Morpheus Road 02 - The Black

by D. J. MacHale

  "That's barbaric," I said.

  "And not the worst of it. I have read accounts where he would practice ancient pagan rituals to increase his power."

  "Do I want to know what those were?"

  "No."

  "Tell me anyway."

  "He would lick the blood of his victims from the sword that killed them and sometimes go so far as to eat the heart of an opposing general."

  "He'd eat their . . . ?" I exclaimed. "Oh my god."

  "Only of the generals. Those who had the most power."

  "Well, of course, that makes it all okay," I said. "What a monster."

  "Some said he was simply sadistic. Others felt he was justified and it was all in the heat of the struggle. I've even read some accounts that said he was trying to outshine the deeds of Alexander. Slaughtering their common enemies was his way of proving his worth."

  "And eating their hearts," I said with disgust. "So he really was a butcher."

  "And he made enemies among his own people. He had a loyal band of followers but the grander army realized he was dangerous. "

  "And crazy. "

  "When Alexander died at the young age of thirty-three, many feared Damon would attempt to control the army. So he was assassinated, along with many of his loyalists."

  "Yay. Good guys win. Cannibals lose. So why do you want to find his tomb so badly?"

  "Curiosity. From the accounts I've read it was not an ordinary death. Or burial. This was the dawn of modern civilization. Mystical beliefs and practices were common. Many feared that Damon's evil would not end with his death."

  "What did they think he would do?" I asked, scoffing. "Rise up from the grave and take his revenge?"

  "Well, yes."

  "Oh."

  "It is why he was buried here, in a place imbued with mystical power. He was not simply laid to rest. He was imprisoned."

  "Uh . . . what?"

  "I do not fully understand the implications, the translations are not specific, but from what I can gather he was brought here so that the sorcerers could bury him in a tomb near the Necromanteio and use their knowledge of the afterlife to create a seal that his spirit could not break."

  "What kind of seal?"

  "That is what I would like to see. I have never come across a story even remotely like this one. The idea that a living being was so feared that priests were asked to imprison his spirit is unprecedented. Most scholars do not believe the story to be true or that a tomb even exists. But I have pieced together bits of information from many sources and believe I have located the spot that could very well be Damon's tomb."

  "Underneath the Temple of the Morning Light."

  "Yes."

  "But the temple isn't that old," I said. "When did Alexander die? Like, 300 BCE?"

  "In 323," Ennis corrected. "That is one reason why I believe the location was forgotten and discounted. Many structures have been built there through the centuries."

  "Wouldn't other people have found it already?"

  "Perhaps they have and didn't know what it was. Maybe they didn't care to find it . . . or feared to. Terri, I believe we have the opportunity to prove the existence of a site that has great historic significance while revealing physical proof of a centuries-old mystical practice that very few scholars are aware of."

  "You think there's something physical about this tomb that shows what the old priests did to keep Damon dead?"

  "I don't know, but I would like to find out. Wouldn't you like to be the first one to photograph it?"

  "Here!" the boat captain called out. It was probably the only word of English he knew.

  We both looked ahead to see that our boat was nearing a small wooden dock. We had arrived at the town of Messopotamo, home to the Oracle of the Dead.

  Terri "Ree" Seaver's Tale

  (Continued)

  A few tourist-looking types were milling around near the dock. I saw plenty of point-and-shoot cameras in hand, ready to capture an image of the gateway to the afterlife that would probably be used as a screen saver. There were a few scruffy-looking men who acted as guides, herding their charges and directing them up a winding path that led to the ruins. I didn't hear a word of English being spoken, only Greek and French and some Italian. Seemed as though vacationing tourists from the good old United States would rather hang out at the beach than visit the doorway to Hades. Go figure.

  "Let's hang back for a moment," Ennis said. "They don't need to know where we are going."

  We stood by the dock and watched as the eager tourists made their way along the path.

  "Do you know where we're going?" I asked.

  "I believe the temple is near the edge of the town. It should not be hard to find."

  Once the stragglers were about fifty yards from us, Ennis winked at me and started following the trail.

  I turned back to our boat captain and said, "Don't you go anywhere."

  He smiled and waved. I had no idea if he knew what I said. All I could hope was that Ennis had made sure that the captain wouldn't take off and leave us near the edge of eternity.

  Ennis moved quickly and I was grateful that it was long past noon and the sun was already on the way down, taking the edge off the blistering-hot day. We climbed a sandy path that wove through scrubby grass and soon came upon the village of Messopotamo. It was a small, welcoming little hamlet that didn't look anything like an infamous town that hosted the Oracle of the Dead. From where we stood I could see the long line of tourists heading across the main street toward a rocky hill that was covered with olive trees. "I believe the entrance to the Necromanteio is cut into that hill," Ennis explained.

  "Probably," I said. "Unless they're all going up there to pick olives."

  Ennis dropped his pack and pulled out the ancient book. He opened it to a page he had marked and showed me a crude drawing of the village. It could have been made hundreds of years before, but the street layout seemed to be the same.

  "This is the location of the temple," he explained.

  He pointed to a spot on the map that was nothing more than a square shape with a half-circle dome.

  "Let's walk," Ennis declared, and we continued on.

  We didn't say a word as we made our way through the village. Part of me enjoyed the adventure. The idea of possibly making a historic discovery was exciting, but the realist in me had doubts. Ennis may have been tenacious, but he wasn't a trained archeologist. What did he expect us to do? Start an excavation? No, the truth was he had stumbled upon a story that intrigued him and, as he so often did, he became obsessed and wanted to know all there was to know about it. My getting an assignment nearby was a happy coincidence. I had every reason to believe that we would find this temple and that would be it. His curiosity would be satisfied and the mystery of the secret tomb of Damon the Butcher would remain a mystery.

  Once again, I wished that Michael and Marsh could have been there. They both would have loved going on such an exotic quest, even if it was a total wild goose chase.

  "There," Ennis declared, and stopped dead.

  The sight of the temple made me rethink my skepticism. The stone structure was roughly the size of a four-story house. The walls were made of light brown stone, like most of the local buildings, but what made it stand out was the large dome that topped it off. The stonework was incredibly intricate. Beautiful, even. It was part structural, part decorative mosaic. From where we stood the building looked to be abandoned. It had seen better days and I had no doubt that those days were a few hundred years before. Large chunks of wall were missing, showing small but obvious wounds. Part of the dome had collapsed, which made me wonder if it was smart to go inside.

  "It really is here," Ennis whispered in awe.

  "You're surprised?" I asked.

  "Well . . . yes. But pleasantly so."

  I reached for my camera. "I don't know what we might find inside, but as far as I'm concerned we got here at the exact right time."

  We had arrived at the time of day photograp
hers call "the golden hour," though it's really more like the golden twenty minutes. It refers to the two times of day when the sun is low on the horizon and throws warm light at the perfect flattering angle for photos. As we stood on the outskirts of that town, I couldn't imagine a better situation to capture the temple. Without another word I started shooting. I must have taken forty shots, but I knew which one was the keeper the moment I triggered the shutter. It was the last one I took. I got down in the dirt, flat on my back, and shot through my feet. The super-low angle made the structure seem even more imposing. Once I fired off that shot, I knew there was no reason to shoot another.

  Ennis had watched patiently without interrupting. "Perfect," I said, which was my usual way of saying I was done.

  "We should go inside quickly," Ennis said. "We don't have much daylight left."

  That was the thing about the afternoon golden hour. Once it was gone, it was night. I didn't like the idea of going into that empty, crumbling temple after dark. When Ennis made his move toward the building, I was hit with a wave of foreboding. He realized I wasn't following and turned back to me.

  "What's the trouble?"

  "It's my old New England upbringing. Back in the day, when they burned witches at the stake, do you know what they did with the ashes?"

  He shook his head.

  "Churchyards were sacred ground so they dug the graves just outside the wall that surrounded the cemetery."

  "Why did you think of that just now?" Ennis asked.

  "This building," I said. "It feels as if it was built just beyond the border of the town. Is that normal?"

  Ennis always had a quick answer for everything. This time the words didn't come to him and he stood there with his mouth open.

  I shrugged and gave him a sweet smile.

  "Let's look inside," he said, and walked toward the building.

  There was a single wooden door that I hoped would be locked. Ennis gave it a shove and it swung in on rusty hinges. "Crack security," I commented.

  Ennis stepped inside without hesitation. I took a quick look around at the setting sun and made a silent wish that I wasn't making a huge mistake.

  It wasn't pitch-dark inside, but it was close. Waning daylight filtered in through window openings that hadn't held glass in forever. There was one main room that stretched all the way up to the overhead dome. The floor was littered with bits of stone and dust that had fallen over the years. A few broken chairs were lying around, but that was it. It was an empty, abandoned shell.

  Ennis stood in the center, slowly turning, taking it all in. "If this were in the States, it would be locked tight with warning signs to keep people out," I observed.

  "Americans are quick to sue at the slightest opportunity," Ennis said.

  "It's true. If somebody at home broke into an abandoned building that looked like it might collapse if a soft breeze picked up, and they twisted their ankle, they'd sue the owner, like it was the owner's fault they were dumb enough to go inside."

  Ennis didn't get my sarcasm. He was too enthralled with the temple. I, on the other hand, was more concerned about getting hit with a stone falling from the ceiling.

  "Satisfied?" I asked.

  "I want to see if there is a way to go below," he said as he walked to the far end of the room.

  "Whoa, wait," I said, hurrying after him. "We shouldn't be poking around here."

  Ennis ignored me and disappeared through an archway that led to a dark corridor.

  "It's going to be night soon," I called as I stepped through the arch after him. "How are we supposed to see in the—"

  I was hit in the eyes by the beam of a flashlight that Ennis had pulled out of his backpack.

  "Let me explore a bit, Terri."

  "But we're trespassing," I said firmly. "And it's dangerous."

  "This structure has stood for centuries," he argued. "I would be surprised if it chose this particular afternoon to collapse."

  He turned and continued along the corridor, shining the beam on the narrow stone walls. The idea that we would suddenly come upon some ancient tomb seemed remote so I decided to humor him for a while and followed. The corridor led to a small, empty room.

  "Dead end," I declared.

  Ennis walked boldly to the far side of the room to what I thought was a boarded-up window.

  "This does not open to the outside," he explained. "The building is too deep."

  He put his fingers against the rotten boards, testing to see how solid they were.

  "Don't!" I exclaimed.

  Too late. The boards fell off the frame as if they were held on by nothing more than spit.

  "Now we're trespassing and vandalizing," I scolded.

  "Just a quick look," he said. He sat on the bottom edge of the wooden frame, lifted his legs, and swung himself around into the darkness.

  I ran to the opening and peered in to see Ennis flashing the light around the small enclosure.

  "This looks to have been a vault of some sort, perhaps to keep valuable artifacts."

  "Or maybe it's a broom closet," I offered.

  Ennis put his hands on the walls, pressing hard, examining for I-didn't-know-what.

  "What are you doing?" I asked.

  "Looking for weakness," he explained. "They did not have safe-deposit boxes when this was built. There could be a thin layer of mortar hiding something interesting.

  His search of the wall didn't turn up anything so he started digging at the floor with his boot.

  I said, "Even if you're right and there's a subterranean vault below this building, we're not going to find it by kicking around some dirt."

  He ignored me.

  "And what if we found something?" I said. "I'm sure the Greek government would have something to say if they knew we were digging up their turf looking for national treasures."

  "Look at this place," Ennis said. "Do you think anybody cares?"

  "They would if we found something," I shot back.

  He kept digging at the dirt floor with the heel of his boot. If I'd actually thought he was going to find something, I would have insisted that he stop. But poking around an old building with a flashlight didn't exactly seem like the procedure for a successful archeological dig so I decided to let him play for another few minutes. It would soon be dark. I hoped the boat captain with the leathery skin had night vision.

  I was about to pull the plug on the adventure when Ennis's boot hit something that sounded hollow. He looked up at me with wide eyes.

  "Wood," he exclaimed.

  "So?"

  He threw the flashlight to me, then dropped down on his knees and started digging with his hands.

  "It means there is something below us," he answered with growing excitement. "They do not make foundations out of wood."

  "Ennis, please, you're going to land us both in jail."

  "We are exploring," he said. "That is not a crime."

  It took a few seconds for him to clear away a section of dirt to reveal wooden planks a few inches below the surface. Ennis was moving fast. He grabbed his backpack and pulled out a crowbar.

  "Ennis!"

  He had come far more prepared than he had let on. Ignoring my protests, he jammed the hooked end between two of the planks and pulled. With a high-pitched screech, he tore the wooden plank out of the floor to reveal another dark hole.

  "There is more below," he exclaimed, and worked to pull up a few more planks.

  My heart was in my throat.

  "Stop. Just stop!" I shouted, but not too loudly for fear that someone passing by would hear us and call the police.

  Ennis pulled up two more planks. For a change, he was sweating. He grabbed his flashlight and shone it into the hole.

  "Stairs," he declared. "We can drop below right here."

  "No, we can't," I insisted. "We must be breaking a dozen laws. I don't want to spend the rest of my life in a Greek prison."

  Ennis stopped working, took a breath to calm himself, and looked to me.

/>   "Terri," he said patiently. "You always talk of people who are afraid to step out of their comfort zone and take chances. Now you sound like the very kind of person you disdain. "

  "Comfort zone? This isn't even close to my comfort zone."

  "All we are doing is exploring an old structure. If the authorities have a problem with that, we will tell them that we are overzealous tourists, which is exactly what we are. This is an opportunity. We may find nothing but another empty room, but what if there is more? How can we not take that chance? You of all people should understand that."

  "I do, but I'm also a mother with a son."

  "And what will Marshall say when you tell him you turned your back on such a simple adventure? You have always taught him to look beyond the obvious. Is that not exactly what we are doing here?"

  Common sense told me to get the hell out of there. What was a suburban mom from Connecticut doing in an abandoned temple on the edge of nowhere? I knew I should turn and walk away.

  But I wasn't just an SUV-driving soccer mom. I was someone who chose to travel the world in search of images that told stories and spoke to people. My family was my life, but I had a passion for discovery. I can't say that I would have planned the adventure we found ourselves in, but looking into that dark hole gave me a thrill. I admit it. What was down there? What could I bring back to the world? As much as the safe decision would have been to leave, I found it impossible to turn back.

  "Be careful," I said.

  Ennis went back to work. In no time he had pulled up enough of the old floor to create an opening large enough for us to drop through.

  He peered below and said, "There are stairs but this is no trapdoor. This room was intentionally sealed off."

  "Is that good news or bad news?"

  He slid his feet below the floor and stood on the top of the stone steps. Ennis was breathing hard. He was as excited as I was.

  "There may be nothing of interest down there," he said. "But then again . . ."

  "Let's stop talking and find out," I said.

  Ennis smiled, knowing that I was on board. With the flashlight beam ahead of him, he carefully navigated his way down the stairs. I watched as he slowly dropped below the floor into the dark void.