Authors: David Gemmell
’I know nothing of your lost civilization, Lewis,’ said Shannow softly. ‘Karitas would never tell me. I don’t know whether it was beautiful, but if that gun you are holding is an example of what they had then I doubt it. Did some version of the Hellborn exist even then, sweeping across the land to bring death to thousands? Or were there weapons even more terrible than that monstrosity? Perhaps whole cities were wiped out. And you want to bring this back? Some time ago I was wounded and I was taken to a small village. Peaceful people, Lewis; happy people. They were led by a man who was once a Guardian, but they’re not alive now. The women were raped and then their throats were cut. And Karitas? He was crucified. I don’t doubt that if their spirits were still here, they would applaud your dream. But then their souls aren’t here, are they? They were sucked into your Blood Stone to fuel more death and despair.’
’That’s enough! I was told to kill you and I’ve disobeyed that order. If you leave now, you’ll live, Shannow. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’
’Of course it does, Lewis. No man wants to die and that’s why I am talking to you.I don’t want to kill you, but I must find the Stone.’
Lewis lifted the rifle to his shoulder. ‘If you do not turn this instant, I will send you to Hell.’
’But that’s where I want to go, Lewis. That’s where it is,’ answered Shannow, pointing to the Ark.
In the bright moonlight Shannow saw Lewis tense, the rifle butt being drawn more tightly into his shoulder. The Jerusalem Man hurled himself from the saddle just as the rifle exploded in a thundering roar of shells. He hit the ground hard and rolled behind a boulder as chips and fragments screamed around him. Then he came to his knees with his pistol in his hand. His horse was down, thrashing its legs in the air, and a coldness settled on Shannow as he cocked the pistol and dived to the left, rolling on his shoulder. Lewis spun, the rifle bucking in his hands, shells sending spurts of earth and stone to Shannow’s right. The pistol levelled and a single shot punched Lewis from his feet. Shannow moved to the body: Lewis was dead. The Jerusalem Man walked to the dying horse and shot it through the head, then he reloaded his pistol and began the long walk to the ruins.
’No man wants to die, Lewis.’ The words came back to him and he felt the truth of them. Shannow didn’t want to die; he wanted to find Jerusalem and to know peace. He looked up at the Ark and the glowing lights, listening to the music. Then he glanced back at Lewis’ body, merging with the moon shadows.
He walked on to the rock doorway and there, drawing his pistol, he stepped to the side. As the door opened, Shannow’s pistol came up, but the steel tunnel beyond was empty. Keeping to the wall, he stepped inside and the door closed behind him. There were no stairs leading down, no doorways that he could see and he cursed softly.
The elevator door whispered open, beckoning him. Sheathing his pistol, he stepped inside.
The doors closed and the elevator lurched slightly; when they opened again he saw what he had expected to see: armed guards with pistols pointed at his chest. They were dressed strangely in flat dark blue peaked caps and doubled-breasted serge jackets. In their midst stood the giant Sarento in a similar suit, but white, with brass buttons and blue epaulettes each bearing three gold bars.
’You really are a disappointing man, Mr Shannow,’ Sarento greeted him.
The guards moved in and disarmed the Jerusalem Man, who offered them no resistance. He was led out and found himself, not in the shining hallway he remembered, but in an enormous room filled with extravagantly carved furniture, luxurious carpets and stained glass windows.
’Magnificent, is it not?’ said Sarento.
Shannow said nothing. He stared in silent wonder at the stained glass depicting sailing ships and Biblical saints, surrounded by gilded panels of exquisite carpentry.
’Why did you come back, Mr Shannow?’
’To destroy you.’
’Did you really believe you could work one of your Brigand-killing miracles amongst the Guardians? Surely not?’
People started to filter into the room - all were dressed in curious fashion. The women wore long elaborate dresses; the men had black coats and white shirts.
Take him below,’ said Sarento. ‘I’ll see him later.’
The four guards walked Shannow to a carpeted staircase and on to a door bearing a brass plaque: B-S9. Inside was a four-poster bed with velvet curtains and a small writing table inlaid with gold.
’Sit down,’ said one of the guards, a young man with short cropped blond hair. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’
They waited in uneasy silence until Sarento joined them. He removed his white cap and dropped it to the table.
’Tell me about the ship,’ said Shannow and Sarento chuckled.
’You are a cool man, Mr Shannow. I like you.’ The giant sat back on the bed and peeled off his white gloves. ‘Are you impressed by Rebirth?” ‘Of course,’ admitted Shannow. ‘And so you should be. This was one of the largest ships ever made. It was eight hundred and eighty-two feet long and weighed 46, 000 tons. It was a miracle of engineering, and one of the wonders of the ancient world.’ Shannow suddenly laughed. ‘What is amusing you, sir?’
’Do you like parables, Sarento? It seems to me that this ship mirrors your lunatic dreams - opulent and civilized, and buried by the sea.’
’Except that we have brought it back,’ snapped Sarento.
’Yes, to sit on a mountain above the ruins of a civilization you did not know even existed. A ship on a mountain - huge and useless, like your ambition.’
’A ship on a mountain? Come with me, Mr Shannow. I would like to show you what real power is.’
With the guards around him, Sarento led Shannow to the upper promenade and out on to the boat deck. The sea stretched out to a distant horizon and the Ark glided majestically on a star-speckled ocean. Shannow could smell the salt in the air, while gulls wheeled and dived above the giant funnels.
’Stunning, is it not?’ asked Sarento.
Shannow shivered. ‘This is not possible.’
’All things are possible with the Mother Stone.’
’And we are truly at sea?’
’No. The Ark sits as always on her mountain. What you are seeing and feeling is an image projected by magic. However, were you to cut a hole in the ship’s side water would pour in - salt water. For the Stone would carry on the charade. And if you were to jump over the side, you would hit the sea, ice-cold and deadly. But then you would pass through it and plummet to the ruins of Atlantis. This is power, Mr Shannow, just a fraction of the power the Stone can hold. Had I wished it, the Ark would sail on a real sea. One day it will and then I will sail it into the harbour of New York.’
’How many souls will that cost?’ asked Shannow.
’You have a small mind, Shannow.’ Sarento shook his head. ‘What are a few lives compared with a golden future?’
’Can we go back inside?’ said Shannow. ‘It’s a little cold out here.’
’We can, Shannow. You, I’m afraid, are leaving the ship here.’
’Just when I was beginning to enjoy it,’ said Shannow. Then as Sarento signalled the guards forward, he crouched and whipped the double-edged hunting knife from his boot. The first guard died as the blade slashed across his throat; Shannow snatched the man’s pistol from his hand and leapt at Sarento. As the big man dived to the deck, Shannow followed him, dropping the knife and hauling at Sarento’s collar - the pistol cocked, the barrel pushing under Sarento’s chin.
’Be so kind as to tell your guards to put up their weapons,’ hissed Shannow, hauling Sarento to his feet.
The three remaining guards looked to their leader.
’Do it,’ he said. ‘I shall end this farce in my own way.’
’Take me to the Stone,’ said Shannow.
’But of course. Your infantile heroics have earned you that, at the very least.’
’I congratulate you on your calm.’
’You may feel vou have the upper hand, Mr Shannow, but the magic that raised the Ark from the sea floor will not be undone by a madman with a Hellborn revolver.’
Sarento led the way below.
And the Titanic sailed on through the ghostly sea …
Abaddon’s dreams were troubled and he awoke clutching at the air. The black silk sheets were damp with sweat and he rolled to his feet. He had felt so good three hours before when Donna Taybard had been brought to Babylon. And tonight the reign of the Hellborn would begin in earnest; all the star charts had confirmed it. Donna was the sacrifice the Devil had been waiting for, and all the powers of Hell would flow through Abaddon the moment he devoured her.
Yet now the Hellborn king sat trembling on his bed, plagued by nameless fears which had haunted his dreams. He had seen Jon Shannow deep in Hell, battling Beelzebub with sword and pistol. And then the Jerusalem Man had turned his eyes on Abaddon, and in those eyes the king saw death.
The fear would not pass and Abaddon moved to the cabinet by the window and poured a goblet of wine, sipping it until his nerves settled. He thought of summoning Achnazzar, but dismissed it. The High Priest had become increasingly nervous in the king’s presence these last few days.
’Daddy!’ The child’s cry jerked Abaddon from his reverie and he swung round, but the room was empty. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a long rectangular mirror and stood, drawing in his belly to present a powerful profile.
Abaddon, Lord of the Pit!
’Daddy!’ This time the sound came from the sitting room beyond. Abaddon ran through the open doorway only to be confronted by an empty desk and an open window. He blinked and wiped the sweat from his face.
In the streets beyond the palace walls he could hear the chants of the mob: ‘Satan! Satan! Satan!’
Walpurnacht was a night of beauty when the people could see their god walking amongst them, feel his presence in the air about them, see his image in the glow of their Blood Stones.
But this night was special. This night saw the dawning era of the Hellborn, for when Donna Taybard’s powers flowed into the knives and her body was consumed by the Master, the magic of Hell would be unleashed upon the world.
The Lord of the Pit would become the King of the Earth.
’I'm frightened, Daddy.’
Abaddon whirled round to see a blonde child of seven, hugging a threadbare doll.
’Sarah?’
The child ran away into the bedroom and Abaddon followed, but the room was empty. He knew it was a hallucination, for Sarah had been dead for centuries. The wine was too strong.
But so were the memories … He poured another glass and returned to the mirror, staring at the bloodshot grey eyes and the flowing hair now silver at the temples. The face was as it had been for decades - a middle-aged man, strong and in his prime.
It was not Lawrence Welby who stared back at him. Welby was dead - as dead as his wife and daughter.
’I am the king,’ he whispered. The Satanlord. Go away, Welby. Don’t stare at me. Who are you to judge?’
’Read me a story, Daddy.’
’Leave me alone!’ he screamed, squeezing shut his eyes and refusing to see the apparition he knew lay upon his bed.
’Read her a story, Lawrence. You know she won’t sleep until you do.’
Welby opened his eyes and drank in the sight of the golden-haired woman by the door.
’Ruth?’
’Have you forgotten how to read a story?’
’This is a dream.’
’Don’t forget us, Lawrence.’
’Are you truly here?’ he asked, stumbling forward. But the golden-haired woman vanished and Welby sank to his knees.
The door opened. ‘Ruth?’
’No, my Lord. Are you ill?’
Abaddon pushed himself to his feet. ‘How dare you come here unannounced, Achnazzar!’ said the king.
’The guards came for me, sire. They said you sounded . . . distraught.’
’I am well. What do the star charts show?’
’Magelin says it is a time of great change, as one would expect at the dawn of an empire.’
’And Cade?’
’He is bottled up in a nowhere pass where he can neither escape nor conquer.’
’That all sounds well, priest. Now tell me about Shannow. Tell me again how he died falling from a cliff.’
Achnazzar bowed low. ‘It was an error, sire, but he is now a prisoner of the Guardians and they mean to kill him. The Jerusalem Man is a danger no longer. After tonight he will seem as the gnat in the ear of the dragon.’
’After tonight? The night is not yet over, priest.’
The morning of Walpurnacht dawned bright and clear and Batik awoke filled with a sense of burning anticipation. His skin had become hypersensitive to touch, and his body trembled with suppressed emotion.
Even the air in the room seemed to crackle with static, as if a lightning storm were hovering over the city.
Batik rose from his bed and drew in a deep, shuddering breath.
The joy of Walpurnacht was upon him. His memory flashed images of past festivals when he had been filled with a holy strength and had coupled with a dozen willing women, never seeming to tire.
Remembering Madden and Griffen, anger washed over him.
What link did he have with such farm-working peasants?
How had he allowed himself to become involved with their petty squabbles?
He would kill them both and enjoy the day, he decided.
He moved to his pistol and settled the butt in his palm. It felt good and he burned with a desire to kill, to destroy.
Jon Shannow leapt to his thoughts . . .
His friend.
’I have no friends. No need of friends,’ hissed Batik.
But the image remained and again he saw Shannow standing in the dark of the dungeon hall.
His friend.
’Damn you, Shannow!’ he screamed and fell to his knees, the gun clattering to the floor. His joy evaporated.
Downstairs Jacob Madden was battling with his own demons. For him it was almost worse than for Batik, for he had never experienced the surging emotions of Walpurnacht. There was no joy for Madden - only the pain of his memories, his defeats and his tragedies. He wanted to run from the building and kill every Hellborn he saw; wanted them to suffer as he suffered.
But Griffin needed him, Donna Taybard needed him and for Madden a duty like that was an iron chain on his emotions. It would not break for a selfish motive.
So he sat in his misery and waited for Batik.
The Hellborn dressed swiftly and cleaned his weapons. Then he moved down into the wide living area and checked on Griffin. The man’s colour was good and he slept peacefully.
’How are you?’ he asked Madden, laying his hand on the man’s shoulder.
’Don’t touch me, you bastard!’ snapped Madden, knocking the arm away and surging to his feet.
’Be calm, Jacob,’ urged Batik. ‘It is Walpurnacht - it is in the air. Breathe deeply and relax.’
’Relax? Everything I loved is gone and my life is now a shell. When do we go after Donna?’
Tonight.’
’Why not now?’
’In full light?’
Madden sank back into his chair. ‘What is the matter with me?’
’I told you, it is Walpurnacht. Tonight the Devil walks and you will see him. But from now until he is gone, you will feel his presence in the air around you. During the next twenty-four hours there will be many fights, many deaths, many rapes and thousands of new lives begun.’
Madden moved to the table and poured himself a mug of water. His hands were trembling and sweat shone on his face.
’I can’t take too much of this,’ he whispered.
’I'll help you through it,’ said Batik. Outside in the narrow alleys the sound of chanting came to them. From somewhere nearby a scream, piercing and shrill, rose above the chants.
’Someone just died,’ said Madden.
’Yes, she won’t be the last.’
The day wore on. Griffin awoke, and the pain from his wounds doubled. He screamed and cursed Madden, his language foul and his eyes full of malice.
’Take no notice,’ said Batik softly.
Towards dusk, with Griffin asleep once more, Batik readied himself for the night, smearing his face with red dye. Madden refused to disguise himself and Batik shrugged.
’It is only paint, Jacob.’
’I don’t want to look like a devil. If I am to die, I’ll die like a man.’
Towards midnight the two men rechecked their guns and slipped out into the street, heading towards the centre of the city. In the main thoroughfare they came upon a huge crowd of dancing, chanting people.” Scores of men and women writhed together in the nearby doorways and alleyways. Madden looked away.
A young girl, her scarlet dress spattered with blood, was slashing at herself with a curved knife. She saw Madden and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck.
Madden hurled her from him, but another woman took her place, running her hands over his body and whispering promises of joy. He pulled himself clear and thrust his way into the crowd after Batik.
The crowd moved on towards the temple square and all the chants merged into a single word, repeated again and again.
’Satan . . . Satan . . . Satan . . .’
As they neared the long steps to the temple, the night sky blazed with red light and a shimmering figure appeared, hundreds of feet tall. Madden’s mouth opened and he shrank back from the colossus. It had the legs of a goat and the body of a powerful man, but the head was bestial and double-horned.
A huge hand reached down towards the crowd and the young woman with the blood-drenched dress was lifted by the men around her and hurled into the taloned hand. It closed about her and lifted to the gaping mouth. The girl disappeared and the crowd cheered.
This way,’ shouted Batik, pulling Madden towards an alley beside the temple. ‘We don’t have long.’
’Acolytes’ entrance,’ said Batik as they reached an oval wooden door at the side of the temple. It was locked but he lifted his foot and sent the door crashing open. They stepped inside and Madden drew his pistol.
’We must get up to the temple - they will be bringing Donna out to him any moment now.’
’You mean he’s going to eat her?’ asked Madden incredulously.
Batik ignored him and set off at a run. Meanwhile a temple guard rounded the corner but Batik shot him down and hurdled the body, taking the stairs beyond two steps at a time.
They reached another corridor and two more guards appeared. A shell shrieked past Madden’s ear and he dived for the floor, triggering his pistol twice. One guard pitched backwards, the other staggered but lifted his rifle once more. Batik fired twice and the man crumpled to the floor.
At the top of another winding stair, Batik paused before the door. He loaded his pistol and turned to Madden.
This is it, my friend. Are you ready?’
’I've been ready all my life,’ said Madden. ‘I believe you,’ replied Batik, with a grin.
Shannow pushed Sarento into the elevator and stepped in behind him. The doors closed and the giant smiled.
’Level G,’ he said and the elevator shuddered. ‘You have a number of surprises still in store, Mr Shannow. I hope you enjoy them.’
’Stand against the door, Sarento.’
’But of course, though your fears are groundless - there are no guards in the cavern. Tell me, what do you hope to achieve? You cannot destroy the Stone.’
The doors opened suddenly and Sarento spun and dived through. Shannow followed him and opened fire but the bullets ricocheted from a huge stalactite. The Jerusalem Man looked around him at the immense cavern with a spherical roof that glistened with gold threads and shining stones. Stalactites hung like pillars. He moved into the glowing light near the centre, where a small black lake surrounded an island on which stood a circle of standing stones, black and glistening.
’You stand at the heart of the empire, Shannow,’ came Sarento’s disembodied voice. ‘Here every dream is a reality. Can you feel the power of the Blood Stone?’
Shannow scanned the cavern, but there was no sign of the giant. Walking to the edge of the lake, he saw a narrow bridge of seasoned wood on the other side of the stones. Traversing the lake, he mounted the bridge and crossed to the circle. At the first monolith he stopped to examine the sides. A deep indentation met his fingers. He pressed inside and heard a latch drop. A small section dropped away but when he thrust his hand inside it was empty.
’Did you think I would leave the gold there?’ said Sarento.
Shannow spun to see the giant was standing at the altar. He was dressed now in the armour of Atlantis, a golden breastplate with a golden stone above the heart. Upon his head he wore a plumed helm and in his hands was a sword.
Shannow fired, but the bullet screamed away up into the cavern roof. Taking careful aim he fired once more, this time at the grinning face.
’Pendarric’s armour of invincibility, Mr Shannow. Nothing can harm me now - whereas you are defenceless. It is fitting that we should meet like this: two Rolynd warriors within the great circle.’
’Where is the Mother Stone?’ said Shannow, sheathing his pistol.
’You are standing on it, Shannow. Behold!’ The ground beneath his feet blurred, the covering of dank earth shimmering into nothing, becoming red-gold veined with slender black. All across the circle the ground glowed like a lantern.
’It is said that to kill a Rolynd brings great power,’ said Sarento, moving forward with sword in hand. ‘We shall see. How do you like the sword, Shannow? Beautiful, yes? It is a sword of power. Sipstrassi. In the old tongue they were called Pynral-ponas: swords from the Stone. What they cut, they kill. Come, Mr Shannow, let me cut you.’ Shannow backed away towards the bridge. ‘Where can you run? Back to the Titanic and my guards? Face me, Rolynd. Meet your death with courage. Come, I do not have much time.’ ‘I’m in no hurry,’ said Shannow. Sarento leapt forward, the great sword flashing in the air, but Shannow dived under the blade and rolled to his feet. ‘A nice maneouvre. It is always interesting to see an animal run for its life but what will it gain you? A few more seconds.’ As Sarento ran at him Shannow vaulted to the altar and jumped down on the other side.
’Terean-Bezek,’ hissed Sarento and two stone hands grabbed Shannow’s ankles. He looked down and saw the bloodstone fingers trapping him, as Sarento laughed and moved slowly round the altar.