David Gemmell: Wolf in Shadow

Thank you for allowing me into your home,' said Shannow gravely. She smiled for the first time and wiped her hand on her canvas apron.

'I am Donna Taybard,' she told him, offering her hand. He took it and kissed her fingers lightly.

'And I am Jon Shannow — a wanderer, Lady, in a strange land.'

'Be welcome then, Jon Shannow. We have some potatoes and mint to go with the bacon, and the meal will be ready within the hour.'

Shannow moved to the door, where pegs had been hammered home. He unbuckled his scabbard belt and hung his sidearms beside his coat. Turning back, he saw the fear once more in her eyes.

'Be not alarmed, Fray Taybard; a wandering man must protect himself. It does not change my promise; that may not be so with all men, but my spoken word is iron.'

There are few guns in Rivervale, Mr Shannow. This was. . is. .a peaceful land. If you would like to wash before eating, there is a pump behind the house.'

'Do you have an axe, Lady?'

'Yes. In the wood-shed.'

‘Then I shall work for my supper. Excuse me.'

He walked out into the fading light of dusk and unsaddled the gelding, leading him into the paddock and releasing him among the other three horses. Then he carried his saddle and bags to the porch before fetching the axe. He spent almost an hour preparing firewood before stripping to the waist and washing himself at the pump. The moon was up when Donna Taybard called him in. She and the boy sat at one end of the table, having set his place apart and facing the hearth. He moved his plate to the other side and seated himself facing the door.

'May I speak a word of thanks, Fray Taybard?' asked Shannow as she filled the plates. She nodded. 'Lord of Hosts, our thanks to thee for this food. Bless this dwelling and those who pass their lives here. Amen.'

'You follow the old ways, Mr Shannow?' asked Donna, passing a bowl of salt to the guest.

'Old? It is new to me, Fray Taybard. But, yes, it is older than any man knows and a mystery to this world of broken dreams.'

'Please do not call me Fray, it makes me feel ancient. You may call me Donna. This is my son, Eric.'

Shannow nodded towards Eric and smiled, but the boy looked away and continued to eat. The bearded stranger frightened him, though he was anxious not to show it. He glanced at the weapons hanging by the door.

'Are they hand pistols?' he asked.

'Yes,' said Shannow. 'I have had them for seventeen years, but they are much older than that.'

'Do you make your own powder?'

'Yes, I have casts for the loads and several hundred brass caps.'

'Have you killed anyone with them?'

'Eric!' snapped his mother. ‘That is no question to ask a guest — and certainly not at table.'

They finished the meal in silence and Shannow helped her clear away the dishes. At the back of the house was an indoor water pump, and together they cleaned the plates. Donna felt uncomfortable in the closeness of the pump-room and dropped a plate which shattered into a score of shards on the tiled wooden floor.

'Please do not be nervous,' he said, kneeling to collect the broken pieces.

'I trust you, Mr Shannow. But I have been wrong before.'

'I shall sleep outside and be gone in the morning. Thank you for the meal.'

'No,' she said, too hurriedly. ‘I mean — you can sleep in the comfort chair. Eric and I sleep in the back room.'

'And Mr Taybard?'

'Has been gone for ten days. I hope he will be back soon; I'm worried for him.'

'I could look for him, if you would like. He may have fallen from his horse.'

'He was driving our wagon. Stay and talk, Mr Shannow; it is so long since we had company. You can give us news of. . where have you come from?'

'From the south and east, across the grass prairies. Before that I was at sea for two years — trading with the Ice Settlements beyond Volcano Rim.'

'That is said to be the edge of the world.'

'I think it is where Hell begins. You can see the fires lighting the horizon for a thousand miles.'

Donna eased past him into the main room. Eric was yawning and his mother ordered him to bed.

He argued as all young people do, but finally obeyed her, leaving his bedroom door ajar.

Shannow lowered himself into the comfort chair, stretching his long legs out before the stove. His eyes burned with fatigue.

'Why do you wander, Mr Shannow?' asked Donna, sitting on the goatskin rug in front of him.

'I am seeking a dream. A city on a hill.'

'I have heard of cities to the south.'

'They are settlements, though some of them are large. But no, my city has been around for much longer, it was built, destroyed and rebuilt thousands of years ago. It is called Jerusalem and there is a road leading to it — a black road, with glittering diamonds in the centre that shine in the night.'

‘The Bible city?'

'The very same.'

'It is not about here, Mr Shannow. Why do you seek it?'

He smiled. 'I have been asked that question many, many times and I cannot answer it. It is a need I carry — an obsession, if you will. When the earth toppled and the oceans swelled, all became chaos. Our history is lost to us and we no longer know from whence we come, nor where we are going. In Jerusalem there will be answers, and my soul will rest.'

'It is very dangerous to wander, Mr Shannow. Especially in the wild lands beyond Rivervale.'

The lands are not wild, Lady — at least, not for a man who knows their ways. Men are wild and they create the wild lands wherever they are. But I am a known man and I am rarely troubled.'

'Are you known as a war-maker?'

'I am known as a man war-makers should avoid.'

'You are playing with words.'

'No, I am a man who loves peace.'

'My husband was a man of peace.'

‘Was?’

Donna opened the stove door and added several chunks of wood. She sat for some time staring into the flames, and Shannow did not disturb the silence. At last she looked up at him.

'My husband is dead,' she said. 'Murdered.'

'By Brigands?'

'No, by the Committee. They. .'

'No!' screamed Eric, standing in the bedroom doorway in his white cotton nightshirt. 'It's not true.

He's alive! He's coming home — I know he's coming home.'

Donna Taybard ran to her son, burying his weeping face against her breast. Then she led him back into the bedroom and Shannow was alone. He strolled into the night. The sky was without stars, but the moon shone bright through a break in the clouds. Shannow scratched his head, feeling the dust and grit on his scalp. He removed his woollen jerkin and undershirt and washed in a barrel of clear water, scrubbing the dirt from his hair.

Donna walked out to stand on the porch and watch him. His shoulders seemed unnaturally broad against the slim-ness of his waist and hips. Silently she moved away from the house to the stream at the bottom of the hill. Here she slipped out of her clothes and bathed in the moonlight, rubbing lemon mint leaves across her skin.

When she returned Jon Shannow was asleep in the comfort chair, his guns once more belted to his waist. She moved silently past him to her room and locked the door. As the key turned, Shannow opened his eyes and smiled.

Where to tomorrow, Shannow, he asked himself?

Where else?

Jerusalem.

Shannow awoke soon after dawn and sat listening to the sounds of morning. He was thirsty and moved to the pump-room for a mug of water. Behind the door was an oval mirror framed in golden pine and he stood staring at his reflection. The eyes were deep-set and dark blue, the face triangular above a square jaw. As he had feared, his hair was showing grey, though his beard was still dark on the cheeks with a silver fork at the chin.

He finished his drink and moved outside to the porch and his saddlebags. Having found his razor and stropped it for several minutes, he returned to the mirror and cut away his beard. Donna Taybard found him there and watched in mild amusement as he tried to trim his long hair.