David Robbins - Madman Run

“Maybe they kept going around to the other side of the castle,” Geronimo conjectured. “I’ll go see.” He sprinted off.

Blade idly stared at the Blackfoot, thinking they must stay there until daylight and scour the ground for tracks, expecting him to stop at the southeast corner. He never thought to advise Geronimo to stay in sight and was extremely upset when his friend pulled a Hickok and ran around to the east side. “Geronimo!” he called out, starting forward, his gaze straying to the castle.

Standing at a third floor window, her white dress impossible to miss, was Endora.

“Geronimo!” Blade repeated, louder this time, his intuition flaring again, and when no response was forthcoming, he raced to the corner and stopped in breathless bewilderment.

The stretch of ground between the southeast and northeast corners was empty.

Geronimo, like the gunfighter, had disappeared.

He was alone!

Blade backed against the wall, the Marlin leveled, his heart beating wildly again, his temples drumming. He gulped and scrutinized the forest, half-expecting to see those savage red orbs glaring at him.

It couldn’t be!

They couldn’t both vanish.

He blinked and stepped into the yard, swinging the rifle first one way, then another, his nerves raw, itching to fire at anything that moved. His face was clammy with sweat despite the cool breeze. His mind was a blank slate. Dazed, he walked to the big mausoleum and crouched beside it.

Endora was no longer visible in the window.

Get a grip, damn you!

Blade shook his head, confused by his reaction. He’d never been afraid of anything before, but the monster known as Grell had terrified him—and now this! What was happening to him? Maybe he wasn’t cut out to be a Warrior. Maybe he didn’t have what it took, didn’t possess true courage.

He’d never been tested in combat or faced such a grim predicament. This was his first real crisis, and he was cracking under the strain.

What should he do?

Breathing deeply, he willed himself to calm down and relax, controlling his emotions. A Warrior should always maintain strict self-control. That was the beginning lesson taught by the Elder responsible for training novice Warriors. Superb self-control was the foundation on which rested all other attributes essential to a Warrior.

Next came dedication, loyalty to a higher ideal, and in his case it was the ideal represented by the Home and the Family, the ideal of love and stability realized by the descendants of Kurt Carpenter. On a practical level, he was glad to be able to serve the Family by protecting them from any and all threats to their continued survival.

Also critically important to any Warrior was an acceptance of the inevitable. Everyone died. Sooner or later everyone passed on to the higher mansions. Death was simply the means of throwing off the earthly coil and ascending to the next level. Warriors, more so than most, must resign themselves to the fact they lived with a heightened prospect of death every single day. Dying was an ever-present consequence of living a life devoted to safeguarding others and confronting lethal dangers on a daily basis.

Was that his problem?

Hadn’t he learned to accept the inevitability of death?

Why else did he fear the mutation so much?

The revelation sparked profound thought, and Blade leaned on the mausoleum, totally oblivious to the passage of time, while he pondered the ramifications. Sure, he didn’t want to die, but then who did? By the same token, he didn’t want his friends to die either. And if he didn’t get his act together, they surely would.

What was the key to solving his problem? How could he find the courage to confront Grell? Where did true courage spring from, anyway?

The heart? The mind? The personality? Or a combination of all three.

What distinguished a man labeled brave from one branded a coward?

Why were some men able to face death without flinching while others fled pell-mell? More to the point, which kind of man was he?

Which did he want to be?

Naturally, he wanted to be brave. Although only 16, he had adult responsibilities, and it was time he started owning up to them. He must conquer his fear and save his comrades.

Easier said than done.

How do you conquer fear? Blade asked himself. How do you overcome an intangible emotional state? Facing the object of one’s fears was supposed to work, but he’d already faced Grell twice and quaked both times. If he could change his attitude, he’d be able to take on the mutation without flinching.

How did someone change their attitude?

The heart and mind alone couldn’t do it, but the personality could through force of will. Was that the answer? Something so basic as willpower, the simple matter of making up one’s mind? If a person wanted to be happy, all they had to do was will themselves to believe they were happy despite whatever external circumstances prevailed. Therefore, if someone wanted to be brave, all they had to do was believe they were brave.

Was that the way it worked?

Could so crucial a quality be so easy to obtain?

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Blade rose and scanned the yard and the castle. He’d worry about his problem later. Right now Hickok and Geronimo were more important. He took a step toward the castle, intending to start his search on the east side, when a scraping noise from the front of the mausoleum made him dart back. He peeked around the corner, his eyes widening in surprise.

The recessed front door was sliding open.

Elphinstone suddenly emerged.

Blade jerked his head from view, waited a few seconds, then risked another look.

The apish brute was pressing on one of the etched figures to the right of the door. Almost soundlessly the opening swung closed. Turning, Elphinstone walked to the northwest and disappeared around the corner.

Where was he going? Blade wondered. He stepped to the entrance and examined the walls on both sides. Carved into the marble near the right jamb was a reproduction of the crest engraved near the top of the tomb—the man in armor holding the head and body of a child. That had to be the one. Tentatively, he reached out and pressed on the cool surface, and to his delight the door moved inward on well-oiled hinges.

A quick check verified no one was watching. Blade ducked inside, then paused. There must be a way to close the door from within. He found himself on a spiral metal staircase that descended into the bowels of the earth. All below was pitch black.

Blade hesitated. Grell might be down there—but so might his friends.

He felt the wall for a figure, switch or lever, but found none. Leaving the door open was his only option. Taking hold of the rail, he slowly headed down, treading carefully, wary of tripping and plunging to a hard floor far below.

Doubts assailed him. What good could he do if he couldn’t see three feet in front of his face? He’d be easy prey for anyone—or anything—lurking in the lower levels. But if he turned back now he might as well keep going all the way to the Home. He’d never be able to look anyone else in the eyes again. Of all the shameful acts men committed, few rivaled deserting friends in an hour of need.

His soles scraped softly on the steps, and in his nervous state he was certain the noise could be heard for hundreds of feet. He breathed shallowly, straining his ears, and glanced upward every few seconds to see if he was being followed.

The staircase seemed to go on forever.

Blade estimated he’d desended 100 feet when he reached the bottom and discerned the outline of a corridor extending to the north, toward the castle. Stepping to the right-hand wall, he placed his palm on the smooth stone and continued onward. The familiar dank smell permeated the air.