Part 8 (1/2)

As the first wagon reached the water, a blue- and yellow-streaked body leapt to the driver's seat, plunging a flint dagger into Aaron Phelps' fleshy shoulder. The scholar lashed out and the attacker lost his balance and fell.

Suddenly warriors were all around them and Griffin pulled his pistols clear and c.o.c.ked them. A man ran at him carrying a club. Griffin shot into his body and kicked his horse into a run. Madden's long rifle boomed and a tribesman fell with a broken spine. Then the other guns opened up and the warriors fled.

Griffin joined Madden at the rear of the convoy.

'What do you think, Jacob?'

'I think they'll be back. Let's fill the barrels and move on to open ground.'

Two wagoners were injured in the brief raid. Aaron Phelps had a deep wound in his right shoulder and Maggie Ames' young son, Mose, had been gashed in the leg by a spear. Four tribesmen were killed outright. Others had been wounded, but had reached the sanctuary of the trees.

Griffin dismounted next to one of the corpses.

'Look at those teeth,' said Jacob Madden. They were filed to sharp points.

Ethan Peac.o.c.k came to stand beside Griffin and peered at the blue and yellow corpse.

'And idiots like Phelps expect us to agree with their theories of the Dark Age,' he said. 'Can you see that creature piloting a flying machine? It's barely human.'

'd.a.m.n you, Ethan, this is no time for debate. Get your barrels filled.'

Griffin moved on to Phelps' wagon, where Donna Taybard was battling to staunch the bleeding. 'It needs st.i.tches, Donna,' said Griffin. 'I'll get a needle and thread.

'I am going to die,' said Phelps. 'I know it.'

'Not from that, you won't,' Griffin told him. 'But, by G.o.d, it will make you wish you had.'

'Will they come back?' asked Donna.

'It depends on how big the tribe is,' answered Griffin.'I would expect them to try once more. Is Eric gathering your water?'

'Yes.'

Griffin fetched needle and thread, pa.s.sing them to Donna, then he checked his pistols. He had fired all four barrels, yet could remember only one. Strange, he thought, how instinct could overcome reason. He gave the pistols to Burke to load and prime. Madden had taken six men to watch the woods for any sign of the savages and Griffin supervised the water- gathering.

Towards dusk he ordered the wagons out and away from the trees to a flat meadow to the west. Here the oxen were unharnessed and a rope paddock set up to pen the beasts.

Madden organized guards at the perimeter of the camp and the travelers settled down to wait for the next attack.

Shannow's dreams were bathed in blood and fire. He rode a skeleton horse across a desert of graves, coming at last to a white marble city and a gate of gold that hurt his eyes as he gazed upon it.

'Let me in,' he called.

'No beasts may enter here,' a voice told him.

'I am not a beast.'

'Then what are you?'

Shannow looked down at his hands and saw they were mottled grey and black and scaled like a serpent. His head ached and he reached up to the wound.

'Let me in. I am hurt.'

'No beasts may enter here.'

Shannow screamed as his hand touched his brow, for horns grew there, long and sharp, and they leaked blood that hissed and boiled as it touched the ground.

'At least tell me if this is Jerusalem.'

There are no Brigands for you to slay, Shannow. Ride on.'

'I have nowhere to go.'

'You chose the path, Shannow. Follow it.'

'But I need Jerusalem.'

'Come back again when the wolf sits down with the lamb, and the lion eats gra.s.s like the cattle do.'

Shannow awoke. . .he had been buried alive. He screamed once and a curtain to his left moved to show light in a room beyond. An elderly man crept in to sit beside him.

'You are well; you are in the Fever Hole. Do not concern yourself. You are free to leave when you feel well enough.' Shannow tried to sit, but his head ached abominably. His hand went to his brow, fearing that horns would touch his fingers, but he found only linen bandage. He glanced around the tiny room. Apart from his pallet bed there was a fire built beneath white stones, and the heat was searing. 'You had a fever,' said the man. 'I brought you out of it.' Shannow lay back on the bed and fell asleep instantly. When he awoke, the old man was still sitting beside him; he was dressed in a buckskin jacket, free of adornments, and leather trousers as soft as cloth. He was almost bald, but the white hair above his ears was thick and wavy and grew to his shoulders. The face, thought Shannow, was kindly, and his teeth were remarkably white and even. 'Who are you?' asked Shannow.

'I have long since put aside my name. Here they call me Karitas.'

'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.'