by Darren Shan
From one of the strands hang the severed heads of Mum, Dad and Gret.
I can’t hold back the scream, but Dervish anticipates this. He slides behind me and clamps both hands over my mouth. I howl into the flesh of his palms, wild, sobbing, reaching for the heads, while at the same time trying to back away from them.
“They aren’t real, Grubbs,” Dervish grunts, struggling to contain me. “They’re illusions. Let your fear go and they’ll vanish.”
I thrash more wildly in response. Can’t think straight. The heads seem to be growing. Eyes huge, filled with sadness and pain. Mum’s lips move silently. Gret sticks her tongue out at me—it’s alive with maggots.
“They’re testing you!” Dervish growls, fingers tightening over my lips. My neck’s strained almost to snapping point. “If they can drive you insane, I’ll have nobody to protect me from Artery and Vein!”
The names of the demons penetrate. Fighting the terror, I stare at the faces of my parents and sister, and spot minor mistakes—Dad’s nose bends to the wrong side, Gret’s hair shouldn’t be that long, Mum’s eyebrows are too thick.
I stop shaking. Lower my hands. Dervish releases me, but stays close, ready to gag me if I start screaming again.
“How do I make them go away?” I moan.
“Show you’re not afraid,” Dervish says. “Look at them without flinching.”
“It’s hard.”
“I know. For me too. But you can do it, Grubbs. You have to.”
Deep breaths. Exerting control. I lift my eyes and train them on the three heads dangling in front of me. Their features twist. Mum and Gret hiss at me hatefully. I don’t look away.
Under the strength of my gaze, the heads disintegrate, melting like the candles. The web vibrates. The air bubbles. The molten, waxy flesh of the heads rises, twisting, forming itself into three new shapes. A crocodile-headed dog. A murderous baby. And their master—Lord Loss.
“It begins,” Dervish sighs, and steps forward to confront the demons.
THE BATTLE
Dervish stops at the place where the floor gives way to webs, spreads his arms and shouts something unintelligible. Blue flames crackle from the tips of his fingers. He brings his hands together, then touches a thick strand of web. Blue fire runs up the thread to where it connects with another. Like lightning it streaks from strand to strand, arcing ever closer to Lord Loss and his familiars. Lord Loss shows no sign of fear. When the blue flame reaches him, it sizzles and hisses around him, but he only smiles, waves a hand, and the flame sputters out.
Lord Loss stretches his arms above his head. As he does, six other arms unfold from around his body, three on either side. No fingers, just mangled lumps of flesh at the ends. The demon master grips two strands, one with either set of hands, and climbs towards us like a grotesque spider. Vein and Artery follow close behind their master, Vein yapping, Artery snapping his teeth.
Studying the demons with terror. So many details I’d forgotten. The tiny mouths in Artery’s palms, the fact that he doesn’t have a tongue in any mouth, the writhing cockroaches on his head, the fierceness of the flames burning in his empty eye sockets. Vein’s tiny cruel eyes, her long leathery snout, bits of flesh caught between her teeth, the sleekness of her canine coat, female hands instead of paws. And Lord Loss—red skin stained with blood which oozes from hundreds and thousands of ragged cracks, his strange dark red eyes, and the hole where his heart should be, filled with writhing, hissing snakes.
The demons come to the end of the web and hesitate, swaying on a thin strand like evil vultures on a vine. Dervish stands beneath them, cool as a chunk of ice, hands pressed together.
“Hello, Dervish,” Lord Loss says, his voice even sadder than I remembered. “It is good to see you again, my doomed friend.”
“Good to see you also,” Dervish replies tightly. Vein snaps at him, trying to frighten him, but Dervish only sniffs with disinterest.
“And my younger friend, poor Grubitsch Grady.” Lord Loss sighs, subjecting me to his eerie red gaze. “Your sorrow is still strong. So sweet.” His face wrinkles and blood seeps from cracks on both cheeks. He licks the blood from his flesh with an inhumanly long tongue, then extends a hand. “Come to me, Grubitsch. Let me feed on your pain. Misery should be celebrated, not endured. In my world you will be an emperor of suffering. Be mine, Grubitsch. Turn your back on this insane challenge and accept your true destiny.”
I find myself sneering, and without meaning to, I draw myself up straight, glare openly at the demon lord, and snap, “Stick it up your crack, you warped son of a mutant bitch!”
Lord Loss’s face drops. Vein and Artery gibber furiously. Dervish laughs.
“You will pay for that insult,” Lord Loss snarls, eyes glowing, blood flowing.
“Only if we lose,” Dervish chuckles. “You can’t touch him if we win.”
“Oh, but Dervish, you won’t win,” Lord Loss says, his voice reverberating with gloominess. “I wish there was hope—you remind me of Bartholomew Garadex, a most rare human. But you must face facts—this night you die. The boy is weak, unfit for such a challenge.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Dervish warns me. “He’s trying to make you think you’re lost before you start.”
“I know what he’s up to—it won’t work,” I grunt. But inside I’m not so cocky. There’s such sadness in the demon’s voice and eyes. Is it true? Are we destined to lose?
“One final chance, Grubitsch,” Lord Loss whispers. “Give yourself to me now and you can avoid the terror and agony. Your death will not be quick, but it will be pleasurable. Your mother, at the end, wished she had accepted my offer. She begged to serve me, but it was too late.”
“I don’t believe you,” I say evenly. “Mum would never have begged a piece of scum like you for anything—even her life!”
Lord Loss’s eyes narrow. “A second insult,” he murmurs. “You shall not make a third.” He faces Dervish. “I tire of these vain human posterings. I came to play chess. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Who will take to the boards with me?”
“I will.”
Lord Loss lays a hand over his mouth to cover a small smile. “The boy is to fight Vein and Artery? I am astonished. I assumed Grubitsch was a chess maverick who would pit his wits against mine. But to throw him into combat with my savage familiars…”
“Grubbs will be fine,” Dervish says, but his voice doesn’t ring with confidence.
“So be it,” Lord Loss sighs. “I would have rather fought a noble contest, but if you are to play into our hands, there is nothing for it but to sweep to a swift victory and make a quick end of you.”
Lord Loss lowers himself off of the web and hovers just in front of Dervish, the jagged strips of flesh at the ends of his legs never touching the ground. Six of his arms fold around his ribs, leaving the upper pair free. Blood drips from his body and sizzles when it hits the stones of the floor.
Dervish steps aside and points to the chess boards. Lord Loss drifts towards them, lips splitting into the closest he can get to a genuinely warm smile. He circles the tables, running his fingers over some of the chess pieces. On the web, Vein and Artery snap and spit, scratching impatiently at the silky strands, hungry for battle and blood.
“I hope you prove more worthy an opponent than your brother, Dervish,” Lord Loss says spitefully. “He was on the back foot from the fourth move. It was quite embarrassing, the ease with which he succumbed. I think, deep down, he secretly wished to lose—just as Grubitsch does.”
“Shut up!” I yell, taking an angry step towards him, hands clenched into fists.
“Easy, Grubbs,” Dervish mutters. “He’s trying to goad you. Ignore his rubbish. Clear your mind. Focus on the fight.”
“Wise advice,” Lord Loss nods. “But Grubitsch is unable to heed it. He is full of fire and fury—like his mother. Her failures proved to be your father’s downfall. He might have fared better had he not been so worried about her, jus
t as Dervish is worried about you. What will you say to your uncle when you fail him, Grubitsch? How will you apologise for—”
“If this continues,” Dervish interrupts softly, “the game’s off.” Lord Loss stares at him archly. “I’m not bluffing. Let it be a fair contest, me against you, Grubbs against your slaves, or there’ll be no contest at all.”
“You would sacrifice the wretched Billy Spleen so cheaply?” Lord Loss smirks.
“If I have to,” Dervish says, and his face is stone.
Lord Loss studies my uncle in troubled silence, then shrugs and sits on the side of the chess boards behind the black pieces. “Very well. We shall dispense with the pleasantries. Take your place, Dervish Grady, and face your finish.”
Dervish walks across to me. Grips my shoulders. Stares hard into my eyes. “You know what you have to do,” he says. “Fight hard and dirty—to the death.”
“Piece of cake,” I grin weakly. “Good luck.”
“We make our own luck tonight,” he says in reply. He releases me and marches to the chess boards. Sits, takes a breath, then without any formalities reaches forward, grips a pawn on the middle board and moves it forward.
Immediately, Vein and Artery leap from the web and zone in on me, screeching, snarling, the stench of death thick in the air about them.
* * * * *
No time to check Lord Loss’s response to Dervish’s opening move. I toss myself wildly to the left. Vein shoots overhead, crocodile jaws snapping together on thin air, human fingers wriggling.
Artery lands on my back. His left hand grabs my neck. Teeth bite into my flesh. I howl and roll over, seeking to squash the hell-child. He leaps free before I complete the move, chuckling darkly.
In the cage, Bill-E roars and shakes the bars, sensing the threat of the demons even in his beastlike form.
Vein attacks again, bounding across the floor. My right hand snakes out. Fingers open. An axe jumps into my palm from the pile of weapons several metres away. I sit up and throw. It arcs towards Vein. Bounces hard off her snout. Only a scratch, but the wound makes her pause.
I rise without using the muscles in my legs. Look down—I’m hovering in the air! Close my mind to the impossibility of the situation. Extend both hands. An axe flies into my left, a short sword into my right. I look for the demons. They’re huddled side by side, glaring at me.
“Come and get it, creeps!” I grunt, twirling the axe like a baton.
“A clever manoeuvre,” Lord Loss notes, clapping drily. “Did you teach him that one, Dervish?”
“Never mind the commentary,” Dervish growls. “It’s your move.”
My eyes dart to the boards. Incredibly, dozens of moves have been made in the few seconds since the game began. Play is at an advanced stage on all five sets.
Artery attacks while I’m distracted. Faster than my eye can follow, he crosses the room, jumps, drags down hard on my legs. I kick at him, but he scrabbles up above my knees. The teeth in his hands sink into both my thighs. I scream. Artery laughs. Vein yaps excitedly. Bill-E butts the bars of his cage with his head and tries to bite through them.
I collapse to the floor. Artery’s shaken loose by the jolt. I kick him backwards. He barrels into a pile of charred books, scattering them, squealing viciously.
Vein’s on me before I can get up. Her teeth clamp around my outstretched left leg. She bites through my shinbone. Rips her head left and right. Flesh and bone tear. My foot and ankle fly across the room. Blood pumps from the lower part of my left leg—agony!
Vein and Artery scramble to the wound. Immerse their faces in the spray of blood. Gulp it down. Push each other out of the way, hungry for the taste of me.
Shaking—going into shock—eyes rolling—room spinning—numb to the pain—watching the demons feed—defeated—dying.
“Use your magic!” Dervish screams. My eyes half-focus. He’s standing, face ashen. “Magic!” he bellows again, as Lord Loss grins and takes one of Dervish’s queens with a bishop.
Staring at the demons—their faces red with my blood—imagining their next attack—the torment—spurred into action.
I’m still holding the axe. Summoning all my strength, I lash out with it and bury it dead in the middle of Vein’s hard, elongated head. The demon falls away, choking. Her strength deserts her. She falls in a heap. I’ve killed her!
I almost shout aloud with glee, until I spot Artery climbing on top of Vein. He pulls the axe out and pushes the edges of the wound together. Blood glows. The wound knots itself closed. Vein gets to her feet, shaken, but very much alive.
My heart sinks—then leaps. Dervish’s cry makes sense now. If the demons can use magic to repair their wounds, so can I! While Vein’s still recovering, I point at my severed foot on the other side of the room and will it back into place. For a second nothing happens. Then it vanishes and reappears at the end of my leg. Flesh, bone and sinews meld. The pain is worse than when it was bitten off. But it works! Within seconds I have my foot back, though it’s sore as hell.
I don’t test my weight on the foot. Instead, I calmly spread my arms and imagine myself airborne. With slow grace, I rise. Tucking both legs up behind me, I face the demons, then stab at them with my sword.
Artery bats my sword away. Vein jumps into the air and snaps for my legs, but I’m too high. I laugh at the demons, then slash at them again. They scatter, Vein to my left, Artery to my right.
Bloodlust. Sensing victory. I chase after Artery. Hack at him with the sword—miss by bare centimetres.
Hack again—closer. He races from me, wailing, tiny limbs waving in an almost comical manner. Throws himself to the floor in desperation. I have him! Hurling myself forward, I take careful aim with my sword, bring it screaming down, and…
…hit the strands of web at the boundary of the cellar!
Sharp resistance, like hitting a steel bar. Bones crack. Sword drops. But worse—I stick! The strands of web are coated with a gluey substance. It clings to my arms, body, legs. I’m a fly stuck to flypaper. Struggling. Trapped. Helpless.
Artery and Vein gather below me. Their faces split into evil leers. The teeth in Artery’s hands gnash dreadfully. Vein’s eyes appear beadier than ever. She grips the web with her human hands. Crawls towards me. Artery not far behind.
Thrashing—tearing at the web—trying to bite through the strand nearest my face. I call upon my magical abilities—wish myself off of the web—it doesn’t work! Blind panic—the demons closing in—here comes the kill!
A CHANGE OF PLAN
Vein creeps closer. Artery slithers next to his demonic sister. Both growling softly. My cries die away to a terrified whimper. Watching, sickly fascinated, accepting my doom.
“No!” Dervish roars, and he’s suddenly floating above the demons. Grabs each by the scruff of the neck and hurls them across the width of the cellar, where they crash into webs on the opposite side. He reaches down, grabs my arms and rips me free of the sticky strands. Presses his fingers into my back where the bones broke. A warm surge of power—the bones knit together.
“This is unpardonable, Dervish,” Lord Loss mutters from his place at the chess boards. “To abandon our game while it’s in progress…” He tuts disapprovingly. “You have broken the rules of our agreement. I am now free to summon as many of my familiars as I wish and set them loose upon you and the boys.”
“Wait!” Dervish roars as Lord Loss rises. “I’ll return to the game!”
“Too late,” Lord Loss sighs. “Besides, what would be the point? Grubitsch is out of his depth. Let us put an end to this sham. You have disappointed me, Dervish, but there will be other Gradys and other matches.” Lord Loss extends five of his eight arms, picks up Dervish’s kings from each board and starts to crush them.
“What if Grubbs plays you?” Dervish shouts.
Lord Loss pauses. “That was not our deal.”
“We’ll make a new deal,” Dervish hisses. “The game continues where I left off. Grubbs assumes my position. I
pit myself against your beasts.”
“Why should I agree to that?” Lord Loss asks. “I have already won.”
“No,” Dervish disagrees. “We may have forfeited the game—but you haven’t won. You can take our lives now, quickly, or you can prolong the agony and savour Grubbs’s desperation and sorrow as he loses to you.”
Lord Loss’s eyes light up at the mention of desperation and sorrow, but he hesitates before replying. “What if he doesn’t lose?” he finally murmurs. “I will have sacrificed the pleasures of a certain victory for the humiliation of defeat.”
“It’s a gamble,” Dervish agrees, “but Grubbs is a poor player. Our chances are slim. Imagine the satisfaction you’ll extract as Grubbs slowly and painfully comes to realise he can’t win.”
“You make it sound almost irresistible.” Lord Loss smiles thinly. “But what does the boy think?”
Dervish looks questioningly at me. I shake my head uncertainly. “I just want it over with,” I sob. “We’re going to lose anyway—why drag it out?”
“As long as there’s life, there’s hope,” Dervish replies quietly. “And it’s not just yourself you’d be playing for—it’s me and Billy too. Will you throw away our lives without a fight?”
I stare at my uncle’s cold expression, then at the howling Bill-E in his cage. Wearily, I nod. “I’ll try,” I mumble. “If Lord Loss agrees to it, so will I.”
Dervish’s head whips round and he glares at Lord Loss. “Well?” he barks. “Can you match this child’s courage, or will you flee with the easy victory?”
Lord Loss rolls the kings around in the stubby layers of flesh at the ends of his arms, considering the proposal. Then, with a smile, he replaces them on the boards. “Come,” he says, gesturing to the seat which Dervish vacated.
Gliding to the floor. Dervish sets me down. Pain flares in my left foot. I ignore it. Hobble forward. Gaze at the five boards, the ranks of white and black pieces, then into the demon master’s cunning eyes.