Authors: David Gemmell
At the camp Batik watched in admiration as the clash of wills continued. The horse bucked, jumped, twisted and rolled time and again, but always Shannow held on. As suddenly as it had started it was over and the gelding stopped, its head down and steam billowing from its nostrils. Shannow walked it back to the camp and dismounted, hobbling the animal once more. He unsaddled the beast and wiped it down, then stroked its neck and ears.
Hefting his saddle, he made his way to Selah’s horse and without drama, saddled it and headed north-east.
Batik relaxed as Shannow crested the hill, and lay back on the grass.
’Whatever else, he is a fine rider.’
’He is the Thunder-maker,’ said Selah with pride. ‘He will return.’
’It would be pleasant to think so,’ replied Batik, ‘but he has never come up against the Zealots. I have seen their handiwork, and I am under no illusion as to their skill.’
Selah smiled and moved to the deer meat, hacking slices for the morning stew. Batik, he thought, was a clever man. But he had never seen Shannow in action.
Six miles to the north-east, a small group of riders drew rein and studied the hills ahead. The leader - a slender young man, hawk-nosed and dark-eyed - turned to his companion.
’Are you recovered?’ he asked.
’Yes, Donai, but I am exhausted. How could he remain in the saddle? I all but killed the horse.’
’He rides well. I wish I knew more about him, and his connection with Batik.’ Donai swivelled in the saddle, his gaze resting on the two corpses draped across their horses’ backs. Xenon had possessed the lion, Cheros the crow. Both had been slain by the long-haired rider.
Donai dismounted. ‘I will seek guidance,’ he said. The other three riders sat in silence as their leader knelt on the grass with a round red-gold stone cupped in his hands. For some time he remained motionless. Then he rose.
’Achnazzar says that the man is Shannow, the Jerusalem Seeker. He is sending more men and we are to wait here.’
The men dismounted and removed their cloaks of black leather and their dark helms.
’Which six are they sending?’ asked Parin, the youngest of the riders.
’They are sending six sections; I did not ask which,’ replied Donai.
’Thirty-six men!’ queried Parin. ‘To tackle two men and a boy?’
’You wish to question Achnazzar’s judgement?’ asked Donai softly.
’No,’ replied Parin swiftly.
’No,’ agreed Donai, ‘that is very wise. The man Shannow is a Great Evil and always there is strength in that. He is Unholy, and a servant of the old dark god. He must be destroyed. Achnazzar says he carries a Bible.’
’It is said that to touch a Bible burns the hand and scars the soul,’ put in another rider.
’It could be, Karim. I don’t know. Achnazzar says to kill the man and his horse, and to burn his saddlebags without opening them.’
’I have often wondered,’ said Parin, ‘how this Book survived Armageddon?’
’There is evil everywhere,’ replied Donai. ‘When the old dark god was destroyed, his body sundered and fell to the earth like rain, and where it touched it polluted the land. Never be surprised at the places where evil dwells.’
’You can say that again,’ said Karim, a lean middle-aged rider with a grey beard. ‘I would have staked my life on Batik - there was no finer warrior among the Hellborn.’
’Your use of the word “fine” is questionable, Karim,’ said Donai. ‘The man was Unholy, but he hid the darkness within himself. But the Lord Satan has ways of illuminating the dark corners of the soul and I think’ it was no coincidence that Batik’s sister was chosen for the midwinter sacrifice.’
’I believe that,’ said Parin, ‘but what did he hope to gain by asking Shalea to flee with him?’
’A good question, Parin. He underestimated the holiness of his sister. She was naturally proud to be chosen, and when his evil touched her she went straight to Achnazzar. A fine woman, who now serves the Lord!’
’But how could he underestimate her holiness?’ persisted Parin.
’Evil is not logical. He thought she desired an earthly life and his blasphemy was his unbelief. He thought her doomed and sought to save her.’
’And now he is with the Jerusalem Man,’ remarked Karim.
’Evil invites evil,’ said Donai.
Towards noon, as the four riders ate an early meal, the sky darkened as heavy black-edged clouds masked the sun. Lightning forked in the east, and thunder cannoned deafeningly across the heavens.
’Mount up!’ shouted Donai. ‘We’ll head for the trees.’
The men scrambled to their feet, moving towards their horses. Then Donai lifted his cloak and froze. Standing at the edge of their camp, his long coat flapping in the storm winds, was the long-haired rider. Donai dragged his pistol dear of its scabbard, but a white-hot hammer smashed into his chest and drove him back against his horse. Karim, hearing the shot, dived for the ground, but Parin and the Other rider died where they stood as Shannow’s pistols flowered in flame. Karim rolled and fired, his shot cutting Shannow’s collar. The Jerusalem Man dropped to the grass and Karim fired twice more, but there was no return fire. Edging sideways, Karim hid behind Donai’s body and closed his eyes. His spirit rose and entered the mind of his horse. From this high vantage point Karim scanned the area, but there was no sign of the attacker. He moved the horse’s head and saw his own body lying behind Donai.
Shannow rose from the long grass behind Karim’s body, his pistol pointed. Karim’s spirit flew from the horse straight into Shannow’s mind and the Jerusalem Man staggered as pain flooded his brain and bright lights exploded behind his eyes. Then darkness followed and Shannow found himself in a tunnel deep in the earth. Scuffling noises came to him and giant rats issued from gaping holes in the walls, their teeth as long as knives.
On the edge of panic Shannow closed his inner eyes, blocking the nightmare. He could feel the hot breath of the rats on his face, feel their teeth tearing at his skin. Slowly he opened his eyes, ignoring the huge rodents and looking beyond them. As if through a mist he could see horses and before them two bodies. Shannow lifted his hand and aimed his pistol.
The pistol became a snake that reared back, sinking its teeth into his wrist. Shannow ignored the snake and tightened his grip on the pistol butt he no longer felt. The gun bucked in his hand.
Karim fled for his body, arriving just as the second shell entered his skull. He twitched once and was still.
Shannow fell to his knees and looked around him. Four corpses littered the grass and two others were draped across two saddled horses. Shannow blinked.
’Do I not hate them, O Lord, that hate thee? And am I not grieved with those that rise up against thee? I hate them with a perfect hatred. I count them mine enemies.’
He gathered their weapons and ammunition and then searched the bodies. Each of the men carried a small stone, the size of a sparrow’s egg, in a pouch around his neck. The stones were red-gold in colour and veined with black. Shannow pocketed them and then led the horses back to his own and returned to the camp-site.
Batik was huddled under his blankets as the rain doused the fire. Shannow called Selah to him.
’Let us get back to the trees and out of this weather,’ he said, as the wind picked up and the sky darkened.
Batik did not move. ‘What happened out there?’ he called.
’I killed them. Now let’s get out of the rain.’
’How many were there?’
’Four. Two others were already dead.’
’But how can I know that? How do I know you are still Shannow?’ The blanket fell away and Shannow found himself staring down the muzzle of the Hellborn’s pistol.
’How can I prove it to you?’
’Name your God.’
’Jehovah, Lord of Hosts.’
’And what of Satan?’
’The fallen star, the Prince of Lies.’
’I believe you, Shannow. No Hellborn could blaspheme like that!’
Beneath the spreading pine on the hillside, the strength of the rain lessened and Shannow struggled to light a fire. He gave up after some minutes and placed his back against a tree.
Batik sat nearby, his face grey, dark rings beneath his eyes. ‘You are in pain?’ asked Selah.
’A little. Tell me, Shannow, did you search the bodies?’
’Yes.’
’Did you find anything of interest?’
’What did you have in mind?’
’Small leather pouches, containing stones.’
’I took all six.’
’Let me have them, would you?’
’For what purpose, Batik?’
’My own was taken from me before I escaped and without it these wounds will take weeks to heal. It may be that I can use another.’
Shannow took the pouches from his greatcoat pocket and dropped them into Batik’s lap. One by one the Hellborn took the stones in his hand, closing his eyes in concentration. Nothing happened until he reached the fifth stone; it glowed briefly and Batik smiled.
’It was worth a try,’ he said. ‘But when you kill the man, you break the power. Still, it eased the pain before it faded.’ He hurled the stones aside.
’Where do you get those things?’ asked Shannow.
’They are birth gifts from Lord Abaddon; the size of the stone depends on your station. We call them Satanseeds.’
’Where are they from?’
’Who knows, Shannow? It is said that Satan delivers them to Abaddon at Walpurnacht, the Eve of Souls.’
’You believe that?’
’I disbelieve nothing - it’s usually safer that way.’
Selah picked up a loose stone and twirled it in his hands.
’It’s very pretty,’ he said, ‘and it feels warm to the touch -but I would prefer a fire.’
The wet kindling Shannow had set burst into flames and Selah leapt back, dropping the stone which glowed now like a lantern.
’Nicely done, boy,’ said Batik. ‘Now take the stone and hold it over my wounds.’ Selah did as he was bid, but the glowing faded and the stone grew cold.
’Still we have a fire,’ grunted Batik.
Shannow awoke with a start, his heart pounding. He sat up and looked around him. The cave was warm and snug and a fire blazed brightly against the far wall. He relaxed and settled back.
Cave?
He jerked upright and reached for his guns, but they were not with him. He had gone to sleep alongside Batik and Selah in a wood by a narrow stream. And he had awakened here, weaponless.
A shadow moved and a man approached the fire and sat down facing him.
It was the handsome, silver-templed Abaddon, Lord of the Hellborn.
’Do not be alarmed, Mr Shannow. I merely wished to talk.’
’We have nothing to talk about.’
’Surely not? With my hunters closing in?’
’Let them come.’
’Such arrogance, Mr Shannow. Think you to slay all my men with your pitiful pistols?’
Shannow said nothing and Abaddon warmed his hands at the fire. He was wearing a dazzling white robe which glistened gold in the firelight.
’A man, a boy and a traitor,’ whispered Abaddon, ’set against a newborn nation of lusty warriors. It is almost comic.’ His eyes met Shannow’s. ‘You know I have lived for almost as long as your friend, Karitas, and I have seen many things - both in my old world and in this new, squalling infant. There are no heroes, Mr Shannow. Ultimately we all compromise and secure for ourselves a little immortality, or a little wealth, or a little pleasure. There are no longer any Galahads; indeed, I wonder if there ever were.’
’I've never heard of a Galahad,’ said Shannow.
’He was a Knight, Mr Shannow, a warrior who was said to fight for God. He never succumbed to women nor any pleasures of the flesh, and he was allowed to find the Holy Grail. It is a pleasant tale for children - though not Hellborn children.’
’What do you want from me?’
’I want you to die, Mr Shannow. To cease to be.’
’Why?’
’On a whim, perhaps. It has been said that you are a danger to me. I cannot see it, but I accept that the evidence suggest some truth to the fear.’
’You do not interest me,’ said Shannow. ‘You have nothing that I want. Where is the danger?’
’Who knows?’ replied Abaddon, smiling smoothly. ‘You are a thorn in my side and I need to pluck it out and throw it in the fire.’
Then bring on your demons,’ said Shannow, rising to his feet.
Abaddon chuckled and shook his head. ‘I tried that, Mr Shannow, and you hurt me. Truly. But then what are my demons compared with yours?’
’I have no demons.’
’No? What drives you then to seek a buried city? Why do you cling to your superstitions? Why do you fight your lonely battles?’
’I will find Jerusalem,’ said Shannow softly. ‘Alive or dead, I will find my way home.’
’Home? What did you say to the delightful Fray Taybard? A rock in a lake? The ripples fade and all is as it was. Yes, you need to find a way home.’ Abaddon lifted a stick and laid it gently on the fire. ‘You know, Mr Shannow, many of my men are just like you - especially amongst the Zealots. They worship their god with a pure heart, and they would die gladly for him. Men like you are as leaves in the Autumn. You are a Bible-reading man -I am surprised you have not yet seen it.’
There is nothing like the Hellborn in my Bible,’ whispered Shannow.
’Mr Shannow! Is not lying a sin? I refer you to Joshua and the Israelite invasion of Canaan. Every man, woman and child in thirty-two cities was slain under the express orders of your god. How are the Hellborn different? Don’t bother to answer; there is no difference. I founded the Hellborn two and a half centuries ago and I have built the nation along the same lines as Israel. I now have a fanatic army, and a people fired with a zeal you could not imagine. And they have had their miracles, their parting of the Red Sea, the healings and the unimaginable wonders of magic.
’In some ways your position is amusing. You are the man of god among a nation of devil worshippers. And yet you are the unholy one; you are the vampire in the night. Stories of you will one day be told to Hellborn children to keep them quiet in their beds.’
Shannow scowled. ‘Everything you say is an obscenity.’