Nightbringer (22 page)

Something about Cassius in that moment seemed old beyond imagination. Though Barnabas had aged and the centurion was the same as he had been seventy years ago— the same as he had been two thousand years ago—an aura of gigantic age nevertheless settled about him. There was no way Barnabas would have felt his superior in years.

As Barnabas sat, Cassius
settled an arm over Barnabas's shoulders. Then he smiled and began speaking so quietly, and before long Barnabas was also smiling and nodding and seemed to glow with strength. They were still sitting and speaking when Gina felt her eyes, so tired now, closing and laid down beside her kids.

She didn't know what the night would bring, nor did she care as she had cared before. What she was beginning to believe
gave her a peace that she knew would survive even this kind of death.

***

It took Gina a moment to realize where she was, what had happened, when she awoke. She knew by instinct where the children were—eating breakfast with Jaqual—and the next thing she saw was a gray weight against the tall picture-glass windows.

Her heart sank.

The snowstorm, after two days, had not lessened at all. It continued to pile crust upon crust of snow, literally burying the entire massive abbey in a white grave. She knew it wasn't natural – knew that the larger Nephilim had brought it as he brought the night everything else that had passed.

She lifted a hand to her face, brushing away the sleep, not surprised that she didn't feel refreshed. Then she remembered the dreams—dreams of a warrior in slashed and burning armor fighting upon an island of dead men, broken lances, and shattered armor in a sea of blackening blood. Refusing to surrender, refusing to die the soldier struck down each barbaric shape that rose against him.

None seemed to realize that to challenge him was death, for he was the ultimate warrior, the strongest fighter, the purest survivor. His armor bore the marks of a thousand parried cuts so there was no separating the silver from scarlet. Each time he dropped a man upon the mound, he did not cast him another glance, as if he had dropped tens of thousands upon tens of thousands.

It was a
s if strength was his birthright and nothing within war—not the savagery nor the butchery nor the field of dead men that stretched in every direction with abandoned banners waving drearily in a battle-heated wind—could enter his mind, for he fought for more than banners.

In her dreams, Gina had seen the sight again and again, the man fighting unknown wars in unknown lands. There he wore black armor and struck and roared like a hurricane against the backdrop of a sprawling white castle surrounded by a raging battle of hundreds of thousands. There he wore the uniform of a Templar Knight, standing defiant and alone, sword in hand in a hazy desert thundering with scimitar-wielding, black-cloaked riders. There he was a sea captain on a splinter-blasted ship outnumbered fifty-six to one but he gave them blast for blast. There he stood over a wounded priest, beating back those who howled for blood in some city of the damned. And there again he stood, gravely wounded, over the monstrous body of some manlike thing in an ancient city overgrown with vines and forgotten by time. And there he was a monarch, a Puritan, an assassin, a priest, now in black, now in white, yet always the
face was the same …

Shaking her head, Gina tried to no longer remember the dream, for she knew that any dream that lasted so long should not be remembered.

When she saw Cassius, she sighed in relief.

He was different from when she last saw him. He was dressed utterly in black, having raided the abbey for what he required. He stood before a table spread with the MP-5, reloaded clips, the katana, the two Colt .45s, his poniar
d, and a row of grenades. He raised his face as she stared, and winked.

Gina rose and walked to him. She began speaking before she stopped moving. "I guess we got lucky last night?"

He frowned. "No ... It wasn’t luck. You hurt it bad with the MP-5. I cut it pretty bad with the sword. It was crippled and bleeding. I thought it might not attack last night because it needed time to heal."

"
You think it’s had time to heal up?"

"As healed as it's going get."

"So you're going to do it again?"

"I wanted to try the storm but
... Do I have any choice?"

"Guess not." She leaned back against a table. "Cassius, it's time for us to talk. Seriously."

"Go ahead."

"There's something bothering you—something you're not sharing with me. What is it?"

It didn't seem as if he would reply, then, "Things don't fit, Gina."

"Like what?"

He glanced at the tiered cathedral ceiling. "The sorcery needed to maintain this snowstorm is complex. Besides that, this entire ambush was perfectly played. This Nephilim even took advantage of Rome's desires to trap me here. And even though Raphael is strong, they do come smarter."

"Cassius...there's been so many people killed—Molke, the monks. But I never actually saw Molke killed. It could be any of them. All I know is that it's not anyone in this hall because they were all here when you fought it in the catacombs. And as far as Rome goes, any fool could have taken advantage of that."

Cassius shook his head. "No, whatever did this is smarter than that." He seemed afraid for a moment. "It's someone we don’t suspect, Gina. It's Melanchthon or—"

"No, Cassius, not him. I saw him when you were wounded and—" Gina grabbed his shoulders. "Cassius! It's nobody in
this hall, remember? You've fought it too many times now for it to be someone that's been with us."

By instinct, Gina reached up to feel his head—fever.
"Cassius, listen to me. You're not thinking clearly. You have a bad fever."

With a faint smile, Cassius looked at her. "You think I'm dying?"

"I think you're feverish and not thinking well."

He laughed. Then, with a surge of strength that defied logic, he sat, lowering his forehead into his palm. "Fever
, yeah, had it before.” He frowned, and then gathered what was left of him. "No, I know these things, Gina. If the first Nephilim is Dominic—or Basil—the second is not who we think—not even close. In the end, it'll be the last person you suspect."

"The second one?"

"Yes ..."

"Wait...the first is now either Basil or Dominic." She shook her head, then frowned pensively. "Samuel said the Nephilim that came to the Hall was wearing Dominic's robe. But that could have been a simple ruse to throw us off."

Cassius nodded.

Gina continued. "But the second is neither of them, even though both have been missing since all of this started?"

"Right."

"Cassius, you're gonna give me a heart attack
."

He laughed.

"So what's the plan?" she followed.

Slowly, Cassius raised his face. "We can't depend on the radio. I don't trust it now." He took heavier breaths. "And now, I'm too hurt to take you through six miles of snow so our options are—"

"Limited. Yes. I know."

"
So we have to kill them."

"And how do we do that?"

It took a moment, but the centurion took it all in—Gina could see it—before he stared once again at the crowd.

"We take
everyone with us for this last confrontation. We wait and see who changes."

Gina had known it, had known it from the first, and shook her head angrily. She bent and began to shed the first tear,
and then felt Cassius' hand on her face, lifting it. She raised her head, took a heavy breath, and stared into his eyes.

Cassius' gaze was grim.

"I will kill them, Gina—both of them. My strength—His strength—is sufficient." He stared into her eyes and smiled. "There's no reason for you to ask further ... if you trust me."

Gina stared into eyes of pain—into eyes that had fought countless battles against foes that the world remembered with fear.

"I trust you," she said, so simple.

Cassius' head bent, and his frown deepened. He reached out and grasped the katana, closing his fist upon it. He looked over the Hall and feared nothing that he saw.

He stood.

Gina was on her feet as well, hands close to him.

"Cassius?" she whispered.

He did not turn.

"Get them ready," he said with a force she could not comprehend.

"It's time to finish this."

* * *

Chapter Twelve

Gina spoke quietly to Josh and Rachel, assuring them that what she was about to say to the others was only to make them cooperate. They nodded, trusting.

With no semblance of mercy, Gina told the others that if they wanted to live, they’d better come with her. There was no debate. Only the monsignor did not move, gazing quietly at Cassius.

“
A dangerous gambit, Centurion.”

“
Yes …”

The monsignor stared.
“And so, why?”

Cassius
’ voice held the tone of last words. “You seek the spear to defend an institution.” Almost tragically, he laughed. “You’re a very foolish man, Father. God needs no weapon to defend his church.”

“
And so what are you, Cassius? How many men have you killed to defend the church?”

“
None,” Cassius answered and slowly stood.

Watching from the side, Gina gasped as Cassius rose upon the pedestal. Even now—incredibly—he was recovering. It was impossible, she knew, but his strength now was not the strength of those who wished to survive. He was calling upon a strength that lay
deeply within everyone, but once it was spent … life was spent as well.

Yes, it would be his last battle.

“I fought to preserve life, Priest, because I believed that no man—tyrant, emperor, or monarch—owned the life of another. Men condemned another to death for their faith as He was condemned, and so I spent my life to help those who were the same. But I was a twig in a river destined to overflow.”

“
The church only fights in self-defense, Cassius.”

“Does it?” Cassius asked. “How many men have died tonight because you want this weapon?”

With little sign of emotion Cassius lifted the katana. He nodded to Gina, and she smiled.

“
Let’s go,” he said.

In an elliptical shape they moved slowly down the corridor that led toward the catacombs. Cassius moved slowly at the front with a host of spear-carrying monks in the rear. Josh and Rachel were on the inside of the pack, well surrounded on all sides.

The monsignor had removed his soutane and carried a long Roman spear in his hands. Beside him, Father Stephen and Jaqual were similarly armed, their eyes shifting at every shadow, every sound. Rounding out the small platoon was Melanchthon, the professor, Rebecca, Miguel, and the other surviving monks.

Cassius stopped when he reached the tunnel where, according to his description of the battle, he
’d last seen the Nephilim.

“
Remember,” he said without bothering to lower his tone, “if it attacks, form a solid line. Hold your spear hard in front of you and stand your ground. Do not retreat. If you run, you die.”

If that was for inspiration, it worked. Gina saw everyone
’s hands tighten on the wooden hafts of the spears. Every face, glistening with sweat, was a vivid picture of fear—eyes wide and darting, lips partly open, perspiration dripping from brow and chin.

Standing close to Cassius, Gina
’s sweating hands tightened on a Beretta and an Uzi. She had given the second semi-auto to Rebecca who held it in a low hand. It had only taken her a moment to train Rebecca how to use the weapon, and although Rebecca had said she hated guns,
she certainly loved
this gun
at the moment
!

Cassius suddenly knelt, studying tracks. His eyes roamed far ahead and he nodded.
“It’s been busy. But it was too badly hurt to lay as many tracks as it did in the other section of tunnels. It came this way once. I’m betting it’s still here.”

Gina bent
; “No tracks leading out.”

Cassius moved cautiously forward. He spoke to Father Stephen without taking his eyes off the corridor.
“Did Basil request this abbey?”

Father Stephen gazed curiously at the centurion.
“Yes—he requested it. For his own reasons.”

“
And everyone else was already here?”

“
Yes.”

“
How long has Basil been here?”

“
Perhaps a year. But how could he have known that the abbey would be reopened?”

“
He didn’t,” Cassius muttered. “He came for another reason.”

“
Like what?” Gina pitched in. “The spear?”

Cassius shook his head.
“The spear won’t help it.” His frustration was visible. “Basil didn’t pick this abbey for no reason. This would be the last place it would pick to hide unless …”

Gina was rapt.
“Unless what?”

Cassius stared into the corridor.
“So … they’re in Rome …”

“
What, Cassius?”

“
Rome,” he said simply. “All of this comes from Rome.” He lowered his weapons. His head was bowed.

“
I did not intend to trap you, centurion.”

It was the monsignor.

“You didn’t,” Cassius smiled faintly. “You’re a pawn, Monsignor, because it trapped you as well. You were ordered to obtain the spear. But your orders came from a higher authority.”

“
It cannot control the Vatican itself!” retorted the monsignor. He appeared shocked. “This plan was approved and there is no way—“

Cassius
’ face blazed with anger. “This creature has lived for six thousand years, Priest! It’s created and destroyed nations! Nothing is beyond its reach! You think this creature didn’t control Constantine when he founded your church? This thing was probably his most trusted advisor! Everything you do comes from the hand of this thing that has always wanted to be high priest in your church because only someone’s priest can destroy their faith!”

Monsignor DeMarco stared bitterly.

“
And so…the game is up
.”

The voice had emerged from the darkness before them and only Cassius did not flinch. He turned to stare evenly into the darkness.
“A cunning move, Raphael,” he said stoically. “But it’s not yours.”

Raphael laughed from somewhere within darkness.
“You are a great warrior, centurion. But it is time to end this fool’s dance around the world.”

Cassius nodded.
“After you.”

“
Ah,” Raphael cooed, “I think not, old friend. I have much work yet to do on this meaningless rock cast through space and time, as these creatures understand it. But we know a far different dimension, don’t we, centurion? Yes, we know of a world that teems with fantastic color and music and all manner of creatures as far beyond human understanding as the sun beyond the Earth.”

It laughed and Gina glimpsed Cassius
’ finger as he flicked off the safety of the Colt.

“
No more games, Raphael.”

To Gina
’s shock, Cassius began walking forward.

“
You wanted me, you got me. Forget the rest of these people.”

A sound like a huge rug rustling rose in the darkness.

Cassius tilted his head slightly to the side. But Gina heard nothing more and, apparently, neither did Cassius. Then the voice came again from a site higher and to the left. It was at least thirty feet above the floor.

“
Have you told them everything yet, centurion?”

Cassius
’ mouth was drawn in a bitter line and Gina felt an unexpected tendril of fear. In this there was no room for surprises because there would be no chance to recover.

“
Tell us what?” she asked.

“
Nothing,” Cassius replied, lifting the barrel of the MP-5. “Don’t listen to it.”

Raphael
’s laugh was joyous. “Yes, woman, I’m lying to you. I’m not honest like the centurion.” He laughed long and loud. “Did he tell you what else he buried here so long ago because of his eternal guilt?”

“
What’s he talking about, Cassius?”

“
Don’t listen to him, Gina.”

“
Cassius! Is he lying?”

Cassius
’ teeth gleamed in anger. “No, he’s not lying. But whatever else is buried here has nothing to do with this! He’s trying to confuse you!”

Fear said what she did not want to say. She began backing away.
“Cassius, I have to know. What else did you—“

Cassius turned into her.
“Gina! Don’t listen to him!”

An avalanche of black and red swept down from the darkness, arms reaching toward Cassius with claws outstretched and fangs open in a silent roar. Gina reacted fast but it was nothing compared to the speed of the beast. The violent collision carried them into a tunnel where they were instantly rolling and striking at each other.

Gina saw Cassius submerged by the creature and a quick rush carried her into the corridor, where she saw a revolving, hulking bulk, an arm rising to strike with a long knife, and then an arm rising to strike with rending claws.

They were too close for a shot but Gina leveled as Cassius placed a foot against Raphael
’s chest and threw him a short distance away. Instantly the centurion was firing, a .45 in each hand and he emptied both clips within two seconds. Raphael bent and howled at each wound and then he lashed out to strike Cassius hard across the face. But at the last split second, the centurion seemed to know the blow would take his head off at the neck and ducked so that claws and hand were turned on his shoulder, saving his life.

As he spun away Cassius
didn’t even try to reload the .45s. In an instant his hand reached the katana and steel flashed like lightning, impaling Raphael on the blade.

It was a move so smoothly executed that it seemed no move at all. Cassius
’ hand had reached the hilt, and then the sword was parallel to his right side, his right hand tight against the guard. He launched himself forward, plummeting the sword through the creature’s body as if it were paper.

Raphael
’s rage was prehistoric and Gina realized with complete clarity why these creatures were so greatly feared.

The blazing red eyes beneath the heavy brow were the purest animal fury with a bloodlust far beyond any thought of survival.
Then with a single hand it lifted the centurion from the ground and flung him down the tunnel toward Gina.

Gina dropped for a shot but she couldn
’t risk it as Cassius almost instantly reached his feet, spinning back toward the creature as it pulled the sword from its chest and, holding it as a man would hold it, smashed it against the granite wall. At the impact the ancient steel shattered into a thousand shining shards that ricocheted up the tunnel like shrapnel.

Everyone instinctively ducked, and Gina raised the Uzi, searching, finger tightening on the trigger to open up with a full clip even if Cassius stood in the line of fire.

Dust swirled in the corridor like an angry demon, and it took Gina a moment to realize…

Empty
…

The corridor was empty.

Cassius and the creature were gone.

Cassius couldn
’t let it escape—not this time.

He dropped from a ledge, falling the same sixty feet Raphael had dropped. As he hit the ground he rolled smoothly and came up running.

He knew he was wounded yet again. The wet flow on his neck and arm confirmed it, but he wasn’t losing strength as he’d feared, nor did his agility or speed seem affected. But then, he also knew why. His body was drawing upon all that remained within him.

Even now he could feel his heart laboring with a fatigue he had never experienced. And everything, no matter how fast, seemed to be happening slowly. Even the blows of the beast,
sweeping in blinding combinations, were read as if they were in slow motion so that Cassius twisted, angled, or neutralized them with the faintest touch.

As Cassius had discovered, Raphael almost always launched an attack with his right hand, and this last exchange had been no different. But as the beast surged in, right hand withdrawn, Cassius had reached out with his left hand to lightly strike Raphael
’s right bicep. Just a touch, something Raphael did not even notice, but it took all the momentum from the arm. And as Raphael turned, all his weight in his left hand, Cassius leaped inside the blow, striking the beast’s left bicep with his right shoulder, again defeating the blow.

Cassius had not managed to escape unscathed, but they were little more than scratches. One advantage of having repeatedly fought Raphael was that he had the creature
’s timing now. Also, like a man, Raphael had certain moves that he repeated over and over. But, unlike the best fighters, he didn’t seem to adapt. If Raphael threw a blow that didn’t work, he simply threw the blow again and again, relying upon his superior strength to overcome. And that was a mistake because it burned deep strength—the kind of strength that did not recover as quickly.

Cassius, by using finesse—like a boxer allowing his opponent to pummel him round after round—was conserving his strength for one last, decisive confrontation.