The Demonata 6-10

→ Snapping out of a typically disturbed sleep. There are heavy, thumping noises. I think it’s Beranabus and Kernel returning or a demon breaking through. But when I look around there’s nothing in the cave. I frown, wondering if the noises were part of the dream. Listen for ages, sitting up. Silence.

I try to sleep again, but I’m too unsettled. So I walk around the cave for the millionth time. After a while I jog. Twenty laps, followed by push-ups, squats, more jogging. Shadow-punching as I run. Knocking hordes of imaginary monsters for six.

A series of short sprints. In better physical condition than I’ve been in a long time — maybe ever. Thinking about Loch and how approving he’d be if he could see me now. He was always pushing me to exercise more. Said I was a mountain of muscles which hadn’t been honed, that I could be truly ferocious if I pushed myself to my limits. But I never bothered. There was always something better to do with my time.

Not any more. This is how Olympians should train. Shut themselves off from the world in a musky, murky cave, with nothing else to do except exercise. Works wonders when it comes to concentration. If I ever get out of here, maybe that will be my true calling in life — coach to athletic stars. It would certainly beat the hell out of killing demons for a living!

→ Still exercising. I’ve been at it for hours, pausing only for periods of short rest and to eat. Sweating so much, I have to take my clothes off. Keeping only my boxers on, in case Beranabus and Kernel drop in without warning.

Suddenly — I hear the noises again. Three heavy thumps, a pause, three more. Then silence.

I come to a standstill, listening to the echoes of the thumps. They came from overhead — the closed entrance to the cave. With sudden hope in my heart, I race to the ladder and scurry to the top, where I wait a few seconds for more sounds. When there’s only silence, I roar, “Hello!” and listen again. Nothing.

Back to the bottom of the ladder. I look for something to strike the roof of the cave with, but there’s not much here. I go through the drawers of Beranabus’s table – the first time I’ve examined it – but there’s nothing except papers, pens and small knick-knacks. I note absentmindedly that the flowers are still blooming, fresh as ever.

Eventually I grab one of the longer logs from the wood pile and drag it up the ladder, then pound the roof with it, three times, a pause, then three more. I hold it by my side, trying to stifle my heavy breathing, so I can hear clearly, praying for a series of answering knocks. But there aren’t any.

I pound the roof again and again without reply. Eventually I give up and drop the log. I hang there a while longer, then climb down, dejected. Halfway to the floor I realise that if the noises were human-made, maybe the person has left. When there was no immediate answer, maybe he or she decided there was nobody home, that they’d try again later.

Back on the ground I drink half a bottle of water, go to the toilet, then return to the base of the ladder, pick up the log and climb again. At the top I settle back, get as comfortable as I can and wait, desperate to make contact with another human being.

→ Many hours later. My legs and arms ache from clinging to the ladder. Tired and irritated. Telling myself I’m wasting my time. The noises were probably a rockfall. I should climb down, get some sleep, then fill the hours with more exercise.

On the point of quitting when the noises come again — three resounding thumps, a pause, then three more, just like earlier. In a fit of excitement I raise the log — then drop it! Reacting swiftly, I grab for it, catch it and arc it upwards, slamming it hard into the roof of the cave, once, twice, three times. A short pause, then I hammer the roof again. Then, heart beating hard, I lower it and listen.

Nothing.

For several minutes I hang there, hopeful, awaiting an answer. But as the silence stretches I realise there’s not going to be one. Either the thuds are the result of an especially large animal or the rock overhead is too thick for the noises I make to carry to the other side. Perhaps they’re using magic to penetrate the rock sheet or maybe they have an especially large hammer.

Dejected, I descend, then make for bed and the escape of sleep. Even my nightmares are more welcome than the monotony of the cave.

→ More empty hours follow, the only distraction – apart from exercise – coming in the form of the thumping noises at regular intervals. I’m sure it’s a person – no animal could make the same sounds over and over – but with no way of contacting them, I lose interest and soon stop wondering who it might be. After a while I even start to ignore the thumps and barely notice them when they come.

Then, one day – or night – as I’m halfway through a four-minute sprint, a green window forms close to the remains of the fire and Kernel steps through. I come to a halt almost directly in front of him. He stares at me icily, casts a curious eye over my bare chest and legs, then goes to the fire and starts it with a single word.

As I’m pulling my clothes on, Beranabus appears. His beard is badly burnt and his hands are red, but otherwise he’s unharmed. “Been keeping the cave warm for us?” he says sneeringly.

“He didn’t even manage to get the fire going,” Kernel snorts.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Did you… the demon… is it…?” I mutter.

“All taken care of,” Beranabus says. “Quenched forever, its universe now a cold, lifeless expanse of space. Human saved, order restored, tragedy averted.”

“No thanks to you,” Kernel sniffs.

I ignore the insult. “How long were you in there?”

“No idea,” Beranabus says as the window behind him vanishes. “It felt like a day. What about here?”

“A couple of weeks. Maybe three.”

“That must have been boring.”

“Serves him right,” Kernel snaps, shooting me a disgusted look. “Running out like that… leaving us to deal with it ourselves…”

“It’s not like we had to struggle,” Beranabus murmurs, no idea that his kindness makes me feel worse than ever.

“He wasn’t to know that,” Kernel hisses. “He left us to fight alone. Didn’t stop to think if we might need him. Didn’t care.”

“That’s not true,” I say sullenly. “Yes, I ran. But I did care. I just couldn’t… it was too… I told you!” I cry. “I didn’t want to go. You made me.”

“Listen to him,” Kernel jeers. “He sounds like a five-year-old. I wouldn’t have thought someone his age and size could be so gutless. Maybe he–”

“Enough!” Beranabus barks. Sighing, he heads to his table and motions me to follow. He sits on an old wooden chair, stretches his legs out, cracks his knuckles above his head and yawns. Lowering his hands, he fiddles with some of the flowers, shuffles papers around, then takes a drawing out of one of the drawers and stares at it.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly.

“No,” he sighs. “It was my fault. I thought you were made of stronger stuff. I could see the fear in you and your reluctance to get involved. But given your background, I thought you’d shrug it off once faced with a demon, that you’d rise to the occasion like you did before.”

“It was different then,” I tell him. “I didn’t know what I was getting into the first time, and in Slawter I was trapped. I had no choice but to fight. I’ve had so many horrible nights since then, so many nightmares. I’m not just scared of demons now — I’m bloody terrified.”

“I understand,” Beranabus says. “I didn’t before, but I do now.” He studies the drawing again, then lays it aside. “I’m a poor judge of character. I’ve made mistakes before, taken children into the universe of the Demonata when they weren’t ready, lost them cheaply. But they’ve always been fighters. This is the first time I’ve taken someone who lacked the stomach for battle. It was a grave error on my part. I should have known better.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

“No. I’m sad. You have such ability, it’s a shame to see it go to waste. But if the fighting instinct isn’t there, there’s no point moping. I thought you were a warrior. I was wrong. You don’t criticise a pony for not being a horse.”

He falls silent and looks around at the flowers on the table. I’m not sure I like his comparison. Never thought of myself as Grubbs Grady — pony! But I guess it’s appropriate. I might lack the guts to be a hero, but at least I’ve pride enough not to whinge when the truth is pointed out.

“What happens now?” I ask.

“Hmm?”

“I can’t fight. So what happens? Will you take me back? Set me loose in the desert? What?”

Beranabus frowns. “I can’t spare much time. You wouldn’t survive outside and it would be cruel to make you wait here indefinitely. I’ll take you to the nearest human outpost. You’ll have to make your own way from there. Once you get home, tell Dervish what happened. Ask him to help you work on your magic. Even if you can’t fight, you can watch for demons. Become a Disciple. I know you’d rather keep out of this completely, but you might make a difference. Do you think you could do that?”

“Sure,” I gush, delighted to be told I’m not entirely worthless. “I avoided magic because I thought if I learnt it, I’d have to fight demons. But if I just have to be a watchdog…”

“Good choice of words,” Kernel snorts.

“Now, now,” Beranabus tuts. “Let’s not be ungracious.”

Kernel spits into the fire. His spit sizzles, revealing more about his opinion of me than he could ever say with words.

“When do we leave?” I ask, eager to be out of here, free of this confining cave and Kernel’s scorn.

“Soon,” Beranabus promises. “I need to get some sleep, and eat when I wake, but after that we’ll depart.”

“Great,” I grin, turning away to let the elderly magician go to bed. Then I remember the noises and turn to tell him. “I forgot, somebody’s been…”

I come to a halt. Beranabus is leaning over, stroking the leaves of one of the flowers, smiling fondly at it. I can see the drawing he was looking at earlier. It’s a pencil sketch of a girl’s face. And though the paper is yellow and wrinkled with age, the face is shockingly familiar.

“Who’s that?” I croak. Beranabus looks up questioningly. I point a trembling finger at the drawing. “The girl — who is she?”

“Someone who died a very long time ago,” Beranabus says, touching the paper. “She sacrificed her life fighting the Demonata, to keep the world safe. An example to us all. Not that I’m trying to make you feel small. I didn’t mean–”

“There was a voice,” I interrupt, eyes fixed on the drawing. “At the cave in Carcery Vale. I didn’t mention it before — it didn’t seem to matter and there was so much else to tell you. But when I went to the cave, I heard a voice and saw a face in the rocks. It was alive. Even though it was in the rock, it could open its eyes and move its lips. It spoke to me.”

I pick up the drawing and study the girl’s face, the curve of her jaw, the eyes and mouth. “This is the girl from the cave. She called to me… warned me, I think, but I don’t know what of. She spoke in a different lan–”

“It can’t be!” Beranabus snaps, snatching the drawing back. “This girl has been dead for almost sixteen hundred years. You’re mistaken.”

“No,” I say certainly. “It was her. I’m sure of it. Who the hell was she and why did she try so hard to contact me?”

In answer to that, Beranabus only sits and stares at me, shocked — and afraid.

THE WARNING

→ Impossible!” Beranabus keeps croaking. “Impossible!” He’s striding around the cave, hair and eyes even wilder than normal, clutching the drawing of the girl to his chest, muttering away to himself, occasionally bursting out with another round of, “Impossible! Impossible!”

Kernel and I have drawn together by the fire, temporarily united by our uncertainty. “Has he ever gone off like this before?” I whisper.

“No,” Kernel replies quietly. “He often talks to himself, but I’ve never seen him so agitated.”

“Do you know who the girl is?”

Kernel shakes his head. “Just some old drawing that he gets out every now and then and moons over.”

“Beranabus said she died sixteen hundred years ago.”

“I heard.”

“Do you think he knew her? Was he alive then?”

“No.” Kernel frowns. “He can’t have been. We can live a long time, battling the Demonata in their universe, even a few hundred years. But no human can live that long. At least that’s what Beranabus taught me…”

Beranabus stops pacing, whirls and fixes his stare on me. “You!” he shouts. “Come here!” I glance at Kernel for support. “Don’t dither! Get over here now!”

Since I don’t want to enrage him any further, I edge across but keep out of immediate reach. Beranabus holds the drawing up. His hands are shaking. “How sure are you?” he growls.

“It’s her,” I tell him. “The girl in the cave. I’m certain.”

“Would you stake your life on it?” he snarls.

“No,” I say hesitantly. “But it is her. You don’t forget a face like that. It’s not every day a person speaks to you from within the heart of a rock.”

Beranabus lowers the drawing. Turns it round so he can study the face again. “You say she’s alive?” he asks, voice low.

I shrug. “She spoke to me. But it wasn’t a real face. It was a cross between flesh and stone. She could have been some sort of ghost, I guess…”

“Of course,” Beranabus says. “But a ghost imprisoned there… trapped all this time…” His eyes shoot up. “Tell me what she said.”

“I can’t. I didn’t understand her. She spoke a different language.”

“Don’t be stupid! You can…” He stops and gets his breathing under control. “First things first. Tell me the whole story. Everything this time. About the cave, what you saw and heard. Leave nothing out.”

I don’t want to go through it again, but he’s not going to tell me anything until I do, so I quickly trot out the story, filling in all the details I skipped the first time. Seeing the face in the rock. The eyes opening. Later, when the girl spoke to me. In the cave, the night of my turning, when she screamed at me and seemed to be trying to warn me.

“Warn you of what?” Beranabus asks.

“Maybe that Juni was a traitor. Or of the danger Bill-E was in.”

“Perhaps,” Beranabus mutters. “There are blood ties between you, which might account for her interest in your predicament, but to break out of the rock and make herself heard must have required a huge amount of energy and effort. Why would she do that just to save your lives?”

He’s not expecting an answer, so I don’t try to provide one. Instead I pick up on something else he said and ask stiffly, “What blood ties?”

He waves a hand as though it’s nothing. “The girl was called Bec. A distant ancestor of yours.”

“Ancestor?”

“A distant one,” he repeats. “She was a priestess… a magician. A brave, true, selfless girl.”

“Did you know her?” Kernel asks. He’s slightly behind us, listening closely. “Were you alive then?”

“I’d be a real Methuselah if so,” Beranabus says. He looks at the drawing again and frowns. “I need to know what she said. She might have simply been trying to help you, but I think there’s more to it. We need to study her words.”

“But I told you I couldn’t understand her. I don’t speak her language.”

“I do,” Beranabus says, then gestures to the chair behind the desk. “I’m going to teach you another remembering spell, like the one we used to prove you didn’t kill your brother’s grandparents. But with this one you’ll repeat everything the girl said. I’ll be able to translate.”

I sit. Beranabus clears an area of the table, then lays the drawing down gently, so it’s facing me. “Look into her eyes,” he says softly. “Forget everything that’s happened recently. Let your mind drift back.” He gives me a minute, then says, “Repeat after me.”

I mimic Beranabus’s words carefully. As the spell develops, the lines on the paper shimmer. I’m startled, but I’ve seen a lot more incredible stuff in my time, so I don’t lose concentration. The lines begin to move. The face doesn’t bulge out of the page the way it projected from the rocks, but it comes alive. The eyes flicker and the lips part. The girl talks. No sounds come, just the motions. But as the spell concludes and Beranabus stops talking, I find my own lips moving in time with the drawing’s. Only it’s not my voice — it’s the girl’s.

I speak swiftly, anxiously, the muscles of my throat hurting from having to form such unusual words. I spot Kernel listening with a frown, unable to interpret. But Beranabus understands perfectly. And the more I say, the more his face pales and he trembles.

Before I finish, the elderly magician sinks to the floor and stares at me, appalled. I want to ask him what the girl said, but I can’t. My lips continue to move and the dead girl’s words spill out. I’m repeating myself from the beginning.

Beranabus groans and covers his ears with his hands. “No,” he wheezes. “Gods be damned. No!”

“Beranabus?” Kernel says, approaching his master cautiously. “What’s wrong?”

“His fault!” Beranabus shrieks, pointing an accusing finger at me. “If he’d told me when he first came here…” He shakes his head and curses. I carry on talking, unable to stop. I’m afraid he’s going to leave me this way, that I’ll warble on like this forever.

Finally, rising slowly, Beranabus growls something and the words cease. My mouth closes. I rub my aching jaws and throat, staring at the magician, wondering what I’ve done to incense him.

“Damn you, Grubitsch Grady,” he says bitterly, shooing me out of his chair and lowering himself into it, picking up the drawing and cradling it to his chest. There are angry, hopeless tears in his eyes. “Damn the day you came into this world. If I’d known the trouble you’d cause, I’d have killed you at birth, you meddling, cowardly, destructive brat.”

“Beranabus!” Kernel gasps as my insides clench tight.

“It’s true!” Beranabus shouts. “I stood up for the wretched fool, but I shouldn’t have. I should have just… just…” He stops, closes his eyes and moans. “No. You didn’t know what you were doing. I can’t blame you.”

“I don’t care what you think of me,” I snap, angry and ashamed. “Just tell me what she said, you horrible old buzzard.”

Beranabus opens his eyes and smiles faintly. “That’s more like it, boy. Spirit.” His smile disappears. “Bec was trying to warn you, but she wasn’t interested in saving your life. The stakes were much higher. She…”

He clears his throat, then continues lifelessly. “I don’t know how she wound up where she is, or how she managed to communicate with you, but her soul has been trapped in that cave since she died, torn between life and death, between our universe and the Demonata’s. I’ve never seen that before. Ghosts, aye, but only pale shades of those who died. This is different. She somehow defied the laws of death and her soul remains intact. It shouldn’t…” He coughs and shakes his head, then continues.

“Bec is able to peer into the demon universe from where she’s trapped. She’s been observing the Demonata for centuries. She became aware long ago of a powerful demon master trying to open a tunnel to this world. When she sensed you clearing the entrance to the cave, she was afraid the creature would learn of it and restore the ancient tunnel. That’s why she tried to warn you off. Later she learnt of a more direct threat, which is why she appeared so desperate the last time she established contact.

“I made a fatal error. I thought Lord Loss wasn’t interested in opening a tunnel between the two universes. But he’s changed his views. When Dervish told Juni about the cave, her master decided to kill two birds with one stone. His plan was to slaughter you, Dervish and your brother – or take you back to his own realm to torture – then open the tunnel, clearing the way for the ranks of demons to cross.”

Beranabus pauses. Kernel and I are staring at him, struck dumb.

“Juni must have made a sacrifice after Dervish revealed the cave to her,” he goes on. “It takes a few weeks for the blood of a sacrificed victim to prime the tunnel walls. The spells of opening can’t be cast until then. I was guarding the cave closely, but somehow she got in and killed someone without my knowledge.

“Lord Loss could have opened the tunnel at any time, but he decided to do it on a full moon, when there was more magic in the air. Tapping into the power of the moon, he could complete the spells within a few hours. That way, if I discovered him while he was at work, he’d only have to hold me at bay for that short time.

“Being a lover of neatness, he planned to kill or abduct you three and open the tunnel on the same night. Unfortunately for him, your magic burst to the surface and derailed things. He missed his chance to get even with the Grady clan at the cave. Since settling his score with you before he opened the floodgates was important to him, he pushed his plans back by a month.”

“Then we still have time!” I gasp. “It’s not too late. We know what he’s going to do. We’ll return to the cave and fight.”

“We?” Kernel says sarcastically.

“Yes! I’ll fight to save Dervish and Bill-E. I don’t care what those monsters throw at us. When it’s family, it’s different.”

“You really think you can choose not to be a coward if and when it suits you?” Kernel jeers.

Beranabus interrupts wearily before I can retort. “It doesn’t matter. You’re arguing about nothing. The time for heroics has passed.”

“What are you talking about?” I say edgily.

“It’s difficult to track time here,” Beranabus says softly, “but not impossible. I can reach out and make a quick check on the heavens when I wish. I did that while Bec was speaking. You miscalculated, Grubbs. It’s been seven weeks since I rescued you from the aeroplane.”

I start to shiver. “But… no… maybe Lord Loss delayed again. He wanted to kill me before he opened the tunnel, but I’m still alive. Maybe–”

“No,” Beranabus stops me. “Once I’d established the date, I cast my senses further afield. When there’s a rip of great magnitude between universes a magician can detect it. If the spells I’d cast at the cave worked, I’d have known earlier. I should have renewed them, but it seemed like there was no rush. I wouldn’t have made that mistake a hundred years ago. I’m getting so old…”

Beranabus sighs and his head drops. “The demons crossed as planned. They’ve had three weeks to stabilise, multiply and spread. Your town is theirs. Probably your country too. Dervish… your brother… everybody else you know in Carcery Vale…” He finishes in an awful whisper which fills me with a dread beyond any I’ve ever experienced. “The Demonata have had their way with them. They’re all dead now — and probably millions more besides.”

PART TWO

THE MESSENGER

→ Everybody in the Vale — dead. Unable to believe it. I want to scream my head off, call Beranabus a liar, demand he tell the truth. Except… I can see the truth in the old magician’s eyes. In his stooped shoulders. In his weariness as he sets his papers in order and prepares to leave for Carcery Vale to find out how far the Demonata have spread. He wasn’t lying. They really did break through. Dervish and Bill-E are…

I don’t complete the thought. Filled with sickness and fear. The last time I felt this empty inside was when I lost my parents and sister. It took me months to recover, and that was only with Dervish’s help. Now I’m alone, wracked with guilt and shame as well as grief. I don’t know if there’s any way back. Madness looms, waiting to consume me. I doubt if I can fight it.

Kernel is sitting by the fire, staring glumly into the flames. Every so often he trembles as he thinks about the battle to come. He’s been fighting demons for years, but in their universe, where his powers are far greater than they are here. On Earth his magical talents are vastly diminished. The Demonata are weaker here too, of course, and if it was just a few of them, he and Beranabus would fancy their chances. But if thousands have crossed and are running riot…