Beth staggered to a chair and sat down, the pistol suddenly heavy in her tired hand. A face appeared at the window. It was Tobe Harris.

'Good to see you, Tobe,' said Beth. 'I swear to G.o.d you have the handsomest face I ever did see.'

Nestor gathered up Beth's pistol and ran out into the yard where bodies lay everywhere, twisted in death. The Crusaders from Purity had moved on into the fields, chasing down the fleeing h.e.l.lborn. Nestor couldn't believe it. He was going to live! Death had seemed so certain. Unavoidable and inevitable. The sun was sinking behind the mountains and Nestor felt tears well into his eyes. He could smell the gun-smoke, and through it the fresh, sweet scent of the moisture on the gra.s.s.

'Oh, G.o.d!' he whispered.

Hors.e.m.e.n came riding back into the yard, led by a tall, square-shouldered man in a black coat. The man lifted his flat-crowned hat from his head and produced a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his face and beard.

'By the Lord, you fought well here, boy,' he said. 'I am Padlock Wheeler. The Deacon sent for me.'

'I'm Nestor Garrity, sir.'

'You look all in, son,' said Wheeler, dismounting and tethering his horse to a rail. Around him other Crusaders moved among the dead. Occasionally a pistol shot would sound as they found wounded h.e.l.lborn. Nestor looked away; it was so cold, so merciless. Padlock Wheeler moved alongside him, patting his shoulder. 'I need to know what is happening here, son. The man, Tobe, told us of the giant Wolvers, but we've now had two run-ins with h.e.l.lborn warriors. Where are they from?'

Isis walked from the doorway. Padlock Wheeler bowed and the blonde girl smiled wearily.

'They are from beyond the Gates of Time, Meneer. The Deacon told me that. And their leader is a soul-stealer, a taker of life.'

Wheeler nodded. 'We'll deal with him, young lady. But where is the Deacon?'

'He vanished through one of the Gateways. He has gone seeking help.'

Nestor stood silently by, his thoughts confused. The Deacon was a liar and a fraud. It was all lies; lies and death and violence.

His mouth tasted of bile and he found himself shivering, his stomach churning with nausea.

One of the Crusaders shouted to Wheeler, and pointed to the east. Three riders were coming. Nestor leaned against the porch rail and watched them approach. In the lead was a white-bearded old man, behind him came a black woman, her head bandaged. Beside her rode a black man, blood staining his white shirt.

'The Deacon!' said Padlock Wheeler, his voice exultant. Leaving the porch, Wheeler stepped down to the yard, raising his arm in greeting.

At that moment a body moved beside his feet, springing up with gun in hand. An arm encircled Wheeler's neck and a pistol barrel was thrust under his chin. No one moved.

The gunman was Jacob Moon. 'Stay back, you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!' shouted the Jerusalem Rider. All was still, save for the slow walking horse which the Deacon rode. Nestor's gaze flicked from the rider to Moon and his victim, and back again. The Deacon wore a long black coat and a pale shirt. His beard shone silver in the moonlight, and his deep-set eyes were focused on Moon. Slowly he dismounted. The black woman and her companion remained where they were, sitting motionless on their horses.

'Let him go,' said the Deacon, his voice deep and steady. .

'I want a horse and a chance to ride free from here,' said Moon.

'No,' said the Deacon simply. 'What I will give you is an opportunity to live. Let Padlock go free and you may face me, man to man. Should you triumph, not a man here will stop you.'

'In a pig's eye!' stormed Moon. 'As soon as I let him go, you'll gun me down.'

'I am the Deacon, and I do not lie!'

Moon dragged Padlock further back towards the wall. 'You're not the Deacon!' he screamed. 'I killed him at his summer cabin.'

'You killed an old man who served me well. The man you are holding is Padlock Wheeler, one of my generals in the Unity Wars. He knows me - as do several of these riders. Now, do you have the nerve to face me?'

'Nerve?' snorted Moon. 'You think it takes nerve to shoot down an old goat?'

Nestor blinked. The old man couldn't know who he was threatening. It was madness. 'He's Jacob Moon!' he shouted. 'Don't do it!'

Darkness had fallen now, and the moon was bright in the sky. The Deacon appeared not to hear the youngster's words. 'Well?' he said, removing his coat. Nestor saw he was wearing two guns.

'I'll go free?' asked Moon. 'I have your word on that? Your oath?'

'Let every man here understand,' said the Deacon. 'Should I die, this man rides free.'

Moon threw Padlock Wheeler aside and stood for a moment, gun in hand. Then he laughed and moved out into the open. Behind him men opened up a s.p.a.ce, spreading out of the line of fire.

'I don't know why you want to die, old man, but I'll oblige you. You should have listened to the boy. I am Jacob Moon, the Jerusalem Rider, and I've never been beat.' He holstered his pistol.

'And I,' said the Deacon, 'am Jon Shannow, the Jerusalem Man.' As he spoke the Deacon smoothly palmed his pistol. There was no sudden jerk, no indication of tension or drama.

The words froze Moon momentarily, but his hand flashed for his pistol. He was fast, infinitely faster than the old man, but his reaction time was dulled by the words the Deacon had spoken. A bullet smashed into his belly and he staggered back a pace. His own gun boomed, but then three shots thundered into him, spinning him from his feet.

The world continued to spin as Moon struggled to his knees. He tried to raise his pistol, but his hand was empty. He blinked sweat from his eyes and stared up at the deadly old man, who was now walking towards him.

'The wages of sin is death, Moon,' were the last words he heard.

Padlock Wheeler rushed to the Deacon's side. The old man fell into his arms. Nestor saw the blood then on the Deacon's shirt. Two men ran forward, and they half-carried the Deacon into thehouse. Nestor followed them.

The first person he saw was Beth. Her face was unnaturally pale and she stood with eyes wide, hand over her mouth, as they laid the Deacon on the floor.

'Oh, Christ!' she whispered. 'Oh, dear Christ!' Falling to her knees beside him, she stroked a hand through his grey hair. 'How can it be you, Jon? You are so old?'

The man smiled weakly, his head resting in Padlock Wheeler's lap. 'Long story,' he said, his voice distant.

The black woman entered the room and knelt by Shannow. 'Use the Stone,' she commanded.

'Not enough power.'

'Of course there is!'

'Not for me . . . and the Bloodstone. Don't worry about me, lady. I'll live long enough to do what must be done. Where is Meredith?'

'I'm here, sir,' said the sandy-haired young man.

'Get me into the back room. Check the wound. Strap it. Whatever.'

Wheeler and Meredith carried him through the house. Beth rose and turned to face the black woman. 'It's been a long time, Amaziga.'

'Three hundred years and more,' said Amaziga. 'This is my husband, Sam.' The black man smiled and offered his left hand; the right was strapped to his chest.

Beth shook hands. 'You've been in the wars too, I see.'

Amaziga nodded. 'We came through a Gateway north of here. We walked for a while, but we were surprised by some h.e.l.lborn warriors. There were four of them. Sam took a bullet in the shoulder. I got this graze,' she said, lightly touching the bandage on her brow.

'Shannow killed them. It's what he's good at.'

'He's good at a d.a.m.n sight more than that,' said Beth, reddening, 'but then that's something you've never been capable of understanding.'

Turning on her heel, she followed the others into the bedroom. Shannow was in the bed, Meredith examining the wound, while Josiah Broome sat to the left, holding Shannow's hand. Wheeler stood at the foot of the bed. Beth moved alongside the doctor. The wound was low, and had ripped through the flesh above the hip-bone to emerge in a jagged tear on Shannow's side. Blood was flowing freely and Shannow's face was grey, his eyes closed.

'I need to stop the flow,' said Meredith. 'Get me needle and thread.'

Outside Nestor introduced himself to Amaziga Archer and her husband. The woman was astonishingly beautiful, he thought, despite the grey steaks in her hair. 'Is he really the Jerusalem Man?' asked Nestor.

'Really,' said Amaziga, moving away to the kitchen. Sam smiled at the boy.

'A living legend, Nestor.'

'I can't believe he beat Jacob Moon. I just can't believe it! And him so old.'

'I expect Moon found it even harder to believe. Now excuse me, son, but I'm weary, and I need to rest. Is there a bed somewhere?'

'Yes, sir. Upstairs. I'll show you.'

'No need, son. I may be wounded, but I believe I still have the strength to find a bed.'

As Sam moved away Nestor saw Wallace sitting by the window with Zerah Wheeler. The red-head was chatting to the children. Esther was giggling and young Oz was staring at Wallace with undisguised admiration.

Nestor walked from the house.

Outside the Crusaders were clearing away the corpses, dragging them to the field beyond the buildings. Several camp-fires had been lit in the lee of the barn, and men were sitting quietly talking in groups.

Isis was sitting by the paddock fence, staring out over the moonlit hills. When Nestor joined her she looked up and smiled. 'It is a wonderful night,' she said.

Nestor glanced up at the glittering stars. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'It's good to be alive.'

Beth sat beside Shannow's bed, Padlock Wheeler standing beside her. 'By G.o.d, Deacon, I never thought to hear you lie,' said Wheeler. 'But it did the trick; it threw him, right enough.'

Shannow smiled weakly. 'It was no lie, Pad.' Slowly, and with great effort, he told the story of his travels, beginning with the attack on his church, his rescue by the Wanderers, the fight with Aaron Crane and his men, and finally his meeting with Amaziga beyond the town of Domango.

'It really was you then, in my church!' said Wheeler. 'By Heaven, Deacon, you never cease to amaze me.'

'There's more, Pad,' said Shannow. He closed his eyes and spoke of the Bloodstone, and the ruined world from which it came.

'How do we fight such a beast?' asked Padlock Wheeler.

'I have a plan,' said Shannow. 'Not much of one, I'll grant you, but, with the grace of G.o.d, it'll give us a chance.'

Zerah Wheeler entered the room, her shoulder bandaged and her arm bound across her chest. 'Leave the wounded man be,' she said, 'and say h.e.l.lo to your mother.'

Padlock spun, jaw agape. 'Jesus wept, Mother! I did not know you were here. And you're wounded!' Moving to her side, he threw his arm around her shoulder.

'Whisht, you lummox! You'll set it bleeding again,' she scolded, knocking his hand away.

'Now come outside and leave the man to rest. You too, Beth.'

'I'll be with you soon,' said Beth quietly as Zerah led her son from the room. Josiah Broome rose and patted Shannow's arm. 'It is good to see you, my friend,' he said, and left the wounded man alone with Beth. She took his hand and sighed.

'Why did you not tell me who you were?' she asked.

'Why did you not recognise me?' he countered.

She shrugged. 'I should have. I should have done so many things, Jon. And now it's all wasted and gone. I couldn't take it, you see. You changed - from man of action to preacher.

It was such a change. Why did it have to be so drastic, so radical?'

He smiled wearily. 'I can't tell you, Beth. Except that I have never understood compromise.

For me, it is all or nothing. Yet despite my efforts, I failed - in everything. I didn't find Jerusalem and, as a preacher, I couldn't remain a pacifist.' He sighed. 'When the church was burning I felt a terrible rage. It engulfed me. And then as the Deacon ... I thought I could make a difference. Bring G.o.d in to the world . . . establish discipline. I failed at that too.'

'History alone judges success or failure, Shannow,' said Amaziga, moving into the room.

Beth glanced up, ready to tell the woman to leave, but she felt Shannow's hand squeeze hers and saw him shake his head. Amaziga sat down on the other side of the bed. 'Lucas tells me you have a plan, but he won't share it with me.'

'Let me speak with him.' Amaziga pa.s.sed him the headphones and the portable. Shannow winced as he tried to raise his arm. Amaziga leaned forward and settled the headphones into place, slipping the microphone from its groove and twisting it into position. 'Leave me,' he said.

Beth rose first. Amaziga seemed reluctant to go, but at last she too stood up and followed Beth from the room.

Outside, Padlock and his brother Seth were sitting with Zerah, Wallace and the children.

Beth walked out into the moonlight, past Samuel Archer who was sitting on the porch, watching the stars; Amaziga sat beside him. Beth walked out, breathing the night air.

Nestor and Isis came towards her, both smiling as they pa.s.sed.

Dr Meredith was standing by the paddock fence, looking out over the hills.

'All alone, Doctor?' she said, moving to stand beside him.

He grinned boyishly. 'Lots to think about, Frey McAdam. So much has happened these past few days. I loved that old man; Jeremiah was good to me. It hurts that I caused his death; I would do anything to bring him back.'

'There's things we can't change,' said Beth softly, 'no matter how much we might want to.

Life goes on. That's what separates the strong from the weak. The strong move on.'

'You think it will ever change?' he asked suddenly.

'What will change?'

'The world. People. Do you think there'll ever come a day when there are no wars, no needless killing?'

'No,' she said simply. 'I don't.'