Jerusalem Man 03 - Bloodstone Read Online Free PDF Page A

when,' said the Deacon. 'And where.' From his pocket he took a small golden Stone, which he twirled against his fingertips.
    'You should use the power on yourself,' said the woman sternly. 'You know that your heart is failing.'
    'I've lived too long anyway. No, I'll save its power for the Beast. This is the last of them, you know. My little hoard. Soon the world will have to forget magic and concentrate once more on science and discovery.' His expression changed. 'If it survives.'
    'It'll survive, Deacon,' she said. 'God must be stronger than any demon.'
    'If He wants it to survive. We humans have hardly made the earth a garden now, have we?'
    She shook her head and gave a weary smile. 'Yet there are still good people, even though we know that the path of evil offers many rewards. Don't give in to despair, Deacon. If the Beast comes, there will be those who will battle against it. Another Jerusalem Man, perhaps. Or a Daniel Cade.'
    'Come the moment, come the man,' said the Deacon, with a dry chuckle.
    Frey Masters rose. 'I'll go back to my Dreamers. What would you have me tell them?'

    'Get them to memorise landscapes, seasons. When it conies, I need to be there to fight it. And I will need help.' Standing, he held out his hand and she shook it briefly. 'You have said nothing of your own dreams, Frey.'
    'My powers have faded over the years. But, yes, I have seen the Beast. I fear you will not be strong enough to withstand it.'
    He shrugged. 'I have fought many battles in my life. I'm still here.'
    'But you're old now. We are old. Strength fails, Deacon. All things pass away . . . even legends.'
    He sighed. 'You have done a wonderful job here,' he said. 'All these fragments of a lost civilisation. I would like to think that after I am dead men and women will come here and learn from the best of what the old ones left us.'
    'Don't change the subject,' she admonished him.
    'You want me to spare the man who killed his wife and her lover?'
    'Of course - and you are still changing the subject.'
    'Why should I spare him?'
    'Because I ask it, Deacon,' she said, simply.
    'I see. No moral arguments, no scriptural examples, no appeal to my better nature?'
    She shook her head, and he smiled. 'Very well, he will live.'
    'You're a strange man, Deacon. And you are still avoiding the point. Once you could have stood against the Beast. Not any longer.'
    He grinned and winked at her. 'I may just surprise you yet,' he said.
    ‘I’ll grant you that. You are a surprising man.'

*
    Shannow dreamed of the sea, the groaning of the ship's timbers almost human, the waves like moving mountains, beating against the hull. He awoke, and saw the lantern above his bed gently swaying on its hook. For a moment the dream and the reality seemed to blend. Then he realised he was in the cabin of a prairie wagon and he remembered the man . . . Jeremiah? . . . ancient and white-bearded, with but a single, long tooth in his upper mouth. Shannow took a deep, slow breath, and the pounding pain in his temples eased slightly. With a groan he sat up. His left forearm and his shoulder were bandaged, and he could feel the tightness of the burnt skin beneath.
    A fire? He searched his memory, but could find nothing. It doesn't matter, he told himself; the memory will come back. What is important is that I know who I am.
    Jon Shannow. The Jerusalem Man.
    And yet. . . Even as the thought struck him he felt uneasy, as if the name was . . . what? Wrong? No. His guns were hanging from the headboard of the bed. Reaching out, he drew a pistol. It felt both familiar and yet strange in his hand. Flicking the release he broke open the pistol. Two shells had been fired.
    Instantly, momentarily, he saw a man fall back from his horse, his throat erupting in a crimson spray. Then the memory vanished.
    A fight with brigands? Yes, that must have been it, he thought. There was a small hand mirror on a shelf to his right. He took it down and examined the wound in his temple. The bruising was