Morpheus Road 03 - The Blood (22 page)

The warrior strode around the edges of the tomb, gazing down at the marble covering. He let the point of the poleax scrape across its surface. The sharp hiss of blade on stone filled the empty cathedral.

"Interesting," Damon said thoughtfully. "I expected the poleax to slice through this effortlessly."

"Don't do it," Marsh begged. "You're not going to prove anything by destroying the Morpheus Road."

"I disagree," Damon replied. "I am the champion of those spirits in the Black who no longer accept the unfair judgment of supposed superior spirits. I am their redeemer. And to the spirits in the Blood, I will be their avenger."

"But you're just using them," Marsh argued.

"We all have something to gain," Damon said. "As does Brennus."

"And what if he doesn't go along with your plan?" Marsh asked.

Damon smiled and said, "Let us find out."

He gripped the poleax with both hands, raised it high overhead, and brought the chopping blade down hard.

The sharp metal edge hit the marble tomb, cracking the surface.

Cooper and Press sprinted through the garden, headed for the cathedral. Alone. The spirit guards had remained by the shore to prevent the figments from circling back.

They hit the bottom of the stairs that led up to the front door and climbed quickly. When they were nearly to the top, they were met by Sanger, who leaned casually against the frame of the open door.

"Hello, boys," Sanger said calmly. "I'm afraid you're a wee bit late."

Cooper ran right up to the old man and grabbed him by the collar.

Sanger didn't fight him.

"I'm coming back for you," Coop growled.

Sanger gave him a smile full of yellowed teeth. "I'll be
waitin
'."

Cooper threw him aside as he and Press continued on into the cathedral.

Marsh struggled to free himself from the grip of the fig
ments but it was futile. All he could do was watch in horror as Damon chopped away at the tomb.

The poleax may not have had spiritual power in the Blood, but it was strong enough to break through the marble seal. Damon whaled away as if possessed. Bits of marble flew everywhere as the surface cracked and crumbled. Each strike was painful for Marsh. It was further proof that once again he had failed.

"Stop!" Coop shouted as he and Press dodged through the piles of benches.

The demons holding Marsh were confused. Should they stay with Marsh? Or go for the intruders?

Coop and Press jumped into the clearing. Coop went right to help Marsh, swinging his sword, scattering the fig
ments like cockroaches.

Marsh rolled away, and Coop helped him to his feet. "You okay?" Coop asked.

Marsh nodded.

Press raised his stave threateningly toward Damon, who had stopped chopping and stood on the far side of the tomb, his chest heaving.

"And who is this?" Damon said through gasps.
"
Another misguided soul who has taken pity on those annoying boys?"

"You have no idea what you're doing," Press warned.

"Oh I think I do," Damon said with a smile. "The ques
tion is, do
you
know what I'm doing?"

With that he lifted the poleax high and brought it down hard, crashing through the last of the marble seal and send
ing the shattered pieces falling into the depths of the tomb below.

The prison door was open.

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. All eyes were on the dark hole in the floor. Even the figments crowded together to stare in wonder.

Damon stood over the hole, staring down, his eyes alive with anticipation.

The only one not looking into the depths was Press. He didn't need to. He knew what was inside.

"You'll regret this," Press said to Damon.

Damon didn't take his eyes off the open tomb. "Brennus!" he called down to the depths. "Come! Take your place by my side as we—"

A shadow leaped up and out of the hole, landing directly in front of Damon.

Marsh took a stunned step backward.

Coop gasped, "Oh jeez. This isn't good."

The sin eater was free.

Marsh couldn't be sure if he was looking at the spirit of a human or an animal.

The spirit called Brennus stood hunched over, his back twisted into an unnatural hump. Though he stood on two feet he could easily reach down to walk on all fours. Tangled gray hair fell over his shoulders, joining a straggle of long gray beard. His skin was shriveled and brown, looking more like a dried leather shoe than human flesh. He wore the clothes of a peasant farmer, with dark ragged pants and a cloth coat that hung in shreds to below his knees. His feet were bare and filthy, his toenails
clawlike
. His hands were twisted like tree roots with fingers that overlapped arthritically. As grotesque as he looked, he appeared frail, as if a slight breeze would knock him over.

His eyes told a different story. They were sharp and alert. And angry.

Damon was momentarily taken aback at the sight but quickly regained his composure and announced, "Welcome back to the Blood."

Brennus didn't acknowledge Damon. His gaze bore directly at Press.

Coop looked between the two.

"Dude," he whispered to Press. "That guy's got some serious hate on for you."

Press returned Brennus's gaze, unwavering. "You've been given a second chance, Brennus," he said. "Make no mistake, you can end up back in there just as easily."

Damon took a threatening step toward Press.

"Who are you to interfere?" Damon asked with arrogance.

"He's a Watcher," Coop said.

Damon froze. He hadn't expected that answer. "Surprise," Coop added.

Damon was left momentarily speechless, but regained his composure quickly and strode back to Brennus.

"Ignore him," Damon said to the sin eater. "He has no power here."

Press and Brennus remained with their gazes locked like two gunslingers.

Press said, "If the spirits of the Blood wish it, you can
remain free, but only if you agree to exist in peace." Brennus's response was heavy, wheezy breathing. Damon moved quickly and stood between the two.

"You have no control here!" he shouted to Press. "I have
freed Brennus to join me in my quest."

His words finally caught Brennus's attention. The crippled spirit shuffled slowly toward Damon, the bones in his back cracking and crunching with every movement.

Marsh winced, imagining the pain.

"
Yer
quest?" Brennus asked in a soft, pained whisper.

"I know of your failed mission," Damon said. "You have
gathered many followers. I need them. Once joined with my own army, I will lead them straight up the Morpheus Road."

"How?" Brennus asked, his voice like gravel on sandpaper.

Damon raised the poleax and exclaimed, "I have the power to tear down the walls between worlds."

Press leaned toward Marsh and whispered, "Go to the front of the cathedral. Tell me what you see outside."

"What? Why?" Marsh replied.

"Just go," Press commanded.

Marsh turned and ran.

Coop asked Press, "What's that about?"

Press's answer was to take a firm hold on his wooden stave. Coop noticed and grasped the handle of his own sword. Brennus's breathing grew rapid. He let out short, quick
gasps that turned into a painful laugh. He looked back to
Press and said, "This be true?"

Press didn't reply.

"Of course it is!" Damon announced. "My army waits in the Black for my return along with—"

Brennus threw up a gnarled hand, silencing Damon. Damon was so stunned that someone would dare show him such disrespect that he actually fell silent.

Brennus glared at Press. "You knew it be coming to this."

Press shrugged. "It's why I'm still here."

"You will address me!" Damon bellowed. "Both of you!" They ignored him.

"Enough," Damon said, his frustration growing. He motioned to the figments and commanded, "Seize the weap
ons of the Watcher and the boy!"

The demons didn't move.

Damon lifted the poleax threateningly and shouted, "Now!" The figments moved, but not toward Press and Cooper. They quickly gathered together and moved behind Brennus. "Uh-oh," Coop muttered.

Marsh ran up, wide-eyed and out of breath.

"They're coming!" he announced frantically.

"Who is?" Coop asked.

"Spirits. Thousands of them. They're appearing out in the garden and headed this way."

"Wonderful!" Damon exclaimed. "Exactly what I expected."

Brennus again looked to Press and said, "Did ya really think there be any other way?"

"No," Press replied, resigned. "I didn't. This will end badly."

Brennus smiled, revealing blackened, cracked teeth. "I be counting on it."

"Time to go," Press said to the boys.

"Where?" Marsh asked.

"
Anywhere but here," Press replied, and leaped forward, jumping over the empty tomb, headed toward the rear of the cathedral.

Marsh and Cooper were right behind him.

"Stop them!" Damon commanded the figments.

Two demons made a move for Press and regretted it. Press expertly jabbed the end of his stave into the first, then flicked the pole to the right and knocked the second off its hairy feet.

"Damn," was all Coop could utter, totally impressed.

The front doors of the cathedral crashed open as spirits began pouring in. They were the restless damned of a dozen centuries, moving forward together as if being drawn by an unseen, irresistible force.

"Perfect," Damon whispered at the grisly sight.

Press, Cooper, and Marsh ran past the circle of pews and deeper into the cathedral.

"Who are they?" Coop asked as they dodged chunks of fallen ceiling that lay in piles on the stone floor.

"Brennus's followers," Press replied. "They sensed his release."

"How many are there?" Marsh asked.

"You don't want to know," was Press's sobering answer.

Coop added,
"
And now they've got a ticket out of the Blood."

His words stung Marsh. Up until that moment the threat of Damon marching an army back along the Morpheus Road was just a frightening concept. Seeing Brennus's army of the damned had made it all too real. The war that could bring about doomsday was beginning to take shape and all because he had given Damon the poleax.

They ran through winding corridors until they came upon a door that led out of the cathedral. Stepping outside, they entered a ghost town straight out of the Old West.

Coop glanced back and announced, "They're not com
ing after us."

The three slowed but kept moving along the dusty, deserted street while casting quick glances back to make sure they weren't being followed.

"How did the spirits stop Brennus before?" Marsh asked Press.

"When I first came to the Blood, he was preparing for a major battle. He wasn't expecting a small group of spirits to challenge him. It wasn't hard for the few spirits who opposed him to get close enough to wrestle him into that tomb."

"Okay, cool. Let's do that again," Coop exclaimed.

"This time he'll be ready," Press said. "We'd never get close to him."

"But we have to do something," Coop exclaimed. "Did you see that guy? I don't know what evil looks like, but if there was a picture in the dictionary—"

"We fight," Marsh announced with such adamancy that it made the others stop moving.

"Fight?" Coop exclaimed. "He's got an army. We don't. Do we?"

Press answered, "There are spirits in the Blood who oppose Brennus, but rallying enough of them to oppose a force like that . . . I don't see it."

"I'm not talking about finding an army in the Blood," Marsh said. "We already have one . . . in the Black."

Coop laughed sarcastically. "You can't be serious. There's no way we'd convince the Guardians to come into the Blood. I still can't believe
we
did it."

"They wouldn't have to," Marsh said.

Coop stared at Marsh, uncomprehending.

"What are you thinking, Marsh?" Press asked.

"The Guardians protected a Rift for centuries. They can do it again. Zoe could bring them to the mouth of the Rift between the Black and the Blood and stop Brennus's army from coming through. The spirit swords don't work in the Blood. But in the Black . . ."

"We could wipe them out the moment they stepped through," Coop said, finishing the thought. "It's a small battlefield. The width of the Rift. Totally controllable."

Marsh added, "And it's not like Damon can create another Rift. The poleax is useless here."

"What about Damon's soldiers in the Black?" Coop asked.

"Damon isn't there to lead them," was Marsh's answer.

"Jeez," Coop said. "Could this work?"

They both looked to Press, who stared at the ground, thinking.

"C'mon, man," Coop cajoled. "Unless you've got some higher-spirit kind of idea, I'm thinking this is our best chance."

Press took a deep breath and said, "It would mean the destruction of so many souls."

"Not as many as if Damon marched an entire army back into the Black," Marsh said.

Press nodded thoughtfully and said, "I never thought I'd see the day."

"What day is that?" Marsh asked.

"The day I'd leave the Blood."

"Bonus!" Coop exclaimed. "You get sprung from Trouble Town. Maybe you can get some of your Watcher friends to give us a hand, like the one who gave you that stick."

"That won't happen," Press said adamantly.

"Then, all the more reason to get out of here," Marsh said. "It really is up to us."

Press looked to the two boys, and smiled. "I'm not entirely sure why you two guys got involved in this, but I'm glad you did."

"That makes one of us," Coop said. "Can we leave now?" Press led the group quickly back through the Blood. Though there was no map and no obvious route through
the haunted world, all three knew they were headed in the right direction. They passed through empty towns and crumbled cities, past toppled Mayan pyramids and barren forests, with no obvious borders between visions.

"This is strange," Marsh observed.

"You're just figuring that out?" Coop replied.

"Why hasn't Brennus tried to stop us?" Marsh asked. "If he's got followers everywhere, why haven't we run into any?"

Coop scanned the surroundings. Up until that moment the spirits of the Blood had been everywhere, wandering through the visions like the lost souls they were. Now not a single spirit could be seen.

"Jeez," Coop declared, looking around. "Where did everybody go?"

"They're moving toward Brennus," Press said.

"All of them?" Coop declared. "How's that possible? The Blood looks deserted!"

The implication was sobering.

"How many Guardians do you think Zoe and my mom can gather?" Marsh asked Coop.

"I don't know. Enough. I hope."

None of them said what they were thinking:
How many was enough?

It wasn't long before they saw the silhouette of the
Flavian
Amphitheater and entered the wreckage of the once mighty stadium.

"There," Marsh said, pointing to the gash in the wall that was the Rift.

"That's it?" Press asked. "Simple as that?"

"Be careful when you go through," Coop said. "There might be some of Damon's Roman pals waiting for us." He held up the black sword and added, "And on the other side, these things have juice."

The three hurried right up to the tear through dimen
sions. Press stopped and looked back, taking one last look at the ghastly world.

"Don't tell me you're getting nostalgic," Coop said.

"In a strange way I am," Press answered. "I accepted my fate and made the best of it. It's possible to find beauty everywhere, even in the most horrific place that exists."

"I'll take your word for it," Coop said. "You can visit anytime you'd like."

"I'll pass on that," Press said. "Let's go."

Press held his stave up and ready, Coop raised his sword, and the three stepped into the Rift.

They kept moving forward, though it didn't seem like they were walking. In no time they approached the jagged
gray shape that was the other side of the Rift. It grew larger as they drew near, rising up higher than their heads. With
out a word, they all moved through . .
.

. . . and stepped into the arena to face three Roman soldiers.

"Let's go!" Coop declared.

He immediately went for the soldier closest to him, attacking violently.