Part 103 (1/2)

The voice came to him just before midnight, as he was settling down to sleep. At first it was a whisper, like a breath of night winds. But then it grew. 'Jacob Moon! Jacob Moon!'

Moon sat up, pistol in hand. 'Who's there?'

'Behind you,' came the response and Moon spun. One of the great rectangular blocks had apparently disappeared and he found himself facing a red-skinned man, with what appeared to be painted black lines across his face and upper body. The man was seated on an ebony throne. Moon c.o.c.ked his pistol. 'You will not need that,' said the man on the throne. The image drifted closer, until the strange face filled the hole in the wall: the eyes were the red of rubies, the whites bloodshot. 'I need you, Moon,' said the vision.

'Well, I don't need you,' was Moon's response as the pistol bucked in his hand, the bullet lancing through the red face.

There was no mark to show its pa.s.sing and a wide smile appeared on the face.

'Save your ammunition, Moon, and listen to what I offer you - riches beyond your dreams, and life eternal. I can make you immortal, Moon. I can fulfil your wildest desires.'

Moon sat back and sheathed his pistol. This is a dream, isn't it? G.o.d d.a.m.n it, I'm dreaming!'

'No dream, Moon,' the red man told him. 'Would you like to live for ever?'

'I'm listening.'

'My world is dying. I need another. A man known to you as Saul opened the Gateway for me, and I have now seen your world. It is to my liking. But it would help me to have a lieutenant here, to direct my . . . troops. From the few thoughts I could extract from the dying Saul, I gathered that you were that man. Is that so?'

Tell me about the life eternal,' said Moon, ignoring the question.

That can begin now, Moon. Is it what you desire?'

'Aye.' Moon reeled back as a terrible burning sensation erupted on his forehead. He cried out and lifted his hand to his head. The pain subsided as suddenly as it had appeared, and now Moon could feel a small stone embedded in his brow.

'As long as you serve me, Moon, you will be immortal. Can you feel the new strength in your limbs, the power . . .the life?'

Jacob Moon felt more than that. His long-held bitterness was unleashed, his anger primal.

As the vision promised he felt strong, no longer tired from his journey, no longer aching from long hours in the saddle. 'I feel it,' he admitted. 'What do you want from me?'

'Ride to the ruined city north of Pilgrim's Valley. There I shall greet you.'

'I asked what you wanted from me,' said Moon.

'Blood,' responded the vision. 'Rivers of blood. Violence and death, hatred and war.'

'Are you the Devil?' asked Moon.

'I am better than the Devil, Moon. For I have won.'

Unbeknown to Gareth it was his mother who had chosen to climb next, leaving Shannow on the ledge. When the rope suddenly gave she was dislodged from the face. Many people faced with such a moment would have panicked, screamed and fallen to their deaths.

Amaziga was different.

She lived for only one prize - finding Sam.

In the moment the rope gave way and she slipped, her hand snaked out, fingers scrabbling against the wet stone. The first hold she grasped was not large enough to hold her and she slipped again. Her fingers sc.r.a.ped down the rock, one fingernail tearing away, then her hand clamped over a firm hold and the descent ceased. She was hanging now on the lower part of the overhang, her legs dangling below the curve of the rock. Her arm was tiring fast, and she could feel her grip loosening.

'Shannow!' she called. 'Help me!'

A hand grabbed at her belt just as her fingers lost their grip and she fell, but he dragged her back to the ledge. Slumping to her haunches, she leaned her head against the rock face and closed her eyes. The pain from her damaged hand was almost welcome: it told her she was alive.

Shannow hauled in the rope and examined the end.

'Someone cut it,' he said.

Fear coursed through her. 'Gareth!' she whispered.

'Maybe they took him alive,' said Shannow, keeping his voice low. 'The question is, what do we do now? We have enemies above and horses below.'

'If they look over the edge they will not be able to see us,' she said. They will a.s.sume we have fallen. I think we should make the climb.' She saw Shannow smile.

'I don't know if I can, Lady. I know you cannot - not with that injured hand.'

'We can't just leave Gareth.' She glanced at her watch. 'And there is only an hour left before they will kill Sam. We have no time to climb down and go round.'

Shannow stood and prowled along the ledge. There was nowhere that he could climb.

Amaziga joined him, and together they examined the face. Long minutes pa.s.sed; then the sound of gunfire came from above them, heavy and sustained.

'You are right,' she said at last, her voice heavy with despair. 'There is nothing we can do.'

'Wait,' said Shannow. Lifting a pistol from his belt, he pushed the end of the rope through the trigger guard and tied it in place. Stepping to the edge of the ledge he let out the rope, then began to swing it round and round. Amaziga looked up. Some twenty-five feet above them, at the narrowest point of the overhang, there was a jutting finger of stone. Shannow let out more rope and continued to swing the weighted end. Finally he sent it sailing up; the pistol clattered against the rock face, then dropped, looping the rope over the stone.

Shannow lowered it, removed the pistol and holstered it.

'You think it will take your weight?' asked Amaziga.

Shannow hauled down on the doubled rope three times. 'Let us hope so,' he said.

And he began to climb.

Gareth's anger was mounting. The olive-skinned woman had cut the rope and then ordered him to rise, with his hands on his head. 'Listen to me,' he said, 'I am here to-'

'Shut it!' she snapped, and he heard the pistol being c.o.c.ked. 'Walk forward, and be aware I'm right behind you and I have killed before.' She did not rob him of his weapons, which spoke either of confidence or stupidity. Gareth guessed it to be confidence. He obeyed her and walked towards the clearing, where he could see around a score of men and women kneeling behind rocks or fallen trees, rifles in their hands. A tall black man turned as they approached.

'I found this creature,' sneered the woman, 'climbing the cliff-face behind us. There were others, but I cut the rope.'

'Indeed she did,' said Gareth, 'and probably killed one of the few friends you had in this world, Sam.'

The black man's eyes widened. 'Do I know you, boy?'

'In a manner of speaking.' The sky was lightening with the pre-dawn, and the rain had cleared. 'Look at me closely, Sam. Who do I remind you of?'

'Who are you?' asked Samuel Archer. 'Speak plainly.'