Shannow had been right: The imminent fall of Atlantis represented a deadly danger to the new world. One of the great mysteries the Guardians had never been able to solve was the eyewitness accounts of the Second Fall, when ten thousand years of civilization had been ripped from the surface of the planet. Those eyewitnesses had spoken of two suns in the sky. Amaziga had been educated in the theory that what had been seen was in fact a nuclear explosion. Now she was not so sure. The gold scrolls spoke of a gateway to a world of flying machines and great weapons. The circle of history? When Atlantis fell, did it drag the twenty-first century with it? And what of the twenty-fourth … What of now? Dear God, was the earth to fall again?
The dusk breeze was cold against her skin. Rising, she drew the heavy curtains and lit the lanterns on the wall. What is it about our race, she wondered, that leads us always along the road of destruction?
Returning to her desk, she picked up the last scroll and traced the words under the dim, golden light of the lanterns. Her eyes widened.
“Sweet Jesus!” she whispered, and taking her pistol, she ran from the room and down the stairs to the courtyard. Nu’s mare was still tethered there, and she climbed into the saddle and raced through the city. Beyond the main gate the lions were feasting on the bodies of the reptiles; they ignored her, and she lashed the mare into a gallop.
Shannow did not follow the Parson at speed. The stallion was weary and in need of rest; also, the light was failing, and he knew he would be too late if any mishap should befall the horse. The Jerusalem Man swayed in the saddle. He also was tired; his mind reeled with all that Amaziga had told him. Once upon a time the world had been a simple place where there were good men and evil men and the hope of Jerusalem. Now all had changed.
The Sword of God was just a weapon created by men to destroy other men. The crown of crosses consisted of planes from out of the past. So where was God? Shannow lifted his canteen and drank deeply. Far ahead he could see the outline of the Chaos Peak. As the clouds parted, he saw the sword glittering like silver in the night sky.
“Where are you, Lord?” said Shannow. “Where do you walk?”
There was no answer. Shannow thought of Nu and hoped the shipbuilder had returned home safely. The stallion plodded on, and dawn was breaking as Shannow angled his mount up the rocky slope leading to the Chaos Peak and the Pledging Pool. Glancing back, he could see in the distance a rider coming toward the peak. Taking his long glass, he focused it and recognized Amaziga. The mare was all but finished, lather-covered and scarcely moving. Returning the glass to his saddlebag, Shannow crested the last rise. His eyes were burning with fatigue as he headed the stallion down to the pool, then dismounted and gazed about him. The peak reared like a jagged finger, and he could see the Parson almost at the last ledge. It was a long shot for a pistol.
“Welcome, Shannow,” came a voice, and the Jerusalem Man spun, his pistols leveling at the speaker. Then he saw Beth McAdam. A slender white-haired man had his arm about her throat, a pistol pointed to her head. The speaker—the man from his dreams—stood several paces to the left. “I have to say, Shannow, that I am grateful to you,” Magellas told him. “You killed that arrogant swine Rhodaeul, and that did me a great service. However, the king of kings has spoken the words of your death.”
“What has she to do with this?” asked Shannow.
“She will be released the moment you lay down your weapons.”
“And that is the moment I die?”
“Exactly. But it will be swift.” Magellas drew his pistol. “I promise you.”
Shannow’s guns were still trained on the young man, hammers cocked, fingers on the triggers. “Don’t listen to him, Shannow. Blow him away!” cried Beth McAdam.
“You will let her go?” Shannow asked.
“I am a man of my word,” said Magellas, and Shannow nodded.
“Then it is done,” he agreed.
At that moment Beth McAdam lifted her booted foot and slammed it down on Lindian’s instep. Ramming her head back into his face, she tore loose from his grip. As Lindian cursed and raised his pistol, Clem Steiner reared up from behind a rock. Lindian saw him and swung, but he was too late. Steiner’s pistol boomed, and the slender warrior was hurled to the ground with a bullet in his heart.
As Beth made her move, Magellas fired, and the shell swept Shannow’s hat from his head. The Jerusalem Man triggered his pistols. Magellas staggered but did not go down. Again Shannow fired, and Magellas sank to his knees, still struggling to lift his gun. The pistol dropped from his fingers, and he raised his head. “I like you, Shannow,” he said with a weak smile. Then his eyes closed, and he toppled forward.
Shannow ran to Steiner. The wound in his chest had opened, and his face was ghostly as he sat back on a rock.
“Paid you back, Shannow,” he whispered.
Beth approached him. “You’re crazy, Clem … but thanks. How the hell did you get here?”
“I wasn’t out for long. Bull came by to see me, and I left the kids with him and followed the tracks. Looks like we should be safe now.”
“Not yet,” said Shannow.
The Parson had reached the ledge and was now out of range. They watched him lift his hand.
The Sword of God trembled in the sky.
Shannow ran to the base of the peak and stripped off his black coat, dropping it to the ground. Then he reached up, took hold of a jutting rock, and hauled himself up. The peak loomed above him. His fingers reached for other holds, and the slow climb began.
Beth and Steiner sat down to watch his progress. High above, on the ledge, the Parson began to chant broken verses from the Old Testament.
“A sword, a sword, drawn for the slaughter, polished to consume, and to flash like lightning … For thus saith the Lord God: When I shall make thee a desolate city … when I shall bring up the deep upon thee, and great waters shall cover thee … I shall make thee a terror, and thou shalt be no more; though thou be sought for, yet shall thou never be found again, saith the Lord God.” His voice echoed on the wind.
Amaziga stumbled over the crest of the hill, the mare having died on the slope. She ran down to the poolside and saw Shannow inching his way up the rock face.
“No,” she shouted. “Let him be, Shannow. Let him be!”
But the Jerusalem Man did not respond. As Amaziga drew her pistol and aimed it at him, Beth ran across the stones and hurled herself at the other woman. The pistol fired, splintering the rock by Shannow’s left hand; he flinched instinctively and almost fell. Beth tore the gun from Amaziga’s hand and threw the woman from her.
“We have to stop him!” said Amaziga. “We have to!”
A rumbling roar came from the sky. The base of the sword was becoming flame and smoke. Shannow climbed on. Minutes fled by. On the rock face Shannow was tiring, his arms trembling with the effort of dragging himself upward. But he was close now. Sweat bathed his face as he forced his weary limbs to respond.
He could hear the Parson’s voice above him: “I will breathe out my wrath upon you, and breathe out my fiery anger against you … Wail and say alas for that day … a time of doom for the nations.”
As the missile trembled, several planes on the edge of the stasis field broke clear, the sound of their engines roaring over the desert beyond the peak. Shannow reached the ledge and hauled himself over it. For several seconds, exhausted, he could do nothing.
The Parson saw him. “Welcome, Brother. Welcome! Today you will hear a sermon unlike any other, for the Sword of God is coming home.”
“No,” Shannow told him. “It is no sword, Parson.” But the man did not hear him.
“This is a blessed day. This is my destiny.” With a terrifying roar, the missile burst clear of the field and began to rise. “No!” screamed the Parson. “No! Come back!” He held up his hand. The missile slowed its rise and began to turn in the air. The tower rumbled. A great flash of lightning seared the sky to the south, the air parting like a curtain, and a second sun shone in
the sky. Shannow pushed himself to his knees. From the ledge he could see the immense gateway opened by Pendarric and the massed ranks of his legions beyond it. The light was unbearable. In the sky the missile had almost completed its turn. Shannow drew his pistol. The earthquake hit just as he was about to fire on the Parson. A huge crack snaked across the desert … the pool disappeared … the tower buckled, great slabs of stone peeling from the walls. Shannow dropped his pistol and grasped a jutting rock. The Parson, concentrating on the missile, lost his footing and tumbled from the ledge, his body shattering on impact with the rocks below, where the pool had once been.
Clem Steiner, Beth, and Amaziga ran from the edge of the new chasm, taking shelter higher on the slopes. Shannow pushed himself upright. The missile was coming back toward him.
He stared sullenly at the weapon of his own destruction, wishing he could hurl the monster through the gaping gateway. In response to his thoughts, the missile wavered and twisted in the air. Shannow did not understand the miracle, for he did not know of the Sipstrassi Stone pulsing its power beyond the rock, but his heart leapt with the realization that the Sword of God was responding to his wishes. He concentrated with all the strength he could muster. Like a spear, the silver missile sped through the gate of time. Pendarric’s legions watched it pass … on it flew, one section breaking away. For some moments Shannow experienced a sense of bitter disappointment, for nothing had happened. Then came the light of a thousand suns and a sound like the end of worlds.
The gateway disappeared.
33
NU-KHASISATRA OPENED HIS eyes to find that he was standing within the circle of stones beyond the royal gardens, two hundred paces from the temple of Ad. Stars shone brightly in the sky, and the city slept. He ran from the circle, down the tree-lined Avenue of Kings, and on through the gates of pearl and silver. An old beggar awoke as he passed, stretching out his hand.
“Help me, Highness,” he said drowsily, but Nu ran by him. The man sent a whispered curse after him and settled down to sleep beneath his thin blankets.
Nu was breathing heavily by the time he reached the Street of Merchants. He slowed to a walk, then ran again, coming at last to the bolted gate by his own gardens. Glancing to the left and right, he grasped the iron grille and began to climb. Once over the top, he dropped to the earth and loped toward the house. A huge hound bore down on him, but when Nu knelt and held out his hand, the hound stopped short, sniffing at him.
“Come on, Nimrod. It hasn’t been that long,” said Nu. The black hound’s tail began to wag, and Nu rubbed at the beast’s long ears. “Let’s find your mistress.”
The house doors were also bolted, but Nu pounded on the wood. A light flickered in an upper window, and a servant stepped out to the balcony.
“Who is it?” came a voice.
“Open the door. The master of the house is home,” called Nu.
“Sweet Chronos!” exclaimed the servant, Purat. Moments later, the bolts were drawn back and Nu stepped into the house. Purat, an elderly retainer, blinked as he saw the strange garb worn by his master, but Nu allowed no time for questions. “Rouse the servants,” he said, “and pack all your belongings and food for a journey.”
“Where are we going, lord?” Purat asked.
“To safety, God willing.” Nu ran up the winding staircase and opened the door to his bedroom, where Pashad was asleep. He sat on the wide silk-covered bed and stroked her dark hair, and her eyes opened.
“Is this another dream?” she whispered.
“It is no dream, beloved. I am here.” She sat up and threw her arms around her husband’s neck.
“I knew you would come. I prayed so hard.”
“We have no time, Pashad. The world we know is about to end, even as the Lord Chronos told me. We must get away to the docks. Which of my ships is in harbor?”
“Arcanau alone stands ready. She will carry a shipment of livestock to the eastern colony.”
“Then Arcanau it is. Fetch the children and pack warm clothes. We will go to the dock and seek out Conalis the master; he must be prepared to sail at dusk tomorrow.”
“But the manifest has not been cleared, beloved. They will not allow us to sail; they will close the harbor mouth.”
“I do not think so—not on this coming day of days. Now dress swiftly and do as I bid you.”
Pashad pushed aside the silk sheet and rose from the bed. “Much has happened since you left us,” she told him, slipping from her nightgown and pulling a warm woolen dress from the chest by the window. “Half the merchants and artisans from the eastern quarter have vanished; it is said that the king has taken them to another world. There is great excitement in the city. You know my second cousin, Karia? She is married to the court astrologer, Araksis. She says that a huge Sipstrassi Stone has been taken to the star tower; it is set to catch a great weapon our enemies are sending against us.”
“What? The star tower?”
“Yes. Karia says Araksis is very concerned. The king told him that enemies in another world will be seeking to destroy the empire.”
“And they have set up a stone to prevent it? Listen to me, Pashad. Take the children and find Conalis; tell him to prepare for a dusk sailing. I will join you at the dock. Where is Arcanau berthed?”
“The twelfth jetty. Why are you not coming with us?”
He strode to her, taking her in a powerful embrace. “I cannot. There is something I must do. But trust me, Pashad. I love you.”
He kissed her swiftly and then ran from the room. Two of the retainers were waiting in the courtyard; beside them were hastily packed chests, while Purat was leading a horse and wagon along the pathway from the gate. The dawn was bright in the sky.
“Purat! Harness the chariot. I need it now.”
“Yes, lord. But the white pair have been lent to Bonantae. There is only the bay mare and a gelding, and they are not a team.”
“Do it.”
“At once, lord.”
Within minutes Nu-Khasisatra was lashing the team back along the Avenue of Kings toward the distant star tower. The gelding was stronger than the mare and it was hard to control the wooden chariot, but Nu drove recklessly, relying on his strength to keep the beasts under control. The chariot bounced on a jutting stone, lifting Nu from his feet, but he steadied himself and raced on through the doomed city.
The Lord had commanded him to find the Sword of God … he had failed. But Shannow had promised to find it and do what needed to be done. At last Nu understood what that meant. Shannow would send the sword through the gateway, and that was how the world would end. The Sword of God was the bright light of Nu’s vision, and Araksis was using Sipstrassi power to stop it.
The sky was bright now, the morning upon him as Nu swung the chariot into the courtyard below the star tower. Two sentries ran to him, seizing the bridles of the sweating horses.
Nu leapt to the ground. “Is Araksis here?” he asked.
The men eyed his strange clothing and exchanged glances.
“I have to see him on a matter of great urgency,” stated Nu.
“I think you should come with us, sir,” said one of the sentries, moving toward him. “The captain of the guard will want to question you.”
“No time,” said Nu, his huge fist clubbing into the man’s jaw. The sentry dropped like a stone. The other man was struggling to draw his sword when Nu leapt at him; Nu’s fist rose and fell, and the second sentry dropped alongside his companion.
The door to the tower stairs was bolted from the inside. When Nu slammed his shoulder against it, the wood buckled but did not give. He stepped back and hammered his foot against the lock; the door exploded inward.
Taking the steps two at a time, Nu climbed to the tower. A second door was not locked, and he stepped inside. A dark, handsome man wearing a golden circlet on his brow was leaning over a desk, working on a large chart. He glanced up as Nu entered.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“Nu-Khasisatra.”
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The man’s eyes widened. “You have been named as a traitor and a heretic. What do you want here?”
“I have come to stop you, Araksis … in the name of the most holy.”
“You don’t know what you are saying. The world is at risk.”
“The world is dead. You know that I speak the truth; you have seen the future, astrologer. The king’s evil has destroyed the balance of harmony in the world. The Lord Chronos has decreed that his evil should end.”
“But there are thousands—hundreds of thousands—of innocents. We have a thousand years of civilization to protect. You must be wrong.”
“Wrong? I have seen the fall of worlds. I have walked in the ruins of Ad. I have seen the statue of Pendarric toppled by a shark in the depths below the oceans. I am not wrong.”
“I can stop it. I can, Nu. This Sword of God is only a mighty machine. I can hold it with the Sipstrassi … send it where it can cause no killing.”
“I cannot allow you to make the attempt,” said Nu softly, glancing at the clear blue sky.
“You cannot stop it, traitor. The power is spread across the gateway like a shield. It also covers the city. Any metallic object in the sky around Ad will be trapped—nothing can get through. You can kill me, Nu-Khasisatra, but that will not change the magic. And you cannot approach the stone and live, for there are mighty spells protecting it.”
Nu swung to look at the giant Sipstrassi Stone. Golden wires were welded to its surface, leading to six crystal spheres supported on a framework of silver. “Get out while you can,” said Araksis. “Since we are linked by marriage, I will give you an hour before I notify the king of your return.”
Nu ignored him. Striding to the desk, he swept the parchment from it and pushed his hands under the oak top. The heavy desk lifted.
“No!” screamed Araksis, hurling himself at the larger man.