with all men, but my spoken word is iron.'
There are few guns in Rivervale, Mr Shannow. This was . . . is . . .a peaceful land. If you would like to wash before eating, there is a pump behind the house.'
'Do you have an axe, Lady?'
'Yes. In the wood-shed.'
‘Then I shall work for my supper. Excuse me.'
He walked out into the fading light of dusk and unsaddled the gelding, leading him into the paddock and releasing him among the other three horses. Then he carried his saddle and bags to the porch before fetching the axe. He spent almost an hour preparing firewood before stripping to the waist and washing himself at the pump. The moon was up when Donna Taybard called him in. She and the boy sat at one end of the table, having set his place apart and facing the hearth. He moved his plate to the other side and seated himself facing the door.
'May I speak a word of thanks, Fray Taybard?' asked Shannow as she filled the plates. She nodded. 'Lord of Hosts, our thanks to thee for this food. Bless this dwelling and those who pass their lives here. Amen.'
'You follow the old ways, Mr Shannow?' asked Donna, passing a bowl of salt to the guest.
'Old? It is new to me, Fray Taybard. But, yes, it is older than any man knows and a mystery to this world of broken dreams.'
'Please do not call me Fray, it makes me feel ancient. You may call me Donna. This is my son, Eric.'
Shannow nodded towards Eric and smiled, but the boy looked away and continued to eat. The bearded stranger frightened him, though he was anxious not to show it. He glanced at the weapons hanging by the door.
'Are they hand pistols?' he asked.
'Yes,' said Shannow. 'I have had them for seventeen years, but they are much older than that.'
'Do you make your own powder?'
'Yes, I have casts for the loads and several hundred brass caps.'
'Have you killed anyone with them?'
'Eric!' snapped his mother. ‘That is no question to ask a guest - and certainly not at table.'
They finished the meal in silence and Shannow helped her clear away the dishes. At the back of the house was an indoor water pump, and together they cleaned the plates. Donna felt uncomfortable in the closeness of the pump-room and dropped a plate which shattered into a score of shards on the tiled wooden floor.
'Please do not be nervous,' he said, kneeling to collect the broken pieces.
'I trust you, Mr Shannow. But I have been wrong before.'
'I shall sleep outside and be gone in the morning. Thank you for the meal.'
'No,' she said, too hurriedly. ‘I mean - you can sleep in the comfort chair. Eric and I sleep in the back room.'
'And Mr Taybard?'
'Has been gone for ten days. I hope he will be back soon; I'm worried for him.'
'I could look for him, if you would like. He may have fallen from his horse.'
'He was driving our wagon. Stay and talk, Mr Shannow; it is so long since we had company. You can give us news of . . . where have you come from?'
'From the south and east, across the grass prairies. Before that I was at sea for two years - trading with the Ice Settlements beyond Volcano Rim.'
'That is said to be the edge of the world.'
'I think it is where Hell begins. You can see the fires lighting the horizon for a thousand miles.'
Donna eased past him into the main room. Eric was yawning and his mother ordered him to bed.
He argued as all young people do, but finally obeyed her, leaving his bedroom door ajar.
Shannow lowered himself into the comfort chair, stretching his long legs out before the stove. His eyes burned with fatigue.
'Why do you wander, Mr Shannow?' asked Donna, sitting on the goatskin rug in front of him.
'I am seeking a dream. A city on a hill.'
'I have heard of cities to the south.'
'They are settlements, though some of them are large. But no, my city has been around for much longer, it was built, destroyed and rebuilt thousands of years ago. It is called Jerusalem and there is a road leading to it - a black road, with glittering diamonds in the centre that shine
There are few guns in Rivervale, Mr Shannow. This was . . . is . . .a peaceful land. If you would like to wash before eating, there is a pump behind the house.'
'Do you have an axe, Lady?'
'Yes. In the wood-shed.'
‘Then I shall work for my supper. Excuse me.'
He walked out into the fading light of dusk and unsaddled the gelding, leading him into the paddock and releasing him among the other three horses. Then he carried his saddle and bags to the porch before fetching the axe. He spent almost an hour preparing firewood before stripping to the waist and washing himself at the pump. The moon was up when Donna Taybard called him in. She and the boy sat at one end of the table, having set his place apart and facing the hearth. He moved his plate to the other side and seated himself facing the door.
'May I speak a word of thanks, Fray Taybard?' asked Shannow as she filled the plates. She nodded. 'Lord of Hosts, our thanks to thee for this food. Bless this dwelling and those who pass their lives here. Amen.'
'You follow the old ways, Mr Shannow?' asked Donna, passing a bowl of salt to the guest.
'Old? It is new to me, Fray Taybard. But, yes, it is older than any man knows and a mystery to this world of broken dreams.'
'Please do not call me Fray, it makes me feel ancient. You may call me Donna. This is my son, Eric.'
Shannow nodded towards Eric and smiled, but the boy looked away and continued to eat. The bearded stranger frightened him, though he was anxious not to show it. He glanced at the weapons hanging by the door.
'Are they hand pistols?' he asked.
'Yes,' said Shannow. 'I have had them for seventeen years, but they are much older than that.'
'Do you make your own powder?'
'Yes, I have casts for the loads and several hundred brass caps.'
'Have you killed anyone with them?'
'Eric!' snapped his mother. ‘That is no question to ask a guest - and certainly not at table.'
They finished the meal in silence and Shannow helped her clear away the dishes. At the back of the house was an indoor water pump, and together they cleaned the plates. Donna felt uncomfortable in the closeness of the pump-room and dropped a plate which shattered into a score of shards on the tiled wooden floor.
'Please do not be nervous,' he said, kneeling to collect the broken pieces.
'I trust you, Mr Shannow. But I have been wrong before.'
'I shall sleep outside and be gone in the morning. Thank you for the meal.'
'No,' she said, too hurriedly. ‘I mean - you can sleep in the comfort chair. Eric and I sleep in the back room.'
'And Mr Taybard?'
'Has been gone for ten days. I hope he will be back soon; I'm worried for him.'
'I could look for him, if you would like. He may have fallen from his horse.'
'He was driving our wagon. Stay and talk, Mr Shannow; it is so long since we had company. You can give us news of . . . where have you come from?'
'From the south and east, across the grass prairies. Before that I was at sea for two years - trading with the Ice Settlements beyond Volcano Rim.'
'That is said to be the edge of the world.'
'I think it is where Hell begins. You can see the fires lighting the horizon for a thousand miles.'
Donna eased past him into the main room. Eric was yawning and his mother ordered him to bed.
He argued as all young people do, but finally obeyed her, leaving his bedroom door ajar.
Shannow lowered himself into the comfort chair, stretching his long legs out before the stove. His eyes burned with fatigue.
'Why do you wander, Mr Shannow?' asked Donna, sitting on the goatskin rug in front of him.
'I am seeking a dream. A city on a hill.'
'I have heard of cities to the south.'
'They are settlements, though some of them are large. But no, my city has been around for much longer, it was built, destroyed and rebuilt thousands of years ago. It is called Jerusalem and there is a road leading to it - a black road, with glittering diamonds in the centre that shine
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