Authors: David Gemmell
’I am Shannow. What is wrong with me?’ ‘I think you have a cracked skull, Mr Shannow. You have been very ill - we have all been worried about you.’
’All?’
’Young Selah brought you to me. You saved his life in the eastern woods.’
’What of the other boy?’
’He did not come home, Mr Shannow. I fear he was recaptured.’
’My guns and saddlebags?’
’Safe. Interesting pistols, if I may say so. They are copies of the 1858 Colt; the original was a fine weapon, as cap and ball pistols go.’
They are the best pistols in the world, Mr Karitas.’
’Just “Karitas”, and yes, I expect you are right - at least until someone rediscovers the Smith and Wesson . 44 Russian, or indeed the 1898 Luger. I myself have always held the Hi-power Browning in great esteem. How are you feeling?’
’Not good,’ admitted Shannow.
’You almost died, my friend. The fever was most powerful and you were badly concussed. I am amazed that you remained conscious after being struck.’
’I don’t remember being hit.’
’That is natural. Your horse is being well looked after. Our young men have never seen a horse, yet Selah rode him like a centaur to bring you home. It makes one inclined to believe in genetic memory.’
’You are speaking in riddles.’
’Yes. And I am tiring you. Rest now, and we will talk in the morning.’
Shannow drifted back into darkness and awoke to find a young woman by his bed. She helped him to eat some broth and bathed his body with water-cooled cloths. After she had gone, Karitas returned.
’I see you are feeling better - your colour is good, Mr Shannow.’ The old man called out and two younger men ducked into the Fever Hole. ‘Help Mr Shannow out into the sunlight. It will do him good.’
Together they lifted the naked man and carried him up out of the hole, laying him on a blanket under a wide shade made from interwoven leaves. Several children were playing nearby, and they stopped to watch the stranger. Shannow glanced around; there were more than thirty huts in view and to his right a shallow stream bubbled over pink and blue stones.
’Beautiful, isn’t it?’ said Karitas. ‘I love this place. If it wasn’t for the Carns, this would be paradise.’
’The Carns?’
’The cannibals, Mr Shannow.’
’Yes, I remember.’
’Sad, really. The Elders did it to them, polluted the land and the sea. The Carns should have died; they came here two hundred years ago when the plagues began. I wasn’t in this area then, or I could have warned them to stay clear. The stones used to gleam at night and no animal could survive. We still suffer a high incidence of cancer, but the main effects seem to be on the brain and the glandular system. With some, they become atavistic. Others develop rare ESPer powers. While some of us just seem to live for ever.’
Shannow decided the man was mad and closed his eyes against the pain in his temple.
’My dear chap,’ said Karitas, ‘forgive me. Ella, fetch the coca.’
A young woman came forward bearing a wooden bowl in which dark liquid swirled. ‘Drink that, Mr Shannow.’ He did as he was bid. The drink was bitter and he almost choked, but within seconds the pain in his head dulled and disappeared.
There, that’s the ticket. I took the liberty, Mr Shannow, of going through your things and I see you are a Bible-reading man.’
’Yes. You?’
’I have been while you lay ill. It’s a long time since I have seen a Bible. I’m not surprised it survived the Fall; it was a best-seller every day of every year. There were more Bibles than people, I shouldn’t wonder.’
’You are not a believer, then?’
’On the contrary, Mr Shannow. Anyone who watches a world die is liable to be converted at rare speed.’
Shannow sat up. ‘Every time you speak, I almost get a grip on what you are saying, and then you soar away somewhere. Lugers, Colts, tickets … I don’t understand any of it.’
’And why should you, my boy? Does not the Bible say, “For behold I shall create a new heaven and a new earth and the former shall not be remembered; nor come into mind”"?’
That’s the first thing you’ve said that I have understood. What happened to the wagons?’
’What wagons, Mr Shannow?’
’I was with a convoy.’
’I know nothing of them, but when you are well you can find them.’
’Your name is familiar to me,’ said Shannow, ‘but I cannot place it.’
’Karitas. Greek for love. Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not Karitas - charity, love . . . You recall?’
’My father used to use it,’ said Shannow, smiling. ‘I remember. Faith, Hope and Karitas. Yes.’
’You should smile more often, Mr Shannow; it becomes you well. Tell me, sir, why did you risk your life for my little ones?’
Shannow shrugged. ‘If that question needs an answer, then I cannot supply it. I had no choice.’
’I have decided that I like you, Mr Shannow. The children here call you the Thunder-maker and they think you may be a god. They know I am. They think you are the god of death.’
’I am a man, Karitas. You know that, tell them.’
’Divinity is not a light gift to throw away, Mr Shannow. You will feature in their legends until the end of time -hurling thunderbolts at the Carns, rescuing their princes. One day they will probably pray to you.’
’That would be blasphemy.’
’Only if you took it seriously. But then you are no Caligula. Are you hungry?’
’Your chatter makes my head spin. How long have you been here?’
’In this camp? Eleven years, more or less. And you must forgive my chatter, Mr Shannow. I am one of the last men of a lost race and sometimes my loneliness is colossal. I have discovered answers here to mysteries that have baffled men for a thousand years. And there is no one I would wish to tell. All I have is this small tribe who were once Eskimos and now are merely food for the Carns. It is all too galling, Mr Shannow.’
’Where are you from, Karitas?’
’London, Mr Shannow.’
’Is that north, south, what?’
’By my calculations, sir, it is north, and sits under a million tons of ice waiting to be discovered in another millennium.’
Shannow gave up and lay back on the blanket, allowing sleep to wash over him.
Mad though he undoubtedly was, Karitas organized the village with spectacular efficiency and was obviously revered by the villagers. Shannow lay on his blankets in the shade and watched the village life passing him by. The huts were all alike - rectangular and built of mud and logs with roofs slanting down and overhanging the main doors. The roofs themselves appeared to be constructed from interwoven leaves and dried grass. They were sturdy buildings, without ostentation. To the east of the village was a large log cabin, which Karitas explained held the winter stores, and beside it was the wood store - seven feet high and fifteen feet deep. The winter, Karitas told him, was particularly harsh here on the plain.
On outlying hills Shannow could see flocks of sheep and goats, and these he was told were communal property. Life seemed relaxed and without friction in Karitas’ village.
The people themselves were friendly, and any that passed where Shannow lay would bow and smile. They were not like any people Shannow had come across so far in his wanderings; their skin was dull gold and their eyes wide-set and almost slanted. The women were mostly taller than the men, and beautifully formed; several were pregnant. There seemed few old people, until Shannow realized their huts were in the western sector, nearest the stream and protected from the harsh north winds by a rising slope at the rear of the dwellings.
The men were stocky and carried weapons of curious design, bows of horn and knives of dark flint. Day by day Shannow came to know individual villagers, especially the boy Selah and a young sloe-eyed maid named Curopet, who would sit by him and gaze at his face, saying nothing. Her presence unsettled the Jerusalem Man, but he could not find the words to send her away.
Shannow’s recovery was painfully slow. The wound in his temple healed within days, but the left side of his face was numb and the strength of his left arm and leg had been halved. If he tried to walk, his foot dragged and he often stumbled. The fingers of his left hand tingled permanently and he was unable to hold any object for more than a few seconds before the hand would spasm and the fingers open.
Every day for a month Karitas would arrive at Shannow’s hut an hour after dawn and massage his fingers and arm. Shannow was close to despair. All his life his strength had been with him, and without it he felt defenceless and -worse - useless.
Karitas broached the painful subject at the start of the fifth week. ‘Mr Shannow, you are doing yourself no good. Your strength will not return until you find the courage to seek it.’
’I can hardly lift my arm and my leg drags like a rotting tree branch,’ said Shannow. ‘What do you expect me to do?’
’Fight it, as you fought the Carns. I am not a medical man, Mr Shannow, but I think you have had a mild stroke -a cerebral thrombosis, I believe it used to be called. A blood clot near the brain has affected your left side.’
’How sure are you of this?’
’Reasonably certain; it happened to my father.’
’And he recovered?’
’No, he died. He took to his bed like the weakling he was.’
’How do I fight it?’
’Bear with me, Mr Shannow, and I will show you.’
Each day Karitas sat for hours, pushing the Jerusalem Man through a grueling series of exercises. At first it was merely forcing Shannow to raise his left arm and lower it ten times. Shannow managed six, and the arm rose a bare eight inches. Then Karitas produced a ball of tightly wound hide which he placed in Shannow’s left hand. ‘Squeeze this one hundred times in the morning, and another hundred times before you sleep.’
’It’ll take me all day.’
’Then take all day. But do it!’
Each afternoon, Karitas forced Shannow to accompany him on a walk around the village, a distance of about four hundred paces.
The weeks drifted by and Shannow’s improvement was barely perceptible; but Karitas - noting everything - would shout for joy over an extra quarter-inch on an arm raise, offering fulsome congratulations and calling in Selah or Curopet, insisting Shannow repeat the move. This was then greeted by much applause, especially from the maiden Curopet who had, in the words of Karitas, ‘taken a shine’ to the invalid.
Shannow, while recognizing Karitas’ methods, was still lifted by the obvious joy the old man gained from his recovery, and tried harder with each passing day.
At night, as he lay on his blankets squeezing the leather ball and counting aloud, his mind would drift to Donna and the convoy. He felt her absence, but he knew that with her talent she could see him every day and would know how hard he was working to be beside her once more.
One morning, as Shannow and Karitas walked round the village, the Jerusalem Man stopped and gazed at the distant hills. The trees were still green, but at the centre was a golden shower that shimmered in the sunlight.
’That is wondrous beautiful,’ said Shannow. ‘It looks for all the world like a tree of gold coins, just waiting to make a man rich.’
’There are many beautiful things to see during Autumn here,’ said Karitas softly.
’Autumn? Yes, I had not thought. I have been here so long.’
’Two months only.’
’I must get away before Winter, or there’ll be no tracks to follow.’
’We’ll do our best for you, Mr Shannow.’
’Do not misunderstand me, my friend. I am more than grateful to you, but my heart is elsewhere. Have you ever loved a woman?’
’More than one, I’m afraid. But not for thirty years now. Chines had a baby girl last night. That makes eleven babies this Summer for my little tribe - not bad, eh?’
’Which one is Chines?’
’The tall girl with the birthmark on her temple.’
’Ah yes. Is she all right?’
’Fine. Her husband is disappointed though, he wanted a boy.’
’Your tribe is doing well, Karitas. You are a good leader. How many people are there here?’
’Counting the babes, eighty-seven. No, eighty-eight; I forgot about Dual’s boy.’
’A sizable family.’
’It would be bigger, but for the Carns.’
’Do they raid often?’
’No, they have never hit the village. They don’t want to drive us away-we are a good source of amusement. . .and food. They usually attack our hunting parties.’
’You do not seem to hate them, Karitas. Whenever you mention the Carns, your face reflects regret.’
’They are not responsible for the way they are, Mr Shannow. It was the land. I know you think me a great liar, but when the Carns first came here they were a group of ordinary farming families. Maybe it was the water, or the rocks, or even something in the air -I don’t know. But over the years it changed them. It was a gift from my generation; we were always good at lethal gifts.’
’After knowing you for these last months,’ said Shannow, ‘I cannot understand why you hold to your preposterous tales. I know you are an intelligent man, and you must know that I am not foolish. Why then do you maintain this charade?’
Karitas sat down on the grass and beckoned Shannow to join him. ‘My dear boy, I hold to it because it is true. But let me say that the land may have affected me too - it could all be a dream, a fantasy. I think it is true - my memory tells me it is true - but I could merely be insane. What does it matter?’
’It matters to me, Karitas. I like you; I owe you a debt.’
’You owe me nothing. You saved Selah. One thing does concern me, however, and that is the direction your wagons are taking. You say you were heading north-west?’
’Yes.’
’But was there any intention of turning east?’
’Not that I know of. Why?’
’Probably it is of no matter. It is a strange land, and there are some who live there who would make the Carns seem hospitable.’
’That is as hard to swallow as some of your stories.’ The smile left Karitas’ face. ‘Mr Shannow, there was an old legend when I was a boy concerning a priestess called Cassandra. She was blessed with the gift of prophecy and always spoke the truth. But she was cursed also, to be believed by no one.’