Volumes 9 and 10 - Dark Calling/Hell’s Heroes

When the hospital’s clean, we join the others on the roof. Bec, Dervish and Sharmila are there. Sharmila’s legs have been cut off. Beranabus is working hard to patch her up. Dervish is sitting on a trolley, looking close to death. Meera goes to him immediately, to check that he’s OK.

“I’ll guard the staircase,” Shark says. “Make sure we aren’t taken by surprise.”

“But the demons are gone,” I frown.

“We have humans to worry about too,” he snorts, then nods at Bec. “She’ll tell you all about it.”

And she does, swiftly and clearly. It’s a disturbing story. First I learn that an old enemy – once a friend – has returned from beyond the grave. Juni Swan, who I first knew as Nadia Moore, has come back to life in a new, mutated form.

I’m always torn when I think of Nadia/Juni. She was a bitter but kind young woman when we first met. She saved my life in Lord Loss’s realm when I fell into a river of lava. She told me then to be wary of her if we ever met again, that she served the demon master now and I should think of her as a foe. But I find it hard to hate her. She’s a person who lost her way. She didn’t seek out evil—she got sucked into it. I pity her as much as I fear and mistrust her.

Bec describes the attack on Dervish’s home in Carcery Vale. Werewolves broke in, supported by humans with guns. She tells us she has a curious gift—canshe can absorb the memories of anyone she touches. One of the werewolves was a Grady. Its parents turned it over to the Lambs – family executioners – to dispose of. But the Lambs kept the beast alive and they or some other group subsequently used it as a weapon.

We discuss this troubling turn of events. Grubbs is more worked up than the rest of us—he hates the thought of his relatives being manipulated. Bec thinks Lord Loss masterminded the attack, that he knows she’s part of the Kah-Gash. Beranabus agrees, then tells me to open a window. Dervish and Sharmila won’t last long in this universe. They need magic to survive.

I’m glad to set to work on the window because I need magic too. My eyes are burning. It was bad as soon as I set foot on this world, but since the demons’ window closed, the pain has increased sharply and my vision has started to blur. My new eyes are the work of magic. They can’t function normally here. As much as I despise the universe of the Demonata, I’m a slave of it now.

As I’m working on the window, I hear the whispers from the mysterious small lights. I glance around and spot several pulsing rapidly. But the whispers don’t seem to be directed at me this time. And they’re not repeating a single word. There’s a steady stream of phrases, none of which I can make sense of.

Behind me, Dervish and Beranabus are arguing. Dervish wants to stay and find out more about the werewolves. Beranabus says we can’t waste time on them. Meera sides with Dervish. There have been lots of crossings recently and the Disciples are struggling to cope. She’s afraid the werewolves might be used to target members of the secret group. If they killed a large number of the mages, demons could cross freely.

Even though I’m not paying a huge amount of attention to the argument, I find myself pausing. “It might be related,” I say.

“Related to what?” Bec asks. Beranabus waves her silent and frowns at me.

“This could be part of the Shadow’s plan,” I tell him, the words tumbling out by themselves. The whispers from the lights have increased. I have to concentrate hard to drown them out. “It could be trying to create scores of windows so that its army of demons can break through at once. We’ll need the Disciples if that’s the case—we can’t be everywhere at the same time to stop them all.”

“Maybe,” Beranabus says. “But that doesn’t alter the fact that Dervish will last about five minutes if we leave him here.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dervish snarls.

“No,” Beranabus says. “Your heart is finished. You’ll die within days. That’s not a guess,” he adds before Dervish can argue. “And you wouldn’t be able to do much during that time, apart from wheeze and clutch your chest a lot.”

“It’s really that bad?” Dervish asks quietly.

Beranabus nods. “In the universe of magic, you might survive. Here, you’re a dead man walking.”

“Then get him there quick,” Grubbs says. “I’ll stay.”

“Not you too,” Beranabus groans. “What did I do to deserve as stubborn and reckless a pair as you?”

“It makes sense,” Grubbs insists. “If the attacks were Lord Loss looking to get even, they’re irrelevant. But if they’re related to the Shadow, we need to know. I can confront the Lambs, find out if they’re mixed up with the demon master, stop them if they are.”

“Is the Shadow the creature we saw in the cave?” Bec asks.

“Aye,” Beranabus says. “We haven’t learnt much about it, except that it’s put together an army of demons and is working hard to launch them across to our world.”

He stares at Grubbs, and as he pauses, the whispers change. They’re softer now, almost musical. I feel uneasy, even slightly sick, but I’ve no idea why.

“You’d operate alone?” Beranabus asks.

“I’d need help,” Grubbs replies, and asks for Shark and Meera’s assistance. While they discuss that, I focus on the window again. I’m close to opening it. The whispers of the lights have almost died away. I feel worse than ever, as if we’re in great danger. But there’s no reason to be afraid… is there?

A pale green window opens. Beranabus still hasn’t chosen whether or not to let Grubbs stay. “Time to decide,” I tell him, and as I say that, the whispers spark up again.

“Very well,” Beranabus snaps at Grubbs. “But listen to Shark and Meera, heed their advice and contact me before you go running up against the likes of Lord Loss or the Shadow.” He picks up the unconscious Sharmila. “Follow me, Bec,” he says and steps through the window.

Bec doesn’t leave immediately. She’s confused, not sure of what’s happening. Dervish is busy saying goodbye to Grubbs and Meera, wishing them luck, cursing the fact that he can’t stay and help them. As he finally stumbles through the window, Grubbs has a short chat with Bec. Then she faces me. She looks more lost than I feel. As difficult as it is, I force a smile. “The world moves quickly when Beranabus is around,” I tell her, trying to cheer her up.

“What’s it like through there?” she asks, staring at the window with quiet terror.

“Bad.” My smile slips. “The Shadow’s promising the eradication of mankind and a new dawn of demon rule. Others have threatened that before, but it’s convinced an army of demons – even powerful masters like Lord Loss – that it can make good on its vow. We could be looking at the end this time.” I take a step into the window of light but don’t cross fully, straddling two universes at the same time. I wave Bec forward. “Let’s go.”

She looks back once, then follows me through the window to an oasis in the demon universe which Beranabus and I are familiar with. We’ll be safe here, for a while at least.

But I take no comfort from our security. I’m steady on my feet, maintaining a calm front, but inside my head sirens are blaring, my thoughts a million miles removed from werewolves, the Lambs, Juni Swan and the Shadow. I feel sicker than when I saw the dismembered babies in the hospital.

I’ve realised why the whispers unnerved me. That final burst of chattering, just before Beranabus made his decision to let Grubbs go, clued me in to what was really happening.

Beranabus should have brought Grubbs along. He’s been wary of uniting the pieces of the Kah-Gash, but this was the time to risk it. Our enemies are on the move, trying to kill one of us or get their hands on a piece of the ancient weapon. Beranabus should have kept us all with him, if not to unleash the power of the Kah-Gash, then to protect us. We’d be a lot safer if we stuck together. Leaving Grubbs behind was madness.

Why did someone as experienced as Beranabus make such a slip? And why did the others – myself included – go along with his bad call?

Answer—the lights. The whispers influenced us. Something didn’t want us to band together, so it subtly interfered and split us up, making it seem as if it was our own choice. We’re being manipulated by the whispers of the lights!

LYING LOW

→I can’t tell the others about the lights, the whispers or my suspicion that we are being used. I want to, but whenever I try to share my fears, my lips seize up. I’m unable to speak, or else everyday rubbish spills out and we end up talking about something else. I’ve tried writing, scribbling a warning in the sand of the oasis, but my fingers clench and turn against me.

When we first stepped through the window, I thought I might have imagined the whispers or the influence they’re exerting over us. Now I’m sure I called it right. The lights did – do – control us. They must have planted a hidden command inside my brain that makes me clam up whenever I try to share my misgivings.

While I struggle to break through the spell, the others argue about what to do next. Beranabus wants to hunt the Shadow, pick up where we left off. Dervish is against that. He’s determined to go after Juni, to settle old scores.

I stay out of the arguments for a couple of days. But when Dervish is pressing his claim for the umpteenth time, trying to sway Beranabus by saying we might be able to torture Juni to find out information about the Shadow, the small, ever-changing lights pulse and the air hums with whispers only I can hear.

“We can’t go after Lord Loss directly—he’s too powerful,” I find myself telling Beranabus, and although I know these aren’t my words, that I’m being used like a puppet, I can’t stop. “But we can target Juni. Lord Loss didn’t show himself at the hospital, but Juni was acting on his behalf. She might have been part of the group in Carcery Vale too. If more assaults on the Disciples are planned, she’ll possibly act as the go-between again, conveying Lord Loss’s orders to their allies. If we can trap her, we can find out what she knows about the Shadow.”

Beranabus thinks that makes sense – or the lights make him think it – so he tells me to focus on Juni, track her movements and let him know when she slips out of Lord Loss’s realm.

I want to scream foul and tell them we’re being toyed with, but my lips gum up. I throw everything I have at the spell, to no avail. In the end I do as Beranabus bids. I retire to one of the fake trees – the oasis is dotted with trees made of bones and scraps of flesh – and sit in the shade, glumly training my thoughts on Juni Swan.

→As days pass, the others recuperate. Beranabus and Bec fashioned new legs for Sharmila out of the bones and skin of the trees when we arrived, and she adapts to them smoothly. Bec has worked a lot with Dervish, drawing on her healing powers, doing what she can for his faltering heart. Neither he nor Sharmila can live on Earth again, but as long as they stay in this universe of magic they can function almost normally.

The four of them pass a lot of the time duelling, sharpening their reflexes, testing their skills. Magic is all about trial and error. Even after thousands of years, Beranabus is still discovering new aspects of himself, depending on what’s thrown at him.

I’d like to join them, but I’ve been given a task and Beranabus doesn’t take it kindly when one of his assistants disobeys a direct order. So I keep to myself, studying the lights and focusing on Juni Swan and her master.

It’s difficult because of the whispers. The murmurs come regularly while I’m concentrating, not as strongly as at the hospital, but distracting none the less. I can’t stop thinking about the spell they’ve woven. Is it the work of the Shadow? Unlikely—if the creature could exert such influence, it would turn us against one another.

The Kah-Gash? A weapon that can destroy universes and distort the laws of time would have no difficulty bending a few humans to its will. But the Kah-Gash would surely have wanted me, Grubbs and Bec together, to unite so it could be reassembled.

If not the Shadow or the Kah-Gash, who can be controlling the lights? Are they self-conscious, some new life form? Or maybe I’m imagining them. I’ve doubted my sanity in the past. Maybe this time I’ve cracked for real.

Finally, after a week of self-torment and doubt, I sense Juni opening a window and leaving Lord Loss’s world.

“She’s moving,” I tell the others, disrupting their latest duel.

They crowd around me. “Where did she go?” Beranabus asks.

“Earth,” I say after a brief pause to confirm her location.

“And Lord Loss?”

“He stayed in his own realm.”

“Can you tell where she is exactly?” Dervish asks.

“No. I should be able to, but I can’t place it.” That worries me more than I reveal.

“Is she close to Grubbs?” Dervish presses.

I do a quick scan and shake my head.

“Well?” Sharmila asks Beranabus.

“Kernel and I will investigate,” he says. “The rest of you stay here.”

“Nuts to that,” Dervish huffs.

“Don’t forget about your heart,” Beranabus says. “Or Sharmila’s legs. You’re a pair of wrecks on that world. Let us check the situation and report back. We won’t engage her if we can avoid it.”

“What about me?” Bec asks. “I can survive there.”

“Aye, but I’m asking you to wait. Please. Until we know more about what we’re walking into.”

I’d like to know more about it too before I cross. But I’ve lived with Beranabus long enough to know he doesn’t hold much faith in the philosophy of look-before-you-leap. Except for his edgy pursuit of the Shadow, I’ve never seen him act cautiously. He believes it’s best to jump in the fire and deal with the flames when they’re licking the soles of your feet.

Keeping silent about my fears, I slot patches of light together and open a white window. With my back to the others, I offer up a quick prayer, the kind I used to reel off when I was a fresh apprentice, before I grew hardened to the terrors of the Demonata. Then, sensing Beranabus behind me, I step forward into the unknown.

DEATH WATCH

→We find ourselves on the deck of a massive ship, close to a swimming pool. Deckchairs are strewn about the place. Bodies everywhere, ripped to pieces, stomachs carved open, heads and limbs torn loose. Puddles of blood merge and spread slowly, seeping into the cracks between the planks. The water of the swimming pool is a deep, dead red.

Beranabus ignores the corpses. He’s seen worse in his time. I have too. But it still hits me hard whenever I walk into a nightmarish scene like this. It only takes me a few seconds to recover, but Beranabus doesn’t even need that. He’s instantly alert, looking for threats, sizing up the situation. I see him relax slightly and, once I overcome my initial shock, I realise why. The area is charged with magic. We’re on Earth, but it feels like the Demonata’s universe. We can operate at full capacity here.

“We’re encased,” Beranabus says. “The ship’s been sealed off by a bubble of magic. They must have a lodestone.”

Lodestones are rocks which were filled with magic by beings known as the Old Creatures. They ruled our world in the distant past, holding the demons at bay. They fled many generations ago, but left the charged stones behind. Many have drained of power over the centuries, and Beranabus destroyed most of the others, to stop the Demonata’s power-hungry mages from making use of them. But some remain, secreted away, either unknown to him, inaccessible or indestructible. Demons or evil mages sometimes find them and use them to open limited tunnels between universes, allowing the Demonata to spend more time here and wreak maximum havoc.

“Where’s Juni?” Beranabus asks.

“Lower down. I thought it would be wiser not to face her until we’d assessed the risk. I don’t know if anyone’s with her, but there’s an open window. It’s not very sturdy. Only weak demons could cross through it.”

Beranabus thinks about that, then says, “I’m going back for the others.” He steps through the window, leaving me with the dead.

The silence is disturbing. I play out crazy scenarios inside my head, imagining the corpses coming back to life and attacking. I’ve never seen a zombie film. I heard about Night of the Living Dead when I was a child, but my parents wouldn’t let me watch it.

I don’t have any hair – I’ve always been bald – but if I did, it would be standing on end. I’ve got a bad case of what my mother used to call the heebie-jeebies. I want to duck through the window after Beranabus. This ship is bad news. We’ll wind up dead if we stay, bleeding sacks of flesh and bone.

Before I can bolt, Beranabus returns and the others cross after him. My nerves settle and I laugh away my fears. Zombies—ridiculous! I’ve seen enough of the universe to know we need never fear the dead, only the living.

The Disciples are nervous. Bec scans the lower decks and says there’s only one demon on board with Juni. I tell the others about the open window.

“We should go back,” Sharmila says. “Juni has set this up to ensnare us.”

“Why would she be expecting us?” Dervish asks.

“Lord Loss may have reasoned that we would target Juni. Perhaps everything – the attacks on Dervish, Juni revealing herself on the roof of the hospital – was designed to lure Beranabus here. The demon master might be poised to cross and finish us off personally.”

“Not through that window,” I tell Sharmila, certain no demon master could make use of the opening close to Juni.

“Then through another,” she says. “We have never been able to explain why Lord Loss can cross when other masters cannot, or how he goes about it.”

Beranabus sighs. “You could be right, but we might never get a better shot at Juni. If she’s not expecting us, it’s the perfect time to strike. If she is and this is a trap, at least we can anticipate the worst. The magic in the air means she’ll be dangerous, but it serves us as much as her. If Lord Loss doesn’t turn up, we can match her. If he does cross, we’ll make a swift getaway.”

“Are you sure of that?” Sharmila frowns. “If we have to open a new window…”

“We won’t,” Beranabus says. “Kernel will stay here and guard our escape route. You’ll know if any other windows open, won’t you?”

“Yes,” I say confidently.

“Then keep this one alive and watch for signs of further activity. If you sense anything, summon us and we’ll withdraw. Is everyone satisfied with that?”

Sharmila is still dubious, but she shrugs. I’m not happy either. I don’t want to stay by myself, surrounded by corpses. But we need to protect our only way out. Besides, I’ll be safer up here than down there. Beranabus is doing me a favour, though I’m sure he’s thinking only of his own well-being, not mine.

As they make their way across the deck, I move closer to the window and pat a couple of patches back into place. Windows never remain stable for more than a few minutes, but I have the power to keep them open indefinitely. If demons were able to manipulate the lights like I can, mankind would have been wiped out long ago.

The minutes pass with agonising slowness. The sun is relentless and my mouth is dry. I could easily find something to drink, but I don’t want to abandon my post. I’m sure I could open another window if this one blinks out of existence but I don’t want to take any chances. I’m not sure how lodestones work. Maybe Juni could use its power to slow me down.

As I’m concentrating, trying not to obsess about the mounds of corpses around me, the smaller, unpredictable patches of light begin to pulse. “Not now,” I groan, but the patches ignore me. Moments later come the whispers. Faster, more urgently than before. I tense, expecting to find myself acting against my wishes. Maybe they’ll make me close the window or head after the others, to die with them in the ship’s hold.

But nothing happens. If the lights are trying to influence me, they’re failing. Ignoring them, I focus on the window, holding it in place, keeping the shape.

Something flickers to my left. I turn and see a group of the small patches click together. They swirl over and around one another, a mini vortex of various hues and shades of light.

More patches are attracted to the cluster. It grows and spins faster, changing shape, pulsing rapidly. The whispers grow louder, become shouts. I don’t know what’s happening, but it can only be bad news. I wish the others were here, so we could abandon this place immediately.

When almost all of the small lights have joined and are whirling around, they suddenly zip towards me. Yelping, I throw myself aside. I expect them to chase me, but then I see that I was never their target. They were aiming for the window. They slap into it and shimmer across the face of the white panel. As I sit up and stare, the window becomes a multicoloured rip in the air.

The whispers die away. Silence falls. I stand but don’t approach the window. I study it cautiously, fearfully. The lights pulse rapidly, then slide towards the centre, all the colours angling to the focal point, drawn to it as if by gravity.

Then—an explosion. A ball of light bursts from the heart of the window and shoots across the ship’s swimming pool, circling it in a spiral pattern, like a punctured balloon careening across a room. The window resumes its white colour.

The ball circles the pool a few more times, then drifts towards the deck and comes to a halt three or four feet above it. The ball is rainbow-coloured, about the size of a large dog, though its shape changes constantly. It reminds me of the jellyish substance in a lava lamp, the way it oozes from one form into another, altering all the time.

“What the hell are you?” I gasp, not expecting an answer. But to my astonishment I receive one.

“I have no name.”

I’ve seen a lot of crazy stuff over the last few years that would leave most people’s jaws hanging. I thought I was immune to surprise. But this blows me away. All I can do is gawp at the ball of light like a five-year-old who’s walked in on Santa Claus.

“You must come with me,” the voice says. I don’t know where the words are coming from. They seem to be forming inside my head.

“Come…” the voice insists.

“Come where?” I croak. “Who are you? What are you?”

“There will be time for explanations later. We must depart this world before…” The voice stops and there’s a sighing sound. “Too late.”

“What do you mean?”

Before the ball of light can answer, my crazy fantasy of a few minutes ago becomes a reality. All around me, the corpses on the deck shudder, twitch, then clamber to their feet. As impossible as it is, the dead have come back to life, and they’re focusing their glinting, hungry eyes on me.

COME…

→The rising dead terrify me more than any demon ever did. Demons are natural. They obey certain laws. You know what to expect when you face one of them. But the dead aren’t supposed to return. When a body perishes, the soul moves on. That’s the way it’s always been. But someone must have forgotten to mention that to these walking, snarling, slavering corpses.

I stand like a simpleton, watching them advance. I’d heard that zombies in movies walk slowly, stiffly, mechanically. Not these. They don’t have the look of living people, but they move like them, fluidly and firmly.

As the dead close in on me, teeth exposed, hands outstretched, the ball of light flits over their heads and flares, causing them to cover their eyes and stumble to a halt. They mewl like newborn calves and lash out at the light.

“Come…” the voice repeats. “Cross while they are distracted.”

“Where?” I howl, gaze fixed on the zombies.

“Come…” is the only response. The ball of light skims over the heads of the walking dead and hovers by the window.

“I can’t,” I whisper, studying the ranks of animated corpses. “The others…”

“Doomed,” the voice says. “You cannot worry about them. They are no longer your concern. Come…” It sounds impatient.