Bloodstone (9 page)

“Shannow, no!” screamed Jeremiah. “Let them be! Christ, man, there’s been enough killing already.”

Shannow took a deep, slow breath. “Help put out the fire,” he ordered the men. They obeyed him instantly, and without another word he walked to his horse and stepped into the saddle.

“Where are you going?” called Dr. Meredith.

Shannow did not answer.

Aaron Crane and the survivors of the raid galloped into Purity and drew up before the long stone meeting hall. Crane, dust-covered and disheveled, dismounted and ran inside. The hall
was crowded, the prayer meeting under way. On the dais Padlock Wheeler was reaching the midpoint in his sermon concerning the path of the righteous. He stopped as he saw Crane and inwardly groaned, but it was not wise to incur the wrath of the Oath Taker. The black-bearded minister fell silent for a moment, then forced a smile.

“You seem distraught, Brother,” he said. Heads turned then, among them those of Captain Seth Wheeler and the twelve men of Purity’s Crusaders. Crane drew himself up and ran a slender hand through his long white hair.

“The forces of the Devil have been turned against us,” he said. “The Lord’s riders have been cut down.”

There was a gasp from the congregation, and several of the women began to shout out questions concerning the fate of their husbands, brothers, or sons.

“Silence!” thundered Padlock Wheeler. “Let the Oath Taker speak.”

“As you all know,” said Crane, “we came upon a band of pagan Wanderers. With them was a demonic force: I recognized the power of Satan instantly. We tried in vain to overcome it. Many are dead. A few of us escaped through the intervention of the Lord. We must have more men! I demand that the Crusaders ride out after these devils!”

Padlock Wheeler glanced down at his brother, Seth. The captain rose from his seat. He was a tall, slim man with a long face and a dour expression. “Let the women go to their homes,” he said. “We’ll discuss what’s to be done.”

“Where’s my boy?” screamed a woman, rushing at Crane. “Where is Lemuel?”

“I fear he perished,” Crane told her, “but he died in the Lord’s work.”

The woman’s hand snaked out to slash across Crane’s cheek. Two other women grabbed her, hauling her back.

“Stop this!” thundered Padlock Wheeler. “This is a house of God!” The commotion died instantly. Slowly the women filed from the hall, the men gathering around Crane.

Seth Wheeler moved forward. “Tell us of this demon,” he ordered Crane.

“It is in the guise of a man, but it is Satan-inspired. He is a killer. A terrible killer!” Crane shivered. “He cast a spell on me that took all the power I had to overcome.”

“How many are dead?” asked the Crusader captain.

“I don’t know. We advanced on two fronts. The killer was waiting in the east and shot down four men: Lassiter, Pope, Carter, and Lowris. Then he rode west and slew … everyone but me. I managed to escape.”

“You ran?”

“What else could I do?”

Seth Wheeler glanced at the men gathered in the hall. There were some twenty in all, plus his twelve Crusaders. “How many Wanderers were there?”

“Eleven wagons,” Crane told him. “Perhaps thirty people. They must be destroyed. Utterly destroyed!”

Still on the dais, Padlock Wheeler saw the door at the back of the hall open and a tall man step inside. Dressed in a dust-stained black coat, patched on the left arm, he wore two long guns.

“Where are the lawmakers of this community?” he said, his voice, though not loud, cutting through the conversation at the center of the hall.

Crane saw him and screamed. “It’s him! It’s the Devil!” Backing away, the white-haired Oath Taker ducked down behind a line of benches.

“This is a house of the Lord,” said Padlock Wheeler. “What do you want here?”

“Justice,” answered the man. “You are sheltering a murderer, a killer of women and children.”

“He tells it differently,” said Padlock. “He claims you are demon-possessed.”

The newcomer shook his head. “Twenty miles from here they are burying a woman named Clara. She was pregnant; half her head was shot away. They will bury one of her daughters beside her. The man Crane rode up to the wagons yesterday and demanded to hear Psalm 22. I gave him to understand that I knew it, as indeed I do. But he is an evil man and was
determined to murder. So tell me this: How will you judge him?”

Padlock looked down at where Crane was cowering. The minister felt exultant. All along he had believed Crane to be a dangerous man, and this was an opportunity to bring him down. He would ask Seth for an inquiry, and he had no doubt that the Oath Taker would be shown to be a lawbreaker. But just as he was about to speak, he saw Crane draw a pistol from his belt and cock it.

Within a heartbeat all was chaos and confusion. “You lie!” screamed Crane, rearing up and pointing his pistol. The shot splintered the wood of the door by the stranger’s head. The gathered men dived for cover, but the stranger calmly drew one of his pistols and fired once. Crane’s head exploded.

The Oath Taker’s body stood for a moment, his black coat drenched in blood and brain. Then it crumpled to the floor.

“I am the Jerusalem Man,” said the stranger, “and I do not lie.”

Sheathing his pistol, he left the hall.

One by one the watching men rose and moved back to view the body. Padlock Wheeler, his legs unsteady, climbed down from the dais. His brother, Seth, stood by the corpse and shook his head.

“What happens now?” asked Padlock.

“We’ll send a message to Unity,” said Seth. “They’ll have to send another Oath Taker.”

Padlock took his brother’s arm and led him away from the other men. “He claimed to be Jon Shannow.”

“I heard him. That was blasphemy! I’ll take some men to the Wanderers tomorrow. We’ll speak to them, find out what really happened.”

“Crane was a wretch! I’ll shed no tears for him. Why not let them go their way?”

Seth shook his head. “He claimed to be the Jerusalem Man. He took the saint’s name in vain. Everyone heard it; he’s got to answer for that.”

“I don’t want to see anyone else die for the sake of Crane’s evil. Not even a blasphemer.”

Seth smiled thinly. “I am a Crusader, Pad. What do you expect me to do?”

“Walk warily, Brother. You saw him shoot. He was under fire, but he calmly aimed and blew Crane’s soul to hell. And if what the wretch said was true—and I don’t doubt it was—he shot down a number of other armed men.”

“I’ve no choice, Pad. I’ll try to take him alive.”

3

T
HEY HAD BURIED
Clara and her daughter by the time Shannow returned to the wagons. Jeremiah was in bed in his wagon, his chest bandaged, his face gray with sorrow and pain. Shannow climbed in to sit beside the old man.

“You killed him?” asked Jeremiah.

“I did. I would have had it otherwise, but he fired upon me.”

“That will not end it, Mr. Shannow, though I do not blame you. You did not inspire the evil. But you must go.”

“They will come again, and you will need me.”

“No. I spoke to the men you captured before I let them go.
Crane was the instigator.” Jeremiah sighed. “There will always be men like Crane. Thankfully there will also always be men like Meredith and men like you. It is a balance, Mr. Shannow. God’s balance, if you will.”

Shannow nodded. “Evil will always thrive if men do not oppose it.”

“Evil thrives anyway. Greed, desire, jealousy. We all carry the seeds of evil. Some are stronger than others and can resist it, but men like Crane will feed the seed.” Jeremiah leaned back against his pillow, his eyes resting on Shannow’s lean face. “You are not evil, my boy. Go with God!”

“I am sorry, old man,” said Shannow, rising.

Back in the open he saw Isis coming toward him, carrying a bundle. “I gathered some ammunition from the dead, and there is a little food here,” she said. He thanked her and turned away. “Wait!” She handed him a small pouch. “There are twelve Bartas here. You will need money.”

Jeremiah heard the creak of saddle leather as Shannow mounted, then the steady clopping of hooves as he headed away from the wagons. The pain from his wound was strong, but the old man flowed with it. He felt sick and weaker than sin.

Isis brought him an herbal tisane, which settled his stomach. “I am happier with him gone,” she said, “though I liked him.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, then Meredith joined them. “Riders coming,” he said. “Look like Crusaders.”

“Make them welcome and bring the leader here,” said Jeremiah. Within minutes a tall, round-shouldered man with a long, dour face climbed into the wagon. “Welcome to my home,” said Jeremiah.

The man nodded, removed his wide-brimmed gray hat, and sat alongside the bed. “I’m Captain Seth Wheeler,” said the newcomer. “I understand you have a man with you who calls himself Jon Shannow.”

“Will you not ask, sir, why there are fresh-dug graves outside and why I am lying here with a bullet in my chest?”

“I know why,” muttered Wheeler, looking away. “But that was not my doing, Meneer, nor do I condone it. But there have
been deaths on both sides, and the man who instigated them is among the dead.”

“Then why hunt Jon Shannow?”

“He is a blasphemer and a heretic. The Jerusalem Man—of blessed memory—left this earth twenty years ago, taken up by God like Elijah before him in a chariot of fire.”

“If God can lift him, which of course he can,” said Jeremiah carefully, “then he can also bring him back.”

“I’ll not argue that point with you, Meneer. What I will say is this: If the good Lord did choose to bring back the Jerusalem Man, I don’t think he’d arrive with singed hair and a patched coat. However, enough of this. Which direction did he take?”

“I cannot help you sir. I was in my wagon when he rode away. You will have to ask one of my people.”

Wheeler rose and moved to the door, then he turned. “I have already said that I do not condone what happened here,” he said softly. “But know this, Mover, I share Crane’s view about the likes of you. You are a stain upon God’s land. As the Deacon says, ‘
There is no place for the scavenger among us. Only those who build the cities of the Lord are welcome.
’ Be gone from the lands of Purity by tomorrow night.”

Shannow rode toward the high country, angling north. The horse was a bay gelding and strong, but it was tired after the exertions of the night and was breathing heavily. Shannow dismounted and led the horse into the trees, seeking a cave or a sheltered spot in the lee of the wind. He was cold, and his spirits were low.

The loss of memory was an irritation, but that he could bear. Something else was nagging at him from deep within the now-shuttered recesses of his mind. He had killed men this night, but that was nothing new for the Jerusalem Man. I did not seek the battle, he told himself. They rode out in search of blood, and they found it. And it was their own. Such is the price of violence. Yet the killings hung heavily upon him.

Shannow stumbled, his strength deserting him. His wounds were too recent for this kind of climb, he knew, but he pushed
on. The trees were thicker now, and he saw a cleft in the rock face to his left. It will have to do, he thought. Taking a deep breath, he walked on. As he neared the cleft, he saw the flickering reflection of a fire on the rock face, just inside the cleft.