David Gemmell - Bloodstone

said Beth. 'Everything is all right now. Look at her feed. She was real hungry.'

'He's a boy,' whispered the mother.

'Of course he is. What a fool I am!' Beth told her. 'And a handsome boy he is. Strong, too.'

'My Josh was strong,' said the girl. They tore his head off.' Tears welled in her eyes and she began to tremble.

'You just think of the babe,' said Beth swiftly. 'He's all that matters now. You understand?' The girl nodded, but Beth saw that she was once more drifting away and with a sigh she returned to Meredith and the Deacon. The young doctor had cut up a tablecloth to make bandages. The old man reached up as Meredith completed his work.

'I am sorry, son,' he said. 'I hope you'll forgive my harsh words.'

Meredith nodded wearily. 'It's easier to forgive you, than to forgive myself. I have never been more frightened, and I am ashamed of my actions.'

'It's in the past, boy. You've been to the edge, and looked in the pit. Now you can be either stronger or weaker. It's a choice — but it's your choice. In life a man has to learn to be strong in the broken places.'

'They're moving on the barn,' Wallace shouted.

'Keep your voice down!' ordered Beth.

From across the yard came the sound of wood being splintered and broken, followed by the terrified neighing of horses. In the chair by the fire the young mother began to weep.

Beth lit two more lanterns, hanging them on hooks by the wall. 'It is going to be a long night,' she said.

The screaming of the trapped animals went on for some minutes, then there was a silence. Beth sent Meredith through to the back room to check on Josiah Broome. The girl in the chair had fallen asleep, and Beth lifted the babe from her arms and sat with it on the old rocker.

Wallace Nash came down the stairs and stood in front of her. 'What is it, Wallace?' The red-headed youngster was ill at ease.

'I'm sorry, Frey McAdam. There's no other way to tell, but to go at it straight out. Samuel, well, he died saving the girl yonder and the child. Jumped from a window as one of them creatures was bearing down on her. Calm as you like. He killed it sure enough, but it got him too. I'm terrible sorry, Frey.'

'Best get back upstairs, Wallace,' she said, hugging the baby to her. 'Best keep a good watch.'

‘I’ll do that,' he said softly. 'You can rely on me, Frey.'

Beth closed her eyes. She could smell the burning oil in the lamps, the seasoned cedar-wood on the fire and the milky, newborn scent of the child in her arms.

Outside a beast howled.

Shannow reached into his pocket, his arthritic fingers curling around the golden Stone. I don't want to live for ever, he thought. I don't want to be young again. The pain in his chest was intensifying, linking and merging with the agony of his fractured ribs. You have no choice, he told himself. Gripping the Stone, he willed away the pain in his heart and felt new strength and vitality pounding through his veins. The ribs too he healed, drawing on the strength of the Stone.

Opening his hand, he gazed down at the golden pebble. Only the faintest thread of black showed where the power had been leached. Rising, he moved to the window. The aching pain was gone now from his shoulder and knees, and he moved with a spring in his step. Glancing through the gap in the shutters, he saw Devourers clambering over Jeremiah's wagon, moving into the cabin and up through the hatches.

The barn was silent now, but he could see grey shapes lying on the hard-baked dirt of the yard or squatting near the fence.

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 out on to the table-top. Twenty-three remained, plus the twelve in his pistols.

Meredith returned. 'The wounded man is sleeping,' said the doctor. 'His colour 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 then 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 realised that the young man had not been listening to a word of 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 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 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 made a decision that still haunted him.

'Well, Deacon?'

'Kill them all.'

Zerah awoke before the 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 bird-song 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 hadn't realised how much she missed company until the stranger had arrived. It saddened her that he hadn't come back.