and pushed him away.
The tortured spirit shuffled to a table, where he picked up a worn brown leather glove.
"He pulled this from his hand before he started on me," Riagan explained with disdain. "Said he wanted to feel me bones break when he struck me."
"That's about his speed."
Riagan tossed the glove to Cooper as if he didn't want to touch it any longer. Coop caught it awkwardly.
That should help you find the devil," Riagan said. "But do not be telling him ya got it from me."
"Don't worry."
"Now go," Riagan demanded. "It makes me fearful havin ' a spirit here that be party to that beast."
"Not until you tell me what your brother does here," Coop said.
"Maedoc!" Riagan suddenly shouted.
The door flew open, and the two bearded guards tum bled in.
"Help me!" Riagan called out.
The two peasants charged for Cooper, but Coop was too fast. He clutched the leather glove and took a quick step backward out of the vision. He wasn't even thinking of where he might go. It was more about not being there any more. He backed out of Riagan's dark vision . . .
. . . into bright, warm sunlight. Replacing the quiet of the pine forest was a rush of sound that swept over him like a massive, charging wave. Coop covered his head and fell to the ground to protect himself from whatever was headed his way.
The sound grew to a quick crescendo, then died back down to a steady roar. Without looking, Coop knew exactly what the sound was. He'd heard it many times before.
It was cheering. Big crowd cheering.
He cautiously peeked out from under his arms to see that he was next to a massive structure. A stadium. The roaring sound was the w hite noise of excited fans, com ing from inside. Another cheer went up. Coop figured that somebody must have scored a touchdown or hit a home run.
He stood slowly and heard another sound. Something was headed toward him, fast. He turned quickly to see a man on horseback charging his way. Coop had to dive away or he would have been trampled.
"Dude!" he called to the oblivious rider. "What the heck!" The rider didn't react. Cooper saw that he was wearing armor of some sort, with a golden helmet.
His first thought: Mascot. What team had a Roman centurion-looking mascot? Michigan State? USC? Coop had no idea what Damon would be doing in somebody's vision of a college football game. He looked out at the parking lot for answers and saw . . . it wasn't a parking lot. Rather than pavement, the stadium was surrounded by acres of grass and lush, flowering gardens. Far beyond the stadium he saw an immense arch, behind which were more massive struc tures held up by soaring columns. Next to the arch was a tremendous bronze statue that rivaled the Statue of Liberty in size, only this was a naked guy with a wreath of laurel wrapped around his head.
Not USC, he thought. Not even close. People from many different eras milled about. He saw modern soldiers and ancient warriors. There were men wearing everything from business suits, to togas, to shorts and sneakers. Some women were dressed as if they were going to the opera, while others wore matching brightly col ored warm-up suits. As confusing as the sight was, it made sense. This was the Black. If there was a big game going on in somebody's vision, why wouldn't people from differ ent visions and times come to watch? It was all so strangely explainable. The real question was: Whose vision was it and where exactly was he?
And where was Damon?
The answer came in the form of a platoon of soldiers. They marched in formation leading a horse-drawn cart that was carrying people. Prisoners. The men being transported wore dirty white tunics and shackles around their ankles. The soldiers had spears and wore gleaming ceremonial armor. They led the wagon through the archway and into the stadium, disappearing into the dark depths.
Cooper realized where he was.
Not a stadium, he said to himself. At least not like any stadium I've been to.
It made perfect sense. It was just the