The Black

by D. J. MacHale

  I turned to run up the stairs but another group of masked riders came clattering down the stairs toward me. I backed away toward the center of the terminal and was immediately encircled. There had to be at least a hundred of them. They looked like marauders from across time, all wearing the freakish masks. Some wore military uniforms but from no army I'd ever seen. Others had on police uniforms, wornout business suits, vintage dresses, and medieval chain mail. A few even wore animal skins that were fitted to their bodies with leather twine.

  Nobody said a word as they circled me on their bikes. I wasn't scared. I couldn't wrap my mind around the situation enough to be frightened. The only thing I could come up with was that I was having a surreal nightmare. There was nothing I could do but stand there and wait for it to end.

  As if on command, the riders stopped as one, keeping the wheels of their bikes touching, completing the circle and offering no avenue of escape. They stood silently, staring at me through the dark holes of their fright masks. The only thing that kept me from going out of my mind was the conviction that this was all happening in my head. Perhaps, I thought, the red liquid from inside that broken ball was a hallucinogen. That seemed possible. I might have been lying belowground in that catacomb under the influence of the same drug they gave to the pilgrims who visited the Oracle of the Dead in ancient times.

  One of the riders moved out of the way, creating an opening for a tall man who entered the circle on foot. He too had on a mask that was framed by a mop of long curly hair. He wore nondescript black clothes that could have come from any era. On his hip was a jet-black sword. He kept one gloved hand above its grip, like a tense gunfighter ready to draw. He strode forward purposefully, but with caution, as if he didn't know what to expect from me. When he got within five feet, he stopped and stood with his feet planted wide. He stared at me for a good long while, appraising me. We must have stood that way, silently, for a full minute.

  I couldn't take it anymore.

  "I don't know about you," I said, "but this is the wildest dream I've ever had."

  The guy didn't react. None of them did.

  "Okay," I said. "I know this can't be real so I'll just ride this out until I shake off the effects of the drug."

  Again, no response. The guy broke eye contact and looked around, as if taking in the wonder of Grand Central Terminal like a first-time tourist. I looked around too. As odd as it was to be there, I noticed something that made it even stranger.

  "This is what Grand Central looked like thirty years ago," I said. "I guess it's official. This is all coming out of my head."

  The guy in black focused on me again and finally spoke.

  "Where is this place?"

  I laughed. I actually laughed.

  "You're asking me?"

  "This is your vision," he said calmly. He didn't think it was as funny as I did.

  "Sorry," I said, chuckling. "If you want explanations, you've got the wrong girl. And besides, hallucinations aren't allowed to ask questions. This is my nightmare."

  "It is no nightmare," the guy said, deadly serious. "You have arrived in the Black." He pulled his black sword from its scabbard and added, "And you have come through the Rift."

  He held up his sword and started walking toward me, like he was going to attack.

  I threw up my hands and backed off.

  "Whoa, whoa, I don't know about any rift."

  The guy took one more step and stiffened. He stopped and slowly lowered his sword.

  "Your hands!" he declared with a gasp.

  I was standing with my hands out in front of me. In my right hand was the golden orb from the catacomb.

  I finally saw signs of life from the circle of clown riders.

  There were whispers and gasps but nothing I could understand. Seeing the golden orb had definitely gotten a rise out of them. The big guy raised his hand quickly and they fell silent.

  "The marks on your hands," the guy said. "How did you get them?"

  I looked at my hands to see the reddish brown stains that had come from the golden ball that shattered in the tomb.

  I held out the second golden ball. "From one of these."

  I tossed it into the air and caught it casually. It was a simple move, like tossing a tennis ball, but from the way everyone responded you'd think I was handling anthrax. There were frightened shouts and gasps as several made a move forward as if trying to catch the ball before I dropped it.

  Whatever this little ball was, it gave me power over these people.

  "I won't drop it," I said innocently. "I've got enough stains on my hands."

  There were more stunned whispers.

  "A crucible was broken?" the guy asked, his voice cracking with tension. "That is what caused the stain?"

  "Yeah. There were six of them. For all I know they all broke when the earthquake hit."

  The group erupted, screaming in protest. Whatever the golden balls were, they meant a lot to this bunch.

  "Look," I said. "I'm going to leave now. Don't try to stop me or I'll break this thing."

  "You cannot!" the big guy bellowed, but it was more like a plea than an order.

  "Want to bet?" I shot back.

  The guy reached up and took off his mask. I was surprised to see that he was a handsome olive-skinned man. Seeing a normal face beneath the clown mask was almost as disturbing as anything else I'd seen. It made the situation seem less like a nightmare, which wasn't comforting. A hallucinogenic nightmare made sense. The idea that this could actually be real, didn't.

  "Where did you find it?" he asked calmly, as if speaking to a crazy person.

  I wasn't sure what the smart answer was so I told the truth.

  "In an underground tomb. In Greece."

  "Why were you there?" he asked.

  "My friend discovered a myth about the tomb and we wanted to see if it was real. Simple as that."

  "Do you know who lies in the tomb?" he asked.

  I felt like I was being interrogated by a detective who already had all the answers but was testing to see how much I knew.

  "An ancient general named Damon," I answered.

  I sensed the people around me shift uncomfortably.

  I continued, "He was supposedly a sadistic killer from the time of Alexander." I held up the golden orb and said, "These things were meant to keep him in that tomb, from coming back to life, but that can't be true."

  "Why is that?" the dark man asked.

  "Because there wasn't a body in the tomb. There was—"

  "A weapon," the guy said, before I could finish.

  "Yes," I said. "A black battle-ax. You already know this, don't you?"

  "I should," the man replied. "I sealed the weapon there myself."

  I tried to process what he had just said but there was nothing logical or understandable that I could grab on to. "This must be a horrible dream," I finally whispered.

  "This is no dream," he said. "Whether by accident or design, you broke the first crucible that sealed the Rift."

  "Rift? What rift? You mean that hole under the sarcophagus? The earthquake uncovered it."

  "The disruption of the seals uncovered it," the guy spat at me, angrily. "The blood on your hands is proof of that. The blood of Alexander."

  I looked at the brown stains that covered the backs of both of my hands.

  "Blood of Alexander?" I repeated, numb. "The Alexander? This is the blood of Alexander the Great?"

  "Captured in six crucibles upon his death. They alone have sealed the Rift and kept the spirit of Damon at bay. Until now."

  "But . . . Damon wasn't in the tomb. There was only the battle-ax."

  "The very weapon Damon used to create the Rift. We have guarded it for centuries for fear that this moment might come."

  I staggered backward as if his words were physically pummeling me.

  "What moment?" I mumbled. "What happened?"

  "You have uncovered the Rift," he said. "And with the destruction of a crucible you have loosened
our grip on Damon. He will return now. There is no doubt of that. And he will do everything in his power to control the Rift."

  "Tell me what the Rift is," I begged.

  "It is a portal that Damon will try to use to travel back along the Morpheus Road."

  "Morpheus Road?" I asked, delirious. "What is that?"

  "The byway between life and death."

  "Life and death," I repeated, numb. "I fell into the Rift. Does that mean—"

  "You have left the Light and entered the Black. You may have taken an unnatural route, but the result is as you suspect."

  "So I'm . . . dead?"

  "You have moved into the next life, as we all have."

  "Who are you people?" I demanded.

  "I am Adeipho. In life I was an ally of Damon's. A friend. But we took different paths and now find ourselves here. We all find ourselves here. Our stories may be different but fate has brought us together for a common purpose. We protect the balance between life and death by guarding the Rift. And now that challenge has become even greater, thanks to you."

  "But . . . I didn't intend to break anything. Or reveal any rift."

  "But you have."

  Adeipho lunged out and grabbed my hand, holding it up for me to see.

  "You have been marked with the blood of Alexander and have brought a crucible into the Black. The course of your future has been set. When Damon comes to claim the Rift, and he will, you will be here with us to stop him.

  "What? No! I'm not stopping anybody!"

  "Then Damon of Epirus will be free once again in the Light and the blood you have on your hands will be but a drop compared to the destruction he will bring to the life you have left behind."

  21

  "I know that picture you took," I said. "Of the temple. It's hanging on Marsh's bedroom wall."

  "That means my camera survived, even if I didn't," Ree said wistfully.

  She told me her story as we walked through her vision of Grand Central, back to her private train. So much of what she said was incredible, but it answered a lot of questions.

  "How did you end up in charge here?" I asked.

  She held up her stained hand. "I've been marked. Or blessed. Or cursed. Depends on how you see it. Alexander's blood is sacred to these people so I guess you'd call me a living crucible."

  "Yeah, if you were living," I corrected.

  "Adeipho is their practical leader but they look to me for spiritual guidance. It's why the Rift is in my vision. And you know what? That's okay. After what happened it's the least I can do."

  "So my best friend's mom is responsible for keeping a murderous spirit from ripping open a hole between the worlds of the living and the dead that would let him return to the Light and pick up where he left off centuries ago?"

  "Uh, yes, that pretty much sums it up," she said.

  "Oh. Just checking." I dropped down into one of the cushy chairs in the subway train and added, "I knew you weren't like the other moms, but geez, I didn't see this one coming."

  "But the Rift was already open," she said. "I was just foolish enough to uncover it. I think it's what started the whole myth about the Oracle of the Dead. All those pilgrims who were tricked into thinking they were visiting their dead ancestors didn't realize there was an actual opening to the next life only a few hundred yards away."

  "That Damon created," I said.

  "Yes. With the poleax. The ancients believed that the essence of a victim's spirit remains with the weapon that took their life. Damon murdered thousands, so do the math. The last time he used it was to defend himself when his own people turned on him."

  "Why did that happen?"

  "Apparently Damon was a brilliant general but he was more about forming battle strategy than actually doing any fighting himself. He would direct his troops from somewhere safe rather than lead them into battle, which is what Alexander and Adeipho did."

  "So he was a coward?"

  "Maybe, but a successful one. He had many victories, but never received the accolades that Alexander or Adeipho did because he never got blood on his own hands."

  "Yeah, except when he was executing prisoners or eating the hearts of generals. Did that really happen?"

  Ree shrugged. "So they tell me."

  "Man," was all I could say.

  "Living in the shadows of Alexander and Adeipho made him resentful and angry. When Alexander died, he tried to take control of the entire army. It led to a showdown between those loyal to Damon and those who sided with Adeipho. In the course of the fight, Damon used the power of the poleax to create the Rift, sending many of Adeipho's men into the Black. But Adeipho had greater numbers and Damon's own men became victims and tumbled through the Rift as well. It finally came down to Damon and Adeipho. Damon was no match for him and Adeipho sent him through the Rift."

  "So Adeipho was the last man standing?"

  "Yes. He hid the Rift by building the catacombs and a tomb that supposedly held Damon's remains. But there were no remains. The tomb contained the poleax, along with the six crucibles with Alexander's blood."

  "And the blood is what kept Damon away?" I asked.

  "The ancients had beliefs and customs that we can't begin to understand."

  "You get no argument from me. I totally buy it."

  Ree said, "The last act of Adeipho's life was to move through the Rift himself."

  "Seriously? He chased Damon into the grave?"

  Ree nodded. "Adeipho is a noble soldier. He's been in the Black ever since, protecting the Rift, and the poleax, from Damon."

  "So all those guys on bikes are Adeipho's original soldiers?"

  "Not all. Many spirits have found their way here over the centuries. Some simply pass through, while others chose to stay and become Guardians."

  "What's with the clown masks?" I asked.

  "Anonymity. Many spirits stumble upon this vision accidently and are encouraged to move on. But not everyone is so innocent. Damon has sent scouts. The Guardians do not want to put their loved ones in danger, either in the Black or the Light, so we wear the masks. So far it hasn't been a problem because none of Damon's scouts have escaped."

  "What happened to them?"

  "You've seen what the black swords can do," she said soberly.

  "They're spirit-killers," I said. "How is that possible?"

  "They came through the Rift during the original battle. They are unnatural to the Black, which makes them dangerous. Damon's soldiers have several. As do Adeipho's men. Without them we would not be able to protect the Rift. The standoff has lasted for centuries and would have continued . . . if I hadn't broken that first crucible."

  "But why was that such a big deal?" I asked.

  "It empowered Damon and put him on the trail of the poleax. Until Ennis and I entered that tomb and broke the crucible, Damon had no idea where it was because the power of the crucibles shielded him from seeing it."

  "He still doesn't know where it is," I said. "That's why he's haunting Marsh.

  It was Ree's turn to sit down. "Tell me what's been happening," she said.

  "Why can't you see for yourself?"

  Her eyes began to well up. "I told you, we're in isolation here. My vision acts as a buffer between the Light and the rest of the Black."

  "Because of the Rift?" I asked.

  "Yes. The very existence of the Rift threatens the natural order of life and death. Imagine if spirits could travel freely between both worlds."

  "But we can," I argued.

  "Not as physical beings."

  "Whoa, you mean if a spirit went through the Rift, they'd become physical beings again?"

  "That's the theory. Nobody has tried. The Guardians have seen to that."

  I was beginning to understand how Damon planned on getting his life back, and giving me mine.

  Ree added, "Spirits can observe the Light and learn from their former lives, but they can't play a physical role."

  "Tell that to Damon. He freakin' killed me and he's been tormentin
g Marsh. I don't understand why he thinks Marsh can help him find a weapon buried in Greece."

  Ree held up her stained hand. "Because I have been marked and Marsh is my son. The bond between spirits in the Black and those still living is a strong one."

  "I know. I've seen."

  "Damon can't get to me so he's going after Marsh," she said.

  "But that's just stupid!" I cried. "Marsh isn't going to get on a plane and go digging around Greece!"

  Ree thought and then said, "From what you tell me, it might not even be in that tomb anymore. If the crucibles were moved, the poleax may have been as well."

  "And you can't see into the Light so you wouldn't know."

  "Nor would Damon. The remaining crucibles must still be with the poleax, or else Damon would know where it is."

  "So that's why he needs Marsh," I said, putting the pieces together in my head.

  Ree said, "If Marsh had a crucible, and broke it, that put him square into Damon's sights."

  "What about the other guy? What's his name? Ennis?"

  Ree shook her head in frustration. "I don't know. Ennis knew about the myth. If he survived the earthquake, he might have been the one who took the crucibles and gave one to Marsh for protection, and kept one for himself."

  "And moved the poleax," I added.