Morpheus Road 03 - The Blood (23 page)

The soldier could only lift his shield to protect himself. He knew what the black sword could do.

Press went to work on the other two soldiers. They were more aggressive with him, for they didn't fear his wooden stave. Press swung left, clipping one, then ducked down and swung the stave low, knocking out the other soldier at the knees.

"Why are we fighting?" Coop called. "Go to your vision!"

"How?" Marsh exclaimed.

Coop ran to him and grabbed his arm as the colorful swirl appeared in front of them.

"You'll learn," Coop declared, and all three stepped into the fog.

Sydney had to force herself to drive safely.

Getting into a wreck while careening around a corner doing eighty wouldn't have done anybody any good. Least of all her. Still, she pressed her silver Volkswagen Beetle to the limits of her driving ability and prayed that she wouldn't be pulled over. It helped that she was headed to the remote northern end of Stony Brook, where traffic cops rarely patrolled.

She was angry at her brother, which wasn't unusual. In this case it was because he had the ability to get to Marsh long before she could. He was a spirit and she had to rely on common old ground transportation. She knew it was silly to be angry at him for that but she needed to be angry at someone and Coop was always a solid choice. She originally wanted him to ride in the car with her but agreed that speed
was what mattered, so he vanished and went on his ghostly way while she was left to negotiate the winding roads of town in the hope that she wasn't too late to stop Marsh from doing whatever he planned on doing.

The taxi dispatcher said that a cab had taken him to Stony Brook cemetery. She didn't relish the idea of going back there alone, but if that's where Marsh was headed, that's where she needed to be.

It was late in the afternoon when she rolled through the front gates, relieved to see that they hadn't yet been closed for the day. She parked the car near a work shed, hop
ing nobody would notice that there was a late visitor. She wasn't in the mood to offer explanations, or to walk through the lonely cemetery, for that matter, but the fear of what might be happening to Marsh trumped any other concerns.

"Cooper?" she whispered to nobody, hoping that her brother's spirit might be watching over her.

There was no answer, ghostly or otherwise, so she steeled herself and walked quickly for her brother's grave. It was the only place she could think of to go.

She arrived without incident. It was an odd experience to be standing over Cooper's grave. He had been buried only a few weeks before, which was enough time for young grass to begin poking up through the turned soil. Though her brother's broken body lay several feet beneath the earth, it was hard to feel sadness. She was too busy dealing with his spirit, which was every bit as arrogant and obnoxious as his living self. It gave her a strange feeling of comfort to know that life didn't end with the death of one's living body.

Though, given recent events, she wasn't entirely sure how much longer anybody would be able to rest in peace. Anywhere.

"You here?" Sydney called out. "Hey? Anybody?" No answer.

It wasn't a huge surprise. She couldn't think of a single reason why Marsh would have come to Cooper's grave. She was only there because she didn't know where else to go. Sydney was smart. Brilliant. The answers to so many ques
tions that had been plaguing her since the adventure began felt tantalizingly close. It was frustrating for her not to be able to grasp them. As she stood over her brother's grave, she rolled the events of the summer over in her head. Why would Marsh come to the cemetery? He didn't have to hang out there to speak with Cooper. Even in death, Coop was never far away. No, he wasn't there because of Cooper, but he might have been there because of Ennis Mobley.

Ennis had been buried in the same cemetery that very day. Was that why Marsh had come? Sydney had no idea where Ennis's grave was and knew she wouldn't find it on her own. She decided to find somebody who worked there and hope they had a directory of the dead.

She had started back toward the parking lot, her mind still churning, when her eye caught sight of something that was oddly familiar. It was a mausoleum. She had almost for
gotten about the one other time she had been to this ceme
tery. It was for Marsh's mother's funeral. She hadn't wanted to go but the Seavers were close friends and her parents insisted she be there, so she sucked it up and went, and hated every second of it. As much as she hadn't wanted to be at the sad service, her heart went out to Marsh who stood next to his mother's coffin in the lower level of the mauso
leum. It pained her then, and it pained her now to think about the chain of events that his mother's death had set in motion. So much sadness. So many deaths. Cooper, George 0., Mr. Reilly, and now Ennis Mobley.

Sydney stopped short. Her mind went back to Terri Seaver's funeral. She remembered standing in the back of the small group that had gone into the mausoleum for the
interment. She had to stand up on tiptoes to see what was happening near the crypt. The priest had mumbled some prayers, then Ennis Mobley stepped forward and put some
thing that looked like a tangle of branches on top of the cof
fin, announcing to the gathered that it was "the wood of life."

Lignum vitae.

Ennis's last words to Marsh.

Sydney turned quickly and sprinted for the mausoleum. She blasted through the trees and ran up the marble steps to the front door. Did they lock these things? She pulled on the handle, and the door swung open easily. She remem
bered the place all too well, and why not? It was the only mausoleum she had ever been in. She hurried through the meditation area and went right to the door that led down the stairs to the crypt where Marsh's mother was interred. The door leading to the stairs wasn't locked either. That meant one of two things: Either they didn't bother locking the place, or somebody had opened them recently.

"Marsh?" she cried, hurrying down the stairs.

She hit the floor . . . and froze. Her heart went into her throat. Sydney didn't know what she expected to find down there, but it wasn't what she saw in front of her.

A coffin lay on the floor, having been pulled from a destroyed tomb. The lid was open. Lying in a heap on the floor next to it was the owner. Sydney swallowed hard. Was she looking at the remains of Terri Seaver?

She forced herself to step forward to take a closer look. Fighting back fear and a twisted stomach, she stared down at the remains . . . and realized the truth. Whoever the skele
ton was, it wasn't Marsh's mom. It was definitely a man.

"What the hell?" she whispered.

Lying next to the remains was the tangle of branches that Ennis had placed on the coffin.

Lignum vitae.

The coffin belonged to Ree Seaver, though the skeleton did not.

As grisly a sight as that was, it didn't affect her as much as the sight of the glowing tear in the wall of crypts. She may not have seen one before, but she knew exactly what it was. She was too late. Damon had the poleax and had torn open another Rift into the Black.

Sydney backed away in a daze from the grisly scene. The pieces of the puzzle were falling quickly into place. Ennis's last words to Marsh had led him to the truth. The poleax had been hidden in his mother's grave. It made total sense. Ennis had brought the poleax back from Greece in the cof
fin. He wanted to keep it away from Damon and gave Marsh the crucibles for protection. But Damon was too smart. He killed Cooper, haunted Marsh, and tortured Ennis until he got what he wanted.

Sydney stood looking into the glowing portal in awe of the fact that it was a conduit into the afterlife. What had happened? Where was Marsh? And Cooper? And for that matter . . . Damon?
There was no way of knowing.

Or was there?

She took a step closer and gazed into eternity. The play
ing field was no longer in the Light. It had moved into the Black. She figured Cooper was there, doing his best to hunt down Damon. But where was Marsh?

She took another step closer to the portal. The answers were just beyond its glowing border. The Black. The stories she heard from Cooper sounded as if it was an incredible place, a place out of your own imagination and experience. You could meet and interact with spirits from every time. When the time came for her to enter the Black, she would see her grandparents again. And her aunt Theresa. Or even President Kennedy! She wondered if you would be reunited with your pets. She wouldn't have minded cuddling up with
her cat Abigail one more time. Even if it was an illusion. The Black seemed like a place full of nothing but possibilities. You could correct your mistakes and become the best pos
sible person you were capable of being. No more pressure. No more expectations to live up to. It could be whatever you wanted it to be. It didn't make sense to her that Damon was trying so hard to come back into the uncertainty of the Light when the Black had so much more going for it.

Sydney stepped even closer, mesmerized by the glow from within. It would be so simple to step inside and begin her own adventure. Everyone had to do it sooner or later. Everyone walked the Morpheus Road. She stood inches from the open
ing and put her hand on the marble wall of the crypt. It felt solid. And real. What lay beyond was just as real. Maybe more so. Answers to so many questions lay just beyond the opening. She tried to focus deeper inside to see if she could make out shapes. She looked up, to the sides, and then down.

What she saw on the floor just beyond the edge of the Rift made her catch her breath and jump back.

It was a hand. A lifeless hand. She got down onto her knees and peered into the bright light to see if she could see who it belonged to.

"Marsh!" she exclaimed.

Marsh's lifeless body lay just beyond the opening of the Rift. Sydney fought panic and acted out of instinct rather than logic. She reached inside, grabbed Marsh's wrist, and dragged him out into the mausoleum.

She put her head to his chest, hoping to hear a heart
beat . . . and didn't. His skin was still warm to the touch, but his spirit had left his body. For the first time in her life, Sydney lost control and broke down sobbing. She had gotten the answer to one of her questions and wished she hadn't. The room seemed to spin beneath her.

"
Are you here?" she cried, looking around the tomb.
"Are you with me? Talk to me. Cooper? Where is he?"

There were no answers. Sydney was alone. She sat with Marsh's head in her lap for a good long time, weeping. In the span of a few short weeks she had lost two people who couldn't have been any closer to her. It made her feel pain
fully alone. She looked up to the Rift, staring into the invit
ing light.

Gently resting Marsh's head down onto the marble floor, she stood up on shaky legs and walked toward the open
ing. She wanted to see Marsh again, not just his body. She wanted to hold him. She even wanted to hold Cooper. The two meant everything to her and she couldn't imagine being without them. Not anymore. Never before had she felt so utterly powerless and alone.

She took a step closer to the gash, ready to step through . . . when she stopped.

There was a weight in her jacket pocket. A familiar weight. It made her remember that there was more going on than simple life and death. There was so much more at stake. She remembered that as lonely as she felt at that moment, she wasn't. If she had learned anything over the past few weeks, it was that she would never be alone.

She knew the right thing to do.

Sydney knelt down and slipped her arms under Marsh's body. It was an awkward struggle, but she managed to lift him enough so that she could slide him back through the Rift. Once she was certain that every part of him was beyond the threshold, she reached out and grabbed the lignum vitae sculpture that was resting against the coffin. She stood up, faced the Rift, and wiped her eyes.

"I don't know how you died," she called into the Rift, her voice shaking. "It might have been Damon or it might have been your own choice. But I know that one way or another, I'll see you again. We're fighting to save the Morpheus Road
and I'm the only one left in the Light who knows that. I'm
here. I'm
ready to do whatever it takes."

She reached into her pocket . . .

"I think you guys need this more than I do."

. . . and took out the sixth crucible.

The last crucible.

"I love you guys," she said.

She grasped the crucible, kissed it . . . and rolled it into
the Rift.

Damon stood high on the altar of the cathedral, hands on hips, proudly observing the impressive influx of spirits. They flowed into the ruins by the hundreds, filling the grand space. Thousands more followed, unable to enter the already overcrowded structure. The number of damned spirits that had been drawn to the cathedral dwarfed any army Damon had commanded in life, or in death. By com
parison the loyal minions who fought for him in the Black seemed pitifully inadequate. Though they had triumphed over the Guardians, those spirits had been sent to the Blood by the uncharacteristic interference of the Watchers.

He had lost a battle but was confident he would soon win a war.

The spirits would bow at his feet, he knew that. He would then galvanize the horrific force and march them to
the Rift, where they would join the spirits in the Black that he had lured to the vision of the emperor Titus. Most impor
tant, unlike every other battle he had been involved with, he planned to be at the forefront of this combined army. Brandishing his poleax, he would fulfill his true destiny. He would lead his troops into a glorious battle, charging through the visions of those who once questioned his brav
ery. They would all be mercilessly destroyed but not before kissing his feet and declaring his superiority. When they begged for pity, he would drive the poleax into their bod
ies, relishing their momentary flash of pain while making sure they understood that their existence had ended . . . by his hand.

Once victory was assured in the Black, he would turn his army on the true prize.

The Light.

The scenario he had played over in his mind for centu
ries was no longer a dream. Revenge was at hand. Glory was at hand. His patience had been rewarded.

Brennus stood beneath Damon, also observing the arrival of the throng. It seemed impossible that he could even stand, given the unnatural angle of his misshapen spine. He leaned on a gnarled crutch, his knuckles white from gripping its handle.

Damon wondered how best to use this twisted spirit. There was no doubt that the arriving spirits had come in response to his release from captivity. Brennus had done his job well. He had created a movement . . . a yearning for vengeance and freedom. But ultimately he had failed. He could not provide the leadership of a warrior. It made Damon's confidence swell even further. Whatever slights he had received in life had only prepared him for this moment. He was meant to be there and to offer these cursed souls what Brennus could not.

He was going to lead them back to life.

The cathedral was packed, though strangely silent. Damon scanned the thousands of faces and
saw their resolu
tion. They were ripe. They wanted direction. He chuckled to himself, remembering the reaction he elicited from the spirits in the Colosseum when he had told them exactly what they wanted to hear. He had fired their passions to the point where they wanted nothing more than to follow him into battle. It was time to do the same to the spirits of the Blood.

He raised his arms as if to embrace the assemblage.

"Welcome!" he bellowed. "One and all. Your torment is about to end. I have come to lead you from an existence you have been so unjustly forced to accept and bring you to a better place. The Blood will be no more. We will never again return to this hell. The opportunity is upon us. Follow me and fight for your life. Fight for your future. Fight for the Light!"

He stretched his arms out, waiting for the crowd to erupt with wildly enthusiastic cheers. Instead he was answered with silence. Each and every spirit stared up at him silently, as if not understanding what he was saying.

Brennus shuffled to the stairs leading up to the altar where Damon stood. He dragged one foot behind him and had to lean on his crutch for support. Damon did not make a move to help him as the old spirit made his way slowly and painfully up the steps toward him.

Damon addressed the crowd again, saying, "My first goal has been achieved. I have freed Brennus. What he promised you, I am now prepared to deliver. He has brought you here and I will lead you on. Thank you, Brennus. Your dream of freedom is about to be realized."

The crowd remained silent.

Damon looked about, confused. They had come because
of Brennus, but invoking his name brought no reaction. Were these spirits capable of understanding? Could they even hear?

Brennus shuffled up to Damon and stood uncomfortably close to him. His breathing was raspy. Climbing the few stairs had taken an immense amount of effort.

"I give you Brennus!" Damon shouted. "He has been your heart; now I will be your soul."

Brennus looked up to Damon through his tangle of gray hair. The old spirit was frail, but the intensity of his gaze froze Damon.

"There be a way into the Black?" Brennus asked, barely above a whisper.

"Yes!" Damon answered, but to the crowd. "I have cre
ated the means for us all to leave this nightmare and return to the—"

Brennus flashed his crutch toward Damon, hooking him behind the neck and pulling him down so their eyes met. Damon was so shocked by the audacity and the strength of the move that he didn't resist.

"Where?" Brennus asked.

Damon finally pulled away from the old spirit, his anger rising.

"You dare!" Damon bellowed. "I have freed you. I offer to lead you to glory in the great battle and you lash out?"

Brennus moved quickly, no longer shuffling like a twisted old man. He was on Damon before Damon could defend himself. He grabbed the warrior by the hair and yanked his head down so once again they were on the same level.

The multitude of spirits didn't react.

Damon reached for the poleax but Brennus grabbed his wrist with such strength that Damon feared he would snap bones.

"Hear me words," Brennus hissed. "This not be a battle for glory. There be no noble victory to be won. No wrong to be righted. There be only one thing."

"What is that?" Damon asked, through clenched teeth.

"Escape."

Damon couldn't move. He looked hopefully to the fig
ments who had helped him get there, but the little devils stood impassively. The realization finally dawned on him: He was alone. He had no army and no allies. The glorious battle he had anticipated for centuries was slipping away.

"We have the same goal," Damon argued. "I too wish to escape this horror and lead these spirits to freedom."

Brennus jerked Damon's hair, making him scream.

"Where be the way?" Brennus demanded.

"No," Damon snarled through the pain. "The Rift was of my making. If these spirits are to pass
through, I will lead them."

Brennus let go and Damon fell to his knees. Brennus then motioned to the figments, who swarmed in quickly, grabbed Damon, and dragged him away. He struggled to free himself but there were too many hands on him.

"Do not be a fool!" Damon shouted. "Only I can lead you to the Rift to join my army in the Black."

The figments dragged Damon down off the altar. Damon dug in his heels but he was no match for the little demons. Brennus watched impassively.

"I freed you!" he shouted to Brennus, his desperation growing.

Brennus looked down on him from above and said, "What is it you want, then? Gratitude? Reward? Justice? You be in hell now. Those words be having no meaning."

"Then you will rot here, for I will not reveal the location of the Rift!" Damon shouted back defiantly.

Damon looked around desperately for anyone who
might help him and caught sight of Sanger, who stood on the edge of the crowd with his arms folded.

"Where have you been?" Damon demanded. "Do you see what's been happening to me?"

"I do," Sanger said with a sly smile.
"
Ain't nothing com
pared to what's
about
to happen to ya."

Sanger motioned down to the floor.

Damon followed his gaze and saw that the demons were dragging him toward the open tomb that had been Brennus's prison. Several more banshees appeared with a perfectly milled slab of stone . . . just the right size to seal the open
ing of the tomb.

"No!" Damon screamed to Brennus. "You dare not imprison me!"

The figments held Damon on the edge of the tomb. He struggled desperately but it was no use.

Sanger stepped up to him and pulled the poleax from its sheath.

Damon's eyes blazed with anger as he was relieved of his precious weapon, but he was helpless to stop it.

Sanger held the point of the weapon to Damon's neck.

"Don't be a fool," Sanger whispered. "You may have been the nastiest
fella
to walk the face of the earth, but you're just one man." Sanger motioned to Brennus and added, "With him, you're dealing with the sins of thousands. Don't fight it. Just go along. Like I did. Like they all did. Ain't no shame in following somebody stronger than you."

"No!" Damon screamed. "Damon of Epirus will not bow."

Sanger shrugged and said, "Just as well. You ain't gonna have much room for any bowing in there anyhow."

He nodded to the figments and they roughly tossed Damon into the tomb. Damon fell the few feet down and landed hard. He took one quick look around at the solid
walls that would soon be his universe and felt the panic rise. He quickly jumped to his feet and reached up, wrapping his fingers on the edge to try and pull himself out.

"Bad idea," Sanger said as he slashed at Damon's fingers with the poleax.

Damon quickly pulled back and fell to the bottom of the tomb.

"Don't want to go losing fingers," Sanger teased. "It'll be tough enough spending eternity in the dark. Can't imagine not being able to scratch an itch when you get one."

He chuckled at his own cruel joke.

"Do not do this!" Damon shouted to the spirits who stood surrounding the tomb. "I am your only hope. Brennus could not lead you out of the Blood, but I can. Seal me away, and you'll never find your way out."

"Don't be so sure about that," Sanger said. "Might take a while, but we'll find it. That is, if it really exists."

"It does! My followers are on the far side, waiting to form an army for the ages."

The figments laid the stone slab down and began sliding it over the opening, slowly cutting Damon off.

"Sounds promising," Sanger said. "Too bad you won't be around to see it."

The figments slid the stone over the marble floor, scrap
ing it into position.

"It isn't just about the Black!" Damon shouted in despera
tion. "I can bring you back to the Light. To life! Brennus can
not say that."

"Good night," Sanger said.

"Wait!" Damon shouted in tears.

Sanger held up his hand. He looked down at Damon without pity and said, "If you got something
to say that means something, better say it now."

Damon was breathing hard, his eyes wild. He looked up
to Sanger but the old spirit showed no hint of compassion. "All right," Damon said through tortured gasps. "All right. I will bring you there."

Brennus made his way down off the altar and dragged himself to the edge of the tomb, where he glared down at Damon.

"Now," Brennus wheezed.