by Darren Shan
“What about the others?” I cry.
“We can’t help them.”
“But . . .” I stare at her. Although my plan was to flee by myself, now that she’s voiced it, I don’t want to. I don’t care much about the aloof Beranabus, but Sharmila has been a true friend. She tried to stop Cadaver from stealing Art. We should help her, free her, take her with us.
“I’m going,” Nadia snarls. “You do what you like.” And, releasing my hand, she ducks through the window, disappearing in an instant.
I hesitate, torn between escape and nobility. Then a demon catches sight of me and slithers across. It has a vulture’s head. There are bits of Raz’s brains dripping from its beak.
Something within me snaps. Cowardice triumphs. And without any shame, I turn my back on the demons — and Beranabus and Sharmila — and dive through the window after Nadia.
ADRIFT
ABUSY city street. Nadia’s lying on the pavement. A woman and child are getting to their feet close by. She must have knocked them over when she crossed into this world. Other people are staring at us and the window of red light, mouths open. Cars are slowing as they pass, drivers and passengers captivated by the spectacle.
“Close it!” Nadia yells. I don’t need telling twice. Before the vulture-headed demon can follow us, I dismantle the window.
Nadia’s on her feet. As soon as the red light vanishes, she grabs me and runs. We race through the crowd of startled bystanders. Nobody tries to stop us.
We turn a corner, race down another busy street. Nadia leads me across the road, weaving through traffic, wincing at the blaring horns but otherwise taking no notice of the cars. Another corner, then another. Finally, in a quiet alley, she stops, releases me, squats beside a wall, leans her head against it, stares up at the clear blue sky — and whoops.
“We did it! You’re a genius, Kernel! You got us out!” She looks at me with happy tears in her eyes. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
I smile at Nadia, then frown and look around nervously.
“It’s all right,” Nadia reassures me. “They can’t track us. We’re safe. We’re alive!”
“Raz isn’t,” I note quietly.
Nadia’s smile dims. “That was a shame. I liked Raz.”
“And what about Beranabus and Sharmila?” I ask, guilt setting in. “We ran out. Left them to the demons. We should go back and —”
“No!” Nadia snaps. “No going back.” Her eyes glitter. I take a step backwards — she looks like she’s going to attack. She notices my fear and relaxes. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you. But we’re not going back. We couldn’t do any good if we did.”
“But... the others?”
She shrugs. “Beranabus will probably survive. He’s come through worse. He’ll wriggle free somehow. As for Sharmila.. .” She sighs. “Maybe Beranabus will save her. Maybe not.”
She stands and looks at the sky. Lightly runs a finger across her cheeks, caressing the spots and acne scars. “It’s warm. Must be late spring or summer. Maybe it’s June. That’s my favorite month. It’s when I was born, and when Beranabus took me. I was out walking, a perfect June day, dreaming about my birthday, presents and the future. Looking forward to growing up. I was a plain child, dowdy. But my father said I was an ugly duckling, that I’d turn into a beautiful, glamorous swan one day.
“I was thinking about that — longing for it — when Beranabus spirited me away. Dropped me into the universe of the Demonata. Explained how important I was, all the lives I could save, the good I could do. Offered me no choice. Robbed me of my dreams of a happy future.”
Nadia’s expression darkens. “He shouldn’t have taken me so young. I hadn’t seen enough of the world. If he’d come when I was older, I’d have joined him gladly. But taking me like he did... stealing me like that demon stole your brother... it was wrong. Don’t you agree, Kernel?”
I stare at her uncertainly. Now that she’s mentioned Art, it drives home the fact that I didn’t just run out on Beranabus and Sharmila. I deserted my brother too. Left him in that nightmarish universe. Alone in the hands of Cadaver.
“We have to go back,” I say softly.
Nadia doesn’t hear — or pretends she doesn’t. “I wonder where we are?” she says brightly. “London? New York? Paris? Vienna? The world’s changed so much since I left, I suppose I wouldn’t recognize the cities I visited when I was younger. But there must be parts that are the same. I hope this is —”
“Nadia,” I interrupt. “We have to go back. Find them. Help them if they’re still fighting, link up with them if they’ve escaped.”
“And if they’re dead?” she answers, not looking at me.
“I don’t know. Search for Art by ourselves, I guess.”
She laughs. “You’re brave but stupid, Kernel. You wouldn’t last five minutes in that universe without Beranabus. You’re good at opening windows but not at fighting. What would you do if you caught up with Cadaver? He’d rip you to shreds without breaking a sweat.”
“But...Art...I have to —”
“Your brother’s dead,” Nadia growls. “Cadaver probably killed him on that first world and fed his body to one of the trees.”
“No,” I moan. “He’s alive. I sense it.”
“You want to sense it,” she corrects me. “You want him to be alive, so you’ve convinced yourself he is. But think about it. Why wouldn’t Cadaver kill him? He was on the run. He didn’t have time to play nursemaid to a squalling baby.”
A kid on a skateboard turns into the alley and whizzes past us. Nadia stares at the skateboard, head cocked, probably in much the same way that I stared when I first saw a demon.
“I’ve missed so much,” she mutters. “The world’s moved on while I’ve been fighting. So many places to see. So many things to do. Is it true you can fly anywhere now, in aeroplanes?”
“Nadia,” I try again, “Beranabus needs us. We can’t abandon him.”
“Why not?” she retorts. “You’ve only known him five minutes. He treated you like a slave, the way he treats everyone. What do you owe him? Why throw your life away on his account?”
“I need him to help get Art back. I can’t —”
“Stop talking about your brother like he’s alive!” Nadia shouts. “Let him go. Admit he’s dead. Move on. You can go home — I’ll help find your parents. Forget about the Demonata. Pretend it was a bad dream. That’s what I’m going to do.”
“I can’t,” I say stubbornly. “Art’s alive and I’m going to find him.”
“You’ll go back?” she asks mockingly. “Face the demons? Die like Raz? You didn’t know what you were stepping into when you followed us through the first window. Now you’re better informed. Do you really have the courage to cross universes freely?”
“I have to,” I mutter. “For Art.”
“I don’t think so,” Nadia says coldly. “You ran. The time to fight has passed. You feel guilty because you didn’t stand by Beranabus, and you want to put things right. But if you think it through, you’ll see that’s madness. You don’t want to go back. And you won’t. You’ll stay in this universe, where you’re safe. Like me.”
I stare at the ground, tears creeping down my cheeks. Everything she says is true. I am afraid. I don’t want to go back. I’m a coward.
But despite all my weaknesses, I have to return. Because I love Art more than I fear demons.
“Come with me,” Nadia says, taking my hands. She’s smiling, looking prettier than normal, hair shining in the sun. “I’ll take you back to your parents if you want, or you can stay with me. I’ll be a sister to you. We can travel the world together. I’ll use my gift to make money. We’ll stay in the best hotels, sail the seas on mighty liners, fly through the sky on aeroplanes. Anything you want, I’ll give you. It will be a precious life. No worries, no fears, no demons.”
I shake my head slowly. “I can’t,” I croak. “Art’s my brother. I can’t abandon him.”
Nadia sc
owls and releases my hands. “Have it your own way, fool! But when you’re dying beneath some hideous demon, watching it reel your guts out like a cat playing with a ball of string, remember what I offered you.”
She turns on her heel and marches away.
“Nadia!” I cry. “Where are you going?”
“There,” she says, waving a hand at the world in general.
“Don’t leave me,” I wail. “I don’t know where we are. You have to help me find Beranabus. You can go after that, but...”
She turns a corner and storms out of sight, leaving me in the alley. Alone.
I’m sitting on the dusty ground. Hands on my knees. Head on my hands. Crying. It’s been maybe an hour since Nadia left. I kept thinking she’d come back, that she’d decide she couldn’t desert me. But there’s been no sign of her. And the more I think about what she said, and her face when she said it, the less chance I think there is of her returning. Nadia hated her life with Beranabus. She went along with him because she had no other choice. But then I gave her a way out and she leapt at it.
Eventually, when the tears stop, I get to my feet and look around. I feel hungry now that I’m back in my own world, but there’s no time to eat. I have to find Beranabus — if he’s still alive.
There are dozens of patches of light hanging in the air around me, but none are pulsing. I wipe my cheeks clean, then focus. “Beranabus,” I mutter, thinking about his face, his shabby suit, the flower in the button hole, his clean hands. I repeat his name, over and over, waiting for the lights to pulse.
Nothing happens. The lights maintain their steady glow.
I go cold — maybe that means he’s dead!
“Art,” I say quickly, fixing my brother’s features in my mind. I concentrate on his name and face, but the lights don’t change.
My stomach’s tight with fear. Are they both dead, slaughtered by demons? They must be. Otherwise why wouldn’t the lights pulse and lead me to them?
I have another thought, just before panic sets in completely. I visualize Cadaver’s horrible features and say the demon’s name, time and time again. Nothing.
The fear drains out of me as I realize the lights work differently here. They don’t pulse when I think of a person or place. The magician and my brother might still be alive.
Relief floods through me — then drains almost immediately. Because if the lights don’t work the same way here, how will I find Beranabus or Art, or open a window to the universe of the Demonata?
I can’t get back.
PUNKS
WANDERING the streets of the city. It’s been a long time since I was in a place this crowded and noisy. I missed city life when I was living in Paskinston. I remembered only the good things — movies, swimming pools, parks, school. I forgot about the traffic, the towering buildings that cut out the sunlight, the isolation.
I was always with Mom or Dad when I lived in the city, or with a teacher or babysitter. But one day, on a school trip to a museum, I got lost. It was an hour before I was found. I remember now what that felt like, how scary it was, how I believed I’d be lost forever. I was sure I’d have to sleep on a park bench or underneath a bridge like a homeless person. It was terrifying.
This is scarier. At least then I knew what city I was in, but this could be anywhere. None of the street names or buildings are familiar. I think about asking an adult where I am, but I don’t want to appear out of place. If I go up to a stranger and they learn that I’m lost, that I don’t even know what city I’m in, they’ll take me to the police. And while part of me would love that — the police would arrange for me to be sent home — I can’t go down that route. If the police take me into custody, I won’t be free to search for Art.
I haven’t given up on my brother. The lights might not work the same way as in that other universe, but I can still see them. There must be a way for me to start the patches pulsing. I just have to figure it out.
While I’m puzzling over the problem, I continue walking. I listen carefully to people talking. Most speak the same language as me, but the accents aren’t familiar. I wish again that I could ask where I am, but it isn’t possible.
I’m growing hungrier with every step. I’ve drunk plenty of water from drinking fountains, but I’ve had nothing to eat. I pass a stall selling hot dogs and pretzels. I root through my pockets but I don’t have any money. I think about trying to steal a pretzel, but if the owner catches me it could mean big trouble.
Stomach growling, tears tickling the corners of my eyes, I walk on.
My watch is working again. I’ve been here at least two hours, wandering without direction. The sun is starting to set. It will be night soon. Where will I sleep?
Time to sit and think this through. I find a bench in a small park. I’m shivering. Though it’s not especially cold, I’m only wearing a T-shirt, no sweater. There aren’t many people in the park. One woman who passes looks at me closely. I think she’s going to stop and ask if I’m OK. I’m not sure what to say if she does. I was never a good liar. But then she carries on, deciding I’m not her business.
I try to lay all my problems out nice and simply, so I can think them through one at a time. My main priority is getting back to the Demonata’s universe. But that will have to wait. Things I have to settle first — Where am I? Where will I sleep tonight? How will I find food?
Take them one at a time. Location. I can’t find out by asking passersby, but there must be alternatives. A library, perhaps, except I don’t know where to find one. But now that I set my mind to it calmly, I see there are other ways. I can look in a telephone book at a pay phone. Or go to a newsstand and read the titles of the local papers.
I manage a small chuckle when I realize how simple it is to place myself. That gives me confidence, and I turn to the other problems more positively. I can dig through garbage cans for food. Not very nice, but I’m sure I’ll scavenge enough to keep myself from starving.
Finding somewhere to sleep is harder. Hide in a library or museum? Or maybe in a shop that sells furniture? Keep low while they’re closing, then come out when it’s deserted, sleep on a couch or bed.
Not a bad plan, except all the shops have already closed. I might be able to do it tomorrow, but it won’t work now. Maybe I’ll have to sleep in the open tonight, over a street grill or on a park bench. Collect newspapers to wrap around myself. Hope I’m not discovered by a policeman. Look for somewhere better in the morning.
As I’m thinking that over, I catch sight of a pulsing light out of the corner of my left eye. My head jerks towards it. This isn’t the first time it’s happened. I’ve been reacting to every flashing light in shops or on street corners, hopes rising, thinking for a second that they’re one of the magical pulsing patches.
I scowl at myself, feeling stupid for falling for the same trick for the hundredth time. I start to look away, telling myself to behave more sensibly next time, when it strikes me —
There’s no shop or street corner where the flash came from.
I look left again, but slowly, not letting myself get excited. It’s probably somebody on a bicycle, or a bird with a strip of foil in its beak, or...
But it isn’t. It’s a yellow patch of triangular light, drifting through the park, attached to nothing.
I’m on my feet immediately, thoughts of food and shelter forgotten, hurrying after the light. I catch up to it, reach for it like a baby reaching for its pacifier, then stop. There’s no point interfering with it, since there are no other pulsing patches for me to add it to. Better to follow, see where it leads, and hope that luck is with me.
The light passes through the bars at the rear of the park. I clamber over them, almost spearing myself on the spikes at the top, ripping the back of my T-shirt. I start to follow it across the road behind the park, but the driver of an approaching car blows his horn, warning me back. I wait impatiently for him to pass, then hurry after the light. Luckily it’s not moving very fast, so I soon catch up.
I w
alk along beside the patch until it passes through the wall of a building. I stare at the wall for a moment, lost, then look backwards, judging the path of the light. It’s come at an angled line from the park. If it continues in that direction it should come out again at some point to my right on the other side of the building.
I race around the building to the back. Advance to the point where I think the light will emerge, then stand, clenching my hands into fists, waiting, counting the seconds off inside my head. Five...eight...ten...fifteen... twenty-one...
The light reappears on the count of twenty-three, farther to my right than I’d calculated. Grinning, I jog over, catch up with it, walk with it to the wall of another building, then quickly make my way to the rear, to wait for it again.
I eventually lose the light at a collection of warehouses. There’s no way for me to get to the rear before the light reemerges. But that’s not a concern. Because I’ve spotted other lights, floating through the air from different directions, all angling towards the same spot several hundred yards ahead of me. I can’t see where they meet, because of the buildings, but I have a good sense of where it is, so I weave through the streets. There’s no need to bother with the lights anymore, just head for the point of intersection.
Ten minutes later I round a corner and see a handful of lights penetrating the walls and roof of a large building in the middle of a row of restaurants, bars and shops. There are people in front of the building, waiting to get in. As I edge closer I see that they’re mostly teenagers dressed in leather jackets, ripped jeans, fishnet stockings. Many have spiky, colored hair, and chains dangling from their ears, noses and lips. They look quite frightening. Not as frightening as demons, but pretty scary as humans go.
I hear music coming from inside the building, and realize this is a concert. It’s harsh, ugly music, loud and unpleasant, very fast. It sets my ears ringing, even from this far outside.
I stop close to the crowd. There are a couple of men at the front door, dressed differently. They’re the ones in charge, taking money from the people who want to go to the concert, letting in a few at a time. As I watch, the doormen turn away a girl and three boys. A fight develops. I hear the girl shouting that they’re over eighteen. One of the doormen laughs and tells them to produce an ID or leave.
This isn’t going to be easy. If they won’t let those four in, they certainly won’t let in someone like me. I’ll have to try a bluff, say that my dad — maybe an older brother would be better — is in there. It probably won’t work, but I’ve got to give it a try.
I listen to the teenagers chatting about the concert, gathering as much info as I can. They call it a punk concert. There are several bands on the bill. Names like The Clamps, Thunderballs, The Damnable. When I’m