Cooper gave Marsh a dark look. Marsh shrugged.
"That's great," Coop said. "Seriously. I'm glad they're back. But, uh, there's like forty of them. That won't be enough to get past the soldiers at the Rift, let alone fight back an army of thousands. If this is the best we can do, we might as well hang it up right now."
"These are the seeds," Ree said. "They're here to fight, but also to gather those who are willing to do whatever is necessary to save humanity."
Marsh said, "They better get started. Who knows when Damon will start moving through the Rift."
Ree gave her son a smile, touched his cheek, and walked through the group of Guardians toward the open door. Marsh followed and the others fell in behind. Ree led them all outside, where they were greeted by a stunning sight.
The street to both sides of the building was teeming with people.
The crowd stretched in both directions for as far as could be seen. There were soldiers whose uniforms dated back to the American Revolution and others who looked as though they had sacrificed their lives in Iraq and Afghanistan. There were gladiators and policemen, tribal warriors, and many, many civilians. Most were armed with conventional weapons, from swords to rifles to cudgels.
Many also held the black spirit-killing swords. These spirits were the veterans of the last battle with Damon and were fully prepared for the next.
Ree said, "We have all seen the worst that mankind has produced, those who are willing to destroy in order to achieve their goals." She gestured to the huge, silent crowd. "These spirits are the best that mankind has become. They are ready, and they will fight."
It was an awe-inspiring sight . . . the polar opposite of the army that had gathered in the Blood.
Marsh stepped up to Press and said, "Is this what you meant by us having to save ourselves?"
Press looked over the group with a proud smile.
"I've seen it before," he said. "There will always be those who take the dark path. It's part of what we are. But we survive because there are also those who will never bow. Never settle. Never choose to rise at the expense of others. Yes, this is how mankind will save itself."
Coop said, "Then, we better get started."
The first group of Guardians knew what to do. They dispersed through the crowd, breaking the masses down and organizing them into smaller, more manageable teams.
"So many people," Marsh said to nobody in particular. "How is this going to work?"
The answer came from Ree. "Zoe has assumed command."
"Zoe?" Coop said, surprised. "She's, like, a girl."
"I am the daughter of Adeipho," Zoe said sharply, making Coop jump. "I am more than capable of leading the Guardians."
"Okay, okay," Coop said, holding up his hands in defense. "Just askin'."
"What can I expect to find at the amphitheater?" she asked.
"Depends," answered Marsh. "There are only a few guards protecting the Rift but Damon had the place full of spirits ready to follow him. If those spirits rally, we're in for a big fight."
Zoe said, "I do not see a problem. With Damon trapped in the Blood, they have no one to direct them. We will take the Rift. I am more concerned about keeping Damon and his minions from marching through."
"This is all about him," Marsh said. "The only way to end this battle, for good, is to end Damon."
"Agreed," Zoe replied. "But first we must secure the Rift." As Zoe left to help organize the Guardians into smaller, tactical forces, Cooper pulled Marsh aside.
"What do you think?" Marsh asked.
"I think you were right, Ralph. This is our best chance. Nice going."
"Thanks."
"But it ends here."
"Let's hope so."
"No, I mean for you. I don't want you in this fight." Marsh bristled. "What? Why?"
"Take Maggie and my grandfather and bring them somewhere safe. Maybe back to your own vision. You haven't been there yet. It's a kick. Grab some Garden Poultry fries."
"They can go on their own," Marsh argued. "I'm not missing this."
"You have to."
"Why?"
Cooper hesitated before answering, as if not wanting to say what he felt needed saying.
"Because this isn't you."
"Oh. But it's you?"
"I've been in plenty of fights. Hell, I've already gone toe-to-toe with Damon. I'm looking forward to getting another shot at him."
"If there's anybody who deserves that shot, it's me."
"I know, but don't be stupid. You already dodged one bullet in the Blood. Don't push it. Take Maggie and my grandfather outta here and pray this ends quickly."
Marsh clenched his fists, trying to control his anger. "I told you, I don't need you to take care of me."
"I hear you but this is different. We're talking about an all-out battle. Heck, it's your plan! Be proud . . . but get outta the way."
"He killed my mother, he killed my best friend, he tortured me and twisted my life inside out. I can't let that go."
"Nobody's letting it go," Coop argued. "But you already gave up your life in the Light to get this guy. Don't risk losing your spirit too."
"That's my choice," Marsh said, and pushed past Cooper, headed back toward the Guardians.
Cooper grabbed him and spun him around. "C'mon, Ralph—"
Marsh responded by throwing a punch. Coop ducked the punch easily, grabbed Marsh's arm, and twisted it behind his back.
"Don't be an idiot," Coop said.
"I am not leaving," Marsh bellowed with anger and frustration.
"You have to. Take the others and find someplace safe. You've done too much already."
Cooper pushed Marsh away so roughly that Marsh had to scramble to keep from falling down. He got his feet under him, then planted and squared off against Cooper.
"You mean because I gave Damon the poleax," he said, seething.
"That's not what I meant."
"Yeah, it is," Marsh said angrily. "You're afraid I'll do something stupid."
"That's ridiculous—"
"You've done plenty of stupid things too. More than most. But you don't see that. No, not you. You always get out of Trouble Town and end up looking good. Except when you died. That didn't turn out so hot for you, did it?"
"Just shut up, Ralph."
"You shouldn't be part of this either," Marsh added. "He just used you to get to me. This is way bigger than you too, Coop. You don't stand any more of a chance to get to Damon than I do. So maybe we should both just take off and watch this from the sidelines."
"That's not what I do," Coop said soberly.
"It's not what I do either. Not anymore."
Coop strode up to Marsh and held a threatening finger to his face. "Go. Anywhere. Now. I don't care where. Just stay away from this."
Cooper turned on his heel and hurried away.
Marsh was ready to explode. He was so angry at Cooper for so many reasons that he wanted to scream. He paced furiously, drawing the attention of some of the Guardians. He didn't want them to see him like that so he took the few steps down a side street until he was out of sight.
He needed to calm down. He needed a plan. There was no way he would be left out of the endgame. Not after having come so far. He needed to talk to someone who understood . . . who would see his side and help him find the right thing to do.
There was only one person he knew who could help him do that.
25
Damon of Epirus rode high in the saddle at the front of a powerful army that was marching toward a glorious battle. It was everything he had imagined it would be . . .
. . . except that he rode atop a miserable, weak donkey and he had no authority to command the massive spirit army that Brennus had gathered to conquer the Morpheus Road. Glancing back, he saw more soldiers than he had ever commanded in life. Though not an organized military machine, the sheer numbers made him believe it was an unstoppable force that would easily march straight into the Black and destroy the boundaries between
life and death . . . without him.
Brennus had given him little choice. Either Damon would direct the army to the Rift or he would be imprisoned and forgotten in the underground tomb. Damon chose to swallow his pride and live to fight another day.
With each step closer to the Rift his anger grew. Digging at his gut was the knowledge that he had only himself to blame. He prided himself on his ability to outmaneuver his adversaries. It was difficult to accept that he had so grossly underestimated Brennus. He wouldn't let that happen again. His chance would come, of that he was certain.
He rode slowly though the Blood, past the ruins of so many lives, deliberately taking his time in the hopes that he might find an opportunity to seize the command he so desperately wanted.
The sin eater traveled several yards behind him, riding in a horse cart that was being pulled by several small figments. He wasn't capable of walking on his own or even riding a horse, because of his grotesquely twisted body. He was flanked on either side by beefy spirits on horseback. No other spirit could get close to Brennus, least of all Damon. Not that it mattered. Damon had no intention of attacking Brennus.
At least not yet.
He needed to get back to the Black. He needed to recharge the poleax. Sanger had returned the weapon to him, knowing it was of little use. Damon vowed that the surly spirit would pay for that mistake.
The shadow of the Flavian Amphitheater appeared in the distance. Time was running out. He made a snap decision. He kicked at the donkey and galloped forward, ready to charge into the Colosseum and through the Rift.
He didn't get far. The pitiful donkey was no runner. The two warriors who were escorting Brennus gave chase and caught up with him quickly. They grabbed his reins and slowed him to a trot, then to a stop. With one escort on either side of him, Damon was pinned in place. He considered pulling the poleax and attacking the two, but realized it was futile and backed down.
The squeaking wheels of the wooden cart signaled Brennus's arrival.
"The Rift be in there?" he asked, glaring at the humiliated general.
Damon didn't respond, which was all the answer that Brennus needed.
"What was it you were trying to do?" Brennus asked. "Get away from me?"
Again, Damon answered by not answering.
Brennus wheezed a disdainful laugh.
Damon gritted his teeth and took the humiliation. He had to wait for his chance.
"You say you was a general?" Brennus asked. "What general flees like a pitiful schoolgirl?"
Damon stared him in the eye, but didn't say a word.
"I have changed me mind," Brennus wheezed. "Ya don' deserve to enter the Black with us."
"What?" Damon screamed, stunned. "We had an agreement."
"And now we don'," Brennus said, and gave a dismissive wave with his gnarled hand.
Instantly the spirit warriors to either side of Damon lifted him off the donkey, dangling him between them.
"Do not be a fool," Damon warned. "You have no idea what waits for you in the Black."
Brennus shook his head in pity. "If they be creatures as wretched as you, I don' expect to be having much trouble at all."
"You will regret this," Damon said, seething with anger as his feet dangled in the air.
"No, I do not believe I will," Brennus said, and waved Damon off.
The two warriors rode together, with Damon between them struggling to get free. They galloped off into the dark, away from the Colosseum and the massive spirit army.
Damon gave up struggling and closed his eyes. Did he hear the spirits laughing? It was the first sign of intelligent life that they had shown, and the ultimate indignity. The worst that humanity had ever produced was mocking him.
Finally, mercifully, the soldiers pulled up and tossed Damon to the ground with no more concern than they would have given to a bag of trash.
Damon fell hard in the dry sand and covered his head so as not to be stomped by the horses' hooves. The spirit soldiers turned quickly and rode back the way they had come without so much as giving a final look back to him.
Damon slowly looked up to see that he had been dumped . . . in a dump. He was surrounded by mounds of putrid garbage that had been accumulating through all time. In the distance, he saw the dark outline of the Colosseum and the mass of spirits that would soon march to the Rift.
Without him.
Marsh learned fast.
He had listened to everything Cooper told him about moving through dimensions. He didn't have time for skepticism, or wonder, or fear. He had to take action so he imagined being at Sydney's house in the Light and stepped through the curtain of colorful fog . . .
. . . to arrive in her bedroom. He didn't stop to marvel at the incredible nature of it all. There would be time for that later—he hoped. He needed support and advice and wanted it from Sydney.
She was sitting at her desk, reading. He allowed himself a moment to watch her. He always thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Seeing her with her long black hair falling onto the pages of her book, and her reading light glowing warmly against her pale skin, reminded him that he was the luckiest guy alive.
Except that he wasn't alive.
He suddenly felt like an intruder. He had been in her room plenty of times over the last few weeks but had always been invited. Now he had suddenly popped in as a spirit. Did Sydney even know he was dead? How could she? Suddenly, coming to her room seemed like a bad idea. He made a snap decision and took a step back to get out of there . . .
. . . when Sydney spun around. Marsh froze, feeling like a little boy who had just been caught doing something very wrong.
"Uh, hi," was all he managed to get out.
Sydney stood up and walked quickly toward him.
"I didn't mean to sneak up on you like this but—"
Sydney walked right past him, grabbed a notebook off the table near the door, and went back to her desk. She seemed angry. The last time they had seen each other, they had argued. She had accused him of being no better than Damon, someone who used others to get what he wanted.
Her words stung all the more because he knew they weren't far from the truth.
"A lot has happened," Marsh said. "I need your help."
She ignored him. Marsh expected her to freeze him out for a while longer, make him sweat, then finally give in and talk. He was willing to let her anger play out, but not for too long. Time was wasting. Damon could attack at any time.
"So much of what you said was right," Marsh said. "I've done things I could never imagine myself doing normally. But what's happening isn't. Normal, I mean."
Sydney sighed. Was she softening? Marsh slowly approached her.
"I've got to tell you something," Marsh said. "You're not going to like it. At least I hope you're not going to like it."
He stood right behind her.
"I don't know how to soften this, so I'll just say it: I'm dead, Sydney."
He put his hand on her shoulder . . . and it passed right through. He jumped back in surprise.
"Whoa!" he exclaimed.
Sydney didn't react.
"Can you hear me?" Marsh asked.
Sydney stayed focused on her book.
Whatever powers the Watchers had given to Cooper, they hadn't done the same for Marsh. He was a spirit in the Light, unable to be seen by the living. Up until that moment the concept that he was actually dead hadn't truly sunk in. As far as he was concerned he had simply stepped through a portal and arrived in another place where the rules of reality didn't apply. It had seemed like a magical dream.
Being back in the Light made the dream a reality. He was really dead. Not just gone. Dead. He was suddenly hit with a wave of sadness that he wasn't prepared for. It was an overwhelming feeling of emptiness that brought tears to his eyes.
He couldn't help but feel as if he had made another stupendous mistake. He wasn't needed in the Black. Cooper pretty much laid that one out. There was nothing he could do in the Light.
Spirits only had the power to visit and observe. He had given up his life, and for what? Punishment for letting Damon get the better of him? Nobody cared about that. The chance to be a hero and make things right? He was powerless to do that. All he had succeeded in doing was to create more pain for those he loved.
Marsh feared that Cooper was right. He wasn't up to this. He could only make things worse.
He had no idea where to go or what to do next. He had hoped that Sydney would help him sort it all out but Sydney was unreachable. He turned to leave the room to go somewhere, anywhere, when his eye caught something incongruous.
Sitting on the end of Sydney's bed was a dark tangle of branches that looked oddly familiar. Sydney wasn't much on decorating with plants, which made its presence strange enough, but the gnarly roots looked anything but decorative. He stepped over to the bed to get a closer look.
Lignum vitae.
It was the sculpture that Ennis had put on his mother's casket. The sculpture that contained the sixth crucible. Marsh shot a quick look to Sydney and ran to her desk. "Where did you get that?" he asked.
It didn't matter that she didn't answer. He knew the truth. Sydney had been to the mausoleum. He had forgotten that she was headed there when Coop confronted him at his mother's grave. That meant Sydney had seen the open tomb, and the skeleton . . . and the Rift.
He glanced down to see what she was reading. It was an encyclopedia. She was reading about Alexander the Great. Marsh smiled. Sydney was doing research. She was still in the game. He glanced around the room quickly, looking for her purse. He saw it lying on the floor next to the door. He ran to it and fell to his knees to look inside. He desperately wanted to reach inside, or pull it open, but he wasn't capable. All he could do was peer in as best he could, looking for the crucible that he had slipped inside to protect her.
It wasn't there.
"What did you do with it, Syd?" he asked her futilely.
Marsh raced through the possibilities. Why would Sydney not have the crucible, especially if she knew he was dead and had no use for it? If she'd been at the Rift, she'd know that.