Nightbringer (24 page)

Cassius tumbled wildly, falling, descending down a long, hidden staircase, swallowed by a white sea of skulls that rose about him, and Cassius knew that here were the graves of the evil and the good together, and that he had returned to the beginning.

As he knew he would....

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

Gina reached the door in time to catch a glimpse of Cassius and Raphael as they disappeared beyond the light. She spun and grabbed Father Stephen.

"Where does this go?"

The father abbot was astounded and confused. He could not even form a sentence. Gina shoved him back and snatched the Uzi as Melanchthon rushed forward. He stood in the entrance and stared down only a moment before he unceremoniously grabbed two torches from Jaqual.

Melanchthon gave one to Gina, and then he picked up what she recognized as a traditional Roman fighting sword—a gladius. He turned to the professor, reaching out for the small medic's bag the old man had in his left hand. The professor gave it to the monk and nodded. Melanchthon grimaced, then turned and instantly began down the staircase, neither asking Gina's permission nor appearing to care.

She had to take control of the situation, but the monk was fiercely committed now and would do what he would do. She grabbed Rachel and fell to her knees. "Are you okay?"

Fast nods, but Gina knew she and Josh were in shock.

Gina's eyes blazed as she focused on Rebecca and the others. "Get them to the Hall and wait! If I'm not back in an hour, bundle them up and get out of here!" She looked into their eyes and hugged them hard. "I love you! Now go!"

They shouted but Gina had no choice. She had to finish this or these creatures would be
hunting them forever.

Grimacing in pain she stood and entered the newly revealed stairway, careful not to miss a step because the blocks were set so steeply that one slip would likely be unrecoverable. Dead or alive, she would plummet to the base, just as Cassius had done. But she knew Cassius was alive because roars—human and inhuman—thundered from what she feared was hell itself.

***

Cassius was beneath Raphael when they crashed together at the base and instantly placed a foot in the Nephilim's chest. Cassius hurled it back, where it crashed upon an ancient altar, shattering stones.

Remarkably, the torch had survived the descent and Cassius took a single second to hurl it to a mound that ignited instantly, casting the cave in a sphere of light that grew brighter in seconds.

The mound, in the growling light, comprised hundreds and hundreds of chariots and wagons—all wooden relics of some tremendous military campaign of a nation that no longer existed. The fire grew quickly, feeding itself on the ancient wood that had not rotted because it had been protected from wind and rain and heat and cold and was not petrified because the cavern was utterly parched.

At last, Raphael stood.

His arms, glistening and black, hung stiff at his sides. His jaws were distended, but not in threat. He was dragging deep breaths across bloody fangs and lips. Then, slowly, he slouched toward Cassius as the mythical Beast might slouch toward Jerusalem during the final scarlet night of the world.

Grimacing, Cassius shook his head.

So it comes to this
...

They embraced against a wall of liquid flame that consumed chariots and wagons and shields. Cassius brought the gladius up hard, stabbing Raphael through the torso. The blade sunk deep and Cassius turned it inside the Nephilim, drawing it out to do even more damage. But if Raphael felt any pain he did not reveal it. With a snarl shuddering in its chest the Nephilim grasped Cassius' neck and lifted the centurion fully from the floor.

Gasping, Cassius brought a knee up into Raphael's chest and then placed a boot against his clavicle. With a shove he broke the grip and fell awkwardly to the ground, and instantly Raphael crouched over him, lifting him again toward gaping fangs.

But Cassius twisted and took them both across the floor, the sword rising and falling—rising and falling with flat sheets of blood flowing off the blade as it rose, red rain following as it fell to stab the beast again and again.

It was not surprising that neither of them moved with breathtaking speed now. Rather, they were like two arm-weary fighters standing in the center of the ring in the final round of a fight that had lasted far, far too long, neither willing to lose as they hurled exhausted punch after exhausted punch to finish on their feet. They fought without air, without feeling, without sensation, only muscle memory hurling a blow, and then another, and another as the mind faded into itself, safe and soft within its own veil, void of pain.

Cassius stumbled back as he stood, falling over a small boulder. But he righted himself quickly, focusing on Raphael as he slouched forward yet again. The flow of blood from the Nephilim's mouth and nose was foamy, as if his lungs were
bleeding into his breath.

No, the Nephilim did not have much time now.

But it did not need much time.

In two strides Cassius met the Nephilim and they locked arms once more. Instantly Cassius was bent back, but it was not the strength of stone that Cassius had resisted before. And the difference, little as it was, was critical.

It was like the difference between bronze and steel. Even the lightest touch intimated that one could be broken and the other could not. The Nephilim also seemed lighter; as if whatever titanic force of will that had given it gravity was gone.

Cassius knew that Gina and Melanchthon had descended into the cavern. He peripherally saw the torches and glimpsed their silhouettes against the sloping stone wall. But he knew they would not enter this contest. Whether by conscious reason or some sensation they did not understand, they would let man and monster finish what they must finish alone.

With amazing clarity of sight Cassius slipped the fangs again and again by a margin so slight that anyone watching would have thought that they'd touched flesh. But with each attack Cassius saw something, sensed something that revealed the direction and threw up a forearm, a shoulder, ducked or leaned or parried, and finally they staggered back from each other, gasping heavily.

Cassius shook his head, sweat and blood glistening on his face
in a crimson mask, as if he had painted himself in blood for this battle.

B
ut the blood was his own.

Each of them stood, bloody and bent, face
to face with hands low because each could read the other so easily now. It mattered not how a blow originated—the feint or combination—because the movement was known before it began, as if each could read the other's mind. And if the blow landed at all, it landed simply because the other was too weary to parry or block.

Then, abandoning any facade of subtlety, Raphael simply walked into Cassius and lifted him from the ground. Only then did Cassius realize his intentions, and with a hateful curse the Nephilim hurled him into the burning heap of chariots.

As Cassius landed in the flames, he reacted with strength he did not know remained in his battered body. The flames sliced skin from his arms and legs and he rose, roaring and charging and violently blasting wood from his path to exit the blaze. He took three steps before he fell to the floor and rolled, smothering small flames that clung to his clothes. Even before he reached his knees, bent and breathless, he knew Raphael had fled farther into the cavern.

Gina was beside him speaking quickly, but Cassius couldn't catch his breath. He bent until his forehead rested on the heated floor and tried not to think of his wounds. If he were not mortally wounded, then he would survive. And if he were mortally wounded, then confirming it would do no good. There was little more than that, now.

Gina was talking fast as she lifted him from the floor and placed her shoulder beneath his arm. He didn't try to understand her words as he raised his eyes to gaze deeper into the cavern. He sighed, then nodded and spoke, as if to himself.

"So be it...."

Still nodding, Cassius reached and took the gladius from Melanchthon, who gave it up willingly. The blood that melded his hand to the hilt was blood as far back as he knew—to a place where his destiny was decided. He gazed into the darkness, and his face expressed pain that has no true expression, so that the face was void and empty of emotion, pain, or will.

Hand tightening on the hilt, Cassius shook Gina away and stood alone. She regarded him in shock and moved carefully to the side. Melanchthon said nothing and did not move.

With steps that left a wake of blood, Cassius walked slowly, as if drawn by a force beyond them all, toward what seemed a tremendous underground chamber much larger than the subterranean layer in which they stood.

With Gina and Melanchthon trailing, Cassius stopped in the huge, black mouth of the entrance. Then Cassius drew back his arm and flung the torch so that it arched long across the cavern to land in yet another mound of chariots, siege engines, shields and armor and weapons of war.

It took only a moment for flames to feed on the crisp wood and then a tremendous, towering shape began to take form in the center of the cavern, casting its shadow upon a distant wall. Then mounds and hills and dunes of skeletons also rose from the darkness, heaped in hundreds of thousands across a haunting underworld of bones uncountable that lay like rags upon ravines and knolls with skeletal hands even now clutching broken swords and shattered spears.

And upon a low hill that dominated the gargantuan graveyard like a haggard skull stood a towering black crucifix that rose between jagged fangs of stone.

Empty eyes of a million skulls danced in torchlight, as if in warning. And the crucifix cast a lordly shadow over them all, as if in hope. As if beyond here were the gates of hell, and here all the dead of the earth must come, and pass, to enter.

Staring up at the crucifix, Cassius did not move.

Gina cast a single glance toward him as she walked for-ward, afraid, for some reason to move in front of him. Mouth open in shock, she gazed over endless mounds of skeletons.

Then she sensed Melanchthon. He had walked forward and was also staring at the crucifix. But his face did not
reveal alarm or even surprise. He stared upon it as if, from the very beginning, he knew that it would be here.

Cassius' ravaged face was a kaleidoscope of astonishment, grief, pain, and regret that was freed degree by degree—some together, some alone. The gladius hung limply in his hand.

"
You
!" whispered Gina. "You brought it here!"

Cassius' voice was stone. "Yes."

"But why? To protect it?"

"So men would not war over it," answered Melanchthon grimly. "As they would have."

Gina gazed again across the mountains of bones. What had happened here had been the purest war. And despite the uncountable deaths, it did not seem that they had died together.

"Cassius
... who were these people?"

Cassius gazed across the skeletons, the broken swords, lances, and shields. "
Only those who sought to find it and use it as a weapon," he said at last. Then his eyes softened. "I did all that I could to keep it in secret but it was never a secret, and they came for it ... Kings ... Armies ... All with dreams of power – of immortality." He nodded slowly. "For two hundred years I guarded it. Until all those who knew of it were dead – until it faded into legend." He paused. "Until I faded into legend."

It was amazement beyond amazement and Gina could only stand numbly in what was certainly shock. She would have realized it, but her mind was overloaded with so many images
that she couldn't focus.

Cassius walked slowly forward, gazing up at the crucifix, and his gaze seemed to pass over every crevice, every line and
circle of age in the tree. He stopped when he reached the base of the hill and looked over the sea of skeletons that lay, arms outstretched toward the crest, as if they had each been killed trying to reach the base.

"If you could have seen Him," Cassius whispered, fearful or awed. He was silent a long time. "It's strange
... what men say about Him now—what they say He would say or do. Because I watched Him for two years—I studied Him—and I never knew what He would say, or do. Just as I knew that no army could have conquered him."

His laugh was poignant. "I was terrified
the day we raised Him on that tree because I knew that He could destroy this entire world with a single thought—that He could destroy
us
." He paused. "You think that centuries are long? No, centuries aren’t long.
Long
is standing upon Golgotha for six hours watching Him die, knowing that between His word and His death rested the fate of the universe. You have never known fear unless you have known that kind of fear. You wonder why I do not fear Raphael and his kind? Because I have known true fear—I stared into the eyes of God knowing that, with just a word, He could destroy the earth. But He didn’t And, at the end, when I was begging Him to die—to finally claim His victory—" He laughed, but it was a laugh of astonishment and pain, "—which I knew He would, He just gazed on me with such mercy ... and love."

Gina had closed the distance as Cassius talked until she stood silently beside Melanchthon. She saw the big monk softly wipe a tear from his face.

Cassius' voice was a whisper. "Even when He said nothing ... He commanded everything."

A scrape caused Gina to spin, staring hard. But the far corner of the cavern was hidden behind the curving slope of a wall. Holding the MP-5 tightly, she looked to Cassius.