David Gemmell - The Last Guardian

'I did not think for one moment that you had. Is it true that you seek Jerusalem?'

'Not, perhaps, with the same fervour as once I had. But, yes, I seek the Holy City.'

'Why?'

'Why not? There are worse ways for a man to live. When I was a child I lived with my parents and my brother. Raiders came and slaughtered my family. My brother and I escaped and were taken in by another family, but the raiders hit them too. I was older then and I killed them. For a long time I was angry, filled with hate for all brigands. Then I found my God and I wanted to see Him, to ask Him many things. I am a direct man. So, I look for Him. Does that answer your question?'

'It would have, were you younger. How old are you? Forty? Fifty?'

'I am forty-four years old, and, yes, I have been searching since before you were born. Does that make a difference?'

'Of course it does,' she told him. 'Young men — like Clem Steiner — see themselves as adventurers.

But surely with maturity a man would come to see that such a life is wasted?'

'Wasted? Yes, I suppose it has been. I have no wife, no children, no home. But for all people, Beth McAdam, life is like a river. One man steps into it and finds it is cool and sweet and gentle.

Another enters and finds it shallow and cold and unwelcoming. Still another finds it a rushing torrent that bears him on to many perils; this last man cannot easily change his course.'

'Just words, Mr Shannow — and well you know it. A strong man can do anything he pleases, live any life he chooses.'

'Then perhaps I am not strong,' he conceded. 'I had a wife once. I put aside my dreams of the Holy City and I rode with her seeking a new life. She had a son, Eric, a shy boy who was frightened of me. And we rode, unknowingly, into the heart of the Hellborn War… and I lost her.'

'Did you look for her? Or did she die?' Beth asked.

'She was taken by the Hellborn. I fought to save her. And — with the help of a fine friend — I did.

She married another man — a good man. I am what I am, Beth. I cannot change. The world we live in will not allow me to change.'

'You could marry. Start a farm. Raise children.'

'And how long before someone recognises me? How long before the brigands gather? How long before an old enemy hunts me or my children? How long? No, I will find Jerusalem.'

'I think you are a sad man, Jon Shannow.' She opened the basket by her side and produced two apples, offering one to the Jerusalem Man. He took it and smiled.

'Less sad in your company, Lady. For which I thank you.'

Angry words instantly gathered in her mind, but she saw the expression on his face and swallowed them back. This was no clumsy attempt to bed her, nor the opening shots in a campaign to woo her. It was merely a moment of genuine honesty from a lonely fellow traveller.

'Why me?' she whispered. 'I sense you do not allow yourself many friends?'

He shrugged. 'I came to know you when I rode in your tracks. You are strong and caring; you do not panic. In some ways we are very alike. When I found the dying brigand, I knew I would be too late to help you. I expected to find you and your children murdered and my joy was great when I found your courage had saved you.'

'They murdered Harry,' she said. 'That is a shame. He asked if he could call on me in Pilgrim's Valley.' Beth lay down, resting on her elbow, and told Shannow the story of the brigands. He listened in silence until she had finished.

'Some women have that effect on a man,' he said. 'Harry respected your courage, and hung on to life long enough to send me to help you. For that I think the Almighty will look kindly on him.'

'You and I have different thoughts on that subject.' She looked down the hill and saw Samuel and Mary making their way up towards them. 'My children are returning,' she said softly.

'And I will leave you,' he replied.

'Will you take part in the pistol contest?' she asked. 'It is being held after the Parson gives his sermon. There is a prize of 100 Bartas.'

He shrugged. 'I do not think so.' He bowed and she watched him walk away.

'Damn you, Beth,' she whispered. 'Don't let him get to you.'

The Parson knelt deep in prayer on the hillside as the crowd gathered. He opened his eyes and looked out over the throng, and a deep warmth flowed within him. He had walked for two months to reach Pilgrim's Valley, crossing desert and plain, mountain and valley. He had preached at farms and settlements, performed marriages, christenings and funerals at isolated homes. He had prayed for the sick, and been welcomed wherever he walked. Once he had delivered a sermon at a brigand camp, and they had fed him and given him supplies of food and water to enable him to continue his journey. Now he was here, looking out over two thousand eager faces. He ran his hand through his thick red hair and stood. He was home.

Lifting his borrowed pistols, he cocked them and fired two shots in the air. Into the silence that followed, his voice rang out.

'Brothers and sisters, welcome to God's Holy Day! Look at the sun shining in the clear blue heavens. Feel the warmth on your faces. That is but a poor reflection of the Love of God, when it flows into your hearts and your minds.

'We spend our days, brethren, grubbing in the dirt for wealth. Yet true wealth is here. Right here!

I want each one of you to turn to the person beside you and take their hand in friendship. Do it now! Touch. Feel. Welcome. For the person beside you is your brother today, or your sister. Or your son. Or your daughter. Do it now! Do it now in love.'

A ripple ran through the crowd as people turned, mostly in embarrassment, to grasp and swiftly release the hands of the strangers beside them.

'Not good enough, brethren,' shouted the Parson. 'Is this how you would greet a long-lost brother or sister? I will show you.' He strode down amongst them and took an elderly woman in a deep hug, kissing both her cheeks. 'God's love upon you, mother,' he said. He seized a man's arm and swung him to face a young woman. 'Embrace her,' he ordered. 'And say the words with meaning.

With belief. With love.'

Slowly he moved through the crowd, forcing people together. Some of the miners began to follow him, taking women in their arms and kissing them soundly on the cheeks. 'That is it, brethren!' shouted the Parson. 'Today is God's Day. Today is love!' He moved back to the hillside.

'Not that much love!' he shouted at a miner who had lifted a struggling woman from her feet. The crowd bellowed with laughter, and the tension eased.

'Look at us, Lord!' The Parson raised his arms and his face to the heavens. 'Look down on your people. Today there is no killing. No violence. No greed. Today we are a family in your sight.'

Then he launched into a powerful sermon about the sins of the many and the joys of the few. He had them then, as his powerful voice rolled over them. He talked of greed and of cruelty, the mindless pursuit of wealth and the loss of joy it created.

‘For what does it profit a man if he gain the world, and yet lose his soul? What is wealth without love? Three hundred years ago the Lord brought Armageddon to the world of sin, toppling the earth, destroying Babylon the Great. For in those days evil had spread across the earth like a deadly plague, and the Lord washed away their sins even as Isaiah had prophesied. The sun rose in the West, the seas tipped from their bowls and not one stone was left upon another. But what did we learn, brethren? Did we come to love one another? Did we turn to the Almighty? No. We threw our noses into the mud and we scrabbled for gold and silver. We lusted and we fought, we hated and we slew.

'And why? Why?' he roared. 'Because we are men. Sinful, lustful men. But not today, brethren.