounted unit flickered to life, the picture switching to a news text. The date and time were outlined in yellow at the top right-hand side of the screen.

“Mr. Shannow!”

“What is it?”

“You have chosen a strange time to pass through the gateway. We are only twelve minutes from the Fall.”

Shannow knew instantly how it had occurred. The last thought in his mind as the violet light had flared around him had been to get to Arizona before the Fall. And he had remembered that awful morning as the plane had lifted off, as indeed it was even now lifting off on that far coast.

“I need you with me, Lucas,” he said. “Where is the portable Amaziga used?”

“She took one with her, Mr. Shannow. There is a second in the back bedroom—a small cupboard beneath the television and video units.” Shannow moved swiftly through to the room. The portable unit was even smaller than the one Amaziga had carried through to the world of the Bloodstone; Shannow almost missed it, believing it to be a stereo headset.

“Eight minutes, Mr. Shannow,” came the calm voice of Lucas as the Jerusalem Man strode back into the main room.

“How do I hook up these leads?” he asked.

Lucas told him, then said, “Take the blue lead and attach it to the point at the rear of the machine immediately above the main power socket.” Shannow did so. “Transferring files,” said Lucas. “We have five minutes and forty seconds.”

“How long will the transfer take?”

“Three minutes.”

Shannow moved to the doorway, staring out over the desert. It was still and hot, the sky a searing blue. A huge jet passed overhead, gliding west toward the runways of the Los Angeles airport, runways that would be under billions of tons of roaring ocean long before the plane touched down.

The earth trembled beneath Shannow’s feet, and he reached out, taking hold of the door frame.

“Almost there, Mr. Shannow,” said Lucas. “I managed to save forty-two seconds. Unhook me and put on the headset.”

Shannow unplugged the lead and clipped the portable to his gun belt. There was no on/off switch, and Lucas’s voice sounded tinny through the headphones. “I think you had better run, Mr. Shannow,” he said, his voice eerily calm.

The Jerusalem Man moved swiftly out of the house, leaping the porch steps and sprinting toward the old stone circle. “One minute twelve seconds,” said Lucas.

The ground shuddered, and Shannow stumbled. Righting himself, he ran up the hill and into the circle.

“Get us back,” he said.

“What are the coordinates?” Lucas asked.

“Coordinates? What do you mean?”

“A trace. A date and a place. We must know where we are going.”

“Beth McAdam’s farm … but I don’t know exactly
when
.” The wind began to build, clouds racing across the sky.

“Twenty-eight seconds,” said Lucas. “Hold tightly to the stone, Mr. Shannow.”

Violet light flared around them as the wind shrieked and rose. “Where are we going?” shouted Shannow.

“Trust me,” said Lucas softly.

Clem Steiner eased back from the brow of the hill, keeping his body low as he clambered down to join the others. Zerah and the children had dismounted; Nestor still sat in the saddle.

“What did you see?” asked Zerah.

“Kids, you hold on to the horses,” said Clem, smiling at Oz.

“I want to see!” Esther complained in a high voice.

Clem lifted a finger to his lips. “Best stay quiet, girl, for there are bad men close by.”

“Sorry,” Esther whispered, putting her hand over her mouth.

Nestor dismounted and, together with Clem and Zerah, walked to just below the hilltop before dropping down to his belly and removing his hat. The others crawled alongside. On the plain below, no more than two hundred yards away, Nestor could see a dozen riders in horned helms and black breastplates, holding rifles in their hands. They were riding slowly alongside a walking group of men, women, and children, maybe seventy of them, Nestor guessed.

“What are they doing?” asked Nestor. “Who are they?”

“Hellborn.”

“There aren’t any Hellborn,” snapped the boy. “They was all wiped out.”

“Then this is obviously just a dream,” responded Clem testily.

“Oh, they’re Hellborn, all right,” said Zerah. “Zeb and I were with Daniel Cade during the First Hellborn War. And those people with them are being treated as prisoners.”

Nestor saw that she was right. The Hellborn—if that was what they were—were riding with their rifles pointed in at the group. “They’re moving toward Pilgrim’s Valley,” said Nestor, thinking of the quiet strength of Captain Leon Evans and his Crusaders. They would know how to deal with the situation.

As if reading the youngster’s mind, Clem spoke. “They can already see the buildings in the distance, but it don’t seem to worry them none,” he whispered.

“What does that mean?”

The old woman cut in: “It means the town is already taken or everyone has gone.”

Nestor, whose eyes were sharper than his companions’, spotted a rider in the distance galloping out from the settlement. As he neared, Nestor squinted to see better, but he did not know the man.

Clem Steiner swore softly. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” he said. “Damned if that isn’t Jacob Moon.”

Nestor had heard the name of the fearsome Jerusalem Rider. “We have to help him,” he said. “He can’t take them alone!” He started to rise, but Clem dragged him down.

“Let’s just watch, boy. I don’t think Moon has come for a fight.”

Nestor swung on him, his face twisted in anger. “Yes, I can believe you don’t want to see Jacob Moon,” he hissed. “He’d make short work of a thieving brigand named Laton Duke.”

The rider closed on the Hellborn and raised his hand in greeting. One of the prisoners, a woman in a flowing blue skirt, ran to Moon, grabbing at his leg. The Jerusalem Rider kicked out to send her sprawling to the dust. A young man shouted and leapt at the rider. The gunshot echoed across
the plain, and the man fell back screaming and clutching his shoulder.

“My God,” said Nestor, “Moon is with them!”

“I’d say that was a pretty accurate assessment,” muttered Zerah. “What I don’t understand is why the Hellborn are taking prisoners. They didn’t in the old days. Just blood and slaughter. It makes no sense. There can’t be that many of them, so why waste time and men guarding prisoners? You understand it, Meneer Steiner?”

“No. But if Moon is involved, there must be a profit in it. The man is a thief and a murderer, and possibly the fastest man with a pistol I ever knew.”

“As fast as you?” sneered Nestor.

Steiner appeared to ignore the sarcasm. “I’d say faster. Let’s hope it doesn’t need to be put to the test.”

“Scared, are you?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, grow up!” snapped Clem. “You think you’re the first
boy
who ever learned that the world isn’t made up of knights and damsels? Yes, I was—am—Laton Duke. And no, I’m not proud of it. I was weak where I should have been strong and too damn strong where I should have been weak. But I don’t owe you anything, Son, and you have no right to take out your bitterness on me. Now, I’ve taken it so far because you’re a nice lad and learning about the Deacon’s lies was a bitter blow for you. But you’d better shape up, Son, because we’re in deep water here and I fear we’ll be lucky to get out with our lives.”

“You heed those words, young man,” said Zerah. “I got two children to take care of, and the forces of evil seem mighty strong in these parts right now. I don’t believe it would be smart to war among ourselves.” Turning to Clem, she smiled. “Where to now, Meneer Brigand?”

“There’s a woman I know lives near by … if she’s still alive. We’ll make for her place. You agree with that, Nestor, or do you want to ride your own road?”

Nestor fought down a cutting response and took a deep breath. “I’ll ride with you that far,” he said.

*   *   *

Amaziga Archer’s mind was calm as the wind screamed above the old Aztec temple, tearing rocks from the ancient walls and hurling them through the air as if they were made of paper. Uprooted trees smashed against the walls, and the noise was deafening as she and Sam cowered in the underground chamber. The storm wind was still increasing, close to six hundred miles an hour, she remembered from her studies of the Fall of the World. As the earth toppled on its axis, the setting sun rose in the west, the winds howling across the earth, to be followed by a tidal wave the likes of which no man or woman had ever seen and lived through.

What strange beings we are, thought Amaziga as she sheltered from the terrible storm. Why are we hiding when the tidal wave will destroy us both? Why not stand outside and let the demon winds carry us up to the heavens? She knew the answer. The instinct for survival, clinging to those precious last seconds of life.

As suddenly as it had come the wind died.

Amaziga stumbled outside, Sam following, and ran up the hill, scrambling over fallen trees, clambering up onto the steps of the pyramid, higher and higher, all the time watching the west for the gigantic wall of death that would soon be bearing down on them. What was it the Prophet Isaiah had predicted? “
And the seas shall tip from their bowls, and not one stone be left upon another
.”