by Darren Shan
“Have there been any nuclear retaliations?” Beranabus asks calmly.
“Nuclear?” Kernel and I shout at the same time.
“The politicians have resorted to nuclear assaults before,” Beranabus says. “They say they don’t build such bombs to use, but when the pressure builds, the fingers will come down on the buttons. Only a fool thinks otherwise.”
“No nuclear strikes yet,” Sharmila says. “There has been talk, and if not for the Disciples it might have happened already. But our voice has been heard at last and officials are knocking each other over in their haste to bring us on board as advisors. We said a nuclear attack would not stop the demons, that the tunnel is of magical origin and can only be closed magically. They did not like that. Some wanted to chance a nuclear blast anyway. But for the moment they are holding off. At least they were…”
This is crazy. We’re standing here, talking about nuclear bombs being dropped on Carcery Vale. It’s insane.
“We have to do something!” I shout. Beranabus, Sharmila and Kernel look at me, eyebrows raised. “We have to… to…”
Beranabus smiles cynically when I run out of words. “I wish you’d been able to finish. If you had a plan, I’d have loved to hear it. But of course you don’t. I don’t either. But let’s hear Sharmila out and, who knows, maybe one will fall together.” He turns his attention back to the Indian woman. “What have the Disciples been doing aside from advising?”
“Meera Flame led a small team in when we first realised what was happening,” Sharmila says.
“Meera,” I moan. “Is she…”
Sharmila sighs. “Most of us thought it was too soon. We did not know enough about what was going on. The general consensus was to wait a day or two, gather more information, then hit them hard. Meera rejected that plan. Dervish was her friend. She thought he might still be alive. She asked for volunteers. A few rallied to her side. They went in. Nobody has heard from them since.”
“And the rest?” Beranabus asks as I reel from the news of another friend’s almost certain death. “What did you do once you’d sized up the situation?”
“Not much more than Meera,” Sharmila says miserably. “We pinpointed the opening to the cave, and that was where we struck, but the demons had it guarded. Eight of our best went in, led by Shark, in the light of midday, hoping to take them by surprise. But they were ready and waiting. Two got out alive—Shark was one of them. The others…”
“That’s bad,” Beranabus grunts. “It would have been better if you’d waited for me. I know you couldn’t,” he says quickly as Sharmila starts to protest. “You did what would normally be the right thing. It’s usually best to strike early. But as you’ve observed, this is a most unique attack. The demons have been marshalled by a leader who understands the ways of human warfare. Such a leader wouldn’t make the mistake of leaving the cave unguarded. In this case…” He stops short of openly criticising Sharmila and the other Disciples.
“It has been damage limitation since then,” Sharmila says coldly, concluding her report. “We have done what we can to contain them. Ordered the grounding of all aircraft, the pulling out or destruction of boats. Established a watch to stop the demons spreading any further. But we are fighting a losing battle. Within a couple of weeks—if it has not already happened—the exodus will begin. Once they have complete control of the country, they will move on to the next. And the next. We will defy them. Shoot down the planes and boats they commandeer, as well as those demons capable of flight. Send soldiers to stall them so we are not rushing around madly all the time. But there are already far too many for us to deal with, and more crossing every day. Unless we can stop them at the source…”
Sharmila falls silent. Beranabus is chewing his right thumbnail, frowning.
“We could attack from their side,” Kernel suggests. “Cross universes, find the other end of the tunnel, hit them there.”
“They’ll be expecting that,” Beranabus mumbles. “They’ll have left a guard. Also, every demon within a million-world radius will be rushing to the tunnel, eager to squeeze through and get their claws on some humans before they’re all gone. We wouldn’t have a hope. We’re too late to do anything from that side. We stop them at Carcery Vale or nowhere.”
“Then Carcery Vale it is,” Kernel says and stands. “When do we go?”
“Yes,” I say, taking my place beside Kernel. “When?” I expect him to say something cutting, but he only looks at me calmly, then nods approvingly.
“Soon,” Beranabus mutters. “We’ll catch some sleep first, then—”
“Sleep?” I explode. “We can’t waste time—”
“Let me make this as clear as I can,” Beranabus cuts in. “Mankind is in its death throes. The war has come and gone—we lost. We’re going to give it one last try, hit Carcery Vale with all we have, go down fighting. But go down we certainly will, bar a miracle. And while I believe in miracles, I don’t think we’re going to experience one this time. When we go to the Vale, we go to die. And once we’re dead, the rest of humanity will soon follow.
“But we have to pretend that we do stand a chance. For the sake of our sanity, we must act like we believe we can pull this off. That means going in fresh and feisty, at our physical and mental best. So I’m going to sleep, fully aware that it will probably be my last ever snooze—bar the never-ending slumber—but desperately hoping it will make the blindest bit of difference. I highly recommend that the rest of you follow suit.”
With that he stumbles to the rug which serves as his bed, lies down, closes his eyes, mutters a spell and falls asleep.
“He is right,” Sharmila says softly. She looks at me and I see nothing except negativity in her eyes. “I hoped he would be able to offer hope, that he knew some secret way to stop this. But I could not believe it. We should sleep. Once we start, there might not be any later opportunities for rest.”
“I’ll find a blanket for you,” Kernel says.
“My thanks.”
While Kernel searches for a spare rug, Sharmila studies me. “What I said earlier about your uncle… I did not mean it. I just wanted someone to blame. I am sure it was not his fault. There are some things you cannot stop.”
“No worries,” I mutter, though part of me doesn’t agree with her. Dervish had been hoodwinked by Juni. He was probably frantic with worry about me. His mind was elsewhere. He wouldn’t have been focusing, doing his job. Maybe part of this is his fault—and mine—for not seeing through Juni Swan in the first place.
Kernel prepares a bed for Sharmila. She lies down as soon as it’s ready and repeats Beranabus’s sleeping spell.
Her face goes smooth and I can tell she’s having pleasant dreams.
“How about you?” Kernel asks. “Want me to teach you the spell?”
“I don’t think so. It doesn’t feel right, sleeping at a time like this.”
Kernel shrugs. “If you don’t, you’ll only brood about what’s happened and what lies ahead.”
I think about that, then sigh wearily. “OK. Tell me.” Moments later magic sends me under and I tumble gratefully into the arms of a deliberately dreamless sleep.
VALKYRIES
In Sharmila’s personal jet, streaking through the skies. I’d think that was cool any other time, but I’m hard to impress right now. Versatile Sharmila is the pilot. There are six other seats. Beranabus has taken up the rear pair and is making a series of phone calls—we could have used a window to get to Carcery Vale and saved some time, but he wanted to talk with the Disciples first and manoeuvre them into position. Kernel is on the middle left, staring down at the clouds. I’m on the front right, flicking through newspapers.
Tales of mayhem and terror. Splash photos of demons and their victims. An array of monsters never dreamt of by most people until now. Long, sprawling lists of victims. First-hand accounts from survivors. Speculation and theories—where are the Demonata from? What are their motives? How can we kill them?
That’s the m
ost burning question—how to destroy the invaders. Mankind’s never had to face an unstoppable enemy before. There have been countless movies and books about such encounters, and the aliens or monsters have always had a weak spot, an Achilles’ heel which some clean-cut champion has discovered and exploited in the nick of time. But that’s not the case here. The reports are from the early days of the invasion and there’s a hint of optimism in them. But even in these columns I can sense desperation as the realisation seeps in—we can’t kill them!
There are a few reports about the Disciples, but they’re vague and patchy. Rumours of a group of experts with knowledge and experience of demons, but no mention of magic or names.
Some of the older papers still have ordinary sections, sports coverage and gossip columns, the usual padding. An attempt to maintain normality. But the later editions focus solely on the Demonata. Nothing else, just page after page of horror and catastrophe.
I stop reading after half an hour. I’ve had enough. Humanity has hit a brick wall. We’re facing our end, like the dinosaurs millions of years before us. The only difference is we’ve got journalists on hand to document every blow and setback, cataloguing our rapid, painful downfall in vibrant, vicious detail. Personally, I think the dinosaurs had the better deal. When it comes to impending, unavoidable extinction, ignorance is bliss.
We set down hours later on a private landing strip outside a small town close to the border where humans and demons are locked in battle. There are several other planes and helicopters parked at the sides of the strip. A large, grey, square building occupies one corner. We head for it once we’ve disembarked, Beranabus leading the way with the stride of a confident, commanding general.
Inside the building are eleven men and women, a mix of races. A couple aren’t much older than me, a few look to be in their seventies or eighties, while the others fall into the thirty-to-sixty bracket. Most are neatly dressed, though one or two could compete with Beranabus in the scruffiness stakes. They all look tired and drained.
“Hail to the chief!” a large man in military fatigues shouts ironically, saluting Beranabus as he enters. There are letters tattooed on his knuckles and a shark’s head covers the flesh between knuckles and thumb. Like when Sharmila turned up at the cave, I know his face and name, even though we’ve never really met.
“Shark?” Beranabus scowls. “Sharmila thought you were dead.”
“When you broke contact, I feared the worst,” Sharmila says, shuffling around Beranabus.
“Couldn’t wait for the Messiah forever,” Shark grunts. “There was fighting to be done. I was going to summon you back, but I knew you wouldn’t return without our regal leader.”
“I had to wait,” Sharmila says stiffly. “Beranabus is our best hope.”
Shark snorts. “Hope? What’s that? I heard about it once, in a fairy tale.”
“Be quiet,” Beranabus says softly and the larger man obeys, though he eyes Beranabus accusingly, as though he blames the magician for our dire predicament. “Any more to join us?” Beranabus asks, addressing the question to the room in general.
“Two, maybe three,” a small, dark-skinned woman answers.
“Then I’ll start.” Beranabus looks around, meeting everybody’s gaze in turn. “I won’t offer false hope. We’re in deep trouble and I doubt we’ll be able to wade out. But the war isn’t lost yet. If we can destroy the tunnel linking the two universes, the demons will be sucked back to their own realm.”
There are excited mutterings. “Are you sure?” Shark asks suspiciously. “You’re not just saying that to rally our spirits?”
“Have I ever lied to any of you?” Beranabus retorts sharply. He waits a moment. When nobody responds, he continues. “One of Lord Loss’s human allies killed a person in the cave, to prime the tunnel opening. The killer later joined with the rock where the mouth of the tunnel was originally situated—he or she has become a living part of the opening. If we dismantle the tunnel walls, the killer dies, the demons get sucked back to their own universe and all will be well with the world.”
“How do we close the tunnel?” Sharmila asks.
“There’s a lodestone set deep within the cave,” Beranabus says. “The demons are using its power. If I can reach it, I know the spells to disable it and rid us of our unwelcome guests. I’ll need somebody to help me inside the cave—Kernel or Grubbs. The rest of you only have to concern yourselves with getting us there.”
“You want us to clear the way for you, even if it costs us our lives,” Shark growls.
“Aye,” Beranabus says. “This is a suicide mission. We’re going to drop into a nest of demons. They’ll be waiting for us, expecting an attack. They’ll outnumber us and many are probably more powerful than we are. Our chances of making it to the lodestone are slim. Even if the boys and I get through, the rest of you are doomed—you’ll need to continue fighting while I cast the spells, to guard our backs. I doubt any of you will survive.”
“That’s a lot to ask,” Shark says icily.
“It’s no more than I ask of myself. Sacrifice opened this tunnel and only sacrifice can close it.” He glances at Kernel and me, hesitates, then pushes on. “For the spell to work, I must kill Kernel or Grubbs. If they both perish along the way, I’ll offer my own life. I think I can make that work. Whatever happens, it’s a death trip for me. I have to get deep inside the tunnel to work the spell. Once it’s finished, I won’t be able to fight my way out. I’m too old and weary.”
Beranabus looks straight at Shark and awaits his response. The big man shrugs thoughtfully and Beranabus addresses the room again. “I don’t think any of us will make it through this day. But if we succeed, humanity will go on.”
“Until another tunnel is opened,” Sharmila notes. “If we all perish, who will protect mankind the next time?”
“That’s not our problem,” Beranabus says. “I believe the universe will spit out more heroes to lead the good fight. But whatever happens, it’s out of our hands. This is what we must do to counter the present threat. Are you with me? If any of you aren’t, say so now and leave the rest of us to get on with it.”
Nobody backs down from the challenge. Most don’t look very happy—who the hell would!—but they accept the magician’s verdict. Seeing this, Beranabus smiles approvingly, then circulates, chatting with the Disciples individually, making sure they’re prepared for the fight, offering advice and strategic tips, raising morale.
Kernel and I are in the middle of the room, looking at each other uncertainly. Beranabus’s announcement that one of us must be sacrificed came out of the blue. Neither of us knows what to say. It’s one thing to go into a fight knowing you’ll probably lose. Quite another to be told that to win, you must offer up your throat to be slit.
Sharmila approaches, smiling thinly. “He did not tell you that you were to be killed?”
“He’s a busy man,” Kernel snaps. “He doesn’t have time to tell us everything.”
Sharmila sighs. “You are loyal. That is good. But are you loyal to the point of death? Will you allow yourself to be slaughtered?” She looks at me. “Will you?”
“We’ll do what we must,” Kernel says fiercely. “We’re not ignorant children. We know our duty. If we have to die, so be it. We’d rather not, but we’ll be killed by the demons anyway if we lose, and probably more painfully and slowly.”
Sharmila tilts her head towards us. “I apologise if I seemed critical. But I had to know the nature of the boys I am to fight and die for. Now I am confident that you will not fail if the opportunity presents itself. Thank you for reassuring me.”
She wanders off to talk with Beranabus. Kernel looks sideways at me. “I normally wouldn’t give another person’s word for them, especially when I’m not sure of it, but it seemed like the right thing to say.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” I reply stiffly. “I won’t let us down.”
“I wish I could believe that.” He doesn’t say it to hurt me. Just speak
ing the truth as he sees it.
“I chickened out in the Demonata’s universe,” I whisper, blushing. “But this is different. I’ll fight. And I’ll die if I have to. I’m not afraid of dying, no more than anybody else in this room.”
“Really?” Kernel’s unconvinced. “If I fall, and you and Beranabus make it to the lodestone, you’ll let him drive a knife through your heart or chop off your head?”
“Without a moment’s hesitation. Not because I’m incredibly brave, but because I’m terribly afraid.” I give a sickly laugh. “If I don’t let him kill me, it would mean fighting to survive in a world overrun by demons. The thought of that scares me more than death.”
Kernel chuckles. “Know something crazy? I believe you.” He offers his hand and I take it. “Good luck, Grubbs.”
“Good luck.”
“May we both die honourably,” he says.
“And take every damn demon down with us,” I add with a twisted grin.
Tooling up. Everybody arms themselves with guns, knives, axes—pretty much anything we can carry.
Demons can’t be killed by regular weapons, but we can invest the blades and bullets with magical powers.
“How many of the Disciples are capable of killing demons?” I ask Kernel, testing short swords for feel and weight.
“In this universe?” He pulls a face. “If it was a normal crossing… Sharmila, Shark, one or two others. But there’s more energy in the air because it’s a tunnel, not a window. Others should be able to tap into that and find the ability to kill. If we’re lucky.”
One more Disciple arrives while we’re readying ourselves. An ancient, tiny woman who walks with the aid of a cane. The sight of her picking up a mace and swinging it over her head makes me smile. A few of the others grin too. But then she mutters a quick spell and a crop of seven-centimetre long blades grow out of the mace head, which glows with magical energy. Nobody doubts her after that.