The Freedman and the Pharaoh's Staff (39 page)

Crispus sensed the toxin course through his blood, setting his insides aflame. He did what Jeb would have done—he ignored the blood seeping from his mouth. He stabbed at the snake again and again as his wounded hand swelled. Steel tore through the serpent's olive-colored scales, releasing sprays of gore. Sousson-Pannan hissed wildly, more like shrieked. The snake relinquished its hold on Crispus. Its muscles quivered. Its fangs pulled from his skin, tearing more flesh as they withdrew. Sousson-Pannan went limp in Crispus's grasp as he stumbled. The venom sent his mind reeling, nearly knocking him off balance.

Several yards away, Fallon gave the glowing Damballah's Tear to Zelig, who hungrily yanked it from him. Clutching the gem, he fondled it like a drunk does a woman.

“Now, let her go,” Fallon panted. As he and Tempest gazed at one another. Zelig's face twisted in disgust. He pushed his foot down harder on Tempest's stomach. She cried in pain. “Stop, you said you'd let her go!” Fallon gasped.

Crispus watched, or imagined he was watching, stumbling around. Trying to maintain a grip on the world. Settle it down.

“Your kind believes anything.” Zelig gave a frustrated grunt as he smacked the metal tube. Nothing happened. “
Verdammt!
”
 

With a rush of noxious gas, a pillar of flame exploded from the tube's mouth. Fallon rushed between Zelig and Tempest in time to shove her out of the way. The magical fired swallowed him. Zelig laughed as he swept the inferno back and forth over Fallon. The boy gave a brief screech, then collapsed. All that remained of him was a smoldering heap.

“Fallon!” Tempest cried.

That can't be real. That didn't happen.
Crispus told himself, finding his footing now. He fired at Zelig. His swollen hand foiled what little aim he had. The first five shots ricocheted off the walls in showers of woodchips. The final shot bore through Zelig's right leg at the calf. He howled in pain. Leg twisting, he tumbled backward, blood spurting from the wound. As if by reflex, his magical weapon went off when he hit the ground. A plume of flame shot upwards into the loft, setting bales of hay and rafters ablaze. Clouds of smog poured out like a shroud descending from the heavens.
 

The glowing gem
went soaring into the air. Zelig's eyes focused on the radiant jewel and not the metal hose that breathed flames over everything. Crispus saw it.
This is my chance.
Beams supporting the rooftop were reduced to ashes, causing the roof to sag. Planks of wood and fiery hay rained down like hail. The crimson gem fell to the ground several feet behind Zelig. He managed to extinguish the flaming tube.
 

Take a chance. Chance a take.
On the verge of succumbing to the snake's venom, Crispus grabbed the ritual sword. Somehow managed to dodge a cloud of flaming straw tumbling down from the loft. Growing sicker and sicker, Crispus's eyes darted between Zelig scrambling for the gem which imprisoned the
Geist Führer
, Jeb on the ground wailing for forgiveness from an unseen source, and Verdiss, wielding the Pharaoh's Staff, about to enter a
portal ripped through reality.
What do I do?!
Jeb was right. The Pharaoh's Staff needed to be destroyed to prevent Verdiss from crossing over and taking the
Geist Führer's
body. What monstrosity would he breed with what power lay beyond that gateway. But the
Geist Führer
must remain imprisoned, hidden away from the world. What evil could he unleash? He couldn't imagine with what he knew.
 

What would Jeb do? No, what would I do? I stole the map, not Jeb. I started this journey and divined the map's meaning from the mambo.
Crispus made his own decision and started it all. Now he'd be the one to end it all. Crispus gripped the ritual sword. Then charged Verdiss. Too late. He finished the incantation and stepped toward the blazing portal
.
 

Zelig crawled toward the gem. Crispus heard it calling to him, the
Geist Führer
screaming to be released. Flaming wood crashed down around Zelig. The roof sagged lower. Another support beam snapped as Zelig staggered to his feet. Limping, he stumbled for the gem. A plank concealed by flames plummeted down in a mountainous inferno. The gem lay underneath it. Zelig dove to shield his master from a blistering death.
 

“
Mein
Führer!
” He cried and landed on the gem. The flaming heap of wood crashed down and swallowed them both.
 

The funeral pyre lying atop Zelig exploded, tossing the still-chained Tempest out into the pastureland. It threw Crispus to the ground amidst a noxious cloud. Untouched, Verdiss stood at the boundary of the future. Beyond it, the concrete room trembled, but Verdiss appeared unbowed. He clung to the Pharaoh's Staff. It glowed in the portal's radiance.

Crispus climbed to his feet, still clutching the ritual sword. Hacking on smoke and venomous gases, Crispus's eyes went wide. How could he stop this fiend? He needed Jeb. Glancing around, he found him still huddled on the ground, begging to  air. “Jeb! It's the magic, there's no one there.” Crispus shifted his grip on the sword hilt. He'd get one attack. It needed to be perfect. Clean.
Fuck!
He never used a fucking sword before.
To hell with it.
He
swung the ritual sword at Verdiss, but miscalculated the weapon's weight. He lost his balance and sailed past the Grand Dragon. Crashed on the floor.
 

Verdiss didn't seem to notice, his eyes burning on the portal. Edging his way closer to the vortex as if savoring each moment of his ascent to power.

Crispus rose to his knees, ritual sword in hand. Giving up. He watched Jeb wailing. “Jeb. Jeb. Look at me." Voice calm, and with any hope, he sounded like Keturah. The gentleness in her voice that Jeb always talked about. Jeb looked up, his swollen eyes red, near bleeding. “I need your help. We need to stop him from crossing over.” Crispus pointed at Verdiss with his swollen hand, realizing the venomous daze had passed. A dry bite, perhaps?

Verdiss stood, amazed at the rift through time.

“No one's there. It's the magic, it only works if you let it." Crispus kept his eyes on Jeb's. “It's not your fault those horrible things happened. Evil people do evil things. You only do wrong when you do nothing at all. You always act. I need you to act now.” Crispus struggled to stand, leaning on the sword. “I can't do this alone. I need you!”

 

 

 

Chapter Fifty-Eight

 

Those words sliced through the magic shrouding Jeb's mind, through wails of the dead, and cast off the chains of guilt. One by one the wraiths vanished. Replaced by the realization they were him and he them. All victims. But all gave their lives for the cause. Lafayette and his mother guided Jeb and Crispus. Wardell died protecting Elle Mae. Rayford protected them. The dead would have justice. When the last of the shrieking throng disappeared, Jeb climbed to his feet. Crispus tossed him the ritual sword. He caught it by the copper hilt. A part of him wished he could blurt out everything he wanted to say. Proud, mostly. But, there was no time for that.

“Crispus, get Keturah and Bettina out of here,” said Jeb, with a nod. He sprinted across the barn, now a flaming wreckage. He found his Confederate saber on the hay pile where Narce made his seat, grabbed it and wheeled on Verdiss.

On the cusp of the doorway, Verdiss appeared enthralled by its power. Enjoying it like a wine connoisseur would savor ambrosia from a fine sniffer. Jeb took his chance. Bolted back into the flames, then leapt at Verdiss. His saber bit into the Grand Dragon's deformed hand.
Sever the bone.
Poised to kick the staff away when it hit the ground.
Shit!
Verdiss let out a growl, withdrawing his hand. A twist of his wrist sent the blue-glazed staff sailing out of his hand. Both he and Verdiss watched the Pharaoh's Staff slip into the portal. Through a rip in time itself.
 

Horrified, Jeb stared into the abyss.
What have I done?
 

Verdiss sneered. Victory flashed in his eyes. He knew it was over, that Jeb wouldn't follow him through. It was in his deformed expression. “For this relief, much thanks." He bowed, gathering his black robes. Then he stepped into the fiery portal and into the future.

Gaping maw, vicious teeth, raging snarl. The rip in reality laughed at Jeb. Daring him.
You lost the staff. You've failed, boy! I dare you to come through me.
 

Another long moment passed, staring into the future
where his people, all people might not exist. Would this hellish door take him to the future? Time travel existed in white man's literature. Great unknowns waited for Jeb on the other side. And great evils. What was it Lydell used to say?
In battle it doesn't matter if you live or die as long as you leave your blood on the field.
Jeb tightened his grip on the sword. His body begged him to listen to the portal, to turn, to buckle under fear. To run.
 

“They'll all have justice.” He told his body more than himself. Then before it could argue, Jeb threw himself into the portal. A queer sensation seized him. Terrifying. His body wasn't his own. It wasn't
anything
. The threshold ripped him apart. Every atom of Jeb's body pulled away from him, returning him to nothingness. An instant later, Jeb returned to existence. Cells coalescing to give him form and thought. He tumbled into the cluttered room, crashing on the floor. The building intent to keep him off his feet, shuddered as the thick concrete ceiling dampened explosions above. By the distinct resonation, he knew they were underground. But where?
 

Verdiss stood amidst the chamber, surrounded by outlandish furniture, and a rectangular metal box. Sprawled on the floor before him, was a man sporting gray britches and a matching military jacket with several unfamiliar metals. Gold eagle badge sewn on the upper left sleeve. And an armband. Nearby lay a dead woman, pale as though she'd been ill or poisoned.

“Is that him? The
Geist Führer
?” Awe pulled Jeb's attention away from Verdiss.
This
was the ultimate conspirator. Only a man. After all, he'd experienced and seen. The
fenwa majik.
A magical rucksack that breathed flames like dragon-breath. The basest of evil wasn't a monster, a slobbering beast with horns and claws like the church attributes the devil. It was just a man.
 

Could
only
a man be capable of such unspeakable evil? Forever the two words,
Geist Führer
, would haunt him. That cruel, stony face, too. Treacherously human, yet still the face of a fiend.
 

Verdiss gave a slight nod as if awed himself. “Yes. It is he. But soon, with the Pharaoh's Staff, it shall be me." He bent down and grabbed the blue faience staff from the floor. “It will be an instant before I possess his body—”

No!
With all the strength he could muster, more than
he swore his wounds could give him, Jeb drove his Confederate saber into Verdiss's chest. Pushing his hatred, his guilt, vengeance, and justice out through his muscles. A quarter of his blade burrowed through the Grand Dragon's thick skin. Verdiss gasped, more at the shock than the pain. His red eyes flashed like hell-fire, gore pouring out around him. He collapsed to his knees. Then fell back atop the
Geist Führer.
Grip tightening on the staff. Even in death Verdiss refused to surrender it.
 

Centuries of slavery pulled Jeb's lips back in a vicious sneer. Glee. Vengeance. Justice! Another shove and his blade bit deeper. Verdiss gave a pained gasp.

“Your arrogance is your downfall," said Jeb. Clouds of dust and stone rained down around them. It didn't matter. Jeb's eyes burned on the Grand Dragon, soaking in each moment his chest rose and fell. Heavy. Then heavier. And heavier. Satisfied, Jeb climbed over Verdiss and the
Geist Führer's
corpses. His wounds. He'd forgotten about them. Somehow they didn't hurt. His back wasn't on fire and peeling away. His shoulder and abdomen weren't slick with blood.
Can't check it. Got to get the staff.
On top of Verdiss, he could feel the Grand Dragon's heart beat slowing. Chest giving way as he lay dying. Jeb grabbed the staff and tried to yank it from the Grand Dragon's hand.
 

“Ignorance has always been—
our
people's—downfall." Still stronger than Jeb, Verdiss maintained a firm grip on the staff. “As I said, Freedman, it would take—an instant." He sneered, and with his last breath, Verdiss placed his bulbous hand on the
Geist Führer's
body. Then died. His malformed head slumped. As if in response, the room shuddered again, then jumped. The force of a mountain collapsing above threw everything in the air.
 

Jeb managed to wrench the staff from Verdiss's death grip. Its blue glaze was warm to the touch. Magical energy maybe. He climbed back over the mound of bodies. The room still shivered as if from a cold wind. A vast spider web of cracks ran across the ceiling. Bits of stone rained down from the clefts. Jeb staggered to his feet, clutching both the staff and ritual sword. He needed to break the staff now in case he didn't make it to the portal. This underground prison was about to fall on him.
 

A quick glance and he found the portal still open. Though, its radiant haze diminished by the moment. The
rip in time closing, the flaming barn vanishing from view. Jeb threw the Pharaoh's Staff to the floor. Poised to cleave it in half with the ritual sword. One fell swoop. Muscles taut.
Something
grabbed his leg. Stiff, awkward fingers wrapped around his ankle like some terrible vice.