by Amy Cross
Life, it seems, wants to spread.
Hearing footsteps nearby, I turn and see that Skellig is approaching. My heart sinks a little at the thought of another twisted, contentious conversation about how we must crush these new creatures at every opportunity. Of the other eleven demons with whom I share this world, lately I find Skellig to be by far the least agreeable. Even now, as he gets closer and spots the nearby creature, I can see the hint of hatred and anger in his eyes.
“Foul thing,” he mutters darkly, and I can tell that he would have killed the poor animal by now if I wasn't here to temper him. “There are so many different forms. I hate the eight-legged ones the most. Whatever they're supposed to be for, they seem the keenest to cling to the area around our home.”
Turning, I look back toward the fortress. Until recently, I always saw the place as a mighty stronghold, but now it seems more and more to be a crumbling ruin. The other demons still haven't paid heed to my warnings, preferring to keep their heads well and truly buried in the sand, and I fear that we are running out of time. Life is multiplying and spreading, and we run the risk of getting left behind.
Suddenly I hear a loud crunching sound, and I turn just in time to see that Skellig has crushed the neck of the creature, leaving it writing on the ground.
“Why did you do that?” I shout, getting to my feet.
Before answering, he presses his boot against the creature's neck and pushes down, killing it.
“They'll never prosper,” he sneers. “They're so easy to kill.”
“Yet they reproduce so quickly,” I point out. Stepping closer, I can't help feeling a twinge of sympathy for the dead animal, although when I glance toward the horizon I see several more of them in the distance. “You can't kill them fast enough, Skellig,” I say after a moment, turning back to him. “This change is permanent, the world is no longer our sole preserve. Will you not join me in speaking to the others, and urging them to -”
“No chance,” he says firmly, taking a step back. “Are you going to come up with more of your toxic talk about a thirteenth demon. There are twelve of us, Damos. There always have been, and there always will be. There's no need for change. Let these miserable creatures try to survive, it'll do them no good. They'll be gone soon, and everything will go back to how it has always been. Just the demon race, ruling all of creation.”
I watch as he turns and stomps back toward the fortress, but when I look down at the dead creature I feel deep in my heart that my fellow demons are wrong. Stepping closer, I crouch down and place a hand on the creature's face; it's the first time I have touched a fully-grown specimen, and I can't help noticing that its flesh is remarkably smooth. Nearby, several of its fellows are making their way across the mud, while a couple of larger eight-legged specimens are loitering at the top of the ridge, observing the rest.
“We must change,” I whisper, feeling more certain than ever that the demon race is in peril. “If we do not, we shall fade away forever.”
Abby Hart
Today
Let me show you something, he says. Let me show you the world that your species dared not consider.
So he shows me how the world was before the vampires, before the spiders, before the werewolves and humans and all the other creatures that now exist. He shows me the world that was ruled by a race of demons, by his people. When I open my eyes and try to see this place, I realize that my mind can't even begin to process the images. Light and dark exist at the same time, in the same place, along with fire and ice, chaos and order, all these contradictions suddenly forced together in perfect harmony. I can't describe it, but it works beautifully.
It's as if he has taken the madness of existence, made just one tiny change at the atomic level, and brought true sanity to the universe.
I can understand why he wants this back.
He sits next to me on a rock overlooking the center of creation, and he tells me about his life. He wasn't born, he tells me, not really. He simply came to be, on a plane of existence where time is not a factor. He makes me see that his world, the world of the demons, was a kind of paradise. He makes me want what he wants, and I start to realize that everything else I've ever known has been a lie. The demons were the true masters of creation, and it's only natural that they should return. Time is something new to him, something he is only just coming to understand as a necessity. And along with time, he has begun to consider the value of children.
I shouldn't be scared, I shouldn't be angry.
I should help him.
The grail.
He tells me about the grail. He tells me the grail is a child, a thirteenth demon, born to patch two realities into one. He tells me that the demons fell because they had no flaws. The way he sees it, every race needs a flaw, something to struggle against. In the dying days of the demon empire, he came up with a plan to merge one demon and one member of another race, any other race, to create a child. The problem was, the other demons thought he was insane and pushed against his plan, and they argued that no other race was remotely suitable. So the demons fell, and he was never able to put his plan into action.
Until now.
With me.
In the distance, a vast fortress stands in the center of a plain. That is his home, he tells me. Karakh was eventually built on top of it.
There's sadness in his voice now.
He says he would like to go back to how things were, but that he knows he cannot.
He tells me he could have torn my mind apart by now, that he's only applied one thousandth of a per cent of the force that he could use. He could have taken what he wanted long ago, when I was first captured at Karakh, but he says he wants the mother of his child to be sane, and that he wants me to care for the child and teach it things. In fact, the more he explains what he wants, the more I realize that he's trying to copy the best of what he has seen in other species. Parents and children don't exist in the world of the demons, so he's borrowing the concept from elsewhere. He tells me he barely understands what a mother and a father are.
Join the club, I want to tell him.
But I don't.
I'm scared that if I open my mouth, I'll lose the last threads of my resistance.
Just like my father, I feel as if silence makes me stronger. Perhaps if I could remember my name, or who I am, I might be more inclined to fight back.
He wants me to tell him about my childhood. He says he's witnessed every moment, of course, but that he wants to hear me describe it. I refuse, of course, so instead he starts telling me what he saw. At first it's interesting to hear myself being described in such great detail, but I know this whole thing is a trap. He's trying to provoke me, to get me to blurt something out, anything, just so he can enter the final part of my mind, the part that I'm holding back, the part he must reach if he's to get what he wants. Sitting here on the rock and shivering, I look out across the universe and try to hold my thoughts together, but I feel as if I'm starting to drift away from my own state of being.
Finally he tells me that it's time to pour my mind back into my body. And before I can even start to wonder what he means, I realize that I'm back in that dark place, chained and naked, alone and cold.
Remembering that beautiful fortress he showed me, and trying to remember my name.
Damos
The dawn of time
“What is this?” Karran shouts, holding up his right arm to reveal the dark, rotten flesh that drips from his bones. “Why am I changing?”
“You're dying,” I tell him. “Death is a part of life now. It has spread even to us.”
“No!” he says firmly, trying to scoop up his lost skin and press it back onto his arm, even as more falls away. “Death is for those beasts out there on the plains, not for us! We live forever!”
“I am falling apart,” Berios says mournfully, slumped in a chair by the door. “You might not see it from the outside, but beneath my flesh, I am disintegrating.”
“This is what I warned you fro
m the beginning,” I say firmly, striding across the room until I reach the window. Looking out for a moment, I see several of those eight-legged creatures lurking in the evening sun. Over the past few centuries, they have begun to watch the fortress with increasing interest. Sometimes I even think I can detect hunger in their minds, as if they would like to take this place as their own.
“Tell us about your plan,” Morro gasps. “The thirteenth demon. You spoke of it before. Please...”
“It's too late now,” I whisper.
“Tell us,” he stammers.
“It's too late!” I shout, turning to him. “I told you fools that we should start sooner, but none of you listened! We needed to accept the new rules of the universe and adapt to them, but instead you all insisted on sitting here, decaying in a pool of your own decadence. And now look at us! We're dying!”
“No!” several of them shout, but they already sound so weak.
“Is there nothing that can be done?” Karran asks. “Please, Damos, you seem to have understood this situation better than any of us, right from the start. If you can lead us...”
Turning, I see Skellig at the head of the table. He has said nothing for several years now, and I almost feel that he is sulking. Still, he refuses to admit that he was wrong.
“We shall die,” I say finally. “There is nothing to do about that, it cannot be changed.”
“And what is death?” Berios asks. “After we die, what happens next?”
“There is one chance,” I continue. “If we are able to pass through to the void, we might be able to wait there. Eventually some of us might slip back to the worlds of the living, and then the rest can be helped through. Eventually all twelve of us can be restored to life temporarily, but only temporarily.”
“What use is that?” Morro asks. “We are supposed to be immortal.”
“If we can return later,” I tell him, “once those other species are established, we can pick the strongest of them and create the thirteenth demon from a union of our two forms. That thirteenth demon can then go on, once we original twelve are dead, and allow our species to prosper again.”
“Heresy,” Karran murmurs weakly, with barely even energy to sound offended.
“I have seen visions,” I continue, “flashes of images in my dreams. I have seen a future where some of the other species are strong and powerful, and in particular I have seen one figure... I cannot even describe it, but this figure stands stronger than the rest of its species. It has sharp teeth, and eyes that speak of great power, and a keen mind. I believe we can trust the fates to deliver that creature to us one day, when we return from the void. If we return from the void.”
“There must be another way,” Skellig growls. “We cannot die!”
“I doubt your opinion on the matter will change anything,” I tell him, “or mine for that matter. All I can promise you is that if the end does come, I have a plan. And if there is a chance to put that plan into action, I shall not hesitate to seek the birth of the thirteenth demon. I even have a name for the creature that shall carry it for us. This name came to me in my visions, and it means nothing to me at the moment, but I feel certain that one day I shall understand.” I pause for a moment, staring out at the vast plains. “Abby Hart,” I whisper finally. “The creatures name is Abby Hart. I do not know how or why it is linked to us, but the fates decree that this is how things shall transpire.”
After that, the others fall into silence. For the next few million years, I remain at the window, watching as the other creature grow and change. Finally, late one afternoon, I turn and see that the other demons have fallen to dust, and then I look down at my own hands and see nothing but bones held together by a few scraps of skin. My last thought, as I slip into darkness, is that one day I shall return.
One day, the thirteenth demon shall rise from our ashes.
Abby Hart
Today
I have no idea how much time passes, but eventually one morning I wake up unchained on a warm stone floor, and when I open my eyes I find that a warm sunrise is flooding the garden with light. I sit up, dazed and confused, and as I look around I realize that I seem to have been moved to a new place.
A beautiful place.
“Breakfast?” a voice asks.
Turning, I see Damos sitting at a wooden table, pouring tea.
Damos.
That's his name. He's told me often enough, but...
What's my name?
Getting to my feet, I find that I've been dressed in a gray gown. Not my usual style, but I guess it's better than hanging naked from a set of chains. When I start making my way over to the table, I find that there's no pain anywhere in my body. Either the pain has simply been taken away, or I was unconscious for long enough to heal. In fact, I actually feel remarkably calm and steady, although that one lingering question remains.
What's my name?
“So here's the thing,” Damos explains, smiling at me with a face that looks so very human. “I figured I should try to recreate something that would make you feel more comfortable. I'm extending an olive branch, I'm...” He pauses, as if he's struggling to find the right word. “Well, I just wanted to show you that I care.” He turns and shields his eyes a little as he looks toward the sunrise. “Do you know what that is?”
Nice try.
I don't say anything.
“It's not just any sunrise,” he continues. “It's actually the very first sunrise in all of creation. I thought you'd like to see it, so I recreated it. This is the sunrise that brought the first warmth, and that led to the explosion of life.” He turns to me. “Fun, huh? I know that temporal creatures such as yourselves get very caught up in concepts of time and movement, so I felt this might be something you'd enjoy. If you want more, I could take you to the other extreme later, to the very last sunrise. I suspect, though, that you might find that to be rather sad. There is music there, though. Music is the last thing to die.”
What's my name? I want to ask him, but I don't dare.
“We've been doing this for a long time,” he says after a moment. “I've started to keep track of time, and it seems that if we look at things in a linear manner, you and I have been engaged in this discussion for approximately ten years. Maybe a little more. And I think I've started to get to know you quite well, maybe I've even come to enjoy spending time with you.” He stares at me for a moment. “So for your sake, I'm returning you to a state of existence that you understand. I won't tip your mind out of your body again, I won't try to make you understand my way of being. We'll play in your realm of existence from now on. Is that a deal?”
What's my name? I'm trying not to panic, but I need to know my name.
“I just want a child,” he says calmly. “Without a child, without the grail of the thirteenth demon, my race is doomed. We've clawed our way back from the void, but we can't last, not like this. I don't think you understand the nature of the demon struggle. We have had to adapt to a whole new way of seeing the universe. For so long, we stood outside of time, we disdained the very idea of time as an insult, but now here we are, moving amongst the rest of you. Death's arm is so long, it reached even us. We've given up, we've surrendered, we've decided to join the rest of you. And now we just need one thing to make our return complete.”
I almost open my mouth to reply, but not quite.
“Our child,” he continues, “will be the summation of two great races. Demons and vampires will come together to form something new, something unique in the history of existence. Doesn't that interest you? I am the greatest member of my species, the strongest, and I believe you are at least one of the greatest of yours. Think about our child, think about the new possibilities that shall be brought forth. We don't have to be enemies, we can work together and create something wonderful.” He pauses, as if he's waiting for me to agree. “Vampires and demons have reached the end of their respective lines,” he adds finally. “The same is true of all species. It's time for something new to emerge from t
he ashes. I had visions long ago, I saw you. I heard your name echoing back through the ages.”
I do have a name, then. If I can just remember it, maybe I can work out what I should do next, how I can get the hell out of here.
“Don't you have anything to ask me?” he says with a faint smile. “So much effort has been put into this project, I understand if you're a little overwhelmed and -”
I open my mouth to tell him to shut up, but I catch myself just in time.
“What's that?” he asks with a faint smile.
I shake my head.
Leaning back, he seems to be enjoying just watching me, as if he thinks that I'm wriggling and squirming in his gaze. I know there's no way I can get out of here, no escape, but that doesn't mean I have to give him what he wants. Maybe he'll surrender in the end and accept that he's failed, or maybe he'll just keep on for the rest of eternity, but either way...
Suddenly my mind empties, and then slowly new thoughts start to flood through.
What if Damos is right?
What if I'm holding back for no reason?
What if I could just give him what he wants, and everyone would be happy?
For a moment, just a fraction of a second, I allow myself to imagine the possibility. I see myself with a child, a little girl, and I realize that we're both smiling. My father always resisted change, he fought to maintain the status quo, and he failed. What if I'm just making the same mistake? Damos doesn't seem like a monster, even if his methods have been somewhat cruel, and it's clear that he's genuinely trying to bridge the gap between our two species. I feel as if my thoughts, which for so long have been opposed to the demons, are slowly being turned around and pushed in another direction.