Stones Of Power - The Complete Chronicles Of The Jerusalem Man Part 10

Karitas shrugged. 'I will not try to dissuade you. You asked about the east and the dangers there. Strangely, the Bible figures in the story.'

'A religious tribe, you mean?'

'Precisely - although they view matters somewhat differently from you, Mr Shannow. They call themselves the h.e.l.lborn. They maintain that since Armageddon is now a proved reality, and since there is no new Jerusalem, Lucifer must have overpowered Jehovah.

Therefore they pay him homage as the Lord of this world.'

'That is vile,' whispered Shannow.

'They practice the worship of Molech, and give the firstborn child to the fire. Human sacrifice takes place in their temples and their rites are truly extraordinary. All strangers are considered enemies and either enslaved or burnt alive. They also have pistols and rifles, Mr Shannow - and they have rediscovered the rimless cartridge.'

'I do not understand.'

'Think of the difference between the percussion pistols you own and the flintlocks you have come across. Well, the cartridge is as far ahead of the percussion cap as that.'

'Explain it to me.'

'I can do better than that, Mr Shannow. I will show you.' Karitas opened his sheepskin jerkin and there, nestling in a black shoulder holster, was a pistol the like of which Shannow had never seen. It had a rectangular black grip and when Karitas pulled it clear he saw that the body of the gun was also a rectangle. Karitas pa.s.sed it to Shannow.

'How does it load?'

'Press the b.u.t.ton to the left of the b.u.t.t.'

Shannow did so and a clip slid clear of the b.u.t.t. Shannow placed the gun in his lap and examined the clip. He could see a glint of bra.s.s at the top and he slid the sh.e.l.l into his hand; holding it up against the light from the fire.

'That,' said Karitas, 'is a cartridge. The oval shape at the point is the lead bullet. The bra.s.s section replaces the percussion cap; it contains its own propellant and, when struck by the firing pin, explodes, propelling the sh.e.l.l from the barrel.'

'But how does the ... bullet get from the clip to the breech?'

Karitas took up the automatic and pulled back the casing, exposing the breech. 'A spring in the clip forces the sh.e.l.l up, and releasing the block like so . . .' the casing snapped back into position '. . . pushes the sh.e.l.l into the breech. Now this is the beauty of the weapon, Mr Shannow: when the trigger is pulled the firing pin explodes the propellant and sends the sh.e.l.l on its way, but the blow-back from the explosion forces the casing backwards. A hook pulls clear the cartridge case, which is then struck from beneath by another cartridge and thrown from the pistol. As the casing springs back, it pushes the next sh.e.l.l into the breech.

Simple and superb!'

'What is it called?'

'This, my dear fellow, is the Browning of 1911, with the single-link locking system. It is also the reason why the Carns will not raid where I am.'

'You mean it works?'

'Of course it works. It's not a patch on their later models, but it was considered a great weapon in its day.'

'I am still to be convinced,' said Shannow. 'It looks clumsy and altogether too complicated.'

'Tomorrow, Mr Shannow, I shall give you a demonstration.'

'Where did you come by these weapons?'

'I took them from the Ark, Mr Shannow. That is one of the surprises I have in store for you.

Would you like to see Noah's Ark?'

CHAPTER FOUR.

Shannow could not sleep; his mind was full of pictures of Donna Taybard. He recalled her as he had first seen her, standing before her farmhouse with a crossbow in her hand, looking both defiant and delicate. And then at the dinner-table, sad and wistful. And he remembered her in the wide bed - her face flushed, her eyes bright, her body soft.

Images of Curopet crept into his mind, blurring with Donna, and he groaned and rolled over.

Dawn found him irritable and tired and he dressed swiftly, having first exercised with the leather ball. His left hand was stronger now, yet still a shadow of what it had been.

The wind was chill and Shannow wished he had put on his leather top-coat, but he saw Karitas waiting for him by the rock pile.

'We will put this exhibition to good use,' said Karitas. Tick up a good-sized rock with your left hand and carry it to the fiat ground yonder, about thirty paces.' Shannow did as he was bid, and his arm was aching as he returned.

'Now take another,' said Karitas. Six times he ordered Shannow to pick up rocks and then he told him to watch. The rocks were now in a line, each of them the size of a man's fist.

Karitas drew the Browning and c.o.c.ked it, his arm levelled and the gun fired with a sharp crack. There was little smoke and one of the rocks splintered. On the ground by Karitas'

feet lay a bra.s.s sh.e.l.l, and the weapon in his hand was c.o.c.ked and ready.

'Now you try, my dear fellow.' He reversed the gun and handed it to Shannow. The balance was good, the weight nestling back into his palm rather than forward like the percussion pistols.

He lined the weapon and squeezed the trigger and a spurt of dust leapt up a foot behind the rock. Shannow fired once more and the rock split apart. He was impressed, though he tried not to show it.

'My own pistols could duplicate the accuracy.'

'I don't doubt it, but the Browning can be loaded with nine sh.e.l.ls in less than ten seconds.'

'And you say the h.e.l.lborn have these?'

'No, thank G.o.d. They have revolvers, copies of the Adams and some Remington replicas.

But their craftsmen have evolved the weapons; their level of technology is fairly high.'

'Well, they are a problem for another day,' said Shannow. 'But tell me of Noah's Ark - or is that another joke?'

'Not at all. We will see it in the Spring, with the Guardians' permission.' 'I will not be here in the Spring, Karitas.' The old man moved forward and retrieved his pistol. He unc.o.c.ked it and slid it back into his shoulder holster. 'You are recovering well, but you are not yet strong enough to ride any distance. And there is something else you should know.' Karitas'

voice was grave.

'What is it?'

'Let us go to your hut, and I will explain.'

Once inside beside a warm fire, Karitas opened the leather pouch at his hip and produced a round stone which he pa.s.sed to Shannow. Warm to the touch and gleaming softly gold in the firelight, it was veined with black streaks and highlighted by tiny specks of silver.

'It is a pretty piece,' said Shannow. 'But what do you have to tell me?'

'You are holding your life in your hand, Mr Shannow, for that is a healing Stone and on you it has worked a miracle.'

'I have heard of such. The Daniel Stone?'

'Indeed it is. But its significance to you is very great. You see, Mr Shannow, you are in fact dead. When Selah brought you to me your skull was smashed. I don't know how you lived as long as you did. But the Stone held you . . . as it still holds you. If you travel out of its influence, you will die.'

Shannow tossed the Stone to Karitas. 'Dead? Then why does my heart beat? Why can I still think and speak?'

'Tell me, Mr Shannow, when you lay in the Fever Hole and your heart stopped, what did you feel?'

'I felt nothing. I dreamed I sat outside the gates of Jerusalem, and they would not let me enter. It was but a dream. I do not believe that I am trapped in this village for ever.'

'Nor are you. But you must trust me, and my knowledge. I will know when you have broken the thread, when you can exist without the Stone. Have faith in me, Jon.'

'But my wife . . .'

'If she loves you she will wait. And you say she has power to see great distances. Build your strength.'

Day by dreary day Shannow worked - chopping wood, carrying water, scything gra.s.s for winter feed. And the Autumn pa.s.sed before the freezing northerly winds piled snow against the huts. Night after night Shannow sat with Karitas, listening to his tales of the New World's birthing. He no longer knew nor cared if Karitas was telling the truth; the images were too many and too kaleidoscopic to contain. He listened much as he had when his father told stories, his disbelief suspended only for the telling time.

Yet though Karitas maintained he had lived long before the Fall of the world, he would not speak of his society, its laws or its history, refusing to answer any of Shannow's questions.

Strangely, Shannow felt, this gave the old man credibility.

'I would like to tell you, Jon, for it is so long since I spoke of the old world. But I have a fear, you see, that one day Man will recreate the horrors of those days. I shall not be a willing party to it. We were so arrogant. We thought the world was ours, and then one day Nature put us in our place. The world toppled on its axis. Tidal waves consumed vast areas. Cities, countries, vanished beneath the water. Volcanoes erupted, earthquakes tore the world. It's a wonder anyone survived.

'And yet, now I look back, all the clues were there to see -to warn us of impending disaster.

All we needed was to be humble enough to look at it without subjectivity. Our own legends told us that the earth had toppled before. The Bible talks of the sun rising in the west, and of the seas tipping from their bowls. And it did. My G.o.d, it did!'

The old man lapsed into silence. 'How did you survive?' asked Shannow.

Karitas blinked and grinned suddenly. 'I was in a magical metal bird, flying high above the waves.'

'It was a serious question.'

'I know. But I don't want to talk any more about those days.'

'Just one small question,' said Shannow. 'It is important to me.'

'Just the one,' agreed the old man.

'Would there have been a black road with diamonds at the centre, shining in the night?'

'Diamonds? Ah yes, all the roads had them. Why do you ask?'

'Would they have been at Jerusalem?'

'Yes. Why?'

'It is the city I am seeking. And if Noah's Ark is on a mountain near here, Jerusalem cannot be far away.'

'Are you mocking me, Shannow?'

'No. I seek the Holy City.'

Karitas held his hands out to the fire, staring thoughtfully into the flames. All men needed a dream, he knew. Shannow more than most.

'What will you do when you find it?'

'I will ask questions and receive answers.'

'And then what?'

'I shall die happy, Karitas.'

'You're a good man, Shannow. I hope you make it.'

'You doubt I will?'

'Not at all. If Jerusalem exists, you will find it. And if it doesn't you'll never know, for you'll look until you die. That's how it should be. I feel that way about Heaven; it's far more important that Heaven should exist than that I should ever see it.'

'In my dream, they would not let me enter. They told me to come back when the wolf sits down with the lamb, and the lion eats gra.s.s like the cattle do.'

'Get some sleep, Jon. Dream of it again. I went there once, you know. To Jerusalem. Long before the Fall.'

'Was it beautiful?'

Karitas remembered the chokingly narrow streets in the old quarter, the stink of bazaars . .

. the tourist areas, the tall hotels, the pickpockets and the car bombs.

'Yes,' he said. 'It was beautiful. Good night, Jon.'

Karitas sat in his long cabin, his mood heavy and dark. He knew that Shannow would never believe the truth, but then why should he? Even in his own age of technological miracles there had still been those who believed that the earth was flat, or that Man was made by a benevolent bearded immortal out of a lump of clay. At least Shannow had a solid fact to back his theory of Armageddon. The world had come close to death.

There had been a lot of speculation in the last years about the possibility of a nuclear holocaust. But next to no one had considered Nature herself dwarfing the might of the superpowers. What was it that scientist had told him five years after the Fall?

The Chandler Theory? Karitas had a note somewhere from the days when he had studiously kept a diary. The old man moved into the back room and began to rummage through oak chests covered in beaver pelts. Underneath a rust-dark and brittle copy of the London Times he found the faded blue jackets of his diary collection, and below those the sc.r.a.ps of paper he had used for close to forty years. Useless, he thought, remembering the day when his last pencil had grown too small to sharpen. He pushed aside the sc.r.a.ps and searched through his diaries, coming at last to an entry for May 16. It was six years after the Fall. Strange how the memory fades after only a few centuries, he told himself with a grin. He read the entry and leaned back, remembering old Webster and his moth-eaten wig.

It was the ice at the poles, Webster had told him, increasing at the rate of 95, 000 tons a day, slowly changing the shape of the earth from spheroid to ovoid. This made the spin unstable. Then came the day when mighty Jupiter and all the other major planets drew into a deadly line to exert their gravitational pull on the earth, along with that of the sun.

The earth - already wobbling on its axis - toppled, bringing tidal waves and death and a new Ice Age for much of the hemisphere.

Armageddon? G.o.d the father moving from homilies to homicide?