The Demon World

by Sally Green

  “There. Did you see how he did it?” March said.

  “But that’s what I’m doing, isn’t it?”

  Edyon’s movements couldn’t be more different from the elegant grace of Geratan.

  “Try it once more. Think Geratan,” March said. And Edyon tried again but was worse.

  “I hate this. You go in, March. Before it’s too late.”

  But March had a feeling that the hollow had already changed. The red glow was fading.

  Edyon shouted, “March, go in. Now. Go in.”

  “No. We stay together.” March looked at the hollow. There was no red glow at all. “I think it’s closed.”

  Edyon shook his head, tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You should have gone.”

  “No. I should stay with you.” And that was what he knew was right. Even if it cost him his life, he had to stay with Edyon until he was safe in Calidor—as if they’d ever get that far.

  “But now what do we do? I can’t walk much more. I’m not even sure which way we should walk.”

  “We can’t walk in the storm. But neither can the Brigantines.” He pulled Edyon to him and spoke in his ear. “We need to keep warm and rest until the storm’s past, and then we walk again.”

  “How do we keep warm? I’m freezing!”

  “Body warmth.”

  Edyon turned to him. “I can’t smile at the moment, but I will if I live through this and think of you suggesting that to me.”

  March shouted, “Not my body warmth, the demon’s!”

  Edyon’s face screwed up in disgust. “What?”

  “He’s got a warm body and that’s what we need to survive.” March helped Edyon to his feet. “Come on. The smoke came from this direction. The body must be here somewhere. Look for something big and red.” They stumbled through the snow together and March was relieved to quickly spot the red of the demon’s body. He dropped to his knees beside it. Snow was falling but melting on its warmth. March took his glove off and reached out to touch the red skin. It was almost hot. “You stay here. I’ve got one more thing to do.”

  Before Edyon could complain, March staggered off to look for another body. He’d seen the demon rip the cook’s arm off and knew his body must be nearby. The cook had a large bag that he’d carried with him and March had suspected there was food in it, food that he hadn’t shared with the rest of the group. The snow cleared a little and March saw the cook’s body. Opening the cook’s bag, March knew he’d been right, as the smell of ham and cheese filled his nostrils and made his mouth water. The cook had a scarf and thick mittens—well, one mitten—which were blood-free. His heavy leather coat was ripped at the arm and bloodstained but still worth having. He also had a large knife and a good bag.

  March returned with his booty and was surprised to find Edyon cuddling the demon’s body.

  Edyon said, “I can’t believe I’m doing this, but if I’m going to die I might as well die holding the most beautiful physical specimen of a man.”

  March knelt by Edyon, saying, “He’s not a man; he’s a demon. A dead demon.”

  “I assure you, March, I’ve had worse.” Edyon turned his head to look at March and added, “Anyway, what makes you think I was talking about the demon?”

  March smiled and shook his head. He was almost used to Edyon making comments about his looks, though he could never think of anything to say in response. “I’ve found some food, a scarf, and one good mitten.” And he pushed it over Edyon’s hand.

  Edyon was serious now and said, “Thank you for staying with me.”

  March met Edyon’s eyes. “You stayed with me . . . in Rossarb, I mean.”

  “We were in a cell together. I didn’t have a lot of choice.”

  “Yes, you did have a choice. You stayed with me. I’ll stay with you.”

  March lay on the other side of the demon and put the leather coat over them all. They were out of the wind instantly and the heat from the demon’s body soon filled the space.

  “The snow is surprisingly comfortable,” Edyon muttered. “You know, it may seem a bleak situation: cuddling up to a dead demon for warmth in a freezing-cold snowstorm with half the Brigantine army after us, but for all we know we’re the lucky ones. The princess and the others may have already been ripped to pieces by hordes of demons.”

  “For all we know,” March agreed, though he didn’t care about any of them.

  Edyon added, “She could have escaped, you know. She could have taken the purple demon smoke and gone faster. But she chose to stay with the group.”

  “She could have given it to us and let us escape,” March countered.

  “It makes me strong but it stops me thinking properly. Last time I took it to heal you I collapsed with laughter,” Edyon said. “And before you say anything—yes, I am capable of thinking properly.”

  March was too tired to think of a reply; he had to think of what to do next. If they set off as soon as the storm cleared, they might just slip away from the Brigantines. Then they could head south off the plateau and to the coast for a ship to Calidor.

  And somewhere along that journey he’d have to tell Edyon the truth. The truth about who he was: that he hadn’t been sent by Edyon’s father, Prince Thelonius, but had planned with Holywell to kidnap Edyon and sell him out to the Brigantines. If they lived through this, then he’d tell Edyon. But for now he moved closer to the dead demon’s body and fell asleep.

  CATHERINE

  DEMON TUNNELS

  Leaders act decisively even when they aren’t certain of the path.

  Kings of Pitoria, Guy Lambasse

  TRULY THIS was another world. The cold and wind and snow had been left behind as if Catherine had crawled out of one room and into another—like the playhouses she built from sheets and tables and chairs when she was a child, crawling out of her father’s castle and into her imagined world where she was queen. Here in the demon world, the stone was warm, rough, and dry. Even the air was warm, and permeated with a red tint.

  Tash had told Catherine a little of the demon world and had said the hollows always sealed over and demons never came to the same place twice. She had to hope demons wouldn’t come here—that she hadn’t led her group to their deaths. She peered down the slope, dreading seeing demons rushing at her, but all she saw was smooth, rounded red rock forming a small cavern, and at its base the entrance to a tunnel through which the end of the trail of smoke was disappearing.

  Catherine said one word—“Hello?”—and didn’t recognize her own voice. Even in her head the word was lost, and she heard just a metallic chime. She tried again with the same result.

  Tanya signed to her: We can’t speak.

  Catherine tried to look confident. She signed her reply: Here we must sign. And we must be quiet.

  Tanya gave a nervous smile and replied in sign language: Like in Brigant.

  Catherine nodded. This world seemed to have some similarities to Brigant—it was as dangerous, though here the danger was from demons, not Brigantine men. She looked back up to the human world, wondering which was worse.

  Two figures, Edyon and March, knelt at the rim of the demon hollow above. The entrance was getting smaller and they had to enter now or it would be too late. But there was nothing Catherine could do except watch as the human world gradually disappeared, blocked out by stone. She reached up to check there was no way through, but the stone that formed the roof was just the same as the ground—hard and rough and solid.

  Edyon and March were left behind. And surely wouldn’t survive—either the storm or the Brigantines would get them. Two more lives wasted. Catherine had wanted to get to know Edyon, her cousin, of whom she had been unaware until they met in Rossarb. She’d been struck by how gentle he was, intelligent and educated, confident with words and jokes but hugely nervous of most other things. She had liked him. But she’d not managed t
o save him. Nor March, nor the cook or the elderly servant.

  Commanders had to act in the moment and that was what she’d done, but she’d not thought of the weaker members of the group, the ones who couldn’t do what she’d done. She’d have to do better. But her challenge now was to help the rest of the group and to find another way out through another tunnel, through another demon hollow.

  Catherine stood, exhaled, and was shocked that even the sound of her breath was like the tinkling of a bell. She really would have to be as silent as if she was in her father’s presence.

  Well, I’ve spent seventeen years being silent, so it shouldn’t be too hard.

  She took a few tentative steps down the steep slope to the base of the cavern. Ambrose put his arm out, blocking her way. He spoke quietly, but a strange sound like the chiming of bells was all she heard. He stopped speaking and instead mouthed the words so that she could read his lips: Please wait, Your Highness. We don’t know what’s down there.

  Catherine mouthed her reply: Stay with me. I’ll look after you. I’m still feeling strong.

  Ambrose frowned, not understanding.

  Davyon was already at the bottom of the slope. Catherine ducked under Ambrose’s arm and went to join him. Through a mixture of signals and mouthing, they agreed the group should stay close together and head slowly and silently down the tunnel. Davyon and Rafyon would lead the way and Geratan would bring up the rear.

  There were no lights, no sun or sky, but the air seemed to have a red glow of its own. The tunnel was easy to walk along, the floor and walls smooth. They were safe from the Brigantine army, but this was the demons’ world, and who knew how many demons were ahead of them. One demon had been terrifying enough, two would be difficult to deal with, but how many could they fend off if they were attacked?

  They walked on, and the tunnel narrowed and they had to walk in single file. The tunnel curved slightly right and left and even climbed a little, but overall the impression Catherine got was that they were moving gradually down. The light didn’t seem to change at all—there was a red glow to everything.

  As they walked on, the air became warmer. It was a relief after the cold of the storm, but now Catherine could feel the sweat on her brow. Rafyon and Ambrose and the other men had removed their jackets and cloaks and were walking in shirtsleeves, spare clothes tied round shoulders and waists. Catherine removed her cloak and then her jacket, draping them over her shoulders.

  The effects of the demon smoke faded, leaving Catherine hot and exhausted, her feet sore, her muscles aching.

  They came to some water running ankle-deep the full width of the tunnel, appearing and disappearing through cracks in the ground. Davyon halted the group and Rafyon dipped his finger into the water to taste it, licking it cautiously at first, then cupping his hand to take more and then giving a thumbs-up, indicating it was fine to drink. Ambrose filled his canteen, which he passed to Catherine. The water was warm but tasted good.

  Catherine would have loved to bathe her feet but didn’t dare take her boots off for fear she’d never be able to get them back on. She washed her hands in the tepid water, conscious that Ambrose was kneeling close to her doing the same, washing his hands and bare arms. Rivulets of water ran down his skin. Then he bent forward, hands under the water, and submerged his face. His hair and shirt were wet. Ambrose’s skin was so beautiful, and so close. Catherine knew she shouldn’t stare, but she wanted to do even more. There was still a spot of mud near his elbow and she had an urge to wipe it off. No, she had an urge to touch him, his skin. Did she need this excuse? She’d never been allowed to touch any man, so it felt almost impossible. She wet her fingertips, then gently, hardly daring to touch, she smoothed the mud off his skin.

  That feels so good!

  Catherine snatched her hand away and squealed a clattering sound in shock. “You spoke!” She uttered the words but a clanging noise came out of her mouth.

  But she’d heard Ambrose’s voice clearly.

  He looked at her with concern and she reached out and touched his arm again.

  What’s happening? What’s wrong?

  Ambrose’s voice was as clear as if she was in the human world, but his lips weren’t moving. Was she imagining it? Had the smoke confused her?

  What’s happening? What’s the matter? Ambrose was mouthing those words, but she also heard his voice in her head.

  Catherine kept hold of Ambrose’s arm and replied just by thinking the words. I’m fine. I heard you speak. I heard you speak in my head.

  And she quickly took her hand away again.

  From the way Ambrose stared at her, she could tell he had heard her thoughts as clearly as she’d heard his. He held his hand out to her. Catherine put her fingertips on his palm and heard words in Ambrose’s voice: Is it because we’re touching? Can you hear me now? Can you hear this?

  Catherine nodded her reply but withdrew her hand. Could he hear all her thoughts? She needed to control herself—control her thoughts.

  Then slowly she took his hand again. Is it really true? Can you hear me?

  Ambrose had stiffened. Yes.

  So, we can talk.

  Yes.

  Catherine moved her hand to touch Ambrose’s wet shirt rather than his skin. Can you hear me now?

  He didn’t react.

  Can you hear anything? If I say your skin is beautiful? That I want to stroke it. Caress it?

  But Ambrose just stared at her. She slid her hand down to touch his skin and heard him think, Touch me again . . . She stared at him as his thoughts entered her mind. I was just thinking that we need to touch skin on skin. That’s all I was thinking. That you should touch me so that we can talk.

  Yes, of course.

  I’m sorry, if you don’t want to. If you think it’s wrong.

  Catherine shook her head. I don’t think it’s wrong. It’s just . . . it’s not what I’m used to. It’s not allowed. Not normally allowed, I mean, but we’re not in a normal place, and who should say what is allowed here? And I did touch you. I do want to touch you, to touch your skin. I mean, I want to talk to you, but your skin was right there, your arm next to me. I’m sorry, my thoughts are all over the place. You must think my mind is a mess.

  Ambrose smiled. No. Your mind is clear. And this is a strange experience.

  It’s frightening. I don’t know what I may reveal. I’m not certain which thoughts of mine you can hear.

  He nodded. I only want to know what you want to tell me.

  Catherine took her hand away. Here they could communicate privately, intimately, and yet in public, but what did she want to communicate to Ambrose?

  She took a breath and touched his hand again. I need to think privately. I need to work this out.

  Ambrose stroked her hand with his fingertips, and his voice clearly filled her head: I must talk to you more, much more, but for now I need to tell Davyon about this. And before Catherine could reply, he’d left her.

  She watched as Ambrose took hold of Davyon’s hand and communicated with him. Then Davyon went to Rafyon, and Ambrose to Geratan. Catherine turned to Tanya. They’d been able to communicate well enough with signs and by lip-reading, but this was easier. Catherine grasped Tanya’s hand. We can hear each other’s thoughts when we touch, skin on skin.

  Tanya’s eyes widened. Magic!

  No, this is just how things work in the demon world. Not magic. Just different. But be careful with your thoughts, Tanya. Anyone may learn of them here.

  They’re always pure. Tanya smiled at Catherine, who couldn’t help but smile back.

  Tell everyone to fill their canteens and be ready to continue. And get Tash over here.

  Tanya nodded and moved through the group, touching the others as she went. Tash soon came over and grabbed Catherine’s hand.

  Can you hear me, princess? Can you hear me in your head?

/>   I can hear you, Tash.

  The demon world is different, for sure.

  And can you tell me more of it before we go farther?

  Tash shook her head. I never spent more than a few moments in this world, just long enough to wake a demon and draw him out after me. I never came down the tunnels. Do you think demons talk to each other like this?

  I don’t know, Tash.

  Do you think they drink the water? But never eat? I’m not hungry at all.

  No, neither am I. And I don’t know what the demons do. But for the moment I just don’t want to meet any of them.

  They set off again. That’s one thing that wasn’t different here—walking. The pace was slow but steady, and Catherine began to wonder if they’d be walking for days before finding anything when another tunnel joined with theirs at a sharp angle from the right.

  Catherine peered up the new tunnel but couldn’t see far, and it looked exactly like the one they’d come down. She immediately felt that the way up led to another demon hollow and possibly back to the human world, whereas down led to . . . who knew what.

  Davyon pointed upward and held out his hand for Catherine to touch.

  I suggest we go that way, Your Highness. Or would you like to carry on down?

  How the tunnels joined and led down reminded Catherine of a confluence of two streams. Was that what the tunnels were like? All joining together and leading down to the demon home where the smoke had returned to?

  She wanted to learn as much as she could about this world. This was why her father was in Pitoria, she was sure of it, but every moment here felt like she was pushing her luck. They had avoided the storm and avoided the Brigantines, but if a few demons appeared then many men, possibly all of them, would be lost.

  But if they went up the new tunnel there would be a demon at the end of it, of that Catherine was certain. And who knew if the tunnel was short or long or where it would come out? Surely back on to the plateau—but how close to the Brigantine soldiers who were coming after them? The thought of battling a demon and going back into the storm when everyone was still exhausted was not enticing. No, they should rest first, then they’d head up the tunnel.