David Gemmell: Bloodstone

'There is little to tell,' she told him. 'We are what you see, Wanderers. We follow the sun and the wind. In Summer we dance, in Winter we freeze. It is a good way to be.'

'It has a certain charm,' said Shannow. 'Yet is there no destination?'

She looked at him in silence for a moment, her large blue eyes holding his gaze. 'Life is a journey with only one destination, Mr Shannow. Or do you see it otherwise?'

'It doesn't pay to argue with Isis,' said Jeremiah, moving into sight. Shannow looked up into the old man's grizzled face.

‘I think that is true,' he said, rising from the step. He felt unsteady and weak, and reached out to grasp the edge of the wagon. Taking a deep breath, Shannow moved into the open. Jeremiah stepped alongside, taking his arm.

'You are a tough man, Mr Shannow, but your wounds were severe.'

'Wounds heal, Jeremiah.' Shannow gazed at the mountains. The nearest were speckled with stands of timber, but further away, stretching into an infinite distance were other peaks, blue and indistinct. 'It is a beautiful land.' The sun was slowly sinking behind the western peaks, bathing them in golden light. Off to the right Shannow focused on a rearing butte, the sandstone seeming to glow from within.

'It is called Temple Mount,' said Jeremiah. 'Some say it is a holy place, where the old gods live. For myself I believe it to be a resting-place for eagles, nothing more.'

‘I have not heard the name,' Shannow told him.

'The loss of memory must cause you some anguish?' said Jeremiah.

'Not tonight,' Shannow answered. ‘I feel at peace. The memories you speak of hold only death and pain.

They will come back all too soon, I know this. But for now I can look at the sunset with great joy.'

The two men walked towards the river-bank. 'I thank you for saving my life, Jeremiah. You are a good man. How long have you lived like this?'

'About twelve years. I was a tailor, but I longed for the freedom of the big sky. Then came the Unifier Wars, and city life became even more grotesque. So I made a wagon and journeyed out into the wilderness.'

There were ducks and geese on the river, and Shannow saw the tracks of a fox. 'How long have you nursed me?'

'Twelve days. For a while the others thought you were going to die. I told them you wouldn't; you have too many scars. You've been shot three times in your life: once over the hip, once in the upper chest and once in the back. There are also two knife wounds, one in the leg and a second in the shoulder. As I said, you are a tough man. You won't die easy.'

Shannow smiled. That is a comforting thought. And I remember the hip wound.' He had been riding close to the lands of the Wall, and had seen a group of raiders dragging two women into the open. He had ridden in and killed the raiders, but one of them had managed a shot that clipped Shannow's hip-bone and ripped through his lower back. He would have died but for the help of the Man-Beast, Shir-ran, who had found him in the blizzard.

'You are miles away, Mr Shannow. What are you thinking?'

'I was thinking of a lion, Jeremiah.'

They strolled back up the river-bank and towards the camp-fires in the circle of wagons. Shannow was weary now and asked Jeremiah to loan him some blankets so that he could sleep under the stars. ‘I’ll not hear of it, man. You'll stay in that bed for another day or two, then we'll see.'

Too tired to argue, Shannow pulled himself up into the wagon. Jeremiah followed him.

Fully clothed, Shannow stretched out on the narrow bed. The old man gathered some books and made to leave but Shannow called out to him, 'Why did you say I had an infamous name?'

Jeremiah turned. 'The same name as the Jerusalem Man. He rode these parts some twenty years ago -

surely you have heard of him?'

Shannow closed his eyes.

Twenty years?

He heard the cabin door click shut, and lay for a while staring through the tiny window at the distant stars.

'How are you feeling — and do not lie to me!' said Dr Meredith. Isis smiled, but said nothing. If only, she thought, Meredith could be as assertive in his life as he was with his patients. Reaching up, she stroked his face. The young man blushed. 'I am still waiting for an answer,' he said, his voice softening.

'It is a beautiful night,' observed Isis, 'and I feel at peace.'

‘That is no answer,' he scolded.

'It will have to suffice,' she said. 'I do not want to concentrate on my. . debility. We both know where my journey will end. And there is nothing we can do to prevent it.'

Meredith sighed, his head dropping forward, a sandy lock of hair falling across his brow. Isis pushed it back. 'You are a gentle man,' she told him.

'A powerless man,' he said sadly. 'I know the name of your condition, as I know the names of the drugs that could overcome it. Hydro-cortisone, and Fludro-cortisone. I even know the amounts to be taken.

What I do not know is how these steroids were constructed, or from what.'

'It doesn't matter,' she assured him. The sky is beautiful, and I am alive. Let's talk about something else. I want to ask you about our. . guest.'

Meredith's face darkened. 'What about him? He is no farmer, that is for sure.'

'I know that,' she said. 'But why has his memory failed?'

Meredith shrugged. The blow to the head is the most likely cause, but there are many reasons for amnesia, Isis. To tell you more I would need to know the exact cause of the injury, and the events leading up to it.'

She nodded, and considered telling him all she had learned. 'First,' she said, 'tell me about the Jerusalem Man.'

He laughed, the sound harsh, his face hardening. 'I thank God that I never met him. He was a butchering savage who achieved some measure of fame vastly greater than he deserved. And this only because we are ruled by another merciless savage who reveres violence. Jon Shannow was a killer. Putting aside the ludicrous quasi-religious texts that are now being published, he was a wandering man who was drawn to violence as a fly is drawn to ox droppings. He built nothing, wrote nothing, sired nothing. He was like a wind blowing across a desert.'

'He fought the Hellborn,' said Isis, 'and destroyed the power of the Guardians.'

'Exactly,' said Meredith sharply. 'He fought and destroyed. And now he is seen as some kind of saviour -

a dark angel sent by God. I wonder, sometimes, if we will ever be free of men like Shannow.'

'You perceive him as evil, then?'

Meredith stood and added several sticks to the dying fire, then returned to his seat opposite Isis. 'That is a difficult question to answer. From all I know of the man he was not a murderer; he never killed for gain.

He fought and slew men he believed to be ungodly or wicked. But the point I would make Isis, is that he decided who was wicked, and he dispensed what he regarded as justice. In any civilised society such behaviour should be deemed abhorrent. It sets a precedent, you see, for other men to follow his line of argument and kill any who disagree. Once we revere a man like Shannow, we merely open the door to any other killer who wishes to follow his example. Men like the Deacon, for instance. When the Hellborn rose against us he destroyed not only their army, but their cities. He visited upon them a terrible destruction. And why? Because he decided they were an evil people. Thousands of ordinary Hellborn farmers and artisans were put to death. It was genocide, an entire race destroyed. That is the legacy of men like Jon Shannow. So tell me, what has this to do with our guest, as you call him?'

'I don't know,' she lied. 'He claims to be Shannow, so I wondered if it would have a bearing on his…

What did you call it?'

'Amnesia.'

'Yes, his amnesia. You asked about the event that led to his being wounded.' Isis hesitated, preparing her story. 'He watched his friends being murdered, horribly murdered, some shot down, others burned alive.