Stones Of Power - The Complete Chronicles Of The Jerusalem Man Part 88

Strolling back to Nestor, he said. 'Let's see how you shoot.'

Nestor took a long, deep breath, and wished he had the nerve to refuse. Drawing the pistol, he eased back the hammer and sighted along the barrel. 'Hold it,' said Steiner. 'You're tilting your head and sighting with your left eye.'

'The right is not as strong,' admitted Nestor.

'Put the gun away.' Nestor eased the hammer forward and bolstered the pistol. 'All right, now point your finger at my saddle.'

'What?'

'Just point at my saddle. Do it!' Nestor reddened, but he lifted his right hand and pointed.

'Now point at the tree on your right. Good.'

'I never had much trouble pointing, Mr Steiner. It's the shooting that lets me down.'

Steiner chuckled. 'No, Nestor. It's the lack of pointing that lets you down. Now this time draw the pistol, c.o.c.k it and point it at the rock. Don't aim. Just point and fire.'

Nestor knew what would happen and wished with all his heart that he had chosen to stay home today. Obediently he drew the long-barrelled pistol and pointed at the rock, firing almost instantly, desperate to get the embarra.s.sing moment over and done with.

The rock exploded.

'Wow!' shouted Nestor. 'By d.a.m.n I did it!'

'Yes,' agreed Steiner. That's one rock that will never threaten innocent folks again.'

Steiner moved to his horse and Nestor realised the man was about to leave. 'Wait!' he called. 'Will you join me in some lunch? I got sandwiches and some honey biscuits. It ain't much, but you're welcome.'

As they ate Nestor talked of his ambition to become a Crusader, and maybe even a Jerusalem Rider one day. Steiner listened politely, no hint of mockery in his expression.

Nestor talked for longer than he ever had to one person at one time, and eventually stumbled to a halt. 'Gee, I'm sorry, Mr Steiner. I think I near bored you to death. It's just, n.o.body ever listened so good before.'

'I like ambition, son, it's a good thing. A man wants something bad enough, and he'll generally get it if he works at it, and he's unlucky enough.'

'Unlucky?' queried Nestor.

Steiner nodded. 'In most cases the dream is better than the reality. Pity the man who fulfils all his dreams, Nestor.'

'Did you do that, sir?'

'Certainly did.' Steiner's face looked suddenly solemn and Nestor switched the subject.

'You ever been a Crusader, Mr Steiner?' he asked. 'I never seen anybody shoot that good.'

'No, not a Crusader.'

'Not ... a brigand?'

Steiner laughed aloud. 'I could have been, son, but I wasn't. I was lucky. I had me a curious ambition, though. I wanted to be the man who killed the Jerusalem Man.'

Nestor's mouth dropped open. That's a terrible thing to say.'

'It is now. But back then he was just a man with a big, big name. I was working for Edric Scayse and he warned me to change that ambition. I said, "There's no way he can beat me, Mr Scayse." You know what he said? He told me, "He wouldn't beat you, Clem, he'd kill you." He was right. They broke the mould when they made Shannow. Deadliest man I ever knew.'

'You knew him? Lord, you're a lucky man, Mr Steiner.'

'Luck certainly has played a part in my life,' said Steiner. 'Now I'd best be on my way.'

'You're going to look for the Preacher?'

'I'll find him, son,' said Clem, easing himself to his feet. In that moment Nestor knew what he wanted to do; knew it with a certainty he had never before experienced.

'Could I come with you, Mr Steiner? I mean, if you wouldn't mind.'

'You've got a job here, boy, and a settled life. This could take some time.'

'I don't care. Since my folks died I've been working for my uncle. But I think I could learn more from you, Mr Steiner, than ever I could from him. And I'm sick of counting out Barta coin, and docking wages for lost hours. I'm tired of counting timber and writing out orders. Will you let me ride with you?'

'I'll be riding into town to buy supplies, Nestor. You'll need a blanket roll and a heavy coat.

A rifle would be handy.'

'Yes, sir,' said Nestor happily. 'I've got a rifle. I'll get the other gear from Mr Broome.'

'How old are you, son?'

'Seventeen, sir.'

Clem Steiner smiled. 'I can just remember what it was like to be seventeen. Let's go.'

Josiah Broome pushed out his bare feet towards the hearth, trying to concentrate on the warmth of the flames, while ignoring the constant stream of words coming from the kitchen. It was not easy: Else Broome was not a woman to be ignored. Broome stared into the fire, his thoughts gloomy. He had helped build Pilgrim's Valley back in the old days, and then had been one of the leaders when the town was rebuilt after the invasion from Atlantis. Josiah Broome had survived the a.s.sault by the scaled Lizard warriors, known as Daggers, and had tried in his own small way to make Pilgrim's Valley a decent place for the families that settled there.

He abhorred men of violence, the hard-drinking, brawling warriors who once peopled this land. And he loathed men like Jon Shannow, whose idea of justice was to slaughter any who crossed their path. Now, in these enlightened days, Jon Shannow was considered a saint, a holy man of G.o.d. Else's voice droned on, and he noticed a lilt at the end of the sentence. 'I am sorry, my dear, I didn't catch that,' he said.

Else Broome eased her vast bulk through the doorway. 'I asked if you agreed that we should invite the Apostle Saul to the barbecue?'

'Yes, dear. Whatever you think best.'

'I was only saying to the Widow Scayse the other day . . .' The words rolled on as she retreated to the kitchen and Broome blanked them from his mind.

Jon Shannow, the saint.

The Preacher had laughed at it. Broome remembered their last evening together in the small vestry behind the church.

'It is not important, Josiah,' said Jon Cade. 'What I used to be is irrelevant now. What is important is that G.o.d's word should not be corrupted. The Book speaks of love as well as judgement. And I'll not be persuaded that the Wolvers are denied that love.'

'I don't disagree with you, Preacher. In fact of all men I hold you in the highest regard. You turned your back on the ways of violence, and have shown great courage during these last years. You are an inspiration to me. But the people of Pilgrim's Valley are being seduced by the Deacon's new teachings. And I fear for you, and the church. Could you not minister to the Wolvers outside town? Would that not allow the anger to die down?'

'I expect that it would,' agreed Cade. 'But to do so would be like admitting to the ignorant and the prejudiced that they have a right to deny my congregation a service within my church. I cannot allow that. Why is it so hard for them to see the truth? The Wolvers did not seek to be the way they are, even the Deacon admits to that. And there is no more evil in them than in any race.'

'I don't know what the Deacon thinks. But I have read the words of his Apostle Saul, and he claims they are not of G.o.d, and are therefore of the Devil. A pure land, he says, needs pure people.'

Cade nodded. 'I don't disagree with that, and there is much good in what the Deacon has said in the past. I respect the man. He came from a world gone mad, depravity and l.u.s.t, corruption and disease of the body and the spirit. And he seeks to make this' world a better place. But no one knows better than I the dangers of living by iron rules.'

'Come, come, my friend, are you not still living by those rules? This is but a building. If G.o.d - if there is a G.o.d - does care about the Wolvers, he will care about them in the mountains just as well as here. I fear there will be violence.'

'Then we. shall turn the other cheek, Josiah. A soft answer turneth away wrath. Have you seen Beth lately?'

'She came in to the store with Bull Kovac and two of her riders. She looked well, Jon. It's a shame the two of you couldn 't make a go of it - you were so well suited.'

Cade smiled ruefully. 'She was in love with the Jerusalem Man, not with the Preacher. It was hard for her-especially when the brigands raided, and I did nothing to stop them. She told me I was no longer a man.'

'That must have hurt.'

Cade nodded. 'I've known worse pain, Josiah. A long time ago I killed a child. I was being attacked, there were armed men all around me. I killed four of them, then heard a noise behind me and I swung and fired. It was a boy, outplaying. He haunts me still. What might he have been? A surgeon? A minister? A loving father and husband? But, yes, losing Beth was a deep blow.'

'You must have been tempted to take up your pistols during the raid.'

'Not once. I sometimes dream that I am riding again, pistols by my side. Then I wake in a cold sweat.' Cade stood and moved to a chest at the far end of the room. Flipping it open, he lifted clear a gun-belt. 'The weapons of the Thundermaker.' Broome stood and walked across to stand beside the Preacher.

'They look as they always did.'

'Aye. Sometimes at night I sit here and clean them. It helps to remind me of what once I was. And what, G.o.d willing, I will never become again.'

'You're not listening to a word I say,' said Else Broome, stalking back into the living-room.

'What's that, my love?'

'What is the matter with you? I was asking if you would stand Oath for that McAdam woman.'

'Of course. Beth is an old friend.'

'Pah! She's a trouble-maker, and we'd all be better off if she were sent from the Valley.'

'In which way does she cause trouble, my dear?'

'Are you soft in the head?' she stormed. 'She shot at men hunting Wolvers. She speaks against the Deacon, and even her own son says she's been seduced by Satan. The woman is a disgrace.'

'She's a good Christian woman, Else. Just like you.'

'I take that as an insult,' snapped Else Broome, her multiple chins quivering. 'You have a store to run, and I don't think people will take it kindly if you are seen to support a woman of her kind. You'll lose business to Ezra Feard, you'll see. And I don't see why it should be you who gives Oath for her. Let her find someone else who doesn't mind being a laughing- stock.'

Broome turned his attention back to the fire.

'And another thing . . .' began Else Broome.

But her husband was not listening. He was thinking of five dead raiders on the road, and the tortured spirit of the man who had killed them.

CHAPTER FOUR.

The world does not need more charismatic men. It does not need more intellectual men.

No, and it does not need more caring men. What it cries out for is more holy men.

The Wisdom of the Deacon Chapter ii * * *

Seth Wheeler pulled the blanket up tight around his ears and settled his head against his saddle. The night air was cold and it had been two years since he had slept out in the open.

The blanket was thin; either that or I'm getting old, he thought. No, it's the d.a.m.n blanket.

Sitting up, Seth held the blanket close to him as he moved to the fire. It was burning low now, just a tiny flicker of flame above the coals. There were four sticks left, and these would normally have been left for the morning. Casting a nervous glance at his four sleeping comrades, he added the wood to the fire. It blazed instantly to life and Seth shivered as the warmth touched him. G.o.d, he'd almost forgotten just how good it felt to be warm.

There were no clouds in the night sky, and a ground frost was sprinkling the gra.s.s with specks of silvered white. The wind gusted, scattering ash across Seth's boots. He stared down at the sticks. Why did they have to burn so d.a.m.ned fast?

This high in the mountains there was little dead wood, and his men had gathered what there was close by. Seth had two choices: return to his cold bed-roll, or gather more wood.

Rising with a softly whispered curse, he stepped across one sleeping body and walked to the thin line of trees.

It had been a long ride in search of the killer. They had found his tracks soon enough, and followed him up into the mountains. But the pursuers had lost his trail twice after that and four fruitless days had followed. Then they'd picked up the wrong trail and come upon an old man and a mule. Strange old coot, thought Seth. Odd eyes, looked as if they could see right through you.

'We're hunting a man,' Seth had told him. 'We're Crusaders from Purity.'

'I know that,' the oldster had replied. 'Spent the night in a cave yonder with the man you're looking for.'

'Which way was he heading?'

'North. Into the wild lands.'

'We'll find him,' said Seth.

'Hope you don't, son. Strikes me you're good men. Shame to see such men die.'

'Is he a friend of yours, this man?' asked Seth. The old man shook his head.

'He only met me last night. But I'd say I like him. You best be careful, Crusader. Men like him don't offer second chances.' The old man had grinned at them and, without another word, had ridden off.

Short on food, and getting colder by the day, the Crusaders had finally found the killer's trail. Tomorrow they would have him.

Seth gathered an armful of sticks and a thick, broken branch and started back towards the fire. Something cold touched the back of his neck, and an even colder voice spoke. 'You are making a mistake that will lead you to your death.'