The Last Guardian by David Gemmell

better known. But she did try to explain its importance in terms of controlling hereditary characteristics. For an hour she spoke, accompanying her words with sketches.
    “So,” said Oshere at last, “you are saying that these magic chains divide themselves into exact replicas? For what purpose?”
    With extraordinary patience Chreena moved on to talk of genes and chromosomes. At last the light of understanding dawned in Oshere.
    “I begin to see. How fascinating! But how does this make us stupid? Until we are told—or discover—new knowledge, we cannot be accused of foolishness. Can we?”
    “I guess not,” said Chreena, “but that is not what I meant. What I am saying is that Shir-ran’s genetic structure is changing, mutating. The daughter chains are no longer identical to the parent, and now I know why.”
    “Tell me.”
    “Because you are not people. You are—” she stopped suddenly and looked away, and Oshere’s tawny eyes narrowed.
    “Finish what you were saying.”
    “Someone—some group—in the Between Times inserted a different gene into your ancestors—into your basic genetic code, if you like. Now, once in maybe five generations the structure breaks down and reverts. Shir-ranis not becoming a god—he’s becoming what his ancestor was: a lion.”
    Oshere rose. “There are statues in the old cities that show lion-headed gods. They were worshiped. I have been educated to believe in the religion of my ancestors, and I will not throw it aside. But I will speak to you again; I will learn which is correct.”
    Chreena rose and took his arm. “I’m sorry, Oshere. I should never have told you. You must not mention it to anyone else—especially Shir-ran.”
    “It is rather too late for that,” said Shir-ran as he ambled into the room, his huge leonine head tilted. “I am sorry, Chreena. It was rude to listen, but I could not help myself. I don’t know about you, Oshere, but I do know I never felt less like a god.”
    Oshere had seen tears in the great tawny eyes and had backed away from the former lovers.
    Shir-ran had fled the city three months later, passing from the land without comment. Oshere had spent the time since then with Chreena, learning in secret all the dark lore of the Between Times—save how the world had fallen. Then—a month ago—Oshere himself had awakened in the dawn to find his muscles racked with pain and his face strangely distended.
    Chreena had worked ceaselessly to help him, but to no avail.
    Now all he wanted was to learn as much as he could about the land, the stars, and the Lord of All Things. And he had one dream he held in his heart like a jewel.
    He wanted to see the ocean. Just once.
    Her dreams were troubled. She was sitting at a feast, the only woman present. Around her the men were handsome and tall, their smiles easy, full of warmth and friendliness. She reached out to touch her companion, and her hand rested on his arm, felt the fur. Then she recoiled and looked up into tawny eyes that chilled her,saw the long fangs that could rend her flesh. She sat frozen as one by one the men became lions, their eyes no longer friendly.
    She awoke in a cold sweat and swung her long legs from the bed. The night was cool, and the breeze from the balcony window caressed her naked body as she walked to the balcony and gazed over the moonlit city.
    The people of the Dianae slept in blissful ignorance of the doom that awaited them. She shivered and returned to the bedroom. Sleep would not come again, but she was too tired to work. Wrapping herself in a warm woolen blanket, she pulled a chair to the balcony and sat beneath the stars.
    “I miss you, Samuel,” she said, picturing the kindly face of the husband she had lost, the father of the son she had lost. “If all men had been like you, the world would have remained Eden.”
    But all men were not as Samuel Archer had been. They were driven by greed or lust, hate or fear. She shook her head. The people of the Dianae had