'You're a welcome sight, man,' said the Parson, thumping Scayse's shoulder.

'Where the h.e.l.l are they from?' shouted Scayse.

'Beyond the Wall... sent by the Great Wh.o.r.e,' the Parson replied.

'I think we'd best get out of here,' Scayse urged.

'No, we must protect the women and children. I have sent more than a hundred of them to the south. We must hold these beasts for a while.'

'We can't do it here, Parson; it's too easy for them to go round us. I suggest we back off to the church and hold them there.'

The reptiles charged again. Bullets shredded their ranks, but four got through to leap in among the defenders. Scayse hammered his pistol into a grey scaled head, then fired at point-blank range into the beast's body. The others were despatched with knives, but not before they had killed three of the defenders.

'Fall back in two lines,' shouted the Parson. 'Every second man get back thirty paces, then cover the second group.'

The ground began to tremble violently. Men were pitched from their feet as a great, jagged crack opened in the meadow, snaking across the front of the ditch like the jaws of a giant beast. In the town buildings buckled and a second quake scored the earth. The Daggers fled towards open ground, the battle forgotten.

'Now's the tmv, Parson,' said Scayse and the defenders rose and sprinted back across the meadow. Clouds of dust obscured their pa.s.sing, but the earth opened and two men fell into the depths of a vast pit. The rest managed to reach the church, which was sagging in the centre. The Parson stood and watched as the building slowly tore itself apart.

'Back to the woods,' he said. 'The Wrath of G.o.d is upon us.'

Josiah Broome sat and watched as the Parson organised the digging of a trench across the north side of the woods. Earth was being thrown up to form a rampart, the labour carried out in grim silence. Without tools the workers dug into the soft clay with their bare hands, casting nervous eyes to the north for the expected attack. Broome was in a state of shock; he sat grey-faced as people bustled around him.

It was all gone. The town was ruined, the community decimated, the survivors trapped in the woods with no food, no shelter and precious little ammunition for the few guns they carried. All that remained was to wait for death at the hands of the beasts. Broome blinked back tears.

Edric Scayse had rounded up three horses and had ridden to his own lands, where extra rifles were stored. Two men had been sent to outlying farms to warn other settlers of the invasion. Broome cared nothing for any of it.

A child approached him and stood with head tilted, staring at him. He looked down at her.

'What do you want?'

'Are you crying?' she asked.

'Yes,' he admitted.

'Why?'

The question was so ludicrous that Broome began to giggle. The child laughed with him, but when his eyes filled with tears and racking sobs shook his spare frame, she backed away and ran to the Parson. His face streaked with mud, the red-headed preacher moved to Broome's side.

'It does not look good, Meneer,' he said. 'You are frightening the children. Now stand like a man and do some work, there's a good fellow.'

'We are all going to die,' whispered Broome through his tears. 'I don't want to die.'

'Death comes to all men - and then they face the Almighty. Do not be afraid, Meneer Broome. It is unlikely that a maker of breakfasts has done much to offend Him.' The Parson put his arm around Broome's shoulder. 'We are not dead yet, Josiah. Come now, help the men with the ditch.' Broome allowed himself to be led to the ramparts; he stared out over the valley.

'When will they come, do you diink?'

'When they are ready,' said the Parson grimly.

Work ceased as the sound of a walking horse was heard in the woods behind them, then they heard the lowing of catde. Three milk cows were herded into the clearing, their calves beside them. Jon Shannow rode his stallion up to the ditch and stepped down from the saddle.

'I thought these might be of use,' he said. 'If you slaughter the calves for meat, you'll be able to milk the cows to feed the children.'

'Where did you find them?' the Parson asked.

'I heard the shooting this morning, and watched your flight. I rode to a farm and cut these from the herd there. The owner was dead - with his whole family.'

'We are grateful, Shannow,' said the Parson. 'Now if you could come up with around a thousand sh.e.l.ls and a couple of hundred rifles, I would kiss your feet.'

Shannow grinned and reached into his saddlebag. 'These are all the sh.e.l.ls I have - they're for h.e.l.lborn rifles or pistols. But I'll fetch some weapons for you; I hid them yesterday about four miles from here.'

'Walk with me aways,' said the Parson, leading him through the camp. They stopped by a stream and sat. 'How many of them are there?' he asked.

'As near as I could see, more than a thousand. They are led by a woman.'

'The black wh.o.r.e,' the Parson hissed.

'She's not black; she has golden hair and she looks like an angel,' Shannow told him. 'And they are not from Beyond the Wall.'

'How do you know that?'

'I just know it. Speaking of the Wall, the last earthquake ripped a hole in it. I would think we would have more chance of survival if we can get there and go through it. A few men would then be able to hold the gap, allowing the rest of the community to find a safe camping place.'

'We have around three hundred people here, Shannow. Everything they had has been taken from them. We have no food, no spare clothing, no canvas for tents, no shovels, axes or hammers. Where can we go that is safe?'

'Then what is your plan?'

'Wait here, hit them hard and pray for success.'

'I agree with the praying,' said Shannow. 'Look, Parson, I don't know much about warfare on this scale, but I do know that we're not going to beat these reptiles by sitting and waiting for them. You say we need supplies - axes, hammers and the like. Then let's get them. And at the same time, let's pick up a few guns.'

'Where?'

'Back in the town. There are still wagons, and there are oxen and horses aplenty wandering the meadows. Not all of the buildings were destroyed, Parson. I studied the town through a long gla.s.s. Groves' shop still stands; he had powder there, and lead for ammunition. Then there's the smithy - and the whole of Tent Town is untouched.'

'But what of the reptiles?'

'They're camped just south of the town. I think they're afraid of another quake.'

'How many men will you need?'

'Let's say a dozen. We'll swing round to the west and come in by night.'

'And you expect to load up wagons and drive them away under the noses of the enemy?'

'I don't know, Parson. But it's surely better than sitting here and starving to death.'

The Parson was silent for a while, then he chuckled and shook his head. 'Do you ever think of defeat, Shannow?'

'Not while I breathe,' said the Jerusalem Man. 'You get these people to the hole in the Wall. I'll fetch the tools you need, and some supplies. Can I choose my own men?'

'If they'll go with you.'

Shannow followed ihe Parson back to the camp and waited as the preacher gathered the men together. When he outlined Shannow's plan and called for volunteers, twenty men stepped forward. Shannow summoned them all and led them from the gathering to a small clearing where he addressed them.

'I need only twelve,' he said. 'How many have wives here?' Fifteen raised their hands. 'How many with children?' he asked the fifteen. Nine hands went up. 'Then you men get back; the rest gather round and I'll tell you what we need to do.' For over an hour Shannow listed the kinds of supplies they would require and ways to obtain them. Some men offered good advice, others remained silent, taking it all in. Finally Shannow gave them a warning.

'No futile heroics. The most important thing is to get the supplies back. If you are attacked and you see friends in trouble, do not under any circ.u.mstances ride back to help. Now you will not see me, but I will be close. You will hear a commotion in the enemy camp - that is when you will move.'

'What you going to do, Shannow?' asked Bull.

'I'm going to read to them from the Book,' said the Jerusalem Man.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

For two days Chreena had studied the Pledging Pool, a.n.a.lysing the crystal-clear water that flowed away beneath the cliffs to underground streams and rivers. She sat now in the shade of the Chaos Peak, a tall, spear-straight tower of jagged rocks and natural platforms from which the more reckless of the Dianae men would dive.

Shir-ran had climbed almost to a point just below the crest of the Peak. He would have gone further had the crown of the rock not jutted from the column, creating an overhang no man could negotiate. His dive had been flawless and Chreena remembered him rising from the water with his dark hair gleaming, the light of triumph in his golden eyes.

She pushed back the memory. There had to be something in the Pool that had affected Shir-ran's genetic structure. To dive from such a height meant that he would have plunged deep into the water... perhaps the problem was there. Chreena closed her eyes and let her spirit flow over the rocks of the Pool and down, down into the darker depths. She knew what she was seeking - some toxic legacy from the Between Times. Drums of chemical waste, nerve gases, plague germs. The Betweeners had rarely given any thought to the future, dumping their hideous war-refined poisons into the depths of the ocean. One theory back at Home Base had been that the Betweeners must have known their time was short. Why else would they poison their rivers and streams, strip away the forests that gave them air and pollute their own bodies with toxins and carcinogens? But the theory was offered more as a debating point for children than a serious topic for study.

Now Chreena blanked such thoughts from her mind and drew from her memories everything she had been taught concerning water: the essence of life. In the Between Days it had covered 70. 8 per cent of the earth's surface, but now the figure was 71. 3. Water made up two-thirds of total body weight. Man could survive months without food, but only days without water. Think! Think! Two parts hydrogen to one part oxygen. She honed her concentration, adjusting her focus, shrinking, ever shrinking deeper into the Search- trance, a.n.a.lysing the trace elements at the bottom of the Pool. One by one she dismissed them - reactive silica, magnesium, sodium, pota.s.sium, iron, copper, zinc. There were minute traces of lead, but these could not have been harmful unless a person drank around sixty gallons a day for who knew what number of years.

She returned to her body and leaned back exhausted. The sun had moved past the Chaos Peak and her naked skin was burning. Moving several yards to her left, she looked around for Oshere. He was lying asleep in the shade; there was little of humanity left in him, and his voice was almost gone.

Not the water. What then? She glanced up at the sky and the awesome Sword of G.o.d pointing to the heavens. She shivered. Not that!

Her eyes flicked to the Peak. Was it something there? Chreena stood and stretched, then dressed swiftly and made her way to the base. There were many handholds in the heavily barnacled rock and she began to climb slowly. Her mind fled back to the last time she had clung to a rock face, almost three years before, when the t.i.tanic had been breached and she had carried her son Luke from the doomed ghost ship and down the sheer face of the mountain above the ruins of Balacris.

Then she had been Amaziga Archer, widow of Samuel and a teacher to the children of the Guardians. Guardians? All the knowledge of the Betweeners had been held by them for future generations, yet the work had been ruined, corrupted by one man: Sarento. He had longed to see Rebirth, the world back as it was. His patience had worn thin and he had begun, through the Motherstone, to manipulate events. He had given Bloodstones to a growing nation that became the h.e.l.lborn; he had encouraged their warlike tendencies, giving them the secrets of automatic weapons. 'In war,' he said, 'man is at his most inventive. All great historical advances have come through the battlefield.'

With the power of the Motherstone he had rea.s.sembled the wreck of the t.i.tanic as it lay broken upon the mountainside over Atlantis. He had made it Home Base for the Guardians. But his doom had been sealed when the h.e.l.lborn took Donna Taybard as a blood sacrifice, for that alone had led the Jerusalem Man to Balacris and the t.i.tanic.

Amaziga remembered that awful night when Sarento used the Motherstone to duplicate the first voyage. Though the ship remained on the mountain, those on board - under its glittering lights and beautiful saloons - could gaze out on a star-filled sky over a black and shining ocean.

But Shannow had fought Sarento in the subterranean cavern of the Motherstone, killing him and sealing off the power of the Stone. The t.i.tanic had once more struck the iceberg and a sorcerous sea filled the ship, destroying the Guardians and obliterating the knowledge of eons.

And Amaziga had climbed down from the wreck and walked away without a backward glance.

The Jerusalem Man had come to her.

'I am sorry,' he said. 'I do not know if my actions were right - but they were just. I will lead you to a safe place.'

They had parted at a small town hundreds of miles to the north, and Amaziga had journeyed with her son to the lands of the Wall.

She climbed higher and glanced down at the shimmering Pool below. Her fingers were tired and she hauled herself on to a ledge to rest. There was nothing harmful here that she could feel. 'You are getting old,' she told herself. She had lived more than a century, her youth guaranteed by the Sipstra.s.si carried by the Guardians. But that was gone now and silver flecks highlighted her tightly curled hair. How old are you in real terms, Amaziga?

she asked herself. Thirty-five? Forty?

Taking a deep breath, she rose and climbed on. It took her an hour to reach the ledge beneath the Peak and as she scrambled over it, her hand gripped a sharp stone which split the skin of her palm. She cursed and sat with her back to the rock-face, heart hammering.

She could detect nothing baleful in the rock of the Peak. The climb had been a waste of time, and had served only to bring her bitter memories and a painful wound. Settling herself down, preparing her body for the return journey, she thought of jumping to the Pool far below, but dismissed the idea; she had never been comfortable in the water. The sun bathed her and she felt warm and curiously refreshed. Her pulse slowed. When she lifted her injured hand, ready to apply pressure to stop the bleeding, the cut had disappeared. She rubbed her fingers at the skin but there was no mark. Reaching out, she picked up the stone with the serrated edge. Blood had stained it. Carefully she rose to her knees on the narrow ledge and turned to the rock-face. Above her the overhang jutted from the Peak, and above that the Sword of G.o.d and the tiny crosses that surrounded it.

She closed her eyes, her spirit flowing into the barnacled stone. Deeper she moved, coming at last to shaped marble and beyond that to a network of golden wire and crystals. She followed the network up to a silver bowl, six feet in diameter. At the centre of this lay a huge Sipstra.s.si Stone with golden threads inches wide.

Her eyes snapped open. 'Oh G.o.d!' she whispered. 'Oh G.o.d!'

The Chaos Peak was not a natural formation. It had become encrusted as it lay beneath the ocean. It was a tower, and the Sipstra.s.si Stone was still pulsing its power after 12, 000 years. Amaziga gazed down at the sleeping Oshere - and understood.

The healing powers of Sipstra.s.si!

There had been no intention of harming the Dianae. The almost mechanical magic of the Stone had bathed Shir-ran and the others - it had repaired them, eliminating the promoter genes and the carefully wrought genetic engineering. It had returned them to a state of perfection. 'Dear G.o.d!'

Amaziga rose and pushed her back to the face, then stared down at Oshere. Normally a wielder would need to touch a Stone to direct its powers ... but with something of this size?

Her concentration grew and far below Oshere stirred in his sleep. Pain lanced him and he roared, his great head snapping at unseen enemies. His body twisted and he sank back, his new fur shrinking, his limbs straightening. Amaziga pictured him as she remembered him, holding the vision before her eyes. Finally she relaxed and gazed down at the naked young man lying asleep in the sunshine.

Without a moment's hesitation she stepped forward and dived, her lithe ebony frame falling like a spear to cleave the water below. She surfaced and swam to the edge, heaving herself up on to the rocks beside Oshere. Removing her wet clothes, she let the sun dry her skin.

Oshere stirred and opened his golden eyes. 'Is this a dream?' he asked.

'No. This is the reality dreams are shaped of.'

'You look so ... young and beautiful.'

'So do you,' she told him, smiling. He sat up and gazed in wonder at his bronzed body.

'Truly this is no dream? I am returned?'

'Yes.'

'Tell me. Tell me everything.'

'Not yet,' she whispered, stroking his face. 'Not now, Oshere. Not when I have just dived for you.'

Clutching her Bloodstone to her breast, Sharazad stepped through the gateway. Her mind swam, her vision blurred with colours more vivid dian any she had seen in life. She held herself steady until the whirling movement before her eyes ceased; she had moved from a star-filled night to a bright dawn and for a moment or two she felt disorientated. The King was sitting by a window, staring out at his armies engaged in their training manoeuvres on the far fields.

'Welcome,' he said softly, without turning.