[Demonata 04] - Bec

by Darren Shan - (ebook by Undead)

  I have moments of doubt in the middle of the night, when the world is a lonely place. I could run. Desert with Connla. I’m not sure why he’s stuck with us this long. He could have left when we were at the coast or when Bran brought the horses. He said he wasn’t one to flee a challenge but maybe it’s just that he fears running by himself, with no one to watch his back. If I said I’d go with him, I’m certain he’d jump at the chance. With his strength and standing, allied to my magical abilities, we could be a mighty pair. Set ourselves up as rulers of some far-off tuath. Connla a king, me a priestess-queen. All-powerful.

  It’s tempting. I know my duty and I believe my suffering will be brief, that I’ll find peace in the Otherworld. But in my heart I’m a young girl, afraid of the darkness of death, wanting to grow up and see more of the world, taste more of life. I cry quietly to myself, thinking of the terrible sacrifice I must make, the joys I will never know, the love I’ll now definitely never find. Part of me wants to slither across to Connla, put my offer to him, then leap on a horse and ride out of this nightmare as fast as I can.

  But I don’t. Duty wins out over fear in the end. I can’t stop the shivers or the fast beat of my heart, but I can wipe away tears and hold my ground. And I do. I hate the prospect of dying and I’m more afraid than I ever thought I could be. But if this is my destiny… if it’s what the gods ask of me… so be it. Better to die for my people in my own land than rule in another and suffer a lifetime of cowardly guilt.

  Many of the demons return in the hour before dawn, some bearing trophies of their battles with humans—heads, limbs, torsos, sometimes children who are still alive, kicking and screaming in terror. It’s hard to ignore the cries of the young but there’s nothing we can do without giving our position away. If we did that, the demons would attack in great and unmerciful force and we’d all perish.

  “They’ll be the last,” Drust whispers, his eyes hard. “After tomorrow, no more will die at the hands of the Demonata.”

  “You promise?” I ask, my fears and doubts causing me to question him, desperately searching his face for a hint of the lie that would provide me with an excuse to bail out.

  “I promise,” Drust says calmly. “It won’t be easy, but having come this far I’m sure we won’t fail.” He pauses. “You’re still prepared to…?”

  “Of course!” I snap, pretending to be offended by the notion that I might have had second thoughts.

  He lays a gentle hand on my right knee. “It will be quick. It won’t hurt. You have my word.”

  I shrug as if that was the furthest thing from my thoughts, then listen to the demons crashing by and try to drown out the echoes of the children’s screams.

  Day. The order of the world restored. My final sun. Fittingly, it’s obscured by heavy grey clouds. I’ve heard that clouds are rare in some lands, that the sun shines all day in a clear blue sky. But surely those are fanciful tales, told for the amusement of the young. This world was made to be cloaked in grey. It wouldn’t feel natural if the sun shone brightly all the time.

  Drust examines the horses and declares one of them unfit for the trek. We let it go and after a few mumbles from Bran it wanders off to find a good grazing spot. Perhaps it will be the only survivor of our group this day.

  Before we leave, Drust makes a final speech, looking around slowly, his gaze lingering on each of us in turn, first Connla, then Lorcan, Goll, Bran and me.

  “I’ve acted as if I don’t care about you. In the beginning it was true. You were figures for me to manipulate, like pieces on my chess board. I didn’t care if you lived or died. I couldn’t afford to.

  “But I’ve changed. I wasn’t aware of it happening but it did. I think of you as friends now. You’ve been loyal and brave, putting the welfare of others before your own, risking all on the strength of my promise to rid this world of demons.

  “So I say to you now, as friends—you can leave. Only Bec and I need go on. If our plan works, there won’t be any battle. If something goes wrong and we have to fight, the chances are you won’t make much difference against the masses of demons. You can step aside and return home without any shame or guilt.”

  He stops and awaits the men’s response.

  “A gracious offer,” Goll says warmly, “but I’ll stay. I want to see how it finishes, so I can tell those in our tuath and bask in the glory. I’ve always wanted to be part of a legend!”

  “Me too,” Lorcan says. “Besides, I want to kill a few more demons before you banish them from our land. For Ronan.”

  We all look at Connla. “I’m going nowhere,” he says quietly, defiantly.

  Drust smiles. “True warriors one and all.” He puts a hand out and, one by one, we touch it, until all of us are joined, even Bran, who squints at the hands as if he expects a trick. “To the end,” Drust says simply.

  “To the end,” we repeat.

  “Of the demons!” Goll adds and we laugh.

  Then we mount up—Drust rides with Bran, while I sit behind Lorcan—and set off. Our final journey. Our final challenge. My final day.

  * * * * *

  Working on the spells of closure. Not one spell but several. Spells to join split rock back together, move earth, seal magical gaps. The most difficult spells I’ve ever tried to learn. Even with my vastly expanded powers I have trouble mastering them. My tongue trips on the words. Despite my perfect memory, I get the order wrong and muddle them up.

  Drust doesn’t lose his temper. He repeats the spells over and over, making me slowly practise the words and phrases which are particularly difficult.

  “This is helpful for me too,” he says as we take a short break. “I’ve never cast these spells before. It’s good that I get the order straight within my mind and the words clear on my tongue.”

  “If you… if I have to replace you,” I say. “When do I make the sacrifice?”

  “You’ll know when the time comes,” he says. “The spells will direct you. There is no single right moment. These spells react to the threat which the caster faces, so they’re different each time. Even as you’re uttering them, they’ll change. As long as you keep the original spells clear within your thoughts, and don’t stumble, you’ll be fine—the new spells will carry you along.”

  “And if I make a mistake? Should I stop and start again?”

  “No,” he says quickly. “Once you start, you must continue. If you say a wrong word or stutter, don’t stop. Push on and hope the error wasn’t important. There will be forces working in opposition to our magic. Once the Demonata realise what we’re doing, they’ll set themselves against us. The spells will protect us—I hope—but if they break down, a second is all it will take for our enemies to destroy us.”

  I wish he could be more encouraging, but this is a time for the truth, however troubling it might be. So I listen. And repeat. And hope that I’m never charged with the task of having to do this. Because I’m not only unsure whether or not I’d be able to get the spells right—I also don’t know if I could bring myself to take up a weapon against one of my friends and kill him.

  THE WORLD BENEATH

  The tunnel. The rent between this world and the Demonata’s. The passageway for demons. The source of the nightmares.

  We’re here.

  It’s an hour or so before sunset. We’ve set the horses free and are on our knees, hiding behind bushes, studying the scene. A hole in the ground ahead is the focal point. The branches of the trees around it are thick with strips of cloth, bits of wood, bodies of the dead. A solid ceiling, like the one around the ring of magical stones where we sheltered earlier, in what feels now like a separate age.

  Beneath the cover of the trees—hordes of demons. Most sleeping. Some fighting, playing with dead bodies, eating. Every disgusting shape and shade imaginable. Some undead too, but not many.

  “We’ll never get through them all,” Goll whispers.

  “I could create a diversion,” Lorcan suggests. “Attack at one side and draw them away. The rest o
f you could sneak in while they were dealing with me.”

  “No,” Goll says. “That wouldn’t work. Maybe Bran could dance and lead them astray.”

  “Run fast,” Bran says, nodding vigorously.

  “Too many,” Drust mutters. “Not all would be lured away.”

  “Magic?” I ask. “A masking spell?”

  Drust nods. “That’s our best hope but we can’t count on it. These are superior to most of the demons we’ve faced. They’re some of the more powerful demons who have crossed, placed here by their masters to guard the opening.”

  “Then they might see through the spell,” I note.

  “Aye. But we’ll have to risk it. We’ll cast a strong spell over you, me and Bran, then advance. Goll, Lorcan and Connla can attack at the same time, at different spots, to create distractions.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Goll says. “How about you, my fine young…?” He stops, brow furrowing as he stares at Connla. The vain warrior has cut the flesh of both his palms and is daubing his cheeks and forehead with blood, quietly muttering words which could be either a spell or a prayer. “What are you doing?” Goll asks suspiciously.

  Connla finishes the spell or prayer, then smiles. “A bit of added protection.”

  “That won’t help,” Drust says.

  “We’ll see,” Connla chuckles, casually glancing over the top of the bush at the demons. “Well, I’m ready. Make up your minds, tell me what you want to do and on we’ll go.”

  Drust regards Connla with uneasy surprise. Some warriors are never afraid going into battle, but Connla isn’t one of them. Yet here he squats, more at peace than anyone, looking like a man with nothing to lose or no notion of losing.

  “You understand what we’re discussing?” Drust asks. “If you fight, you’ll die. It will take time to cast the spells of closure. The demons will kill you while we’re at work.”

  “Just worry about your magic, druid,” Connla laughs. “Leave us to handle the fighting.”

  “A man at last,” Goll remarks wryly, then faces Drust. “So the three of us will attack the demons while you, Bran and Bec forge ahead on your own?”

  Drust hesitates, then abruptly changes his mind. “No. Some demons may have orders to stay by the entrance in case of an attack. It might be better if we don’t give them advance warning. We’ll stick together and push on as a group. If they see through the spell, Bec and I will make a dash for the hole and the rest of you can fight then.”

  “We won’t let you down,” Connla says grandly.

  Drust and I concentrate and draw upon our magic. The night’s rest has done me a world of good, even though I didn’t sleep. I feel power bubbling up inside, stronger than ever. When I cast the masking spell, I add a few twists to it, improvising, improving on the spell which Drust taught me. The druid feels the strength of the new spell. He’s surprised, but follows my lead, and we carefully wrap our small group safely within it.

  “The spell will trail us,” I tell Drust when we’re finished. “We won’t need to maintain it as we walk. We can focus on the task ahead.”

  “How did you manage that?” he asks, slightly jealous.

  I shrug. “It just came to me.”

  Drust sighs. “Such promise. There’s so much you could do, maybe more than any magician has ever done. I wish…” He stops and steels himself. Checks that everybody has a weapon to hand (except simple Bran). Then we push through the bush and enter the camp of the Demonata.

  The spell holds. We edge through the demonic ranks, carefully stepping over tentacles and twisted limbs, ignoring the stench of rotting human bodies and the even fouler smells of the demons. Most are larger than any who attacked our rath. They look fiercer and stronger. I don’t think we would have survived an assault by this lot. Yet these aren’t the strongest Demonata, only the more worthy servants of the demon masters.

  Until this moment I didn’t truly believe the demons would overrun the land. I was inwardly sure that my people would fight hard and win in some places, repel the demons, hold their own. Now I know I was wrong. If we fail and the demon masters cross, all will fall in quick succession. Depending on how fast the demons move, this entire land could be a steaming pile of ruins, broken bones and decaying flesh within a week.

  Bran studies the demons with interest, smiling at some of the more hideously deformed monsters. Connla casts a cool eye over them, acting unimpressed, as if they were a flock of scraggly sheep. Everybody else looks at them with disgust and fear.

  A four-headed, red-skinned demon stirs and looks right at me. I freeze, certain it’s seen through the spell. But then it belches, spits out a chewed-up hand and lowers its head again. I step over the half-dissolved, bile-speckled hand and fight to keep my stomach quiet as we pass the dozing monster.

  Close to the hole. It looks like a natural rip in the earth, though the area around it has been torn at and dug up, to enlarge the mouth. No demons rest close by—they keep at least six or seven paces away from the hole.

  We slip through a space between two misshapen demons and enter the clearing. Drust walks to the rim of the hole and looks down. I step up beside him and see a long shaft angling down, deep into the earth. Unnatural heat billows from it. I want Drust to start the spells here, close the tunnel from this point, not lead us down that shaft to whatever horrors lie beneath.

  But Drust points down, as I knew he would. He makes sure we all understand, then lowers himself into the hole, searching for handholds, descending into the darkness of the pit. I go next, then Bran, Lorcan, Goll. Connla brings up the rear.

  The rock is hot to the touch but bearable. Lots of holds. Easy to climb. The shaft turns to the left after a while. Pure darkness around the bend. I pause, look up at the overcast but beautiful, human evening sky one last time, then slide across into eternal, demonic night.

  We climb for five minutes, ten, slowly feeling our way down. I could cast a lighting spell but Drust hasn’t, so I don’t think I should either. I’m expecting the descent to last for ages. But a few minutes later we hit level ground and are soon standing in a huddle, not sure what to do next, afraid to continue in case we’re on a platform overhanging a deadly drop.

  “I’m going to feel ahead with magic,” Drust whispers. “You try too. Explore with your mind. Try and determine where we are and what lies ahead.”

  I close my eyes—not that it makes any difference in this place—and send out mental feelers. But I’m not very good at this type of magic. I get the sense of a large space around us—a cave, I think—but I can’t be sure of its exact size. And I’ve no idea what the ground is like underfoot, whether it’s solid, breaks off into nothingness after a few feet, or is littered with traps.

  Fortunately Drust is more accomplished at this than me and a minute later he sighs the contented sigh of a man who has finally found what he’s been looking long and hard for. “It’s all right,” he says, excitement in his voice. “We’re here.”

  Light flares dimly in his left hand. Slowly, he lets it grow and expand, filling his palm and then rising to hang in the hot air above us. It lights up the entire cave, revealing a site of beautiful wonders and a wretched terror.

  The wonders—V-shaped, glistening formations of a substance not quite rock. Some reach up from the floor, others hang from the ceiling. All sorts of sizes. Water drips from the tips of some of the overhanging shapes, to splash over the floor of the cave or one of the uprising Vs. In some places it’s as if the shapes are reaching for each other, growing towards one another.

  There are other formations stretched between the floor and ceiling, some huge, others tiny bulges. And an underground waterfall to our right, the water appearing as if by magic from high up the wall, vanishing through a crack in the rocks underneath, flowing on to who knows where.

  This is what I imagine the Otherworld or Tir na n’Og to be like. It doesn’t feel as if it belongs to our world. It’s so quiet—except for the noise of the waterfall—and peaceful. I feel like if I fell as
leep, I could snooze for a hundred years and not be any different when I awoke. Time doesn’t touch this cave—or if it does, it touches it softly, slowly, subtly.

  But then there’s the wretched terror, which is almost impossible to comprehend. And difficult to describe.

  There’s a hole—the start of the tunnel—in one of the walls of the cave. And around and within it, the head and warped body of a man. The head hangs just above the hole, limp, its neck jutting out of the rock. Its body is spread out around it, mixed in with the rock, part of the wall. An arm far off to the left. A leg farther down to the right. The chest and stomach torn open, surrounding the hole, some inner organs visible inside the mouth of the tunnel.

  At first, I think it’s a trick of the rock formation, that the head has been stuck there to emphasise the strange nature of the hole. Then I think that the body just adorns the outside of the rock, that bits and pieces have been stuck on or crammed into cracks. But as we move closer, drawn to it in silent fascination and horror, I see that isn’t right either.

  The body is the rock. Somehow the two exist together, occupying the same space. It’s as if the rock melted and the man stepped into it, coming apart as the rock grew hard again around him. It must have been a painful way to die. Was he sacrificed? Did demons melt the rock and then—

  The head bobs up and its eyes flicker open. I stifle a scream. There are gasps all around me. Goll, Lorcan and Connla raise their weapons automatically.

  “No,” Drust says, signalling for calm. “It’s all right. He can’t harm us.”

  “Don’t be… so… sure,” the man in the rock croaks.

  “Balor’s eye!” Goll exclaims. “It speaks!”

  “What is it?” Lorcan asks. “What manner of…?” He stops, eyes narrowing. Takes a step ahead of everyone, gazes at the face for a long moment, then looks back at Drust. “Druid, what spell is this? That face is yours!”