by Darren Shan
first-rate stage show when I have to.”
“Your standards are slipping,” Beranabus says to Sharmila. “I might have to review the recruiting policy of the Disciples.”
“I’m of a first-rate pedigree, sir,” Kirilli snaps. “Even the best of us can fall prey to the occasional vice.” He tugs the arms of his jacket straight and glares.
“Zahava said Kirilli was an excellent spy,” Sharmila says. “He is very adept at trailing people and hiding from them. The fact that he survived the massacre here is proof of that. The Disciples need spies as much as they need warriors.”
“Precisely,” Kirilli huffs. “There’s a man for every job, as my dear departed father used to say.”
“I bet he worked in sewage,” Dervish says drily.
Kirilli flushes but ignores the jibe. “By the way,” he says stiffly, “I didn’t catch your names.”
Beranabus shrugs. “This is Dervish Grady. That’s Bec. I’m Beranabus.”
Kirilli’s jaw drops and he loses his composure completely.
Beranabus winks at me. “I have that effect on a lot of my idolizing Disciples.”
“Only until we get to know you,” Sharmila mutters, then addresses Kirilli again. “Can you tell us what happened? Swiftly, please — we do not have much time.”
“That’s really Beranabus?” Kirilli says, wide-eyed. “I thought he’d look more like Merlin or Gandalf.”
“He’ll turn you into a hobbit if you don’t start talking,” Dervish growls.
Kirilli blanches, then scowls. “I was tracking a pair of rogue mages,” he says, adjusting his bowtie — I spot a playing card up his sleeve. “They were planning to open a window.”
“Why didn’t you stop them?” Dervish asks.
“They were working for somebody else, taking orders from a superior. I wanted to expose their partner. I felt that was more important than stopping the crossing, although I’d hoped to do that as well.”
“No prizes for guessing who their boss was.” Dervish grimaces. “Ugly cow, disfigured, covered in pus and blood?”
Kirilli nods and shivers. “They were in regular contact, but I couldn’t get a fix on who they were talking to. From what I overheard, it sounded like there were no imminent plans to open the window. They made it sound like they’d be on the boat for months, waiting for an order to act.
“They either knew I was eavesdropping and said that to fool me, or there was a change of plan. Either way, they opened the window earlier today. About twenty demons spat through and set to work on the crew and guests. I managed to shield myself. That’s all I could do. There was no point fighting them — I wouldn’t have stood a chance.” He looks at us appealingly.
“You did all you could,” Sharmila says kindly. “You are a spy, not a warrior. Besides, Disciples never fight when the odds are stacked against them. You have no reason to feel guilty.”
Gratitude sweeps across Kirilli’s face. “I expected the window to close after a few minutes but it stayed open and there was more magic in the air than I’ve ever experienced. The demons went on torturing and slaughtering. They took most of the people below deck. Maybe the sun bothered them and they wanted to do their work in the shade.”
“No,” Beranabus grunts. “Lodestones need blood. They were feeding it.”
“What’s a lodestone?” Kirilli asks, but Beranabus waves at him to continue. “Balint and Zsolt — the mages — remained up top. They did their share of killing but nothing to compare with the demons. Not long before you lot arrived that woman . . . that thing . . . crawled up from below.” He shudders. “I wasn’t sure if she was human or Demonata. I’m still not certain.”
“I doubt if she knows herself anymore,” Beranabus says softly.
“She barked orders at the demons, and they killed the last few survivors,” Kirilli goes on. “Then they retreated through the window and the woman said a spell to close it. Balint and Zsolt were grinning, mightily pleased with themselves, but she turned on them. Melted them into twin pools of bloody goo. Laughed as they screamed for mercy. Told them they were fools to trust the word of a monster. She lay down and wallowed in their juices when they were dead, then went below deck. That’s when I climbed into the lifeboat.”
“Interesting,” Beranabus murmurs. Then he winks at Sharmila. “This definitely stinks of a trap.”
“So we will leave?” Sharmila asks eagerly.
Beranabus chuckles. “I’ve walked into more traps over the centuries than I can remember. The Demonata and their familiars think they’re masters of cunning, but they haven’t got the better of me yet. Let Juni and Lord Loss spring their surprise. I’ll blast a hole in it so big, you could sail this ship through.”
“Are you sure?” Dervish asks uneasily. “Juni was your apprentice. She knows all about you. Maybe you have a weak spot that she plans to exploit.”
Beranabus shrugs. “I love a challenge.”
“I really do not think we should —” Sharmila begins.
“We’ve no choice,” Beranabus snaps. “She’s our only link to the Shadow. It’s a gamble, but this is a time for gambling. I don’t think you understand the stakes. This is the endgame. We don’t have the luxury of caution. If we don’t risk all and find out who the Shadow is and what its plans are, the world will fall.” He waves at the corpses around us. “A world of this, Sharmila. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not,” she mutters.
“Then trust me. We’re precariously balanced, and I might be testing one trap too many, but we can’t play safe. It’s all or nothing now.”
“You truly believe matters are that advanced?” Sharmila asks.
“Aye.” Beranabus’s eyes glitter. “The Disciples have exercised caution over the years because there have always been other battles to fight. But this could be the final battle. Ever. Better to risk all on a desperate gamble than play it safe and hand victory to the Shadow. Aye?”
Sharmila hesitates, then smiles shakily. “Aye. If we fail, at least I will have the pleasure of saying, ‘I told you so.’”
“That’s the spirit,” Beranabus booms and heads for the nearest door. Without any sign of fear he leads us down into the bowels of the ship in search of the vile viper, Juni Swan.
HER MASTER’S VOICE
WE progress in single file, Beranabus leading, Sharmila second, then me and Kirilli, with Dervish bringing up the rear. As we start down the first set of steps, Kirilli whispers, “Care to let me know what’s going on? I caught some of it, but I’m in the dark on a lot of issues.”
“There’s a powerful new demon called the Shadow,” I explain. “We need to find out more about it. Juni — the mutant you saw — possesses information.”
“And all that talk of a trap . . . ?”
“We think Juni or Lord Loss may have lured us here, that they might be trying to trap us. This could all be a setup.”
“The plot thickens,” Kirilli says, trying to sound lighthearted but failing to hide the squeak in his voice. “Any idea what the odds are? I’m a gambling man, so I knew where Beranabus was coming from when I heard him talking about the need to take risks. But I like to have an idea of the odds before I place a bet.”
“We honestly don’t know,” I tell him.
He makes a humming noise. “Let’s say two-to-one. Those are fair odds. I’ve bet on a lot worse in my time.”
He’s trembling. This is a new level for him. The wholesale slaughter on the deck shook him up and now he’s being asked to disregard Disciple protocol — run when the odds are against you — and fight to a very probable death.
“You don’t need to come with us,” I murmur. “We left someone up top to keep our escape route open. You could wait with him.”
Kirilli smiles nervously. “I’d love to, but I’ve always dreamed of standing beside the legendary Beranabus in battle. I was never this scared in my dreams, but if I back out now I won’t be able to forgive myself.”
We start down a long corrid
or. There are bodies lying in tattered, bloodied bundles at regular intervals. I wonder how many people a ship this size holds. Three thousand? Four? I’ve never heard the death screams of thousands of people. The noise must have been horrible.
“Have you fought before?” I ask Kirilli, to distract myself.
“Not really,” he says. “As Sharmila said, I’m a spy. Excellent at sniffing out intrigue and foiling the well-laid plans of villainous rogues like Zsolt and Balint. But when it comes to the dirty business of killing, I’m more a stabber in the back than a face-to-face man. Never saw anything wrong with striking an opponent from behind if they’re a nasty piece of work.”
“I doubt if Juni will turn her back on you. The best thing is to trust in your magic and try not to think too much. If you’re attacked, use your instincts. You’ll find yourself doing things you never thought possible.”
“And if my instincts come up short?” Kirilli asks.
Dervish snorts behind us. “That’ll be a good time to panic.”
Kirilli frowns over his shoulder at Dervish. “It’s rude to eavesdrop.”
“I’m a rude kind of guy,” Dervish retorts. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Hang back when we get there, fire off the occasional bolt of energy — at our opponents, not us — and try not to get in anyone’s way.”
“I can tell you’re a true leader of men,” Kirilli says sarcastically.
“Quiet,” Beranabus snarls. “I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Sorry, boss,” Dervish says, then sticks his right hand under his left armpit and makes a farting noise. We all giggle, even Beranabus. It’s not unnatural to laugh in the face of death. It’s not an act of bravery either. You do it because you might never have the chance to laugh again.
We descend slowly, exploring each level, wary of booby traps. But there are no secret windows, no army of demons, no humans packing weapons.
We pass a mound of bodies, mostly uniformed crew. They armed themselves with axes, knives, flares — whatever they could find — and tried to block off the corridor with bulky pieces of furniture. The demons ripped through them. They never stood a chance.
The lights suddenly snap off. Kirilli gasps and grabs my hand. I get images of his previous limited encounters with demons, his stage act, the tricks he performs. He wanted to be a famous magician when he was young. Practiced hard, but didn’t have the style. Good enough for clubs and cruises, but he never had a real crack at the big time. He was pleased when he joined the Disciples, proud of his talent. But he’d have much rather succeeded in showbiz, where the worst he’d have ever had to face was being booed offstage.
Emergency lights flicker on. There’s a harsh metallic ripping sound somewhere far below. It echoes through the ship. The floor shudders, then steadies.
“Turbulence?” Beranabus asks.
“You only get that on planes,” Dervish says. “It could be the roll of the sea, but I doubt it. Have you noticed the lack of movement? We haven’t tilted since we came aboard. The ship’s been steady, held in place by magic.”
“I knew there was something strange,” Kirilli growls. “I get terrible seasickness. I have to take pills to keep my food down. But I’ve been feeling fine for the last few hours. I thought I’d found my sea legs at last.”
The ripping noise comes again, louder than before. It reminds me of a noise Bill-E heard in a film about the Titanic, when the iceberg sliced through the hull and split it open.
“Any idea what’s going on down there?” Dervish asks.
Beranabus shrugs. “We’ll soon find out.”
We press on.
Eventually we hit the bottom of the ship. Except there isn’t much left of it. When we step into the cavernous hold, we instantly see what the noises were. The lowest layer has been peeled away. A huge hole has been gouged out of the hull, eighty or a hundred feet wide, stretching far ahead of us, through the middle of the hold and up the walls at the sides. Water surrounds the gap, held back by a field of magic. If that field was to suddenly collapse, the sea would flood through and the ship would sink swiftly.
There are bodies all over the place, but a huge pile is stacked in the center of the floorless hold, resting in a heap on the invisible barrier. It looks like they’re floating on air.
The tip of a large stone juts through the covering of corpses. Red streaks of blood line the cracks and indentations of the ancient stone. The bodies around it are pale and shriveled. The stone has drunk from them. I recall the stone in the cave where I was imprisoned, when I sacrificed Drust, how it sucked his blood. These stones of magic are alive in some way. The Old Creatures filled them with a power we no longer understand.
A demon stands to attention behind the stone. He has a squat, leathery body and a green head, part human, part canine. A large, surly mouth. Four hairy arms and two long legs. Floppy ears. His white eyes are filled with fear, and he holds himself rigidly, as if standing still against his will.
There’s a grey window of light a few yards from the stone and demon. In front of it, grinning lopsidedly in her warped, pus- and blood-drenched new form, is the monstrous Juni Swan.
“You took your time getting here,” she snarls.
“We stopped for a bite to eat,” Dervish quips. Sharmila is studying the demon. Beranabus is looking at Juni with a mixture of sadness and disgust. Kirilli is just gaping.
“What happened to you?” Beranabus asks quietly.
“Don’t you like my new body?” Juni croons, posing obscenely. “I preferred my old frame, but this is what I’m stuck with. The price of cheating death.”
“How did you survive?” Beranabus presses, the pity in his voice vanishing in an instant. “Dervish killed you. I felt your soul leave. Did Lord Loss have the Board with him? Is that how he pulled off this trick?”
Juni shakes her head smugly. “That’s for me to know and you to guess, old man.” She looks at the rest of us, sneering spitefully. “I told them you’d come. My master said you wouldn’t be so foolish, but I knew you would. You’re arrogant. You never let the threat of a trap put you off. I always knew your ridiculous self-belief would prove your undoing — and so it has.”
Beranabus stares at his ex-assistant, shaken by her hideous appearance and the mad hatred in her expression. “How did it come to this?” he croaks. “Life with me can’t have been worse than what you’re going through now.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Juni says. “You were far worse than Lord Loss. I serve him willingly, by my own choice, but I was a slave to you, with no say over what happened to me.”
“But —” Beranabus starts.
“No!” Juni barks. “You’re not worth arguing with.” She glares at the rest of us. “You can choose too. You don’t have to serve this fool or perish with him. Join me now and live. Stay loyal to him and die.”
Dervish laughs. “You’ve lost your marbles. Nadia Moore would have known that wasn’t an option. Even Juni Swan could have seen that it’s a no-brainer. But you’ve become something warped and inhuman. Do you honestly believe any of us would throw in our lot with a thing as twisted and insane as you?”
Juni’s lips tremble and the skin around her cheeks cracks in a series of tiny channels. “How dare you speak to me like that!”
“You were my love,” Dervish says. “I’ll speak to you any way I like.”
She starts to curse him, then restrains herself and giggles. “We’ll be lovers again, darling Dervish. I’ll keep you alive in a body even more wretched than this. I’ll lavish you with torment and pain. You’ll beg me to kill you, every single day for the rest of time, but I won’t.”
“Sounds nasty.” Dervish yawns.
“Um, I don’t know how these things normally work,” Kirilli speaks up, “but shouldn’t we be ripping her into a million pieces instead of trading insults?”
“Don’t knock the insults,” Dervish growls. “This is the best part of a fight. If you don’t get the digs in at the beginning, the
re’ll be no time later.”
“Who is this charlatan?” Juni huffs, glaring at Kirilli.
“A Disciple,” Beranabus says. “A friend and assistant, as you once were.”
“Assistant only,” Juni corrects him. “Never a friend.”
“You were Kernel’s friend,” Sharmila says softly. “You saved his life, even after you had turned traitor. Do you hate him too? Will you kill him along with the rest of us if you get the chance?”
“Without blinking,” Juni says coldly. “I warned him not to get in my way again. I might not kill him today — if he has any sense, he’ll slip away when the rest of you are dead — but I’ll catch up with him soon. It’s the end of mankind’s reign. Within a year we’ll cleanse Earth of its human fungus and take the world forward into a new demonic era. Your precious billions are living on borrowed time, Beranabus, but you reckless fools don’t even have that. Which is where Cadaver comes in. . . .” She nods at the demon behind the lodestone.
“Cadaver?” Beranabus frowns.
“He stole the demon that was masquerading as Kernel’s brother,” Sharmila reminds him.
Cadaver whines and strains his neck. He’s not a willing participant in this. He’s a prisoner. When he opens his mouth and speaks, we learn who his captor is.
“Greetings, my brave doomed friends.”
Cadaver’s lips are moving, but the words and accent aren’t the demon’s — they belong to the sentinel of sorrow, Lord Loss.
“A cheap trick,” Beranabus grunts. “Too afraid to face us in person? Reduced to speaking through a puppet?”
“Why not use Cadaver’s mouth?” Lord Loss counters, speaking from his realm in the Demonata’s universe. “I gave it to him. I could have made use of any of my familiars, but I thought this one most fitting. Such a pity Kernel isn’t here. I’m sure Cadaver’s appearance would have revived many fond memories.”
“I have had enough of this,” Sharmila growls. She takes a step forward and raises her hand, taking aim at Cadaver.