Hell's Heroes

by Darren Shan

  “Get stuffed,” I spit, leaving him for Kirilli. Tensing, I crouch, then jump and grab hold of the bottom of the crack. Dragging myself up, I peer into the darkness. I can’t see or hear anything, but Kernel’s warning has unsettled me, and I stand guard as the others climb, not wanting to venture farther without backup.

  When we’re all gathered in the mouth of the tunnel, we advance. It’s hotter than the cave, and even though it’s wide enough for a couple to walk side by side, I keep imagining the walls grinding shut, pulping us to mincemeat. Kirilli and Kernel are nervous too, while Moe and Curly whine unhappily as they trudge along reluctantly.

  Eventually the tunnel opens out into another cave. There’s a lake of calm, clear water covering most of the floor. In the center stands an island of bones, on top of which rests a large, jagged chunk of rock—the lodestone.

  “I’m not a good swimmer,” Kirilli says uncertainly.

  “I doubt if it’s deep,” I say, striding into the water. Even with my hairy legs, it feels cold.

  “Should we undress?” Kirilli asks.

  “Don’t bother.”

  “But if we have to walk around all night in wet clothes…”

  “You’re a mage,” I remind him. “You can dry them off once we get out.”

  “Oh,” he says brightly. “I forget sometimes.” Chuckling, he leads Kernel into the lake. His chuckles turn to yelps when he feels the icy bite of the water, but he presses on. Curly and Moe start to follow. Then Moe splashes Curly. She yelps and splashes him back. Within moments they’re involved in a water fight, rolling around, wrestling and dunking each other, barking like a pair of puppies.

  I reach the island and climb onto the mound of bones. A brittle skull cracks beneath my feet. I almost apologize, but there’s no point. The person this belonged to passed far beyond the need for apologies centuries before I was born.

  Kernel and Kirilli climb out of the lake as I study the rock in the middle of the bones. It’s rectangular, rough around the edges. A skeleton is propped against it, kneeling, its skull resting on the top. I guess these are the remains of someone whose throat was slit over the rock—lodestones need blood to thrive.

  “What’s it like?” Kernel asks.

  “Nothing special. I’ve seen better in the local quarry.” I push the skeleton out of the way and rub my hands together. “Down to business. Beranabus simply broke the lodestone on the ship, right? No spells or magic required, just brute force?”

  “This might be different,” Kernel says. “I think it’s a more powerful stone.”

  “Only one way to find out.” I grab hold of the rock. I’m expecting a shock of energy to shoot through me, but although I can feel the buzz of Old magic in the stone, it doesn’t affect me. I let my fingers wander and find cracks and holds. Then I take a firm grip and strain, trying to snap the rock in two.

  Nothing happens. I release the stone and scowl. “Think you’re tough?” I growl. “You won’t get the better of Grubbs Grady.” I get hold of it again and strain once more.

  “He’s talking to rocks now,” Kernel says.

  “A definite lunatic,” Kirilli purrs.

  I ignore them and brace my muscles. The stone continues to resist. Losing patience, I pick it up, look around, then plow into the water, holding the rock over one shoulder. My legs buckle, and I use magic to steady them. Moe and Curly gape at me as I stagger past. The lodestone weighs me down, even though I’m using magic to support it. A few more seconds and it will drive me under the water. That wouldn’t be the best way to go—pinned beneath a stone to drown.

  With a savage curse, I swing the lodestone around, raise it over my head, then hurl it at the wall of the cave. The rock slams into the wall and shatters. Shards litter the floor, and chunks bounce off and rain down on the underground lake. The werewolves howl at the echoing retorts, and the cave fills with waves of noise. I crawl out of the lake, pick up the larger fragments of the lodestone, and hammer them into the wall or off each other, reducing the rock to dust. This is one stone Bec and Lord Loss won’t be able to use. No tunnel will ever be opened in Carcery Vale again.

  When I’m done, I lean against the wall and look around, panting. Kernel and Kirilli are wading through the lake. Moe and Curly have climbed out and are drip-drying. The island of bones looks far less menacing now. I think about dismantling it and scattering the bones. I don’t have time to bury them all, but I could hide them in the lake, grant the dead at least that small measure of privacy.

  As I’m deciding whether or not to set to work on the island, I hear footsteps in the tunnel. I spring away from the wall and land in the lake close to where Kernel and Kirilli were about to step out. “Wait!” I hiss, holding up a hand for silence. I listen closely, hoping I was wrong about the footsteps. But a few seconds later I hear them again. Two sets, edging closer slowly, cautiously.

  “Company?” Kernel whispers.

  “Trouble, most likely.” I bark softly at Moe and Curly. Obeying my command, they move to the mouth of the tunnel and take up position, one on either side.

  “Shall I douse the light?” Kirilli asks. He’s trembling. It might be from the chill of the water, though I suspect fear plays more of a part.

  “No,” I tell him. “When I give the order, intensify it and direct the rays at whatever comes through. If they have eyes, maybe we can blind them.”

  “You’re good at that,” Kernel mutters sarcastically.

  We fall silent. The footsteps draw closer. Then I see shadows. Two separate figures, one tall and skinny, the other shorter but broad. The tall, skinny one might be the shadow of Lord Loss, but the other can’t be Bec. Not unless she’s chosen a new form, like Nadia Moore did when she joined the demon master.

  Their feet come into view. I see boots and the hems of trousers. They both look human. Soldiers perhaps, sent to assassinate us? Mages? Spelunkers, like the young Kirilli Kovacs? Some chance of that!

  The pair pause, perhaps sensing trouble. Then the broader one shrugs and steps forward quickly, the taller one taking a hasty stride to keep up. Curly and Moe howl and leap, claws extended.

  “No!” I roar, and they wheel away instantly.

  The two humans were raising guns in self-defense, but now they lower them and stare at us.

  “Who is it?” Kernel hisses, fingers twitching. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s me,” the broad one says.

  “And me,” the lankier one adds.

  “Shark?” Kernel gasps.

  “Yeah,” the soldier grunts.

  “And Timas Brauss,” the computer whiz says.

  Shark looks at the werewolves, the island of bones, the shattered lodestone, and the three of us shivering in the water. Then he grins. “So,” he drawls, “have you missed me?”

  SHARK ATTACK

  THE last time I saw Shark was just after we escaped from Wolf Island. He’d been mauled by werewolves. Any normal person would have died from his wounds, but Shark is as stubborn as they come. He refused to roll over and die.

  He’s still in bad shape. His left ear was bitten off and a raw-looking stump remains. He can see out of his right eye, but only just—the flesh around it is scarred and pink. All four fingers on his left hand were severed, leaving the thumb looking lonely and strange. The thumb and index finger on his right hand are gone too. And he’s wearing a brace from his waist to just beneath his chest.

  “You look like hell,” I roar happily, picking him up and swinging him around.

  “Mind the ribs,” he wheezes, and I immediately put him down. He scowls at me. “You don’t look any great shakes yourself. Haven’t you heard of razors?”

  “No time for shaving. I’ve been too busy killing demons.”

  “That’s no excuse,” he says, then winks with his good eye.

  “Hi,” Kernel says, shuffling forward and extending a hand.

  “How you doing, kid?” Shark asks with unusual kindness, ignoring the hand and giving Kernel a hug.

 
“Surviving,” Kernel sighs.

  “I’m Kirilli Kovacs,” the stage magician introduces himself, straightening like a soldier presenting himself to an officer. “I’m a Disciple.”

  “That so?” Shark grunts, running a bemused eye over Kirilli’s costume.

  “Nobody has to bother with me,” Timas says cheerily. “I don’t matter.”

  “Of course you do,” I chuckle, moving forward to shake the hand of the tall, thin, red-haired computer genius.

  “I was eagerly looking forward to seeing you again,” Timas says. “Primarily, I must admit, because of the chance to renew my relationship with the delicious Meera Flame. But I understand she has been taken from us.”

  “About a month ago,” I nod, my smile fading as I recall her grisly death. “She took Juni Swan with her. Blew her into a thousand lumpy pieces.”

  “Some small comfort,” Timas says. “I have been seeking solace in the world of computers, but since Meera I find it hard to summon up the same enthusiasm as before. I think I might be in mourning. Or perhaps it’s just that I changed my diet recently.”

  Kirilli raises an eyebrow. I smile and whirl my finger around beside my head.

  “What have you two been up to?” I ask. “It feels like years since Wolf Island.”

  “I’ve been recovering,” Shark says gruffly, hating to admit to his wounds.

  “And I’ve been playing nursemaid,” says Timas.

  “I wanted to join up with you earlier, but my doctor wouldn’t let me,” Shark complains. “She kept me sedated. I’d be there still if she hadn’t been eaten by a demon. Her replacement was less concerned about me.”

  “Are you sure you’re OK?” I frown. “I don’t want you dropping dead on us.”

  “Some hope! I’ve been in a couple of fights already. I wanted to limber up before I tracked you down, make sure everything was in working order. As dozens of dead demons would tell you if they could talk—it is.”

  “How do you fight with so few fingers?” Kirilli asks.

  Shark bends his thumb. “I gouge.” Kirilli laughs, but stops when he realizes Shark is serious. The ex-soldier glares at Kirilli, then turns his gaze to me. “What about you? Anything new I need to know?”

  “Yeah. But let’s go back to the other cave. The skulls and bones are giving me the creeps.”

  “You’re getting soft,” Shark snorts, but follows me up the tunnel to the cave of natural wonders.

  As we settle down close to the waterfall, we fill Shark in on all that’s been going on. Kirilli tells him what happened on the ship of zombies. Kernel gives him a quick rundown of his trip across the universe with the Old Creatures. Then I describe our battle with Death and the demons. When I get to the bit about Kernel’s eyes, Shark interrupts forcefully.

  “What the hell do you mean?” he shouts, staring from me to Kernel. “I assumed some demon blinded him. Are you seriously telling me you did it?”

  “I had to,” I mutter. “He was going to leave.”

  “So what?” Shark roars. “He’s one of us. You never turn on your own.”

  “See?” Kernel smiles tightly. “That’s what I’ve been saying for a month.”

  “You don’t understand.” I hate the way Shark looks at me. “We’re up against Death. We can’t beat it by normal means. Our only hope is the Kah-Gash. If Kernel leaves, we’re finished. I need him to help me find Bec and unleash the full power of the weapon.”

  “I keep telling you there’s no hope,” Kernel snaps. “I won’t waste my time fighting a losing battle. Even if you could convince me to stay, we’d still need Bec, but now that she’s turned against us…”

  “What are you talking about?” Shark frowns.

  I tell him about my dream, how I saw Bec ally herself with Lord Loss. “She vowed to lead him to the lodestones. With the help of those, he can create tunnels between universes.”

  “What makes you think it wasn’t just a nightmare?” Shark asks.

  “This was no ordinary dream. It’s real, trust me.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Shark says grimly. “You three are the Kah-Gash, the most powerful weapon ever. One of you has turned into a savage werewolf, the second wants to quit and head for the far side of the universe, and the third appears to be a traitor. You guys are supposed to be our best hope? Sounds to me like we’d be better off without the whole damn lot of you!”

  “We’re doomed without the Kah-Gash,” I retort. “The demons will wash over us. Earth won’t see out the year.”

  “At least we won’t be torn to shreds by our friends,” Shark fires back at me. “I’d rather be gutted by a demon than stabbed in the back by you.”

  My temper flares and I lean forward menacingly, growling. Moe and Curly lean in beside me—any foe of mine is an enemy of theirs.

  “Easy, doggies,” Shark murmurs, making soothing gestures with his mangled hands.

  “Don’t bait me,” I snarl. “I’m not in the mood to be insulted.”

  “I don’t care about your mood,” Shark says. “You’re putting yourself forward as our champion, but I think the wires in your head have got crossed. Hell, even Timas seems normal compared to you.”

  “I object to that slur on my good character,” Timas says, but Shark ignores him.

  “I’m serious, Grubbs. It takes a lot to scare me, but listening to you and seeing that crazy look in your eyes… I’m not sure you’re in control anymore.”

  “I’m in full control,” I say through clenched teeth. “I didn’t enjoy blinding Kernel, but it needed to be done. You’ve done things you didn’t like in the past, so don’t get high and mighty with me. I couldn’t have faced this as a human—I was weak. Now I’m strong and heartless, like the demons. I can do whatever it takes to save the world.”

  “You reckon?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re afraid of nothing, ready to face anything the Demonata can throw at you?”

  “Damn straight.”

  Shark smiles icily. “Then why haven’t you gone after Bec?”

  I blink. “I had to come here first, to destroy the lodestone.”

  Shark shakes his head. “There are other stones. Bec might be revealing their location to Lord Loss even as we speak. You should have targeted her.”

  “I thought she’d come here,” I mumble. “This was one of the most powerful stones. They’ve used it before, so I figured—”

  “Bull!” Shark stops me. “You came here to stall for time because you’re afraid. I see it in your eyes, inhuman as they are. You can’t mask the traces of fear, not from those who know what to look for.”

  “What the hell do you know about fear?” I challenge him hotly.

  “More than I ever wished to,” Shark says softly. “I’ve lived with real terror, as have most of us who fight these demonic beasts. I’ve seen horror in my eyes when I’ve woken in the middle of the night and looked in a mirror. Hell, I’ve seen it in daylight too. I don’t let fear distract me, but it’s always there. It’s in you too. And I think it’s misleading you.”

  I start to roar a denial… then stop.

  He’s right. As soon as he says it, I know. Shark isn’t the most vocal of people, but he has the knack of hitting the nail clean on the head when he does speak up. I am afraid. Not of the Demonata or Bec, but of myself and Juni’s prophecy that I’d destroy the world.

  I should have gone after Bec once I’d recovered from my wounds. I could have let Kernel leave, just asked him to locate Bec and open a window before he went. I don’t truly believe we can defeat Death, even with all three pieces of the Kah-Gash. People wiser than me have said it’s impossible, and I’m sure they’re correct.

  I kept Kernel because I was afraid. I didn’t want to go after Bec. I preferred to carry on fighting, doing what I was good at—what I was safe at. If I’d let Kernel go, it would have meant returning to the demon universe and running the risk of becoming a world-destroying monster. By staying here, I childishly hoped to avoid my desti
ny. It was a delaying measure, nothing more.

  I thought I was Grubbs Grady—superhero. But I’ve been trying to hide from the universe—from myself—ever since our escape from Lord Loss and his army. Now that Shark’s opened my eyes to the truth, I know it’s time to stop.

  “Kernel, I’m sorry,” I mutter. His features crease with surprise. “I was wrong. I was cowardly. I was vicious.”

  “Keep going,” he says.

  “I won’t hold you any longer,” I tell him. “I’ll take us back to the Demonata universe and set you free. All I ask is that you locate Bec and open a window for us before you leave. I hope you’ll come with us, to rescue her if we can, kill her if we must, but I won’t force you. It’s your choice.”

  “If I thought we could make a difference…” he says miserably.

  “You don’t have to explain.” Cracking my fingers, I shoot Shark a wry glance. “You should have been a psychologist.”

  “And put up with whining brats like you every day? No thanks.”

  “Excuse me for pointing out the obvious,” Kirilli says, “but isn’t Kernel the only one of us who can open windows?”