Death's Shadow td-7

by Darren Shan

  “He stayed in his own realm.”

  “Can you tell where exactly she is?” Dervish asks.

  “No.” He frowns. “I should be able to, but I can’t place it.”

  “Is she close to Grubbs?” Dervish presses.

  Kernel concentrates, then shakes his head.

  “Well?” Sharmila asks Beranabus.

  “Kernel and I will investigate. The rest of you stay here.”

  “Nuts to that,” Dervish huffs.

  “Don’t forget about your heart,” Beranabus says. “Or Sharmila’s legs. You’re a pair of wrecks on that world. Let us check the situation and report back. We won’t engage her if we can avoid it.”

  “What about me?” I ask. “I can survive there.”

  “Aye, but I’m asking you to wait. Please. Until we know more about what we’re walking into.” I don’t like it, but I know Beranabus worries about me. Better to go along with his wishes, so he can operate free of any distractions.

  Kernel opens a window within minutes. It’s a white panel of light. I think I can smell the real world through it, but that’s just my nose playing tricks. Without saying anything, Kernel steps through, Beranabus half a step behind him.

  “We’ll give them five minutes,” Dervish rumbles. “If they’re not back by then, we—” Beranabus sticks his head through the window, catching us by surprise. “It’s an area of magic,” he says. “Sharmila and Dervish will be fine there. Come on.”

  He disappears again. We glance at each other uneasily, then file through one by one, back to the human universe, in search of the semi-human Juni Swan and a host of shadowy answers.

  PART THREE — ALL ABOARD

  Snapshots of Beranabus III

  Beranabus thought his world had ended when I died. He’d been developing while we were together, the disjointed fragments of his mind linking up, learning to think and reason as other humans did. My magic helped. Unknown to me, I smoothed out many of the creases inside his brain, opening channels which were blocked. Perhaps, deep down, I loved him as he loved me. I was certainly fond of the strange boy.

  When the rocks closed, trapping me in the cave with Lord Loss and his familiars, Beranabus went wild with grief. He tried to carve through the wall, using small stones and his bare fingers. When that failed, he kept vigil for several months, drinking from the waterfall inside the cave, abandoning his post only to catch the occasional rabbit or fox.

  He held long, garbled conversations with himself in the darkness. Time got confused inside his head and sometimes he thought he was in the Labyrinth and the Minotaur was hiding behind a stalagmite. He’d repeat my name over and over, along with his own—he managed to say “Beranabus” for the first time in the cave. He wept and howled, and sometimes tried to bash his head open on the rocks. Normally he stopped before damaging himself, but a few times he knocked himself unconscious, only to awake hours later, scalp bruised and bloody, his ears ringing.

  He knew I was dead, the rock wouldn’t open, that I’d never step out and throw my arms around him. But for a long time he clung to the belief that a miracle would return me to the world. Then, one day, without warning, he kissed the rock, climbed to the surface and staggered away, with no intention of ever coming back.

  Beranabus retraced our steps, following the route we’d covered from the shoreline to the cave. He hoped, by doing so, to recall any small memories of me that he might have forgotten. His vague plan was to march west to the shore, then back inland to the crannog where I’d first met Drust, finishing up at my village. After that… he didn’t know. Thinking ahead was a new experience for him and he found it hard to look very far into the future.

  When he reached the shore and gazed down over the cliff where we’d sheltered, to the ever-angry sea below, his plan changed. Grief exploded within him and he saw only one way to escape it. He’d had enough of demons and humans, slaughter and love. He didn’t know much about death, but the many corpses he’d seen over the centuries had all looked peaceful and unthinking. Maybe he wouldn’t feel this terrible sense of loss if he put life and its complicated emotions behind him.

  Beranabus smiled as he stepped off the cliff and fell. His thoughts were of me and the Minotaur. He knew nothing of the possibility of a life after death, so he had no hope of seeing us again. His only wish was that our faces were the last images in his thoughts when he died.

  The water was colder than he expected and he shouted with alarm when he hit. But as he sank into the new subterranean world, he relaxed. The cold wasn’t so bad after a while, and though he didn’t like the way the salt water washed down his throat, he’d experienced more unpleasant sensations in the universe of the Demonata.

  That should have been the end of him, an anonymous, pointless death as Theseus had predicted so many centuries before. But beings of ancient, mysterious magic dwelt nearby and they were watching. Known to humans as the Old Creatures, they’d once controlled the world. Now they were dying, or had moved on, and only a few were left.

  Some of those lived in a cave beneath the cliff which Beranabus jumped off—they were the reason Drust had gone there in the first place. They sensed the boy’s peculiar brand of magic and curiously probed the corridors of his mind. The Old Creatures took an interest in the drowning boy and instead of letting him drift out to sea and a welcome death, they drew him to the cave against his will. He washed up on the floor, where he reluctantly spat out water and instinctively gasped for air, even though he would rather have suffocated.

  When Beranabus could speak, he roared at the pillars of light (the Old Creatures had no physical bodies). He knew they’d saved him and he hated them for it. He cursed gibberishly, trying to make them explain why they hadn’t let him die.

  “We Have Need Of You,” the Old Creatures answered, the words forming inside the boy’s brain. “You May Be Able To Help Us.”

  Beranabus roared at them again, and although he couldn’t express his feelings verbally, the Old Creatures knew what he wanted to say.

  “Yes, She Is Dead, But Her Soul Has Not Departed This World. She Can Return To You.” Beranabus squinted at the shifting lights. “If You Remain With Us, Let Us Teach And Direct You, And Serve As We Wish, You Will Meet Your Bec Again.”

  The promise captivated Beranabus and filled his heart with warmth and hope. It didn’t cross his mind that the Old Creatures could be lying, and he never wondered what they might ask of him. They’d said he’d see his young love again—that was all that mattered. Putting dark thoughts and longings for death behind him, he presented himself to the formless Old Creatures and awaited their bidding, leaving them free to mould and do with him as they wished.

  Beranabus could never remember much of his time with the Old Creatures, even though he spent more than a century in the cavern. They taught him to speak and reason, completing his evolution from confused child to intelligent young adult.

  As his intellect developed, he came to believe that the Old Creatures had lied about my return. He didn’t blame them—he knew it was the only way they could have calmed and controlled him. He accepted my death and moved on. He was older and wiser, tougher than he’d been as a child, and although he still loved and mourned me, he had other issues to focus on. He had demons to kill.

  Beranabus hated the Demonata—they’d slaughtered his beloved—and the Old Creatures encouraged this hatred. They showed him how to open windows to the demon universe and explained how he could channel magic to kill the beasts. They sent him on his first missions, directing him to specific spots, targeting vulnerable demons.

  Beranabus never questioned their motives. He assumed that everyone on this world hated the demons as much as he did, even though the Old Creatures were not of the human realm and seemed to be under no threat. They were more powerful—in this universe at least—than the Demonata, so they had nothing to fear from them.

  As he developed a taste for killing, Beranabus spent more and more time in the demon universe, using the cave of the Old Creatu
res as a base which he visited rarely, when he needed to sleep, treat his wounds and recover.

  One night, after an especially long spell butchering demons, he returned to the cave and the Old Creatures were gone. He would have known it even if he was blind. The magic had faded from the air and it now felt like a cold, dead place.

  In a panic, Beranabus scaled the cliff which he’d hurled himself off many decades before and searched frantically for the Old Creatures. He found traces of them in a place called Newgrange. Druids had claimed the celestial dome and worshipped and studied the stars from there. But it had been built by the Old Creatures, who used it as a navigational point when travelling between worlds.

  One of the Old Creatures was waiting in the gloom of the dome for Beranabus. It took the form of a small ball of swirling light, less grand than any of the pillars had been in the cave. “It Is Time For Us To Go,” the Old Creature said. “We Must Leave This Planet.”

  Beranabus went cold. Without the protective magic of the Old Creatures, the world would be at the mercy of the Demonata.

  “You’re abandoning us!” Beranabus cried angrily.

  “We Are Leaving,” the Old Creature agreed, “But We Have Left You In Our Place. You Must Guard This World Now.”

  “I can’t protect humanity by myself,” Beranabus exploded. “I can’t be everywhere at once, stop every crossing or kill every demon who makes it through.”

  “No,” the Old Creature said calmly, “But You Can Try.”

  “Why?” Beranabus groaned. “Why desert us now, when we need you most?”

  “Our Time Has Passed,” the Old Creature said. “You People Must Fend For Yourselves Or Perish. We Cannot Protect You Forever.” As Beranabus started to argue, the Old Creature hushed him. “We Have One Last Thing To Tell You, One Final Mission To Send You On!”

  “I won’t be your servant any longer,” Beranabus snarled, tears of rage hot in his eyes.

  “There Was A Force Once, A Weapon Of Sorts,” the Old Creature said, ignoring his protest. “The Kah-Gash. It Shattered Into A Number Of Pieces Which Have Been Lost Ever Since. You Must Search For Those Fragments And Reunite Them.”

  “I don’t understand,” Beranabus said, intrigued despite his bitter fury.

  “The Kah-Gash Can Be Used To Destroy An Entire Universe. If The Demonata Find The Pieces And Assemble Them, They Can Annihilate This Universe And Remove Every Last Trace Of Mankind. But If You Find Them…”

  “…I can destroy their universe!” Beranabus exclaimed.

  “Perhaps,” the Old Creature said. And then it was gone, the ball of light shooting through the hole in the roof, streaking towards the stars, not even bidding Beranabus farewell.

  Beranabus had a hundred questions he wanted answered, but there was no one to ask. He could feel the loss of the Old Creatures in the air. They’d left artefacts behind—lodestones charged with powerful Old magic—but their influence would fade with time, opening the way for more demon attacks.

  He had to act quickly. The Old Creature hadn’t said as much, but Beranabus assumed there were demons looking for the Kah-Gash and he would have to race against them to find the missing pieces. It occurred to him that the demons might have been searching for millions of years, but that didn’t deter him. He was arrogant. He believed he would succeed where the Demonata had failed, find the weapon and deliver the ultimate blow.

  Setting off through the countryside, he steeled himself for what was to come. He sensed it wouldn’t be easy, that it might take centuries—or longer—to locate all the pieces. But he would triumph eventually. Nothing could stand in his way. In his youthful arrogance he believed this was his destiny and that if he needed more time to complete his mission, he could even defy death if he had to.

  KIRILLI

  I step through the window and find myself on a highly polished wooden floor. There are no walls or ceiling, only a clear blue sky and glaring sun far overhead. I squint and cover my eyes with a hand. When my pupils adjust, I slowly lower my hand and stare around with awe.

  We’re surrounded by water—we must be on a boat. Everywhere I look, an ocean stretches ahead of me, small waves lazily rippling by. I’ve only seen the sea once before and that was from the safety of land. Finding myself stranded in the middle of it makes me feel sick. Even though the floor is steady, my legs seem to wobble beneath me and I have to fight to calm my stomach.

  “Easy, Little One,” Beranabus murmurs, touching my arm and smiling.

  “It’s so vast,” I whisper, eyes round.

  “Aye, but it’s only the sea. You’ve nothing to fear.”

  “But the monsters…” I catch myself. In my time we thought the sea was home to an array of terrors. Now I know that isn’t so. I remind myself that I’m not living in the fifth century any longer. Frowning at myself for overreacting, I order my legs to steady and my stomach to stop churning.

  Breathing more calmly, I pivot slowly and study the vessel on which we’ve landed. We’re on the deck of a massive ship, a luxury cruise liner, but its grandeurs have been spoilt by a recent, vicious attack. Deckchairs are strewn everywhere. We’re close to a swimming pool—the water is red and there are bodies floating in it. A man lies spread-eagled on a diving board, blood dripping from his throat into the water. More corpses dot the deck and some are draped over deckchairs.

  There are carcasses everywhere. Freshly dead, with blood oozing from them. Men, women and children. Some are in crew uniforms, others in swim wear or casual clothes. Apart from the soft dripping noises of the blood, there’s no sound, not even the chug of an engine. The boat is as dead as the butchered passengers and staff.

  As I gaze with horror at the carnage, the more experienced Sharmila checks a few of the bodies to ensure they’re beyond help. “Juni could not have killed all these people by herself,” she says quietly.

  “She could,” Beranabus grunts, “but I don’t think she did. You can see different marks if you look closely. A group of demons had a party here.”

  “Where are they now?” Dervish asks, fingers flexing angrily.

  “That’s what I’d like to know.” Beranabus walks to the diving board, steps on to it and pushes the body off into the water as if it was a rubbish bag—he can be as detached as a demon when he needs to be. The splash disturbs the silence. We wait edgily, but nothing reacts to the noise.

  “Are you sure Dervish and Sharmila are safe here?” I ask Kernel, trying to find something other than the corpses to focus on. “There’s magic in the air, but I’m not sure it will hold.”

  “It’s secure,” he assures me. “We wouldn’t have brought them over if we had any doubts. We’re surrounded by a bubble of magical energy. The entire ship’s been encased.”

  “Like the town of Slawter,” Dervish notes, then tugs anxiously at his beard. “This bubble—it’s pretty impenetrable?”

  “Yes,” Kernel says.

  “So if the window to the oasis blinks out of existence, we’re trapped.”

  Kernel smiles. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep it open. That’s what I excel at.”

  Beranabus returns from the diving board. “They must have a lodestone on board. No demon could maintain a shield like this without a lodestone.”

  Lodestones are stones of ancient—Old—power. Demons can use them to seal off an area and fill it with magic. That lets them operate as if they were in their own universe. They can use them to open tunnels as well, if the stone is especially powerful. But they need human help. They can’t do it alone.

  Lodestones are rare. When the Old Creatures inhabited the Earth, they used the stones to help keep back the Demonata. But in their absence the demons learnt to turn the magic of the stones against the humans they were originally intended to protect. Beranabus scoured the world for lodestones centuries ago and destroyed as many as he could find, or sealed them off like the one in Carcery Vale. But some evaded him and remain hidden in various corners of the world. Every so often a mage or demon tracks one down and trouble ensu
es.

  “Is Juni still here?” Dervish asks Kernel.

  “Yes,” I answer first. “I sense her near the bottom of the ship.”

  “This feels like a trap,” Sharmila mutters.

  “Aye,” Beranabus says. “But you learn to live with traps when you’re chasing demons.” He looks around. “Are there any others, Bec?”

  I let my senses drift through the areas below deck. “There’s one demon with Juni. Not very powerful. If there are others, they’re masking themselves.”

  “There’s a window open down there,” Kernel says.

  “Fairly ordinary. Only weaker demons can cross through it.”

  “Could there be armed humans?” Dervish asks.

  “Perhaps,” I mutter. “Humans are harder to sense than mages or demons.”

  “We can handle a few soldiers,” Beranabus barks. “I’ll turn their guns into eels—see how much damage they can do with them then!”

  “We should go back,” Sharmila says. “Juni has set this up to ensnare us.”

  “Why would she be expecting us?” Dervish argues.

  “Lord Loss may have reasoned that we would target Juni. Perhaps everything—the attacks on Dervish, Juni revealing herself on the roof of the hospital—was designed to lure Beranabus here. The demon master might be poised to cross and finish us off personally.”

  “Not through that window,” Kernel insists.

  “Then through another,” she counters. “We have never been able to explain why Lord Loss can cross when other masters cannot, or how he goes about it.”

  Beranabus considers that, then sighs. “You could be right, but we might never get a better shot at Juni. If she’s not expecting us, it’s the perfect time to strike. If she is and this is a trap, at least we can anticipate the worst. The magic in the air means she’ll be dangerous, but it serves us as much as her. If Lord Loss doesn’t turn up, we can match her. If he does cross, we’ll make a swift getaway.”

  “Are you sure of that?” Sharmila scowls. “If we have to open a new window…”