The Black (32 page)

As Ennis struggled to right the box, one of the balls fell out.

The light from my strobe kicked a glint off the golden ball as it fell to the ground. I lowered my camera and reached out to catch it. Like a diving shortstop, I lunged and grabbed the small ball an inch from the ground. A moment later, a second ball fell from the box. I wasn't as quick with that one. I reached out with my free hand but I was a second too late. The
ball hit the rocky floor and shattered. Tiny golden shards flew everywhere, along with what looked like red liquid. It splattered all over the rocky floor, and my hands. It felt sticky. Like syrup. Or . . .

"Blood," I said with a gasp.

The ground shook. I stumbled and fell to one knee. "My god, it's an earthquake," I exclaimed.

"Back! Now!" Ennis yelled.

Too late. The rumbling came from everywhere and nowhere. It sounded as if we were being descended on by a dozen freight trains. I tried to stand but fell down again. Oddly, light filled the room.

"The ceiling!" Ennis shouted.

The force of the earthquake was collapsing the tunnel.
Heavy stones fell all around us.
Ennis grabbed my hand to pull me to my feet, but a stone
the size of a bowling ball hit him in
the arm and knocked him to his knees.

The tomb was shaking so hard it was impossible for me to stand. The sarcophagus shuddered and fell off the pedestal, directly over Ennis. If that thing hit him, he'd be crushed. I scrambled on my hands and knees and launched forward, knocking him out of the way. The sarcophagus hit the floor and the heavy lid flipped off. Even with the world crashing down around us, I wanted to see what was inside. I wanted to see Damon of Epirus.

But when the box fell on its side, no mummy fell out. Instead, what came tumbling out was some sort of tool. Or weapon. It was solid black and looked to be about the size of a long sword. It came to a sharp point, but beneath the tip were two more cutting edges. One was a
picklike
device like you would use to dig through rock, and the other side was a sharp chopping
cleaver. I only caught a brief glimpse of it, but it was all I needed to form an opinion.

It looked like the tool of a devil.

The weapon clattered to the ground amid the falling stones.

"Look!" Ennis exclaimed.

The pedestal that held the stone box had disappeared down into a dark hole. The earthquake had torn open the ground. Or had the hole always been there and the pedestal had been protecting it? Through the horrible rumbling I
heard another sound.
Screams. Or were they tortured howls? Whatever they were, they were coming from the hole. I was losing my mind. I knew we had to get out of there,
but I still wanted proof of what we had seen, and that proof
was in my camera. I looked around to see it lying between the lid of the sarcophagus and the howling hole.

A quick glance up showed that the cave-in had actually
given us our escape route. The pile of rock and rubble beneath it could be climbed to what little daylight was left.

"Go that way!" I shouted to Ennis. "Climb!"

He saw the pile, nodded, and scrambled for it. The earthquake was still rumbling. It felt like the longest earthquake in history, though it all could have happened in a few seconds. Ennis crossed in front of me, headed for the caved-in roof. I was ready to follow but was afraid if both of us climbed the pile of dirt it would collapse and we'd be stuck. I knew it wouldn't take long for him to climb out, just enough time for me to grab my camera.

I crawled for the camera and reached for the strap. I remember thinking that Ennis had been
absolutely right. I had taken some shots that had never been seen before. In that moment I actually wondered what the future would bring to two people who had gone in search of adventure . . . and found it.

I reached for the camera, grabbed the strap, and turned back to the pile of rubble—when the floor collapsed. I was being pulled into the hole, slipping down along with an avalanche of rocks and dirt. I let go of the camera but not the golden ball that I had saved from breaking. I can't say why I thought it was important, but I protected that thing like it was a precious, fragile egg.

"Ennis!" I screamed.

Ennis was halfway up the debris pile. He turned back, saw what was happening, and leaped back for the floor. He had taken care of me more times than I could remember. I always felt safe with him around, even when we were off on some ridiculous adventure. This was no different. I knew that Ennis would save me.

"I have you!" Ennis screamed as he reached out for me. I couldn't tell if I was falling into the hole, or being pulled.

I reached for Ennis's hand . . . and grabbed air.

The last sight I remember was the surprised look on Ennis's face when he realized that he was too late. For the first time ever, he wasn't able to take care of me. The next thing I knew, I was falling.

And then everything went black.

Terri "Ree" Seaver's Tale

(Continued)

There was no sensation.

I couldn't tell if I was falling or floating or dying. Time had no meaning. My body had no meaning. I wasn't in pain and surprisingly I wasn't in a panic. I remembered the catacombs and the earthquake and even the image of Ennis desperately reaching out for me, but it all seemed as if it had happened to somebody else.

The first input I sensed was warmth. My face felt warm, and with it, I sensed light. It was then that I realized that my eyes were closed. Was it as simple as that? Had my eyes been closed so tightly I couldn't see anything?

I cautiously opened them and had to squint against the bright light that was shining directly on me. The abrupt change was like a rude slap. I wondered if this was "the light" that so many people reported seeing at the moment of death, but there was nothing ethereal or otherworldly about it. I didn't hear harps or a heavenly chorus of angels. It just felt like a bright light was shining in my eyes and I wanted it to stop.

I realized that I was sitting on a hard floor. That answered one question: I wasn't a spirit who was floating toward the light on the way to heaven. Or
wherever spirits go. I turned away and blinked so my eyes could adjust.

"Ennis?" I called out tentatively.

I had fallen into a black hole beneath the stone sarcophagus. Was there another room directly beneath the tomb? Is that where I was? I couldn't remember landing, but I did remember hearing ghostly howls coming from the opening. They had stopped, I was glad to note. Wherever I was, it was quiet. I moved to rub my eyes and realized I was still clutching the golden orb that had fallen from the stone box on top of the sarcophagus. I examined it, rolling it over in my hands. It was beautiful, with intricate carvings. And it was fragile. That much was proved by the bloodstains on my hands from the other ball that had broken.

I rubbed my eyes and turned away from the bright light. What I saw was impossible, but absolutely real. I expected to find myself in the rubble left after the violent earthquake. Instead I found myself sitting on the floor of Grand Central Terminal in New York City. The annoying bright light was streaming in through the wall of glass windows on the west side.

I can't say that everything that had happened since we entered that temple made sense but at least I could logically follow the series of events—until then. I jumped to my feet and spun around, expecting it all to disappear like some fever-fueled hallucination. As impossible as it was for me to be there, what made it that much more bizarre was the fact that the giant station was empty. Completely empty. Grand Central never closed. Even at three in the morning there
was somebody around, but it wasn't
three in the morning. Bright sun didn't shine in the middle of the night.

There was no train information on the big board. No PA announcements booming through the cavernous space. And no people.

"Ennis!" I called again, with more desperation.

The only response was the echo of my own voice. I may not have panicked when I was floating in black, but that was already ancient history. Panic was now an option. There was no way I could be in Grand Central Terminal, wearing the same clothes I'd been wearing in Greece, holding the same ball I saved in that tomb. All I could think to do was get out of there and get home. Stony Brook was only an hour from the city. I was ready to run outside, grab a cab, and drive to somewhere safe and sane. I started running toward the stairs that would take me up and out of the station, when I heard the first sound that made me realize I wasn't alone after all. It was a mechanical sound that I couldn't place. It wasn't a train, that much I was sure of. I stopped short and looked back to the far side of the station to see a stream of people on bicycles pedaling toward me. They came from everywhere, like water spewing from a sieve. They came from the two parallel entrances on the far side, from under the big clock that led out to Forty-second Street, from the gates that led to the train tracks. I might have welcomed the company, if not for the fact that each and every one of them wore clown masks.

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.