Jerusalem Man 03 - Bloodstone Read Free

into his eyes.
    'Indeed it does, Meneer Jeremiah. I feel myself growing stronger with each passing day. If more people from the city could see this land there would be less savagery, I am sure.'
    Jeremiah said nothing and transferred his gaze to the fire. In his experience savagery always dwelt in the shadow of Man, and where Man walked evil was never far behind. But Meredith was a gentle soul, and it did a young man no harm to nurse gentle dreams. 'How is the wounded man?' Meredith asked.
    'Recovering, I think, though he claims to remember nothing of the fight that caused his injuries. He says his name is Jon Shannow.'
    Anger shone briefly in Meredith's eyes. 'A curse on that name!' he said.
    Jeremiah shrugged. 'It is only a name.'

*
    Isis knelt by the river-bank and stared down at the long, sleek fish just below the glittering surface of the water. It was a beautiful fish, she thought, reaching out with her mind. Instantly her thoughts blurred, then merged with the fish. She felt the cool of the water along her flanks and was filled with a haunting restlessness, a need to move, to push against the currents, to swim for home.
    Withdrawing, she lay back . . . and felt the approach of Jeremiah. Smiling, she sat up and turned towards the old man. 'How is he?' she asked, as Jeremiah eased himself down beside her.

    'Getting stronger. I'd like you to sit with him.' The old man is troubled, but trying to hide it, she thought.
    Resisting the urge to flow into his mind, she waited for him to speak again. 'He is a fighter, perhaps even a brigand. I just don't know. It was our duty to help him, but the question is: Will he prove a danger to us as he grows stronger? Is he a killer? Is he wanted by the Crusaders? Could we find ourselves in trouble for harbouring him? Will you help me?'
    'Oh, Jeremiah,' said Isis, softly. 'Of course I will help you. Did you doubt it?'
    He reddened. 'I know you don't like to use your talent on people. I'm sorry I had to ask.'
    'You're a sweet man,' she said, rising. Dizziness swept over her and she stumbled. Jeremiah caught her, and she felt swamped by his concern. Slowly strength returned to her, but the pain had now started in her chest and stomach. Jeremiah lifted her into his arms and walked back towards the wagons where Dr Meredith ran to them. Jeremiah sat her down in the wide rocking-chair by the fire, while Meredith took her pulse. ‘I’m all right now,' she said. 'Truly.'
    Meredith's slender hand rested on her brow, and it took all her concentration to blot out the intensity of his feelings for her. 'I'm all right!'
    'And the pain?' he asked.
    'Fading,' she lied. 'I just got up too quickly. It is nothing.'
    'Get some salt,' Meredith told Jeremiah. When he returned Meredith poured it into her outstretched palm. 'Eat it,' he commanded.
    'It makes me feel sick,' she protested, but he remained silent and she licked the salt from her hand.
    Jeremiah passed her a mug of water, and she rinsed her mouth.
    'You should rest now,' said Meredith.
    'I will, soon,' she promised. Slowly she stood. Her legs took her weight and she thanked both men.
    Anxious to be away from their caring glances she moved to Jeremiah's wagon and climbed inside, where the wounded man was still sleeping.
    Isis pulled up a chair and sat down. Her illness was worsening, and she sensed the imminence of death.
    Pushing such thoughts from her mind, she reached out, her small hand resting on the fingers of the sleeping man. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to fall into his memories, floating down and down through the layers of manhood and adolescence, absorbing nothing until she reached childhood.
    Two boys, brothers. One shy and sensitive, the other bois-' terous and rough. Caring parents, farmers.
    Then the brigands came. Bloodshed and murder, the boys escaping. Torment and tragedy affecting them both in different ways, the one becoming a brigand, the other . . .
    Isis jerked back to reality, all thoughts of her illness forgotten