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Authors: James Byron Huggins

BOOK: Nightbringer
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Gina knew he would be making a field dressing and turned back to see Josh, visually checking him for injuries because she knew, shocked as he was, it would be hours before he felt anything.
But he was fine except for minor bruises and scrapes. Then she noticed Josh watching Cassius closely as the centurion finished the crude bandage on his forearm. As Cassius roughly wiped blood from his face, Josh walked slowly forward.

Gina didn't attempt to stop him. Whatever was happening was beyond her. And, sensing the approach, Cassius waited until Josh stopped a single small step away.

The boy whispered, "Those were real monsters."

It wasn't a question and Cassius gazed gently, compassionately, into Josh's eyes. He nodded softly.

"Yeah ... they're real."

Unable to move now, Josh could only hug himself, and Cassius' face twisted in pain. Without hesitation he stepped forward and lifted the boy in a
single arm. Then Cassius stood solid and balanced in the center of the corridor as if he feared nothing in this world, as if nothing in this world could hurt either him or Josh. And Josh hugged him more tightly and rolled his face into his chest. "Are you gonna kill them?"

Watching, Gina saw Cassius tightly close his eyes. He lifted his face to the ceiling in what seemed like a prayer.

Cassius' effort to reach Josh before Raphael had been mythic. But, clearly, the Nephilim was stronger and faster. And now—his tightly closed eyes revealed it, though Gina was the only one to see—Cassius was no longer as certain as he had been.

He bent his face closer to Josh.

"Yeah, buddy. I'm gonna kill it."

* * *

 

Chapter Nine

 

None of them had failed to follow the tremendous battle being waged in the corridor two floors below their position and Professor Haider and Melanchthon quickly gathered Rebecca, Rachel, and the scattered monks.

Only when they were about to enter the area where the smoke was strongest—where the air itself seemed warmer, as if heated by the conflict—did Melanchthon pause and grab the professor's arm.

"Prepare yourself," he rumbled.

The professor needed no more. He was first through the opening though the others were not far behind.

The wide corridor resembled a scene out of World War II after interminable bombs had been dropped on the same city night after night. It was difficult to conceive that anyone could have survived whatever destruction had raged here. Shattered stones the size of desks lay in the walkway. Stout wooden timbers were cracked as if they'd faced the relentless force of a hurricane. Everything was broken stone, shattered wood and chalklike dust with hundreds of shining gold cartridges littering it all like treasure surrounding a shipwreck.

Cassius and Gina—Josh was resting on a broken stone beside Cassius—displayed little or no emotion as they rushed forward.

Gina didn't trust herself to make more than simple greetings. The painful noise of the MP-5 had both deafened and angered her. Her emotions were boiling from the sheer racket and would continue until her head stopped ringing and she regained at least a portion of hearing. It had even affected her balance so that she only trusted herself to sit and watch.

She was thankful that Cassius revealed none of the after-battle anger or impatience that she was experiencing. She wasn't surprised. He could probably fight all day and all night and still be as calm and composed as when he began. It was the first thought of genuine anger that she'd had toward him, and she knew it was just aftereffects of the fight.

As she watched the professor, Rebecca, Melanchthon, and Jaqual with the children, so joyous to be together again, she resented that they thought fighting exacted no toll, no price. She hoped they didn't expect her to share their relief too soon.

Cassius had been injured, but not as grievously as Gina had anticipated. In fact, other than the claw marks down his face and his wounded forearm, he seemed untouched. But he was
, indeed, injured. The fact that he wasn't moving told her that much. He continued to slowly damp a strip of his shirt on his face. The blood flow had almost ceased.

"We go back to the hall now?" Gina didn't realize she was shouting until she finished.

Cassius glanced at her and nodded mildly. Then he stood holding the katana and the Colt .45.

"Okay!" he said loudly enough to gain their attention. He pointed with the katana. "We go up this staircase! I'll take the lead and Gina will guard the rear! We'll move safe and slow back to the Hall! Does everyone understand?"

They nodded enthusiastically.

To release a little anger—at least he's human, Gina thought— Cassius kicked what remained of the shattered door out of the way as he mounted the stairwell. Gina made impatient gestures and commands as the others followed.

She made certain that the children, Melanchthon and Jaqual beside them, were last so that she was close enough to protect them. She didn't know if they'd be attacked again before they reached the Hall. Anything was possible.

The huge broken section of stone wall was the last thing Gina saw as she entered the stairwell. Whatever had hit that section was far, far beyond Raphael's power.

Retreating from the corridor with the MP-5, she gazed once more over the carnage. Her head was clearing faster now, and she could once again feel her heart.

And the fear within it.

***

The return to the Hall was mercifully without incident and none of them wasted any time in drinking and eating everything they hauled from the nearby kitchen where no less than six of the ten surviving monks stood guard with spears.

Poor Jaqual was almost frantic as he alone scurried back and forth with plates of heavy fruit and, finally, a roast, retrieving bottle after bottle of water and wine. Gina almost felt sorry for him and petitioned for him to sit and rest. But the monk was apparently working out whatever nervous energy remained and demurely resisted her protestations.

Finally Melanchthon made him sit and rest and eat. Gina wasn't sure if the old monk had done it for Jaqual or himself. She only knew that Jaqual's repetitive ministrations had begun to grate on her nerves.

Only Cassius, having laid his weapons to the side, was not approached for any embrace, for when they entered the hall, he displayed no emotion and inspired none. He simply walked, cold and stoic, to the table and removed his weapons and began rewrapping the bandage on his arm.

The others seemed to have dismissed his presence. And their demeanor said what words did not. Though it had not been revealed, they knew who he was. She could see it in the way they all but bowed before him when he passed to claim a bottle of wine. They had retreated or bent their faces or clasped hands in silence, though Cassius seemed not to notice. He had taken bread as well and walked back to the table where he continued to work alone.

It was indeed a far cry from the rest who encouraged and supported one another as if there were now no threat.

Yeah, Gina thought,
it’s one thing to be lost and alone in the catacombs of this place. It's another to be surrounded by friends, supported emotionally and physically, though the reason to fear remained the same. But she also knew that numbers were false security. There was only one man in the Hall who offered any hope for survival, and he rested alone at the north corridor.

When she looked toward him again, Cassius had finished rewrapping the bandage. And as Gina watched him more closely she saw that he had quickly recovered whatever strength he seemed to have spent in his encounter with Raphael.

Gina's cold, surgical ability to evaluate—inculcated so deeply within her—was not a hindrance anymore. She had seen this man drop sixty feet to shatter a wooden floor with the impact and then rise up almost instantly to engage a Nephilim in mythical combat. She had heard them speak hatefully to each other, and someone can only hate what they know. Finally Gina rose and walked to him and sat casually on the table. She stretched out a bottle of water. "Want some?"

Cassius smiled and accepted the bottle and drank heavily. "Thanks." He handed it to her. "This heat can wear you out."

"Amazing, isn't it?" Gina muttered. "An ice age outside, hell inside."

He only laughed, and Gina waited. Then
she stated, "I don't think I ever thanked you for saving my life. So, thank you. And thank you for saving Josh's life."

Emotion caused Gina to suddenly tighten her face. She blinked and quickly wiped a hand over her cheek. Cassius, if he noticed, gave no indications.

"Is he all right?" he asked casually.

"He's fine—just scared." She smiled again. "About like me. How about you?"

He smiled faintly. "I'm fine."

"What about your arm?"

"Just muscle." He suddenly frowned. "Pain is just pain— you can live with it, fight with it."

Yeah, he's in bad pain. So cold
... so indifferent to his own life or death. But he risked everything to save Josh ...

She began quietly, "You don't have to talk if you don't want to, but I'll listen, if you do." When he said nothing, she said, "I saw you snap an iron bar like a twig, Cassius. I saw you drop sixty feet without breaking a bone. And so did they." She paused. "I'm sorry about the stairway. I called you
... by your name again. I was so scared for Josh. I only had one thing in my mind."

He shook his head. "It's okay, Gina. Nothing matters now except getting all of you out of here."

"I understand you doing the tourist thing with us, Cassius. The best way to reach any destination—for you—is to go in a group. You attract less attention that way. So I don't resent that you came here with us. But, somehow, I don't think you ever expected this."

He
laughed, “No, I didn't."

"What did you expect?"

His frustration was visible. "I just came here to make sure that something remained undisturbed—something I placed here long ago. No one would have known anything, then I would have left with you and probably shown you a good tour of Rome."

Eyes softening, Gina blinked once, sadly. "I would have liked that."

"Me, too."

The question couldn't be withheld.

"You never—"

"Not anymore." He cut
her off. "I've made enough mistakes." He became more pensive. "Once, I tried to live like a man. It was too good. I was a monarch.... I ruled a kingdom, at peace with God. But people grow old, they die. Even children grow old and they wonder why you haven’t aged. And then one day the dream is over and you’re back where it all began except you’ve hurt a lot of people along the way. Now I only want to finish what I’m supposed to finish."

He stared at the ceiling.

"So you have no one?" Gina asked.

He shook his head.

"Did they know? Your wife? Children?"

"My wife knew. My children didn't know until the last. But I saw them when they were old
, and comforted them. I didn't want them to die uncertain of ... some things."

He sighed, as if knowing Gina's mind.

"No, she had no regrets. She grew old gracefully, peacefully, and was glad of the years we'd had together. She knew from the first that I wouldn't grow old and die, but—" He surprised Gina with a soft laugh, "—she said it was her advantage, not mine."

Gina leaned back against a square column, gazing at a distant corridor that led into the Hall. She wasn't surprised that she did not fear to see the creatures.

"Sounds nice," she said.

Faintly, she noticed Cassius was gazing in her direction, but not quite. He was looking at her, but past her, and she knew he was thinking. But she regretted what she'd said because she felt she had imposed upon him, or made this more difficult for him.

"I need to get back to the kids."

He said nothing as she walked away.

***

The festive mood had faded, suspicions had been slowly cornered, and then the discussion went from the practical and understandable to the fantastic and incomprehensible.

Gina watched as Father Stephen and Melanchthon faced off, as if in an arena. Melanchthon's doom-like voice projected forthright anger and even condemnation.

"I warned you of this!" he said solidly, pointing at the
Father Abbot. "I warned you that lives were in danger and still you refused to act! And now every body laid at death's door will likewise lie heavy upon your shoulders!"

"Legends!" Stephen retorted, struggling to contain true rage. "No man can be expected to believe
in legends!"

From beside his place at the radio, Monsignor DeMarco rose angrily and stepped between them. "That's enough! Both of you will calm down or I will
insure that your next assignments are in the middle of the Sahara Desert! Right now we should not place blame but find some means of dealing with whatever has come!" He took a breath. "Now, do either of you have anything constructive to say?"

Only Barnabas remained outside the fray.

Gina looked toward him and saw that he had removed the armor of the centurion and was polishing the breastplate, oblivious to the tension and discussion. The cloak rested across an ornamental couch and the sword had been unsheathed. The silver-hued blade was as finely honed as a razor. Intent upon his work, Barnabas did not even lift his head at the harsh words that crossed before the altar.

The monsignor had taken control. "I no longer doubt that this creature is a Nephilim any more than I doubt that he has concealed himself within this abbey for centuries! But that is not my primary concern! My primary concern is to make this radio functional and summon assistance! There is plenty of time for accusations if we survive!"

"Melanchthon!" Professor Haider said forcefully. "Tell them what we discovered in Dominic's room!"

"We found what may be the Spear of Destiny," he said quietly. "The spear
point of Gaius Cassius Longinus."

The implications, as far as Gina could determine
from the expressions, were incalculable. But she didn't know what they were. She could only see the genuine fear upon every face.

"Are you certain?" asked the monsignor
far more quietly.

"No."

"Let me see it. I will know."

Without an air of grave ceremony Melanchthon removed an object wrapped in brown sackcloth from his habit. He laid it upon a table and untied the string. When he threw back the cloth, a large and obviously ancient spear
point was visible.

Almost as long as Gina's forearm, the spear
point was badly aged. It seemed frail as shale and was wrapped in tightly closed copper wire that also held three long iron nails. The nails were black and rusted and seemed equally as ancient, equally as frail.

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