Morpheus Road 03 - The Blood (11 page)

THERESA SEAVER. BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER. BFF.

Coop gazed at the crypt, desperately trying to understand.

"Ennis was there," Marsh said. "In Greece. After Mom died, he handled all the details. All the paperwork. He dealt with the governments and the shipping companies and cut through all the red tape to bring her body home. Dad and I never questioned a thing. We were too messed up. But now I understand. I can't believe it took me so long."

"Understand what?" Coop asked, frustrated.

"You know what happened. She told you the whole
thing. She didn't die in the rubble."

"But she did die! She's in the Black, Marsh!"

"I know. But it wasn't the earthquake that killed her.
She went through the Rift."

"So?"

"So that means there was no body to bring home."

The realization hit Cooper like a freight train rumbling
along the Morpheus Road.

"Jeez, you're right," he said with a gasp.

Marsh looked him dead in the eye and said, "Lignum vitae.
Damon was right all along. I know where the poleax is."

"Lignum
what?" Coop asked, reeling, trying to understand all the implications. "What does that mean?"

"Lignum vitae. The wood of life. That's what Ennis called it. He said it represented strength and asked if it was okay."

"You're losing me, man."

"I stood right there," Marsh said, pointing to a spot not far from the crypt. "I saw Ennis put a twisted sculpture of branches on top of the coffin before they slid it into the tomb. It was like a knot made out of wooden limbs. The perfect size to hide something."

Cooper looked to Ree's crypt, trying to calculate the facts that Marsh was throwing out.

"Ralph, you're dreaming," he finally said. "The poleax is a weapon. It's too big to hide in a twisted branch of wood."

"I'm sure it is," Marsh said calmly. "But it was the per
fect size to hide a small golden ball."

Coop's eyes went wide. Everything that Marsh had been babbling about had suddenly snapped into perfect focus. "Oh jeez," he said with a gasp.

Marsh nodded. "This is what it's been about from the start, Coop. Damon knew I would be the one to figure it out. It's why he came after you to come after me. The fifth crucible is protecting the poleax . . . in my mother's grave."

Marsh was breathing hard, his eyes glazed. His mind had gone to another place in order to process the horror of what he was about to do.

"So you want to break into the crypt and get it?" Coop asked, numb.

"I want to save my mother," Marsh answered. He clutched the crowbar and took a step back to line himself up.

"Ralph, no!" Coop yelled. "You can't. You just can't."

"I can. I have to," Marsh replied.

"Listen to me. Your mom is still okay. Damon needs her to try to control you, and it's working. You're doing exactly what he wants."

"He threatened to kill her spirit," Marsh said.

"And what would stop him from doing it anyway, even after he got the poleax? He is not an honorable guy."

"You could be right, but I'm not taking the chance."

"So what are you going to do?" Coop challenged. "Just hand him the poleax and hope he releases your mother? Trust me, that won't happen."

"I do trust you, Coop. That's why I'm giving the poleax to you."

"What!" Coop exclaimed, once again thrown by Marsh's thinking.

"This is your plan, remember? You wanted the Guardians to get the poleax and use it against Damon. From everything
I've seen, Damon is too powerful to be brought down like a normal spirit."

Coop backed off. "No . . . no . . . that's just . . . nuts."

"It isn't," Marsh said with authority. "Use the poleax, Coop. Use it on Damon."

Coop was reeling. "I . . . I don't know. That's like . . . like . . . playing with fire."

"Exactly. Your kind of fight."

Marsh focused on the crypt. Coop saw that he was get
ting ready to act, and jumped in front of him.

"No!" he shouted. "I can't believe I'm the voice of rea
son here but you're wrong. I was wrong. If the poleax is in there with the crucible, then Damon can't get it."

"But for how long?" Marsh cried. "Three crucibles are broken, and Damon's abilities have grown each time. He's not going to stop until he gets what he wants, so why should I?"

"I know, Ralph. I hear you. But this is way bigger than saving your mother. It's bigger than you and me and any of the spirits who've been fighting him. If Damon gets that thing, it'll be Armageddon."

"You may be right," Marsh said, still remarkably calm. "But sooner or later he's going to find this. Maybe it'll be a hundred years from now after he tortures some other poor sucker into getting it, but it will happen. The only differ
ence will be that my mother will no longer exist."

"What if you're wrong?" Coop shouted, grasping at straws. "What if it isn't there? What if this is really your mother's tomb and her body's been in there for three years? Is that something you want to see? And live with?"

Marsh blinked, imagining the possibility. Coop had finally gotten through to him. He took a few steps back from the crypt and read the inscription. Tears grew in his eyes.

"I don't think I'm wrong," Marsh said softly. "But if I am, the worst thing that will happen is that I'll lose whatever is
left of my mind. But if I'm right, we could hold the power to stop Damon."

Coop said, "Or bring on Judgment Day."

Marsh grasped the crowbar tighter.

"
Are you going to move?"

Coop shook his head. "I can't stop you, but I'm not get
ting out of the way."

Marsh started breathing hard. The sound of his labored breaths filled the subterranean room. His eyes were focused on the stretch of marble that protected either the poleax . . . or his mother's remains.

"Don't do it, Ralph," Coop begged softly. "I promise I'll find her."

Marsh raised the crowbar, let out an anguished bel
low, and charged for the crypt. True to his word, Cooper didn't budge. When Marsh swung the bar, it traveled right through his friend before smashing into the crypt's facade.

The very first blow sent a
spiderweb
of cracks through the name Theresa Seaver. Marsh screamed with agony and adrenaline as he continued, hammering away at the marble, desperate to get the job done quickly.

Each blow traveled through Coop's spirit. He closed his eyes, not wanting to witness the destruction of the tomb . . . and his best friend.

With a tortured howl Marsh gave one final swing. The crowbar made contact and shattered the marble facing. The arc of Marsh's swing continued into the uncovered crypt, where the hook of the crowbar snagged onto something. Marsh followed through like a batter swinging for the fences and pulled out a snarl of branches.

Lignum vitae.

He had caught the sculpture with the crowbar. As he yanked it out of the crypt, along with it came a golden orb that had been nestled in its branches. It was too late for
Marsh to stop the momentum. The glass ball flew across the room, landed on the marble floor . . .

And shattered.

Red liquid exploded from the broken ball, spraying across the floor and the far wall of crypts.

Another crucible was history.

Cooper saw the eruption and deflated.

"
And . . . here we go," he uttered with resignation.

The floor shook. Marsh knew the feeling. An earth
quake was rocking the mausoleum, though both Marsh and Cooper knew that it wasn't a natural geological event.

Marsh staggered back a few steps, nearly tripping over a large, jagged chunk of marble. The stone veneer that had sealed Terri Seaver's final resting place was gone. Behind it, in a niche that was barely big enough to contain it, was a mahogany coffin.

Marsh stared at the casket, wide-eyed.

"Pull it out," Cooper commanded to Marsh.

Marsh didn't react.

The mausoleum continued to shake and rumble. "Marsh!" Coop screamed. "If the poleax is there, you gotta get it! Now!"

Marsh shook himself into action. He jumped to the open crypt and reached for the brass handles of the coffin. He grasped them both, and froze.

"What's the matter?" Coop asked.

"I can't," Marsh said with a whimper.

Cooper jumped down next to his friend and got right into his face. "You started this. You can't bail now."

Marsh was in tears. "It—it's my mother," he stammered. "What if—"

"Too late!" Coop screamed above the rumbling of the quake. "The crucible's gone. He's coming. If the poleax is in there, we sure as hell better get it before he does. Pull it out!"

Marsh screamed in despair . . . and pulled. The coffin was heavier than he expected, but he was charged with adrenaline and the wooden casket slid out easily. Once out of the enclosure there was no place for it to go but down. There was one crypt below Ree's, so it was a three-foot drop to the floor. Marsh hesitated, looking for a way to gently ease the casket to the ground.

"Drop it!" Coop screamed.

Marsh obeyed and yanked the coffin off the ledge. The heavy casket fell and landed with a dull thud. The force cracked the seal, springing the lid open a small inch.

Marsh staggered back, overcome with grief. And fear. The rumbling continued, making it difficult for him to stand on legs that were already weak.

"Open it, Ralph," Coop commanded with calm force.

"What if I'm wrong?" Marsh cried, hysterical.

"I hope you are. Open it!"

Marsh wiped his eyes and staggered forward, his gaze focused on the narrow opening where the lid of the cof
fin had released from the bottom shell. Coop ran right up alongside him.

"I know, Ralph. It doesn't get any worse than this. But you know what? I think you're right. I think the only thing we're going to find in that box is a sword. Your mother is in the Black. She fell through the Rift. She's not in there. But the poleax might be, and if it is, you've got to get it before Damon does."

Coop's words gave Marsh strength. He approached the coffin, knelt down beside it, and grasped the lid. His hands were shaking. His tears flowed again.

He couldn't move.

"Open it, Marsh," Coop coaxed. "If I'm going to save her, I'll need the poleax."

Marsh steeled himself, took a deep breath, and lifted the lid to reveal . . .

. . . skeletal remains.

The last time Marsh had seen his mother was the day she had left for Greece and her rendezvous with destiny. Since that day the hurt had only grown worse as memories of her slowly faded. He often relied on pictures to remind him of the way she smiled or the shape of her eyes. He feared that someday he would have only memories of her pictures but not of the woman herself. He hated to think that might hap
pen. He wanted to remember her. The person.

As he looked down into that coffin, he knew that no matter how fleeting his memories might be, he could be absolutely certain of one thing:

"It's not her," he said, the tension leaving his body.

"How can you tell?" Coop asked, squinting, trying not to look too closely.

"Because it's a man," was Marsh's simple reply.

Coop forced himself to look.

"Jeez, it is."

The remains had decomposed to the point where there was little skin left on the bones, but the hair and the cloth
ing were fairly intact. Ree Seaver was of medium build and had long wavy brown hair. The poor man in the coffin had short, black hair and wore a gray suit.

Marsh couldn't take his eyes off the remains. "Who could it be?" he asked.

"Uh-oh," Coop said.

"What?"

"The rumbling stopped."

"You're right. Does that mean—"

Marsh felt a strong hand grab his arm and yank him forcefully away from the coffin. He half stumbled, half flew across the room, landed on his butt, and slid through the drying blood of Alexander the Great. Once he came to a stop, he twisted around to see . . .

Damon of Epirus was standing over the open coffin.

"Sometimes the most complicated question can be answered by the simplest of answers," he exclaimed, barely hiding his excitement. "This has taken far too long."

Cooper ran at Damon, desperate to tackle him and pull him away from the coffin. But instead of driving his shoul
der into Damon's chest, Coop passed right through him . . . like a ghost. Coop stopped and spun around, stunned.

"How is that possible?" he shouted. "We're both spirits!"

Damon shrugged casually. "Yet I can manipulate physi
cal matter like no other," he said. "Surely you know that by now."

"Marsh!" Coop yelled. "Stop him!"

Marsh didn't have to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet, ran at Damon, and dove at him with his arms out wide, ready to tackle him up and drive him into the wall of crypts. Instead he traveled through Damon as if he were . . . a spirit. Marsh slammed into the marble wall himself and grunted in pain as he smashed his shoulder into the unforgiving surface.

Damon chuckled. "It's quite futile, you know."

Marsh and Coop were helpless to do anything but watch in horror as Damon reached down into the coffin, grabbed the jacket of the skeleton, and pulled it up out of the cas
ket. He appraised the remains briefly, the way one would examine a unique bug. It didn't hold his attention for long. With a dismissive shrug he tossed the remains to the floor behind the coffin, where it fell in a crumpled heap like a broken doll.

"Coop, do something!" Marsh yelled.

Coop didn't move.

"Like what?" he said. "We're done, Ralph."

Damon looked back down to the coffin, and his eyes lit up like a child's on Christmas morning.

When Marsh saw that reaction, he knew Cooper was right.
They were done.