Stones Of Power - The Complete Chronicles Of The Jerusalem Man Part 79

'No. I've ... been evil, Shannow. I've done such bad things.' Tears welled in the Parson's eyes. 'I'll be in h.e.l.l.'

'I don't think so,' Shannow a.s.sured him. 'If you hadn't come to this Peak, then maybe the world would have toppled again. None of us is perfect, Parson. At least you tried to walk the road.'

'Pray for... me ... Shannow...'

'I'll do that.'

'It wasn't G.o.d ... was it?'

'No. Rest easy.' The Parson's eyes closed and the last breath rattled from his throat.

Shannow stood.

'Did you mean that?' Beth asked. 'You think he won't roast in h.e.l.l?'

The Jerusalem Man shrugged. 'I hope not. He was a tortured soul and I like to think G.o.d looks kindly on such men.'

Amaziga Archer approached. 'Why did you shoot at me?' asked Shannow.

'To try to change the past, Shannow. I read the gold scrolls.' Suddenly she laughed. 'The circle of history, Jerusalem Man. Pendarric took over the mind of the Parson --or G.o.dspeaker, as he was named in the scrolls of Araksis. Through him Pendarric learned that a great weapon would be hurled at Atlantis, that through this weapon the world would topple. Do you know what Pendarric did? He had Sipstra.s.si transferred to this tower, and ordered Araksis to set the power to trap the Sword when it came over Ad. Do you understand what I am saying? Twelve thousand years ago, Pendarric set this stasis field in operation in order to catch a missile. And it caught it - twelve thousand years later. Can you see?'

'No,' said Shannow.

'It's so disgustingly perfect. If Pendarric had not learned of the missile and had made no effort to catch it - then it would not have been here at all. You can't change the past, Shannow. You can't.'

'But why did you try to kill me?'

'Because you just destroyed two worlds. If you had not sent that bomb into the past, our old world could not have been destroyed. You see, Pendarric was also responsible for the Second Fall. I thought I could change history... but no.' She looked at Shannow and he saw the anguish and hatred in her eyes. 'You're not the Jerusalem Man any more, Shannow.

Oh, no. Now you are the Armageddon Man: the destroyer of worlds.'

Shannow did not reply and Amaziga turned from him and strode to the ruins of the Tower.

The encrusted rocks had been dashed away, the white marble showing through. There was a broken doorway and Amaziga pushed her way inside. A dust-covered skeleton lay close to the Sipstra.s.si, which had fallen from its bowl; there were rings on the skeletal fingers and a gold band still circled the brow. Then Shannow, Beth and Steiner entered the chamber. Shannow led Steiner to the Sipstra.s.si and touched the pistoleer's hand to it; the veins of gold were thin now but still the power surged through him, healing his wounds.

Outside they could hear the roaring of engines as the once trapped planes continued to circle, seeking places to land.

Amaziga knelt and lifted a scroll of golden foil. 'The Sword,' she read, 'did not pa.s.s near Ad. But then a noise came, and a pillar of smoke. A strange phenomenon has just occurred. The sun, which was setting, has just risen again. And I can see dark storm- clouds racing towards us. Dark, blacker than any storm of memory. No, not a storm. The traitor was right. It is the sea!' Amaziga dropped the foil and stood. 'The missile was the final touch to a world straining on its axis.' She turned to the skeleton. 'I would guess this was Araksis. Even the Sipstra.s.si could not save him from the tidal wave he saw. G.o.d, Shannow, how I hate you!'

'Stop your whingeing!' snarled Beth McAdam. 'It wasn't Shannow who destroyed the worlds - it was Pendarric. He opened the gates; he set up whatever it was you called it, to trap the Sword of G.o.d. And it destroyed him. What right have you to condemn a man who only fought to save his friends?'

'Leave her alone,' said Shannow softly.

'No,' answered Beth, her cold blue eyes locked to Amaziga. 'She knows the truth. When a gun kills a man, it is not the weapon that goes on trial, but the man whose finger is on the trigger. She knows that!' - 'He is a bringer of death,' Amaziga hissed. 'He destroyed my community. My husband died because of him, my son is dead. Now two worlds have toppled because of him.'

'Tell me, Shannow,' asked Beth, 'why you came to the Sword?'

'It does not matter,' answered the Jerusalem Man. 'Let it rest, Beth.'

'No,' she said again. 'While Magellas and Lindian held me captive, they used their Power Stones to observe you and they let me see. It was you,' she said, swinging once more to Amaziga, 'who urged Shannow - pleaded with him - to come here and stop the Parson. It was you who sent him scaling that Peak and risking his life. So whose finger was on the trigger, you b.i.t.c.h?'

'It was not my fault,' shouted Amaziga. 'I didn't know!'

'And he did? Jon Shannow knew that if the Sword pa.s.sed through the gate it would destroy two worlds? You make me sick. Carry your own guilt, like the rest of us. Don't seek to palm it off on the man who just saved all our lives.'

Amaziga backed away from Beth's anger and walked out into the sunlight.

Shannow followed her. 'I am sorry for your loss,' he said. 'Samuel Archer was a fine man. I don't know what else to say to you.'

Amaziga sighed. 'The woman is right in what she says and you are just part of the circle of history. Forgive me, Shannow. Nu-Khasisatra said he was sent to find the Sword of G.o.d.

He found it.'

'No, he didn't,' said Shannow sadly. 'There was no Sword - only a foul instrument of ma.s.s death.'

She placed her hand on his arm. 'He found the Sword, Shannow, because he found you.

You were the Sword of G.o.d.'

'I hope Nu survived,' said Shannow, changing the subject. 'I liked the man.'

Amaziga laughed. 'Oh, he survived, Jon Shannow. Be a.s.sured of that.'

'Is there something else in the scrolls then?'

'No.' She shook her head. 'Nu is the Arabic form, and Khasisatra the a.s.syrian name, for Noah. You remember what he said about the Circle of G.o.d? Nu-Khasisatra came to the future and read of Noah's survival in your Bible, Shannow. So he went home, rescued his family and, I should imagine, with the aid of the Sipstra.s.si, created a ship that was storm- proof. How's that for a Circle of G.o.d?' Her laughter was almost hysterical... then the weeping began.

'Come away,' said Beth McAdam, taking Shannow by the arm and leading him back towards the horses.

Some planes had already begun to land on the hard-baked sand of the desert. 'What are they?' asked Beth.

'Nothing that I would see,' he told her, as Flight 19 touched down four centuries after take- off.

Together Shannow and Beth rode from the desolated Pool.

'What will you do now, Shannow?' she asked. 'Now that you are young again, I mean? Will you still seek Jerusalem?'

'I have spent half a lifetime pursuing that dream, Beth. It was a mistake. You don't find G.o.d across a distant hill. There are no answers in stone.' Turning back in the saddle, he gazed at the broken Peak and the forlorn figure of Amaziga Archer. Reaching out he took Beth's hand, lifting it to his lips. 'If you'll have me, I'd like to come home.'

EPILOGUE.

Under the leadership of Edric Scayse and the Committee, led by Josiah Broome, Pilgrim's Valley prospered. The church was rebuilt and, for the want of a preacher, a young bearded farmer named Jon Cade took the service. If any noted the resemblance between Cade and a legendary killer called Shannow, none mentioned it.

Far to the south a beautiful black woman walked with a golden, black-maned lion at her side and climbed the last hill before the ocean. There she stood staring out to sea, feeling the cool of the ocean breeze, watching the sun's broken reflection on the rippling waves.

Beside her the lion turned his head and focused on a herd of deer grazing on a distant hillside. He did not know why the woman had stopped here, but he was hungry and padded off in search of food.

Amaziga Archer watched him go, tears welling to her cheeks.

'Farewell, Oshere,' she said.

But the lion did not hear her ...

BLOODSTONE.

DEDICATION.

Bloodstone is dedicated with love to Tim and Dorothy Lenton for the gift of friendship, and for shining a light on the narrow way at a time when all I could see was darkness.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS.

My thanks to my editors John Jarrold at Random and Stella Graham in Hastings, and to my copy editor Jean Maund, and test reader Val Gemmell. I am also grateful for the help so freely offered from fellow writers Alan Fisher and Peter Ling. And to the many fans who have written during the years demanding more tales of Jon Shannow - my thanks!

FOREWORD.

There is something about the character and personality of Jon Shannow that leaves people loving or loathing him. Sometimes both emotions are aroused simultaneously. It is hard to pin down the reasons.

There is an iron quality about Jon Shannow that is admirable and worthy in a lone knight riding through a savage world. The decisions he makes are based solely on what he sees and experiences. He lives with a code of honour that refuses to allow evil to rage unchecked. He will always seek to defend the weak against predators.

Offset against this is his capacity for violence, and his certainty that his actions are right. It is just such certainty that can lead to horrors like the Spanish Inquisition, the butchery of the Aztecs, the burning at the stake of Catholics and Protestants, and the vileness of the Holocaust. When ruthless men are certain then the gulags and the concentration camps follow.

I have tried to present Jon Shannow as a flawed man in a flawed world. There is more to him than the nature of his deeds, just as I hope there is more to the stories than simple adventures of good versus evil. The tales have a spiritual centre not based exclusively on any recognised religion or creed. For me the message is simple, though I know from conversation and correspondence with fans that the underlying sub-text is very often - though not always -misunderstood.

But what is of enormous value to me is that Bloodstone sprang from the inter-action between myself and the readers. For some years the weight of mail was light, and I was able to respond to every fan who took the trouble to write. Increasing letters meant I could reply only to first time writers. Now even that has become difficult. But every letter is read by me, and often the points made will find their way into subsequent stories. This is especially true of Bloodstone.

The questions from readers that prompted the novel were many. One young fan wrote to ask whether Shannow was a symbol for the way I thought society should behave, as Forrest Gump is said to be a symbol for America. Others talked of the nature of legends, or the lack of a spiritual centre in politics. One wrote saying that, while he enjoyed the novels, he hated Shannow because he was the epitome of men like the Ayatollah Khomeini. Can you imagine, he asked, what any society would be like if a man like Shannow ever had power?

Could I imagine that? Yes I could. Bloodstone is the result and concludes the story of Jon Shannow.

I do not believe there will be another. Though I don't doubt there's a fan in Liverpool who knows better.

David A. Gemmell Hastings, 1995614

PROLOGUE.

I have seen the fall of worlds and the death of nations. From a place in the clouds I watched the colossal tidal wave sweep towards the coastline, swallowing the cities, drowning the mult.i.tudes.

The day was calm at first, but I knew what was to be. The city by the sea was awakening, its roads choked with vehicles, its sidewalks full, the veins of its subways clotted with humanity.

The last day was painful, for we had a congregation I had grown to love, peopled with G.o.dly folk, warm-hearted and generous. It is hard to look down upon a sea of such faces and know that within a day they will be standing before their Maker.

So I felt a great sadness as I walked across to the silver and blue craft that would carry us high towards the future. The sun was setting in glory as we waited for take-off. I buckled the seat-belt and took out my Bible. There was no solace to be found.

Saul was sitting beside me, gazing from the window. 'A beautiful evening, Deacon,' he said.

Indeed it was. But the winds of change were already stirring. - We rose smoothly into the air, the pilot informing us that the weather was changing for the worse, but that we would reach the Bahamas before the storm. I knew this would not be so.

Higher and higher we flew, and it was Saul who first saw the portent.

'How strange,' he said, tapping my arm. 'The sun appears to be rising again.'

'This is the last day, Saul,' I told him. Glancing down I saw that he had unfastened his seat- belt. I told him to buckle it. He had just done so when the first of those terrible winds struck the plane, almost flipping it. Cups, books, trays, bags all flew into the air, and there were screams of terror from our fellow pa.s.sengers.

Saul's eyes were squeezed shut in prayer, but I was calm. I leaned to my right and stared from the window. The great wave had lifted now, and was hurtling towards the coast.

I thought of the people of the city. There were those who were even now merely observing what they saw to be a miracle, the setting sun rising again. They would smile perhaps, or clap their hands in wonder. Then their eyes would be drawn to the horizon. At first they would a.s.sume a low thundercloud was darkening the sky. But soon would come the terrible realisation that the sea had risen to meet the sky, and was bearing down upon them in a seething wall of death.

I turned my eyes away. The plane juddered, then rose and fell, twisting and helpless against the awesome power of the winds. All of the pa.s.sengers believed that death would soon follow. Except me.

I knew.

I took one last glance from the window. The city looked so small now, its mighty towers seemingly no longer than a child's finger. Lights shone at the windows of the towers, cars still thronged the freeways.

And then they were gone.

Saul opened his eyes, and his terror was very great. 'What is happening, Deacon?'

'The end of the world, Saul.'

'Are we to die?'

'No. Not yet. Soon you will see what the Lord has planned for us.'

Like a straw in a hurricane the plane hurtled through the sky.