by Darren Shan
“Tell me about these lights,” Beranabus says. “When you first noticed them and realized you could manipulate them.”
“I’ve seen the lights all my life, but it was only on the needle of rock that I realized I could.. .” A memory kicks in and I come to a surprised stop. “No, that’s not right. A year ago, I put lights together in my bedroom, stepped through the window and went missing for a few days.” I can’t believe I hadn’t remembered that until now.
“Missing?” Beranabus sniffs.
“Yes. Nobody knew where I was. I don’t know either. I can’t remember what happened when I stepped through the window.”
“Nothing at all?” Beranabus presses.
I think hard, but even though I now know that I must have crossed into this universe, my mind’s a total blank. There’s something about the window itself, before I stepped through, but the memory evades me. I shake my head.
Sharmila has been listening closely. She looks at Beranabus, troubled. “Does it not strike you as strange that of all the places Cadaver could have emerged, he turned up in that village? The home of the one boy in all the world who has a power which in some ways is greater than even your own?”
“You think he went there for Kernel?” Beranabus frowns.
“Perhaps. When we turned up, maybe he thought we were protecting Kernel. So he took the brother instead, gambling that Kernel would chase after him.”
“A trap,” Beranabus says, nodding slowly. “Aye, it could be. Maybe we should forget about Cadaver and —”
“No!” I hiss. “Art’s the only thing in this universe I’m interested in. I don’t care if it’s a trap — I’m going to keep looking for him. Whether you help me or not. I know how now. I’ll use a window to find him.”
Beranabus smiles icily. “You could have done that as soon as you returned. But you didn’t. Instead you searched for me. Because you need me to snatch your brother back. You can find him, but you can’t fight for him. You want me to risk everything I have — for you. Do you expect me to do that without asking for anything in return?”
I glower at the magician, but what he says is true. I am asking him to risk his life to help me.
“I thought you had to search for this Cadaver demon anyway,” Dervish says. “He’s the one who can lead you to the weapon, right?”
“Perhaps not directly,” Beranabus says. “Nadia’s vision wasn’t clear. She said the demon thief could guide us. But perhaps he’s already done that.”
“You think part of the Kah-Gash is here?” Sharmila asks, dubiously looking around at the yellowish demon world.
“No. I think Cadaver was only meant to provide us with the means of finding it.” He fixes his gaze on me. “You’re the true guide. Cadaver’s role was to lead us to you. Now that we know about your talent, we can use it to search for the Kah-Gash. That’s the deal — help me locate the fragments, then I’ll help you get your brother back.”
I stare at Beranabus nervously. It sounds like a fair trade, but I’m wary. Afraid of ending up like Nadia, a tool in the magician’s hands, a slave. Nobody knows how many pieces the Kah-Gash was broken up into. It could be a handful, or it could be a thousand.
“Help me rescue Art now,” I barter. “Then I’ll search for the weapon.”
Beranabus shakes his head. “The Kah-Gash first. You won’t have any reason to help me once you have your brother back. You could open a window and slip away from me any time you wished.”
I think it over carefully, not wanting to tie myself to a deal which might backfire on me later. I’ve never had to bargain like this before. It’s strange. Confusing. Frightening. But I force myself to concentrate and think all the options through.
“One piece,” I say quietly. “I’ll help you search for it. Then we go after Cadaver and Art. That’s fair.”
Beranabus scowls and starts to argue.
“He is right,” Sharmila heads him off. “That is an equal exchange. An eye for an eye, so to speak.”
Beranabus makes a grumbling sound. “It’s not equal. That’s like me saying I’ll help you rescue one of your brother’s legs. You want the whole boy — well, I want the whole Kah-Gash.”
“But I could spend the rest of my life looking for all the pieces!” I cry.
Beranabus rolls his eyes. “Very well,” he says reluctantly. “Find the first piece. Then we rescue your brother. Then you help me find the rest of it.”
“No!” Sharmila snaps. “You can’t ask that of him.”
“I can and I did,” Beranabus retorts without taking his eyes off me. “Of course I can’t hold you to that promise, but I’ll trust you to keep your word if you give it.”
I hesitate. My gaze slides to Nadia, still sitting with her back to us, crying. To spend years here like she has, fighting demons, never return home....Do I love Art that much? Would I sacrifice all that I have to save him?
“It may not take as long as you think,” Beranabus says. “There might only be a few pieces of the Kah-Gash. Maybe we’ll find them within weeks or months. Once I have the weapon, I’ll be able to destroy the demon universe. You can go home. Lead a normal, happy, human life.”
I nod slowly, deciding. “OK.” Beranabus breaks into a smile. “But you’ve got to agree to help me even if I can’t find the Kah-Gash.”
The magician’s smile vanishes. “Why wouldn’t you be able to find it?”
“I don’t know if I can search for objects. Maybe I can only open windows to people or demons. If I can find it, I will. But if I search and I can’t, I want your word that you’ll still help me.”
Beranabus considers that. “Very well.”
Solemnly, seriously, we shake on the deal. And I try hard not to think about the legend of Faust.
I move apart from the others. Study the patches of light, all sorts of sizes, shapes and colors. I try not to dwell on the deal. I have to put Art’s needs before my own, then hope for the best later.
And if you have to spend the rest of your life in servitude to Beranabus? a voice says within me.
I can’t worry about that now. What will be, will be. Art first — after the Kah-Gash.
I’m not sure how to look for it, since I’ve no idea what exactly it is that I’m searching for. I run the name through my thoughts, studying the lights, hoping some will pulse. But they don’t.
I clear my thoughts and try another approach. I think about an object — a tree that I used to climb when I lived in the city. Dozens of lights pulse. I let the image of the tree fade, wait for the lights to return to normal, then experiment again, this time trying to think of an object I’m not familiar with.
It’s not as easy as it sounds. I think of famous buildings, cities, Mount Everest. But while I haven’t been to those places, I have an image of each inside my head, and when that image pops up, the lights start pulsing.
“Tell me the names of some strange places or things that I won’t know about,” I say to Beranabus and the others.
“Why?” Beranabus asks.
“Just do it. Please. It’s important.”
“The Taj Mahal,” Sharmila says.
“No. I’ve seen pictures of that.”
“My bedroom,” Dervish says with a laugh.
“No. Something specific, with a unique name.”
There’s a pause, then Beranabus says softly, “Newgrange.”
“Perfect!” I haven’t the slightest idea what that means. Focusing on the word, I stare at the lights and murmur, “Newgrange, Newgrange, Newgrange.” I keep repeating it, mind blank of images, having only the name to work with.
Several lights pulse, then others, and more drift towards me from points farther away. I slot the patches together. When a deep blue window forms, I ask Beranabus to step through with me.
“Why are we going to Newgrange?” he asks.
“I’m testing my powers.”
As soon as we emerge, I know we’re back in the real world. It’s a grey, wet day. Ahead of us stands a strange st
ructure, a long white brick wall with a doorway in it, a grass mound for a roof.
“Is that Newgrange?” I ask.
“Aye,” Beranabus says, a soft smile on his lips. “It was built by the Old Creatures, beings of amazing magic. They kept this world safe from the Demonata for thousands of years. When they moved on, their power passed with them, leaving us open to attacks. I resented their passing when I was younger, but now I think they had to leave, that humans have a destiny of their own, which they must follow by themselves.”
I don’t really understand that, but it doesn’t matter. What I know is that I can use the lights to search for objects that I’m not familiar with. Armed with that knowledge, I retreat through the window, to search once again for the mysterious Kah-Gash.
I spend several minutes running the word through mythoughts, but the lights don’t respond. Not even a shimmer.
“Does the weapon have another name?” I ask Beranabus.
“Possibly. Demons speak many languages. But most referto it as the Kah-Gash.
”I try for maybe fifteen minutes, then give up. “It’s nogood. I can’t find it. Either it doesn’t exist or I’m not able tolocate it without more information.
”Beranabus’s face darkens. “If you’re trying to play me fora fool...”
“I’m not. The lights aren’t pulsing. I’ve tried my hardest,but nothing’s happening.”
“Maybe you need to give it more time,” Beranabus suggests.
“That’s not how it worked with the other windows. If Icould find your weapon, the lights would have started pulsing by now. I can’t do it.”
Beranabus mutters something to himself and tugs irritably at his beard.
Sharmila is looking at me, head cocked, frowning. She starts to say something, then changes her mind and instead says, “We must search for Cadaver again.”
“To rescue the child?” Beranabus sneers.
“Yes. But also to question the demon. Perhaps he knows another word for the Kah-Gash, which will enable Kernel to locate it.”
“Or maybe Nadia was wrong,” Beranabus says, glaring at his assistant’s back. “Maybe this is a wild goose chase.”
Sharmila shrugs. “Perhaps. But if we are to continue, it seems logical to make Cadaver our target.”
Beranabus thinks it over, then pins his gaze on me. “Look at me directly and tell me you can’t find the Kah-Gash.”
I don’t like him calling me a liar, but I let our eyes meet and say, “I searched for it honestly. I couldn’t find it.” I hold his gaze, trying not to blink.
Beranabus scowls. “Very well. We’ll pick up Cadaver’s trail and hope he hasn’t laid any more traps for us. Go ahead then, boy. Find him.”
“First you have to promise to help me rescue Art.”
“Don’t worry,” Beranabus huffs. “We’ll do all we can to save your little brother. If he’s still alive.” He spits spitefully. “Which I very much doubt.”
HELL-CHILD
I DON’T search for Cadaver directly, figuring that wherever Art is, the demon must be too. (Unless he killed Art and dumped his body as he darted between worlds, says an inner voice that I ignore.) So I search for my brother instead. To my surprise it takes me a few seconds to bring up an image of him. His face is hazy in my mind and I have to concentrate hard to make it clear. For some odd reason, I think of the orange marbles which he was playing with before he was stolen. He dropped them on his way to the window and I picked them up. Put them in my pocket. I reach in and touch them now, and when I do that, I click on an image of Art in Sally’s house, that night in the bedroom when he was holding them up in front of his eyes.
As soon as I recall that, a number of lights around me pulse. Many are orange, reminding me of the orange patch I saw over Art’s head that time. Maybe individual colors are associated with certain people. I must take more notice of the colors the next time I’m looking for someone, to check.
I haven’t reached out to the lights yet. I find myself reluctant to start. Afraid, almost. Because now, finally, I have to face the facts. If Art’s dead, I’ll know as soon as I step through the window. I’ve been living in hope, trying to convince myself that he’s alive and well. But once I put these pulsing lights together, hope will vanish, leaving me with the truth. Which is fine if Cadaver hasn’t killed him. But if he has...
I steel myself against the possible awfulness of the discovery. I can’t falter now, when I’m so close. If I’d known about my gift earlier, I could have gone after him from that first demon world. But this has been a learning process. I’ve found out things about myself and this strange universe, bit by bit. Time to put my learning to good use — and pray it’s not too late.
I let out a deep breath. Scratch an itchy spot on my head. Start to slot the lights into place.
The window is orange when it forms, which is no great surprise. I step back from it, nervous, thinking about how angry Beranabus will be if Art isn’t with Cadaver.
The magician steps up to the window and sniffs at it. Looks back at us. There’s a glint to his eyes which, looking around, I see reflected in Shark’s. The eager glint of men who enjoy fighting. Sharmila looks scared. Dervish seems more confused than anything else. He’s put his leather jacket on and is stroking one of his spiky clumps of hair for comfort.
“Nadia,” Beranabus calls. She’s still sitting with her back to us, though her shoulders are no longer heaving. At the call, she stands and turns. Her pale, pockmarked face is composed, like a mask. Her eyes are red from crying but there are no fresh tears. She walks towards us at an even pace, stops close to Beranabus, looks at him without interest.
“I want you to concentrate,” Beranabus says. “See if you can gain an insight that might let us know what’s on the other side.”
Nadia smiles coldly. “I’m not feeling very insightful,” she says, then steps through the window before Beranabus can respond.
Beranabus curses, but the slightest look of guilt flits across his face. He shrugs it off and nods sharply at Sharmila. “You next. I’ll come after you. Then the boy, Dervish and Shark. Is everybody ready?”
“Ready for what?” Dervish asks.
Beranabus chuckles. “Hell, most likely.”
Webs everywhere. Strand after strand, some the thickness of several trees placed together, others as fine as a length of thread. A gloomy, silvery, moonless sky, dotted with giant meteorlike demons. Nothing but blackness when I look down through the many layers of web. I wriggle my bare toes over the moist, sticky fabric of the strand. It’s like standing on cotton candy.
There’s a demon close to us, a nightmarish beast. He has the body of a child but the head of an adult. Pale green skin. No hair, but a wiglike cluster of lice scuttle around his scalp, feeding on his flesh, digging holes through to his brain. No eyes — instead, a ball of fire burns in either socket. A large mouth full of sharp teeth, no tongue. Two smaller mouths set in his palms, one in either hand.
The demon hisses when he sees us, turns and races away at a great speed, crisscrossing the network of webs, leaping from one level to another. Nobody gives chase, not even Shark. We’ve just spotted the castle that the demon is running towards.
A castle of webs, set amidst a cluster of extra thick strands. It looks like a medieval castle, except ten times bigger. Taller than any skyscraper I’ve ever seen, wider than a couple of street blocks in the city where I used to live. Towers and turrets galore. Several huge drawbridges. Everything spun out of webs. Glistening and forboding, even from this distance.
There’s a moat around the castle. The hell-child leaps across it with ease, but instead of waiting for the drawbridge to be lowered, he scales the outside wall of the castle like a spider. Disappears through a narrow window.
“This is bad,” Beranabus says.
“You know this place?” Sharmila asks.
“It’s the home of a demon master called Lord Loss.”
“I like his style,” Shark grunts, then looks around. “So,
where’s the demon we’re meant to be chasing?”
“Where else?” Beranabus points to the castle.
“How do you know?” Dervish asks.
“No demon can set foot here without Lord Loss’s permission,” Beranabus says. “Only his familiars and those he chooses to shelter are welcome. Cadaver isn’t one of his slaves, so I’m guessing he asked for sanctuary and it was granted — otherwise he would have fled from here already.”
“Company’s coming,” Nadia says, smirking at us crookedly.
I spot scores of demons wriggling through the windows of the castle and over the tops of turrets. A couple of the drawbridges are lowered and more of the monsters advance over them.
Dervish glances back at the orange window, still open behind us. He looks at Beranabus questioningly.
“No,” the magician says after a moment’s hesitation. “We can’t defeat Lord Loss on his own territory. But maybe we can bargain with him.”
“Bargain with a demon?” Sharmila frowns.
“He’s not like other demons. He prefers suffering to execution — he feeds on the misery of the living rather than the bodies of the dead. He won’t kill us swiftly. If we can find some way to amuse him... give him something that Cadaver can’t ... maybe he’ll turn the thief over to us. And let us go.”
“You really believe that?” Sharmila asks.
“No,” Beranabus chuckles dryly. “But it’s the only hope we have.”