Nightbringer (21 page)

Raphael saw and hurled the katana forward and Cassius was forced to leap aside. Then the Nephilim raced into the darkness as the centurion once more found the .45, slammed in a fresh clip, and fired seven rounds at the shadow.

With the .45 still extended, smoking, Cassius stared over the black steel barrel, watching and listening. But he saw no distant shadow stagger or fall. Finally he lowered aim.

"Cassius!"

He spun into Gina and saw instantly that she was alone. He knew the other Nephilim was in the corridor. It had been there all along. Raphael had done the work, yes, but the second one ... it had planned the ambush, had used Raphael like a commander would use a platoon.

Gina spun, staring back the way she had come. "I don't know if this corridor is clear," she gasped.

As she drew hard breaths, Cassius' face revealed nothing. "Time to leave," he said simply. "Did you see the other Nephilim?"

"No."

Cassius saw no reason to tell her of the four long claw marks in her back—sliced so perfectly through the thinnest layer of skin that Gina had not even felt them.

The blood seeping down her back probably felt like sweat at the moment, but she would realize the stickiness soon enough. By then, he would have her back in the hall and bandaged.

"Follow me," he said simply. "And stay close."

* * *

Chapter Eleven

Remarkably, Melanchthon said nothing when they emerged into the Hall. But, then again, it was probably not so remarkable. Gina realized that if the monk had spoken his mind he would have alarmed both Cassius and herself because she knew they were both a ghastly sight.

Cassius, during the last few feet, had told her of the claw marks across her back and Gina finally understood why the stiffening wetness did not feel the same as sweat. She knew how it happened. As she dove under the larger creature's blow, it had swiped backhanded before she gained her feet.

The thought disturbed her, for the creature must be astonishingly fast – far faster than Raphael. It must have hit her a tenth of a second before she turned, but when she had turned, it was already gone. So, in conclusion, it had struck her and wounded her and vanished within a single second.

But if it was so powerful, why did it run?

The others tried to clean her wounds but Gina angrily shook them off. Her wounds were barely skin-deep, but Cassius' wounds were punctures that sank clean to the bone. And, again, Gina was amazed at how stoically Cassius could endure pure, simple pain. She knew any single one of the wounds would cripple a normal person. In fact, she had seen strong men suffer one-hundredth of what Cassius was bearing and go into shock and die.

She glanced at Cassius' face. His head was bent, eyes closed. He was breathing deeply, rhythmically, as if subduing the pain with spirit and mind. And no doubt he would—for
a while.

It took her more than an hour to completely stop the bleeding—an hour before she could concentrate on herself. But after dealing with Cassius' injuries, she almost laughed when told once again of her own. She wasn't surprised at how easily and quickly she had realigned her definition of an injury.

By some reflex, when they had first entered the room, Gina searched the dais to see who was present. Most of the monks were now milling about the room, retrieving water or weapons. They had obviously relaxed since chaos had died in the corridor and no unearthly sight had stalked into the Hall, but that wasn't the reason she had searched.

No, it was because there had been something else in her brief exchange with the creature, something she didn't understand. It was a fleeting glimpse of a vision she could not isolate or define, but it was there—an identity she should know but didn't.

Mostly for the sake of the children, Gina revealed no fear, but she had no illusions. Cassius had won time and again but it wasn't because he was unkillable—he was just really, really hard to kill.

Also, he had the advantage of high-tech weapons, an advantage that would end quickly enough when they ran out of ammo or the weapons were
shattered by this creature’s unearthly strength. And, sooner or later, that's what the creatures would do. They would take away Cassius' fangs.

Yes, Cassius had somehow managed to match Raphael's might when he was uninjured
– when half his blood hadn't been drained from his body by wounds and when he was at the peak of his strength. But that was hours—it seemed like days—ago. Now, and Gina could see it in his eyes, dark and deeper in his face, he wasn't recovering so quickly. He could recover enough for another full-strength encounter but his endurance wouldn't be what it had been. Even now he was drawing on resources that couldn’t easily be replenished.

Usually no matter how badly the body was hurt—even if it was exhausted to the point of death—it could recover quickly enough once core temperature dropped and oxygen was restored to the muscles. But if the muscles were bleeding freshly oxygenated blood the heart would be working twice as hard, even at rest, so neither would the core temperature drop or the muscles regain oxygen.

Gina could see it on Cassius' face.

He
was laboring to draw long, deep breaths.

Though
Cassius did not seem to notice the full measure of his wounds—and perhaps he did not because he was concentrating on breathing—he was crisscrossed with claw marks. A thought flashed through Gina's mind—the image of two wrestlers grappling face-to-face—of what it would be like if humans left bloody furrows wherever they touched the other. And she knew the answer. They would be as Cassius' wounds—all but uncountable.

Even when she had completely stopped the flow of blood Cassius had still not regained his strength. His face was sheathed in sweat, and his voice was hoarse.

"Water," he whispered, "and bread."

"Go!" Gina said to the monks and they were gone. She leaned close to the centurion. "Cassius?"

"I'm all right," he groaned as if to allay her fears. He opened his eyes and gazed about the room. He focused at last on Monsignor DeMarco, sitting safely in the distance. Cassius' teeth gleamed; "Come here, Priest."

The epitome of caution, DeMarco wiped palms on his frock. He arose and approached with hesitant steps, though his tone retained some of its original dignity. "Yes?"

With dead eyes Cassius murmured, "Why did you lure me here?"

The monsignor stared, then, "Because we knew you would come to protect
... your secret."

Cassius closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Then he shook his head—almost tragically. "
Fool
..."

"No," Monsignor DeMarco said quietly. "Not all men who disagree with you,
centurion, are fools. You took it upon yourself to hide what the world deserved to possess." He came closer to Cassius. "Alone, Cassius, you decided that men cannot possess the great treasure you have hidden somewhere inside these walls. But you are only a man. Who gave you the right to decide for the world? "

Cassius laughed sadly. "I was not the only one who saw Him rise from the grave, Priest. And many of them did not believe even then. Do you think a relic will convince anyone of the truth? Do you think it holds any power?"

"It may," the monsignor replied. "In any case, that is not yours to decide."

"I did decide," Cassius said simply.

"You had no right."

Cassius' eyes were the purest purpose, the purest image of death as he looked upon the priest. "No man has greater right."

"The Church disagrees with you." At Cassius' curiosity, the monsignor nodded. "Of course we know of you, Cassius. We have known for centuries. Just as we have known of others like you—as we have known of the Nephilim. But the treasure is not yours to claim now that the end of all things is near."

Cassius laughed, genuinely amused. "You truly are a fool, Priest.
” He shook his head. “A
treasure
… I've never heard it called that."

"It represents life."

"It represents death, Priest—it
is
death." Cassius recovered from his amusement and stared with disappointment. "You forsook the truth long ago, Monsignor. Do you have any idea what He would say if He were beside you?"

The monsignor stepped forward, whether from unthinking anger or true boldness, no one could say. "You have no right, Centurion! The end draws near! The time for secrets has passed!"

After a sip of water, Cassius wiped his mouth with his forearm. "Did you know that Martin Luther was my friend?" he asked casually.

The monsignor's control was impressive. "I am not surprised, Centurion."

"Yes ... the peasant was my friend. And he will always be a peasant in my eyes as well as his own.” Cassius frowned tiredly. “Luther was proud of being a peasant, Priest – a man of humble position and humble ambition. But no one before or since has stood more forth-rightly against Satan. And yet he asked for no weapons. He did not even believe in resisting evil except by professing faith in God and scorn for the devil."

A violent cough choked Cassius, and he leaned forward until it passed. With a deep breath, he reclined once more. "I don't suppose you would be amazed to know that Luther, too, thought the end was near. And my hairy little friend, Paul, thought the same. All of them thought the end was near, Monsignor—and they were all wrong."

Monsignor DeMarco did not reply but glanced at Gina as Melanchthon patiently bandaged her back. "Men did not understand then what we have the benefit of understanding now, centurion. We have the advantage of teleology, science, numerology—a thousand disciplines of the mind that—"

"That men had
then
," Cassius muttered. "There is nothing more to say, Monsignor DeMarco. Foolishness never ends. Always men seek the Holy Grail—so be it. Find it, if you can. Destroy your enemies. Conquer empires. Raise your throne above all the thrones of the Earth."

Gina gasped at the pain on Cassius' face as he lifted himself up on an arm. "I serve from the foot of a skull, Monsignor. I know nothing of glory.
And I know nothing of any ‘treasure.’"

Although impressed, the monsignor still replied, "You have fought too long, Cassius
, and killed too many." He stared sadly. "You have lived too long, my friend."

"Perhaps I have lived too long, and seen too much, and killed
too many. But my heart cannot be taken from that hill and what rose beyond it when He conquered death. Say what you will of me—here I stand. Nor will I give you ... what you seek."

"Cassius," Gina said gently, placing an arm upon his chest. And, slowly, Cassius sat back. His head was bowed, eyes closed. She whispered, "You don't have the strength for this."

An opportunity—the monsignor saw it.

"
On my word, centurion, the world would converge on this place and tear it apart stone by stone. And they would know your secret. Nothing that is hidden would remain. You call me a fool. Perhaps, yes. But perhaps you are a fool for believing that your secret will forever remain a secret."

Though resolute, even the monsignor seemed to hesitate. "Don't you understand, Cassius? All things must end! Even you! You and your life! Men must know! They
will
know! Even I cannot stop that now!"

Cassius laughed blindly at the ceiling. "And, so
...the children of God—children I have defended through age after age—would destroy me, in the end." Sadly, tragically, Cassius opened his eyes to stare upon the monsignor. "Look at the work of your hands, my friend. These children will die now because of your righteousness—your plans. How many more will die … if I gave you what you want?"

Slowly Cassius tested his hands, clenching and unclenching. The bandages had stanched the flow of blood. He was recovering strength, though slowly.

"Then you doom to death God's kingdom on earth," the monsignor replied, equally as tragic.

"Perhaps." Cassius nodded. "And perhaps
God is wiser— more powerful—than you think." He paused, breathing. "I am only a soldier, Monsignor DeMarco. I know nothing of glorious things. But I know that with my last breath of life – with my last full measure of strength, I will serve the Lord. I cannot answer your questions. I cannot give you what you want. And why? Because men think strength is equal to glory ... don't they?"

No one spoke, for they knew the answer.

"It's not," Cassius said at last. "I will pray for you, Monsignor. I will pray God gives a reformation of your heart."

The monsignor bowed his head, then walked across the Hall, where he pulled a chair from the table and sat. No one approached him as he folded his hands and closed his eyes.

Staring down at his hand, making a fist once more, Cassius nodded, then looked up at Gina. "I promise you that both you and your children will live. I promise it with my soul."

Gina shook her head.

"How can you promise that, Cassius?"

Grimacing sadly,
Cassius raised his gaze to the great domed ceiling.

"I can promise
…"

***

Jaqual—little more than a child himself—was playing a game with Rachel and Josh. He was as without restraint, as they were, and Gina realized that the monk was carefree with them because he was somehow frightened and intimidated by adults. It was the first time she had seen him genuinely smile and she was glad the children had him.

She was in no mood for serious conversation as she sat beside her children, though Jaqual cast her an anxious glance. Gina smiled sweetly at him—
It's all right, go ahead
—and he continued to play some game with colored stones that he'd retrieved from the front office. She was thankful that, at least for a while, the children seemed to have forgotten the worst of their situation, nor was she going to remind them.

It was movement by Barnabas—who had only just awoken—that drew her attention, and she watched as he lifted the breastplate and robe and
sword of the centurion and carried it carefully to a couch in a far corner of the room. Even from a distance the armor burned like silver fire—the sword so highly polished it seemed born of the sun.

Cassius was smiling faintly and spoke loudly enough for Gina to hear. "Come here, Barnabas."

Head bowed, Barnabas did not move, and Cassius waited. Then the old man turned and walked cautiously, slowly, across the room. He did not lift his gaze when he stood before the centurion.

The voice of Cassius was the voice of one brother meeting another after a war, when both thought the other had died. Gina only heard, "Sit, and speak with me."