Nightbringer (25 page)

Yes, he had heard. But he did not immediately react, as if he dreaded his next act. Then he turned, gladius in bloody hand, and walked toward the origin of the sound. He did not reach for any of Gina's weapons, nor did she expect him to. Where he was in his spirit would not allow guns.

It was something he had to do with a sword.

Closing close behind him, Gina and Melanchthon rounded the curve to see a broken wheelchair in the dirt. The steel was bent as if whatever was contained within it had exploded.

"Dominic?" Gina whispered. "It wasn't Basil?"

"No, not Basil," rumbled Melanchthon. "Dominic, who wore the darkest mask of all."

Cassius continued into the curve and saw Dominic lying naked upon a mound of broken skulls. His neck was torn and ravaged, and blood on his chest masked the depths of his wounds. His mouth was open in silent petition, as if he might speak. But he did not speak as Cassius approached. Did not speak as the centurion stood over him.

"No," Cassius shook his head. "I didn't know that it was you."

Dominic struggled to rise, to speak, almost pleading.

Cassius scowled. "Even now, Raphael, you would deceive me. Even when the game is over and you have nothing to gain by lies, you would lie. You are truly tragic." Cassius' hand tightened on the gladius, and he stepped forward.

Somehow, Gina felt that this place belonged to another world that she had no right to enter or remember. And what had to be done
simply had to be done. Yet, still, there was a great sadness in it. She turned her face away as Cassius closed the final stride.

Dominic's mouth twisted mutely.

Cassius shook his head, somehow reluctant now to finish this—as if he were finishing a part of himself.

"We belong to another world, Nightbringer." Cassius' aspect was tragic. "But that world has passed
… And we must pass, too."

With frantic strength Dominic reached out to Cassius with a mutilated right hand, pointing to the nearby darkness, then rolled his head from side to side and breathed his last. And the centurion saw it at once—the ravaged reflection of a lurking Raphael in the eyes of the silent monk. Cassius dove forward.

Yes, Raphael—Basil—had played his last gambit—an attempt to lure Cassius into position for a final, finishing blow. As Cassius rolled past the body of Dominic he spun just as Gina's distant scream boomed across the cavern and Raphael surged into him.

Combat reflexes and instinct saved Cassius' life and he was instantly in a fighting mode—a change made in a tenth of a second that cast aside tragedy and compassion and any thought that didn't search out the life in his enemy so he could destroy it.

Baleful, Cassius rose. His eyes were red. His voice was ravaged and bitter. "The long night has ended, Raphael ... It is time for you to return to your kind."

Cassius was stunned when the MP-5 erupted
and with the blackest animal fury Raphael spun into Gina's attack.

It covered the distance
on its huge bowed legs with horrifying speed. It, too, was holding nothing back now, though Cassius knew that the beast was as good as dead. It just didn't know it yet. Still, he did not know how long Raphael could continue before his body finally burned out oxygen and acids and adrenaline.

Cassius surged forward, hurtling a boulder with hesitation, knowing that he had to intercept Raphael before he reached Gina.

Cassius blasted a heap of skulls into dust and staggered, unable to recover quickly enough as he crashed into a skeleton fixed in a chariot still arrayed in iron armor and in a nightmare flash Cassius remembered the moment he had driven the man's own javelin back through his heart. He crashed through the skeletal spectacle, scattering bones and splinters and iron fragments like ashes, and one step later he collided with Raphael and Gina together.

A lightning-fast blow by Raphael tore the MP-5 from Gina's hands.
But as the clawed hand closed on the rifle, it discharged in his face. In the next moment they were locked in a chaotic tangle of arms and legs with Cassius taking blow after blow intended for Gina. But it couldn't last and it didn't last because Cassius spun to lay a hand on her arm and spun again, hurling her clear of the battle. He instantly whirled back into Raphael, reading his opponent.

Claws swept in low from the left and Cassius had no move but to jerk his body back, head and feet remaining in place as the claws missed his guts. But the move left him off balance, and there was no way to avoid the left hand that rushed toward his neck, and Cassius knew that it was the end.

Take it to the ground
!

Cassius grabbed the arm and spun and the momentum carried them sprawling to the ground.

There was no finesse to this last grapple to the death.

It was war—pure, savage, truthful, and without regret.

Again and again the gladius rose and fell and then Raphael surged with hysterical strength and broke free, reaching his feet to flee yet again. But Cassius was equally as quick and spun to hurl the beast through bones that exploded like dust. Raphael was dazed and disoriented as he rose searching instantly, and saw Cassius as an arching leap carried him into the fangs of the beast.

Raphael had time for an abrupt half-twist to avoid the gladius Cassius held aloft with both hands tight on the hilt, but it
was too late. The blade descended to hit Raphael solidly in the forehead in a blast of flesh and blood and bone.

Cassius' weight bore the Nephilim to the ground, and Cassius remained on top, tearing the gladius free to stab again through its chest. Enraged, Cassius reached up to grasp Raphael by the throat and ripped the blade through and
... glared down hard into starkly lifeless eyes.

Unable to catch his breath, Cassius gazed with something like amazement into the black wells that had commanded such bestial strength, such power, knowledge, and the wisdom of ages as well as the evil. The blood that joined them was older than this world, more powerful than this world.

The blood was the rubric of gods … and fallen gods.

It seemed like forever that Cassius held the mammoth neck in his hand, his forehead bent to Raphael's chest. It seemed like forever that the great wedged head, fangs open in a frozen roar, was silent. Like forever
... that the gladius dripped darkly to the dust.

Dusk had darkened the edge of all Cassius could see. He sensed someone speaking to him but could not answer—his mind separated from his body in what he knew was the beginning of death. He did not know he had fallen forward, did not know that he lay upon the breast of the beast as if they had died together.

Gina rolled Cassius off the carcass of the beast and didn't even glance at the violent, frozen gaze that even now searched the darkness, as if to beg for an answer.

***

"The professor's bag!"

No question.

Melanchthon knelt and opened the bag, and Gina was checking one vial after another before she cried, "Epinephrine!"

She drew half a syringe and plunged the needle into Cassius' heart, emptying it. She ripped it free as Cassius convulsed, his right arm reaching high and violently as if to appeal to a higher power.

"
No
!" he cried—pleaded.

His eyes blazed in asking, then closed.

And he fell as dead.

***

Strange, thought Cassius as he walked through the cavern he had not visited in so many long centuries ... Yes, so strange and so familiar. Things were as they had been, but gray and transparent and benign now and beautiful in a misty, fog-edged way.

Cassius gazed upon the mountains of bones and saw the chariot of the warrior who had called himself
Suleiman. He had come to claim the crucifix for Mecca, as convinced in his own mind that he must claim the treasure for his faith as Cassius was that no man could claim it.

Still resting inside the iron chariot that bore him to the castle walls,
Suleiman’s skeleton was suddenly fleshly white. And Cassius remembered the titanic power of that mighty arm. Remembered how Suleiman hurled that battle-ax with such force that wood and stone were reduced to dust.

No, the Moor had not listened to reason even when Cassius at last struck him down and stood above him, offering life if he would leave in peace. But there would be no peace and Cassius finished him, as he had finished the rest.

Battle after battle rose again and again inside Cassius and he saw himself again and again—cut, broken, dying, only to rise up once more to kill. Sometimes they had come alone—sometimes together. It had made no difference in the end. They had all died.

Some part of Cassius' mind wondered why he did not behold a river of blood, but the only blood he beheld was his own. And then there he was, standing in a field of dead, painted with blood, head bowed, alone and guilty and
...

Condemned.

And then Suleiman raised his head, as Cassius knew he would. But the magnificent Moor did not smile, did not frown. Nor did he reach down to grasp the huge battle-ax even now at his side, as Cassius had left him. Rather, it was as if whatever he and Cassius had fought for, however just, meant nothing now. Then, slowly, Suleiman lifted his arm toward Cassius and waited patiently, a single hand outstretched.

Cassius' eyes narrowed in amazement.

This is where I belong ...

N
ot with the living ...

A world of war in countless faces and names flooded before Cassius, and he was amazed that he remembered them all—the children, the men, women, the ancient, and the innocent. He saw evil in human form, and he again felt the cold wind and a deeper cold as he moved silently through the night to find it and destroy it. He again saw guards walking terraced gardens where he would descend to the
ir terror. And the scenes continued and continued for centuries—more faces, more cities, more balconies and gardens and guards. But always the blood was the same, and always his hands were the same in the blood.

An overwhelming fatigue rushed up, and Cassius lay on a soft cloud in which he could rest and which would bear him through the ages to come. And he almost closed his eyes, surrendering to the mercy of it when he saw more faces emerging from the hills.

They were here—all of them—the children, the old and the young, all standing, all waiting. The children smiled, and the old men nodded as if to assure him that the end was not war, or death, or the grave. Nor did their gazes reflect anything but peace. And then Cassius did shut his eyes—not to surrender to the cloud that lifted him but to pray … to thank them—to thank Him—and to remember.

A heartbeat, slow and subdued, thumped in surrounding corridors, and Cassius bent his face, listening. He smiled, laughed once, and cast a last gaze at those who held out their hands.

There was nothing to say that a hand raised in peace did not say, and Cassius nodded, but then he lifted his head and heard Gina speaking to him. And in a transparent, white, rising rush felt her touch his face. And she continued to speak, as if to hold on to whatever part of him remained in the world of the living by words alone.

Cassius stretched out his hand to the shapes that stood so close, their faces void of anger or hate or condemnation. Whatever they possessed now—what could not be taken from them—was far, far greater than what they were doomed to lose from the beginning.

Great Cedric bowed his head and smiled with the smile of a friend. "You have fought well, centurion. And now, brother, is it your will to rest?"

Bent, Cassius wished for peace.
Then he raised his face to the sky and looked once more into the eyes of God, but there was no more pain in His eyes now. No, the Lord of All the Earth recognized no more pain. Then Cassius thought of those behind him—those yet in the cavern, those who had not reached this place where pain and fear faded.

"No," he groaned.

The Lord stretched out His hand and smiled. The sound rose like rivers around him. "So be it, child ..."

***

Cassius' eyes blazed with life.

Gina was staring over him and cried out, "Cassius!"

Cassius stared into her, knowing life. Then he grasped her hand and closed his eyes, grimacing in pain before he saw again the spectral images that remained so patiently waiting— that would always be patiently waiting.

A single hand outstretched.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

Rest, Cassius." Cassius heard Gina's words and rose slowly. He felt remarkably stronger and knew what she had done. He glanced at the professor's bag.

"What'd you do?" he asked, mostly because he was too tired to tell her, himself.

"I gave you the works," Gina said, checking his eyes.

"You did okay."

"How do you feel?"

Cassius coughed and then—slowly, painfully—stood. He knew the best way to defuse her fear was to put the same question to her. "Are you hurt?"

"Not really. You sure you're all right?"

"I'll live."

They turned as Melanchthon spoke and shook his head. "Don't move too quickly. My legs are not what they used to be."

The journey through the duplicitous tunnels lasted longer than Cassius remembered, but in time they entered the last, final corridor that would take them to the chambers surrounding the Great Hall.

They had spoken little but as they neared the Hall, Gina looked at Cassius. Her eyes held sadness, as if she did not desire this ending. But she did not say it with more than her eyes, nor did Cassius encourage her.

They had spoken of love, and afterward she had spoken of it no more. But Cassius wondered if he could love again—if he could endure love again. And with the question he knew that he could. Yes, he could endure it again. To not endure it would be worse than love itself.

But in the same thought, he knew he could not inflict his love on another, or accept love. Because he would not age, and she would grow old, and she would die. But long before that, she would feel guilt that he would not leave her in peace, then less and less worthy until she longed for death because of love. Cassius had endured it before, and some things did not change.

She spoke as they saw the distant entrance to the Great Hall. "So? What now?"

Cassius looked at her, eyes sullen. "I have to track the other one."

Gina fought back tears, wondering how much more Cassius—even Cassius—could take. She whispered, "Can you..."

He shrugged. "He escaped this time but he can't escape forever. When this is finally over, maybe I'll take you on a tour of Rome." At her laugh, he smiled. "I think I can give you a better trip than most tour guides."

"I'll bet you can. And this place?"

"I'll handle the authorities."

She was amused. "How?"

"Believe me
; I didn't live this long without being prepared for contingencies. I'll make a phone call. That's all you'll ever hear of it."

They walked a moment in silence. Casually, Melanchthon trailed them by a half-dozen steps. Gina's voice suddenly became pensive. "And your friend Dominic?"

"Was a victim. Like the rest." He became more studious. "Raphael—Basil—they wanted to distract me—to get me chasing shadows. And it worked for a while. But I knew something was wrong. I just couldn't figure out what it was. If I had more time, it might have been different. But I was as confused as you were."

"Yeah," Gina agreed and swept back her hair with both hands. "I don't know what to say. I think of returning to the world and I don't even know what the world is
, anymore. Going through something like this changes everything. It's as though everything outside this place doesn't matter."

Cassius was quiet, then, "It does matter, Gina. The good things—the small things you didn't think were so important—become more important than anything. And the things you thought were such a big deal—catching criminals—take a backseat to spending time with your kids. That's the way it should be, and it's something that most people don't discover until
it’s too late."

Gina nodded slowly. "Nothing like a good dose of death to let people know what's truly important. A shame it has to be that way."

"It doesn't." Cassius laughed. "But when it does, you don't forget it."

"Believe me
; I will
never
forget this."

Cassius had stopped without warning. And when Gina looked back, she saw him staring high toward the roof of the Great Hall. They could only see a portion of a single window but the storm raged even worse than before.

"Cassius? What is it?"

His eyes didn't leave the window. "He's still here."

Reacting with alarm, Gina spun. "
The children
!"

Cassius caught her before
the first step and slammed her against a wall. "No! It's me he wants!"

"But the children!"

"He hasn't harmed the children!" Cassius' confidence was complete. "He needed bait to make sure we'd come back!"

"
But we don't have any more weapons!"

It was a long moment, both of them breathing hard and fast. Then, as if an idea dreaded and anticipated rose within Cassius, he lifted his gaze at the great domed roof of the cathedral-like Great Hall. His voice was a whisper.

"There are always weapons."

He turned into her fiercely, close enough for a kiss. "When it begins, grab the children! Get outside the abbey! The storm won't last much longer! I promise!"

"Cassius!" Gina was on the edge of frantic. "What are you going do!"

"Finish it," he said bitterly and stepped solidly away from her.

Gina's gaze flicked from the entrance to his face, as if trying to discern what invisible fate existed between them. She stopped when she saw he was staring gently at her.

He smiled faintly. "Remember what I said?"

"About what?"

"About my dying?"

"Only when you've lived long enough to know?"

He nodded.

"But know
what
?"

He stepped into her fast and lifted her by the shoulders and kissed her strongly and embraced her and held her as if
nothing in the world could take her from his arms. When he released her, Gina's hand slipped off his back as he angled fast around a corner and was instantly lost in shadows.

She stood alone, staring after him. She looked at the Hall again, and it seemed too...peaceful. The lamps glowed, the torches burned, as if nothing evil rested within it. But she knew that what was within it was beyond evil.

A hand braced against the wall, Gina leaned her face into her other hand, and what was within her rose to words.

"Jesus, please...help us."

* * *