David Gemmell: Bloodstone

'Can you see such a point from here, Jake?' she asked, pointing out of the window.

When will we have peace? That is the cry upon the lips of the multitude. I hear it. I understand it. The answer is not easy to voice, and it is harder to hear. Peace does not come when the brigands are slain. It is not born with the end of a current War. It does not arrive with the beauty of the Spring. Peace is a gift of the grave, and is found only in the silence of the tomb.

From the Deacon's last letter to the Church of Unity

Isis moved out into the yard, enjoying the freshness of the predawn air. Several of the wolf creatures were stretched out asleep, but she sensed the presence of others within the ruined barn. She could feel them now, their pain and anguish, and as she crossed the lines of power that stretched back from them to the Bloodstone her limbs tingled and stung.

Concentrating hard, she narrowed her eyes. Now she could see the lines, tiny and red, like stretched wire, pulsing between the servants and the master, passing through the house, burrowing through the hillsides. Her body aglow with Sipstrassi power, she stared intently at the lines- severing them, watching them wither and fail. An instant later they were gone, snuffed out like candle flames.

Walking steadily forward, she approached the first sleeping beast. Reaching down she touched its brow, her index finger and thumb taking hold of the Bloodstone shard embedded there. The evil contained in the shard swept back over her and, for the merest moment, she felt a surge of hatred. It was an emotion she had never experienced and she faltered. The Bloodstone turned black and fell away from the wolf.

'I do not hate,' she said aloud. 'I will not hate.' The feeling passed, and Isis knew she was stronger now.

'Come to me!' she called. 'Come!'

The beasts rose up, growling. Others poured from the barn.

Now she felt the hatred coming at her like a tidal wave. Isis absorbed it all, draining it of energy and purpose.

A creature lunged forward, rearing up before her, but Isis reached out swiftly to touch its huge chest.

Instantly she merged. Its Wolver memories were buried deep, but she found them, drawing them up into the beast's upper mind. With a cry it fell back from her.

Isis let her power swell, enveloping the mutated animals like a healing mist and sending the power out over the mountains and hills. One by one the beasts dropped to the ground, and she watched as their great size dwindled, the dead Stones falling from their brows.

Then the power left her, drifting away as the dawn light crept over the eastern mountains. Tired now, Isis sat down. A little Wolver padded across to her, taking her hand.

The Deacon strode across the yard, holstering his pistols. The Wolvers scattered and ran, heading away into the distant hills.

'I felt him, Deacon,' she whispered. 'I felt the Bloodstone.'

The Deacon helped her to rise. 'Where is he?'

'He has rebuilt a ruined city a day's ride from Pilgrim's Valley. He has warriors with him, black-garbed men with horned helmets. And the Jerusalem Rider, Jacob Moon.'

'Evil will always gather evil,' said the Deacon.

'The wolf creatures were linked to him, feeding him. Now the supply has stopped,' she said.

Then he'll have to go hungry.'

She shook her head. The horned riders will come, Deacon. The war is only just beginning.'

Jon Shannow stood on the brow of the hill, the Sipstrassi Stone in his hand. There was no circle of stones here, and no indication that there ever had been. Yet he knew this was a point of power, mystically linked to others throughout time. What he did not know was how to harness that power, how to travel to a given destination.

Was it just imagination, or were there sets of co-ordinates needed by the users?

Back in Babylon he had learned that there were certain windows in time that would enable travellers to move across the Gateways with minimum energy from Sipstrassi. How did one know when such a window was open?

Closing his fist around the Stone he pictured the house in Arizona, the paddock, and the red jeep, the sun over the desert. The Stone grew warm in his hand. Take me to the world before the Fall,' he said.

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 inwards.

Swiftly he moved across the living-room. It was sweltering hot inside, and airless. 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 of 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 was born one hundred and twelve 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, 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?'