Morpheus Road 03 - The Blood (26 page)

The Guardians hadn't yet made a move toward the Rift and the soldiers who waited for them with their own black swords. With the soldiers to the center being quickly wiped out, Marsh knew that the Guardians would soon turn to their objective.

The soldiers in front of the Rift knew it too and tensed up, ready for the attack.

Marsh scrambled along the ring of seats to get closer to the Rift. His hope was that the Guardians would draw the soldiers away from the opening and he could use that moment to slip through and into the Blood. It would be about as risky a maneuver as he could imagine, but he felt it was his only chance.

The fighting to the center of the arena was winding down. Only a few of Damon's soldiers remained. The Guard
ians were already gathering together, preparing to turn their attention to the Rift and charge the last line of the soldier's defense.

Marsh's heart raced. Could he do it? Would he have the guts to jump down into the fight and dodge his way through the slashing swords and into the Rift?

"What do you plan to do, Marshmallow?" came a famil
iar voice.

Marsh spun quickly to see that another spirit had arrived.

"Ennis!" Marsh called. "Get down!"

Ennis calmly sat down on the bench in front of him.

"I wish I could say I was happy to see you," Ennis said.

"I'm sorry, Ennis," Marsh said. "I should never have left you alone."

"There is no need to be sorry," Ennis said. "What hap
pened to me was inevitable. I welcomed it. But seeing you here makes my heart ache."

"It was my choice," Marsh said breathlessly. "Damon cut another Rift into the Black and I went through. I wanted to. Now Damon's in the Blood and I'm going after him."

"No, you cannot," Ennis said sternly. "This is not your battle."

"Yes, it is," Marsh argued. "I didn't ask for it, but it's mine now."

"You stand no chance against that devil," Ennis argued.

Marsh reached into hi
s hoodie and pulled out the cru
cible. He held it out to Ennis and said, "Maybe a little."

Ennis's eyes grew wide. "How is that possible? Why is it
here?"

"Sydney tossed it through the Rift from the Light." Ennis glanced down at the battle that was nearly com
plete . . . and about to begin anew.

"Help me, Ennis," Marsh begged. "Help me get through the Rift."

Damon was not about to accept defeat.

He picked himself up from the dirt, stood tall, and marched his way back toward the Colosseum with growing resolve. He would not allow the peasant sin eater to triumph at his expense. As he drew nearer to the Colosseum, he saw that the spirit army had already entered the ruins. Was he too late? Had the battle begun? Damon picked up the pace and ran the rest of the way, snaking through the piles of debris until he entered the remains of the colossal ring and saw the Rift within.

Brennus sat in his cart at its mouth, staring into the opening between lives. Listening.

The sounds of a raging battle could be heard coming
through from the Black, yet the spirit army was not mov
ing. Damon's hope soared. There was still a chance. With one hand on the hilt of the poleax he stood tall and strode toward Brennus.

"You hear the sounds of battle?" Damon bellowed. "That
is what awaits you. They are armed and they answer to me." The two burly escorts stepped forward, blocking
Damon's way. Damon raised the poleax, ready to fight them.

"Leave him be!" Brennus growled.

The two guards reluctantly stepped aside. Damon sheathed the poleax and cautiously approached Brennus.

"This army of yours," Brennus said thoughtfully. "Who they be fighting?"

Damon laughed. "Did you think there would be no resis
tance? Listen. What you hear is the sound of two armies clashing. Two trained armies. How could you not realize there would be those who would fight to protect the Morpheus Road?"

"No matter," Brennus said dismissively. "They could be destroying a thousand of me spirits and a thousand more after that and me still will be having the means to overrun the Black."

"That is your master plan?" Damon asked, incredulous. "Simply throw these spirits at them like so much dirt?"

"It be more than they could hope for here," Brennus replied.
"
A single moment of freedom be far better than eternal suffering. And for those who make it through . . . the prize."

"There is no prize without me!" Damon bellowed. "I have created this way into the Black. You could send count
less spirits through and destroy every last obstacle that stands in your way but that is where your journey will end, for I alone hold the power to open the way into the Light."

Brennus turned away from the Rift to look directly at
Damon, his brittle bones crackling with every movement. "That may be," he said with a sly smile. "If the Light be the prize."

Damon frowned and shook his head.

"Why else would you be waging this war?" he replied. "A second chance at life is all these spirits care about. It is all about the Light."

Brennus chuckled, the effort making him cough. He spit a wad of black phlegm onto the ground and wiped his mouth with a tattered sleeve.

"The Light be a place of corruptible flesh," he declared. "Primitive it is. Ugly. It be holding no interest for me."

"I . . . I don't understand," Damon said, genuinely con
fused. "Your only goal is to escape from the Blood? For what? To exist in the false illusions of the Black?"

"The prize be far greater, fool," Brennus wheezed. "But what would a cowardly soldier know of such glorious things?"

Damon's mind raced. Nothing the old spirit was saying made sense.

"Explain it to me!" he bellowed. "What prize is more coveted than life?"

"Imbecile!" Brennus bellowed. "I will not be looking back. The way is forward to conquer those who caused our pain. Who banished us to suffer in the Blood."

"The Watchers?" Damon said with a gasp. "You are going to attack the Watchers? But . . . how?"

"There be many stops on the Morpheus Road," Brennus
declared slyly. "The Blood be one end. There be another." Damon was so stunned he could barely speak.

"
Another? Does this place have a name?"

"It do," Brennus said. "It be called . . . Solara."

The final push to the Rift was fast and brutal.

Fired by their own success and still driven by the bitter memory of their previous loss, the Guardians turned their attention to the soldiers who guarded the portal into the Blood. Though the Guardians vastly outnumbered the guards, the outcome was very much in doubt, for the twenty soldiers who protected the Rift each carried a black spirit-killing sword.

The toll of this endgame was sure to be heavy for both sides.

Zoe let out a guttural scream that spurred the Guardians on. They charged, en masse, from the center of the arena to the line of soldiers who stood waiting.

Cooper was out in front of the charge, ready to do some damage, but as he began to run, he felt a strong hand on his shoulder.

"No," Press said, holding him back.

Coop was wide eyed and breathing hard, flush with the anticipation of battle.

"C'mon!" he shouted to Press. "This is it!"

"No, it isn't," Press said calmly. "This is only the beginning."

Coop shot a look toward the Rift to see that the Guard
ians had reached the soldiers and had begun the fight. It was chaos, with swords both conventional and deadly flash
ing every which way. Anguished cries of pain and triumph filled the arena.

"It would be senseless for your spirit to end now," Press added. "The ultimate battle is still to come."

Coop fought the urge to charge into the mix while Press kept a firm grip on his shoulder. His head cleared slowly as the Watcher's words sunk home.

This battle was only a prelude.

He'd get the chance to fight again.

Marsh and Ennis worked their way through the tiers of seats, growing ever closer to the Rift. They didn't bother to try and stay out of sight, because the warriors on the arena floor were too busy to be concerned with a few spectators in the stands above them. They moved quickly, making it to within a few feet of the right edge of the Rift. It was close enough to feel the body heat coming from the warriors below.

"Impossible," Ennis declared. "We cannot make it through that."

The brutal battle centered directly in front of the twenty-yard-wide Rift.

Ennis added, "We could be destroyed, by either side." Marsh couldn't argue. There didn't seem to be any way to get through the melee.

In the stands above, a crowd was gathering. The battle
over the future of mankind had become yet another spec
tacle taking place in the
Flavian
Amphitheater. The emperor Titus arrived to take his place in the royal box, where he could observe the violence.

Marsh saw the growing crowd. He wondered if any of the spectators truly appreciated what was unfolding in the arena, or if they had just come to be entertained.

There was at least one spectator who understood. Marsh's mother stood alone, directly above the Rift, gazing down at the carnage. Her look of anguish said it all.

"We should leave here," Ennis said, and made a move to go.

Marsh grabbed his arm to stop him.

"No," he said. "There might be a way."

The Roman soldiers guarding the Rift fought out of des
peration.

What began for them as a mission to defend the por
tal quickly became a struggle for survival. They no longer battled to keep the Guardians back, but instead fought to escape and save themselves. Their allegiance to Damon and his quest didn't extend to suicide.

The Guardians showed no mercy. One by one the soldiers were destroyed, leaving behind their spirit-killing swords. Others dropped their swords and fled as their weapons were quickly scooped up to become part of the Guardians' arsenal.

Finally, after the last soldier was sent to oblivion, the Guardians stood looking to one another, their chests heav
ing with fatigue, their swords ready to strike again. It took a few moments for them to realize that the fight was over.

The Rift was theirs.

There were no joyous cries. No shouts of victory or any other display of bravura. There was only a brief moment
of relief, which they shared with knowing glances. There wasn't time to savor the victory.

"Form a line!" Zoe shouted. "Spirit swords to the fore."

She ran across the mouth of the Rift, holding her own sword high for all to see. Her command was obeyed instantly. Each of the Guardians who held a black sword came forward and joined in a line that reached across the length of the Rift. There were enough swords to form two lines, one behind the other.

The rest of the Guardians filled in behind them. Many more continued to arrive from Ree's vision until the arena floor was nearly filled.

The defense of the Black was set.

Marsh and Ennis watched as the stands continued to fill with spectators.

"They have come to witness an unprecedented spec
tacle," Ennis marveled.

"Or maybe they've come to be part of it," Marsh said.

"What do you mean?"

"Damon has a lot more followers than those soldiers who were guarding the Rift. I saw this stadium full of them, all fired up and ready to fight."

Ennis scanned the growing crowd with apprehension. "That means the Guardians are being surrounded," he said with a gasp.

"And an army of the damned is about to march out of the Rift."

Ennis nervously wiped sweat from his forehead. "They will be slaughtered."

"Not yet they won't," Marsh said with confidence. "I don't think these spirits will do a thing unless Damon tells them to."

"So we must get to him and make sure he does not come back," Ennis said. "But I do not see how."

"I think we'll get the chance," Marsh said thoughtfully. "We just have to be ready for it."

Cooper and Press joined Ree in the level directly above the Rift. "They did it," Coop declared.

"They are a valiant group," Ree said with a touch of sadness. "But simply fighting for what you believe is right doesn't guarantee victory." She gestured to the rapidly growing crowd of spirits that were filling the Colosseum, and added, "Not when there are so many who have their own agenda, no matter how wrong-minded it may be."

"Don't underestimate the power of noble beliefs," Press replied. "Many conflicts have been won without much more than the inspiration that comes from the knowledge that what you're fighting for . . . is right."

"Lofty words," Ree replied. "I'd trade them for a few more of those black swords."

"Does this count?" Coop asked Press.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what more proof do the Watchers need that the Guardians are dedicated to saving the Morpheus Road?"

"
Are you asking me if they will intervene now?" Press asked.

"That's exactly what I'm asking," Coop said impatiently.

Press took a tired breath and said,
"
As I told you before, the ultimate battle is still to come."

Zoe joined them, her eyes still blazing from the thrill of combat.

"We are ready," she declared. "If Damon so much as pushes a toe through that opening, it will be the last action he takes."

"It won't be enough," Cooper declared.

All eyes shot to him.

"It will," Zoe said defensively. "They'll be walking straight into a trap."

"I know we can hold them off," Coop said. "But for how long? I was there, remember? I saw. There were thousands of spirits. Many thousands. Every last loser from the begin
ning of time could be lining up to blast out of there. And why not? The place sucks. They're fighting an eternal sen
tence and it's not like any of them were good guys to begin with. They don't care about fighting for what's right. They want
out.
I'm sure the Guardians will knock off plenty of them, but there'll be thousands behind them, and thou
sands more. Face it, we can't protect the Rift forever."

"What else can we do?" Ree asked.

"Marsh was right," Coop said with absolute conviction. "The only way to stop this is to stop Damon."

"Don't forget Brennus," Press warned. "He's the one who truly controls the spirits of the Blood."

"Right," Coop said. "That guy's no picnic either. If we sit here and let them come at us, it won't be a question of whether or not we can save the Black. It'll be about how long it'll take to fall."

"Damon will be the first to be destroyed when he comes through," Zoe said.

"Don't you think he knows that?" Coop shot back. "He's got an ego, but he's not an idiot."

"What do you suggest, Cooper?" Ree asked.

Coop smiled and said, "I say we go on offense."

Damon pulled the poleax from its sheath and stood in front of Brennus.

"I have waged many a successful campaign," he announced.
"I can lead you to victory. Release your spirits to me and I will achieve all that you wish with far fewer casualties than if you simply drove them blindly through the Rift. There is an art to waging war, and I am an artist. I humbly ask that you allow me to be your general, as I was to Alexander so long ago."

Brennus didn't move. His eyes stayed focused on Damon, their gazes locked.

Damon didn't flinch. He didn't want to show weakness of any kind. He knew this was his last chance.

"I believe ya," Brennus finally croaked. "Ya must have been a brilliant general. A leader of men."

"I was," Damon said, trying not to show his relief that he was finally getting through to Brennus.

"
And
yer
soldiers? Were they loyal to ya? To the death?"

"Indeed they were," Damon replied, swelling with pride. "To the death and beyond."

Brennus leaned forward, though the movement caused him to wince with pain.

"Then you, being such a fine general, must know that in battle there can be only one leader."

"I could not agree more," Damon said quickly. "Loyal
ties cannot be divided."

"Good," Brennus said with finality. "Then you'll under
stand why I won't be needing your services."

The smile instantly dropped from Damon's face. "What?"

Brennus declared, "There be only one leader of this ris
ing, and that be me."

Brennus gestured to his escorts, who immediately descended on Damon.

Damon was too stunned by the sudden turnaround to defend himself.

"No! You'll lose thousands of spirits!"

The burly guards lifted Damon up into the air and car
ried him toward the sea of the damned. Damon struggled, trying to get to the poleax, but too many hands kept him contained.

"Thousands?" Brennus cackled. "That be all?"

The guards handed Damon over to the masses. The spir
its accepted him, holding him above their heads, handing him farther and farther back. Damon squirmed and fought to break free, but it was useless. He was under their control. The indignity was made complete by their total disrespect, and their laughter.

Damon gave in. He let the hands take him away. Fighting was useless. The spirits handled him like a toy, laughing and tossing him farther back, away from the Rift and out of the Colosseum. Damon closed his eyes and tensed his body, refus
ing to fight back and give them the satisfaction of knowing how truly helpless he was. After what felt like an eternity, they tossed him to the side of the road, where he hit hard and came to rest by the remains of a crumbled statue.

Damon lay there without moving. He didn't look up. He didn't want to see the spirits who were moving on without him. He didn't want to admit that his glorious quest had come to a decidedly inglorious end in the dry dust of hell.

The Colosseum was eerily quiet.

There were over a thousand Guardians on the arena floor and tens of thousands of spectators in the stands, but the only discernible sound was a hollow wind that blew through the wide empty
corridors of the stadium.

All eyes were trained on the Rift.

No group was more focused than the few dozen Guard
ians who stood before the opening, armed with the spirit-killing swords. They knew the importance of their task.

Each and every one had vowed not to let a single spirit pass from the Blood into the Black.

Emperor Titus sat forward in his throne in anticipation. He had every reason to believe that this spectacle would be the most glorious ever to have been staged in the
Flavian
Amphitheater . . . no matter what the result.

Marsh and Ennis peered over the retaining wall, not twenty yards from the Rift. Ennis was nervous, his gaze shifting from the Rift to Marsh.

Marsh kept his eyes on the Rift. He was confident they'd get the chance to move and didn't want to miss it when it came.

Cooper, Press, and Ree stood above the Rift, their atten
tion focused on the Guardians and in particular on the first two rows, for they held the black spirit swords. They were the first and last line of defense. In their hands was the future of the Morpheus Road.