I don’t understand what he’s saying until I look again and see that the face hanging from the rock is very similar to Drust’s. Stubbly hair. Agonised eyes. A fuller beard. But his shape, his mouth, his expression.
“His name was Brude,” Drust says quietly, eyes locked with the man’s. “My twin brother. A druid like me.”
“Brotherrrrrr,” the man who once was—or still is—Brude sighs, then chuckles creakily. “You have… come… to witness… the glory?”
“Brude hated Christians more than most,” Drust says, ignoring the question. “I was never sure why.”
“Because… they… corrupt,” Brude hisses, eyes filling with fury. “They… change… that which… should not… be changed. They… destroy.”
“He decided to fight them,” Drust continues. “He sought a way to defeat them. Magic failed him. So did brute force when he tried to organise an army to lead against them. In the end he resorted to…” He trails off into silence for a moment, then speaks again, louder this time. “He opened the tunnel between our world and the Demonata’s. Invited the demons to cross. He’s responsible for all the savagery and deaths. He’s the one we must stop if we are to close the—”
“That’s why you came!” I cry suddenly. “The other druids refused to help, but your twin was the cause of the invasion. You felt guilty. You couldn’t bear to let so many people die because of him.”
Drust nods slowly. “We were like two parts of the same person when we were children. If he cut himself, I hurt. When I was happy, he laughed. That changed with time, but the bond was always there, linking us, binding us. What he’s doing is wrong. Christianity can’t be fought—and even if it can, it should be fought by human means, not demonic. I couldn’t stand by and let my brother—my own flesh and blood—commit such an atrocity against the entire human race. I had to stop him.”
“Not such a noble cause then,” Connla snickers. “You didn’t rush to our rescue because you cared for us, but because you didn’t like what your twin was up to.”
Drust shrugs. “Do my motives matter? I came. I wish to put a stop to the madness. That should be enough.”
“Can’t… stop,” Brude growls. Now that I’m closer I can see his heart, beating slowly within the wall, the rock pulsing along with it. So he’s not just alive within the rock—the rock is alive too.
“It has to stop,” Drust says. “This is wrong, Brude. The Demonata will destroy everything. They won’t stay on this island—they’ll find a way to cross the sea and spread throughout the world, killing all in their path.”
“Good,” Brude gurgles. “I want… them to. Except… our kind. The druids will… stand firm. We won’t… fall. The weak… will perish. The strong… will remain. The way it… should be.”
Drust shakes his head. “Even the druids would fall in the end. The Demonata don’t share, or even rule. They consume. All would fall to them—human, priestess, druid. All.”
Brude sneers. “If so… so be it. Better a world… of demons… than one… of Christian stain.”
“This is pointless,” Goll grunts. “We could stand here arguing forever and not get anywhere. Will I chop his head off at the neck and have done with it?”
“That won’t stop him,” Drust says, moving closer, breaking eye contact with his brother to motion me forward. “Brude’s spirit is infused with the rock. He has become part of the tunnel between worlds. He is beyond physical harm. We can only kill him by closing the tunnel.”
“Then do it, quick, and let’s be out of here,” Lorcan says, eyeing Brude uneasily, tugging nervously at his earrings, one after the other.
“You are a… twin too,” Brude says bitterly. “I can… tell. What would you… think if… your brother… spoke of killing… you?”
“If I was in your place, I’d say he had every right to spill my blood,” Lorcan answers stiffly.
“You lie,” Brude snarls. “Twin should… never raise a hand… against twin.” His snarl turns to a smile. “But… in this case… I don’t think… it will come to… that. I smell… a friend… among my… foes. He will… protect me.”
Goll frowns. “What’s he talking about?”
“Ignore him,” Drust mutters. “He’s mad. Let’s push on and—”
A cry of pain stops him. It’s Lorcan. As I whirl, the teenage warrior falls to the ground, clutching his chest, blood pouring out around his fingers.
“Demons!” Goll shouts, turning sharply, sword raised. He stops, bewildered. There are no demons in the cave behind Lorcan. Only Connla—with a blood-red knife and a killer’s smile.
Before anyone can react, Connla races to the cave entrance and roars up the shaft, “Demonata! Hurry to my side! There are enemies in your midst!”
Goll curses vilely and starts across the cave. But then we hear the sounds of demons pouring into the hole above and scrambling down the shaft. Goll stops, not sure what to do.
Drust ignores the chaos above us. He steps up, so he’s almost face to face with his twin, then speaks to me from the side of his mouth. “I’m going to start the spells. When I complete the first one, we’ll be able to enter the tunnel, where I’ll finish the rest.”
“What about—” I begin.
“No time!” he shouts. “Ask them to fight and buy a few seconds for us, and pray that’s enough.”
His lips start moving at an unnatural speed and his hands come up, glowing a dark blue hue. Brude curses him but Drust ignores the foul insults and carries on with the spell.
I turn my attention to Connla and Goll. Connla is standing by the side of the entrance, whistling merrily, cleaning under his fingernails with the tip of his bloodied knife. Goll has helped Lorcan back to his feet—Connla must have missed the young warrior’s heart because although he’s wounded fatally, he isn’t dead. Bran stares at the blood on Lorcan’s chest, head cocked sideways, not sure what to make of it.
From the shaft come screams of outrage. The demons must have piled down too fast, too many of them, and jammed. But the blockage can’t last long. They’ll be upon us in a minute or so, I guess.
“Why?” Goll roars at Connla. “We’ll all die now!”
“You’ll die,” Connla replies smugly. “Not me. I’ve cut a deal with the demon master, Lord Loss.”
“The night when he was talking to you!” I gasp, remembering our first encounter with Lord Loss, finding him crouched over Connla, whispering.
“Aye,” Connla smiles. “I wasn’t asleep. He came to me. Told me everything, of Drust’s quest, his real reason for coming, what would happen if—when—he failed. For my cooperation he promised great power. In the new world I will be a high king, in command of all those whom the demons choose to spare.”
“Weren’t you listening?” I cry. “They won’t spare anyone!”
“Of course they will,” Connla laughs. “Every master needs slaves.”
“Did Lord Loss actually say that?” I ask.
“Not directly, no, but it was implied.”
“You’re an ass!” Goll spits. Then he squints at Connla. “What do you mean by cooperation! What did you do for the demon?”
“Information,” Connla murmurs. “I told him about you all, your pasts, your strengths and weaknesses. I told him about Orna’s children—that’s how he knew to fetch them. And then there were the services rendered…”
From the sounds in the shaft, the jam has cleared and the demons are moving forward again. Time’s almost up. I glance desperately at Drust but his lips are still moving and he hasn’t stepped forward.
“Be quick!” Goll shouts at Connla. “They’ll be on us in seconds and I don’t want to die without knowing the full extent of your treachery.”
“Very well.” Connla grins at Lorcan. “I killed Ronan—I pushed him off the cliff.” Lorcan tries to curse but his face twists with pain and he only doubles over and grunts. “And Fiachna,” Connla continues, laughing at me now. “Lord Loss gave me a pouch of poisoned powder. I rubbed it into Fiachna’s wo
und after he’d been bitten by the demon, when everyone was asleep or preoccupied. I—”
Whatever he was about to say is lost as the first demon crashes through the entrance into the cave. It falls on its face but is up in an instant, head swivelling, searching for the source of danger. It spots Connla, takes a step towards him, then sniffs the air, pauses and turns its gaze on the rest of us, leaving the smirking traitor alone.
The demon bounds forward, shrieking. Goll meets it solidly, drives his sword through the tip of its head, then kicks it into the path of those which are following.
Lorcan shrugs off his death and lays into the demons with his sword, pushing forward, keeping one hand over the hole in his chest to stem the flow of blood.
Bran dances around the cave, over, under and around the demons spilling into it, confusing and enraging them, doing what he can to draw their attention away from the rest of us—and especially from Drust, still muttering his spell in front of the abusive Brude.
I reach within, call upon my magic and unleash it. I set a demon on fire. Make another’s eyes pop. I drive one mad by squeezing its brain—in its madness it attacks those around it.
The spells come quickly to my tongue, power flowing through me, building up and dispersing through my fingers, lips and eyes at a frightening speed. I make one demon’s stomach explode. I cause a host of the V-shaped formations overhead to snap free and fall, killing several demons in the process.
But it isn’t enough. More come. An endless flow. Streaming into the cave. Lorcan has disappeared under an avalanche of monsters. I see one of his ring-pierced ears fly high into the air—my final glimpse of him. Goll’s stomach has been ripped open and half his face clawed away. He fights on but it’s hopeless. I can’t save the old warrior. Bran is still going strong, fast and agile as ever, but what good is that?
I catch sight of Connla, moving among the demons like a master through a pack of hounds. Many growl at him suspiciously but when they smell his blood they leave him be. He’s laughing at the carnage. Angling for Drust, twirling a knife, preparing to kill the druid. I start a spell to make his brain melt in his head—but then I have a better idea.
A moving spell. I cast it quickly and Connla flies across the cave, colliding with the wall beneath the waterfall. He falls heavily, then sits up, wincing but otherwise unharmed, shaking his head as water cascades over him.
“You’ll have to do better than that!” he chortles, wiping water from his eyes.
“I don’t think so,” I retort.
He frowns at my tone. A demon standing close to him, with a head that’s mostly human except for an extra eye in the middle of its forehead, sniffs at Connla uncertainly, then hisses with delight. Its mouth opens wider than any human’s—row upon row of dagger-like teeth and two forked tongues.
Connla stares at the demon, confused. Then he realises—the water has washed the blood from his face! A moment of panic. He tries to cut his palms again, to redaub his cheeks. But the demon’s upon him before he can restore his protective spell. It bites at his face. Catches his lips. It looks as though the pair are kissing—until the demon rips free, tearing Connla’s mouth away, leaving him to fall, gibbering madly, and be set upon by a handful of other savage demons.
“Hah!” Goll shouts, taking great pleasure from Connla’s savage death. “That’ll teach him! Well done, Little One!”
Then a demon knocks the old warrior’s legs out from under him. He falls. Demonic bodies fill the space around him. And the one-eyed ex-king who was like a father to me—who gave me my name—is gone.
Alone. No time to mourn. The demons are closing in, ignoring the dancing Bran, focusing on me. I lash out at them with every spell at my disposal, wreaking havoc. But I can’t kill them all. They’re getting closer. Almost upon me. Any second now, one will lurch within striking distance and then—
A hand grabs the neck of my tunic. I’m hauled backwards. I cry out, but the cry’s cut short by the V of the tunic digging into my throat. I land hard on the ground. Scrabble to my feet, trying to clear my throat, to cast a spell, to take at least one more demon down with me before…
I stop. I’m in the gut-studded tunnel. Drust is beside me. The demons are at the mouth, howling, reaching for us, lashing out with all their force and fury—but not connecting. Unable to break through the invisible barrier which separates Drust and me from them.
“A positive start,” the druid says. He smiles quickly, then half-closes his eyes and moves down the tunnel, muttering the words of the next spell.
I laugh hysterically and pull faces at the furious, thrashing demons. But then I recall the deaths of my friends and my crazy humour passes. I look for the bodies of Goll and Lorcan but I can’t see through the demons crowded around the mouth of the tunnel. There’s no sign of Bran either, but I’m sure he’s safe—daft as he is, he leads a charmed existence. I don’t think any of these demons can harm him.
I sigh heavily and wipe tears from my eyes, thinking about Goll and Lorcan, all the good times and adventures we shared. Then, putting soft thoughts behind me, I make myself hard, turn my back on the demonic chaos and set off after Drust, readying myself for a swift, victorious death.
THE SACRIFICE
The walls of the tunnel are hot and fleshy, both to the look and touch. By the glow coming from Drust’s hands I can see more of Brude from here—more than I want to. Almost all the bits inside him—the bits of a person which are supposed to remain hidden—are obscenely revealed, pulsing, bubbling and gurgling within the transformed layers of rock.
Brude screams at us as we invade the tunnel of his body, his voice only just audible above the bellowing and mewling of the demons. He curses us, threatens a violent end, warns us to turn back. When that fails, he tries to win us over with promises of power, long lives and protection from the Demonata.
We ignore him and proceed, Drust chanting words of powerful magic, me following obediently, awaiting his command.
Brude’s voice fades as we move down the tunnel until it’s nothing more than a low murmur. The walls around us change too, hardening, becoming more like real rock, although with small lines running through them—I think they’re veins.
I expect Drust to stop, complete his spells and make the sacrifice. But he keeps moving, slow but sure, following the path of the tunnel as it curves and dips ever lower. I want to ask why he doesn’t end it here, so he can get out quickly if successful, before the walls close around him. But I dare not interrupt while he’s casting the spells, for fear I’d break his concentration, shatter the web of magic and free the demons to hurtle down the tunnel after us.
Eventually, the tunnel leads us to another cave. This one’s smaller than the first, with none of the spectacular formations. Most of the floor is covered by a pool of water. An island of bones juts out of the middle of the pool. In the centre stands a large rectangular stone which reminds me of the ring of Old stones where we sought shelter from the demons.
Drust stands by the edge of the water, observing the stone, for several minutes, muttering more spells. Then he stops and looks at me, smiling tiredly. “A lodestone,” he says. “A reservoir of ancient magic. Very powerful. We think the Old Creatures used stones like this to mark the position of our world, so they could find their way here from the stars. The Old Creatures have drained most of the remaining lodestones of their power, but they either missed this one or deliberately left it charged for one reason or another. Brude found it and used it to open the tunnel. We’ll turn it against him now.”
“Is it safe for you to stop?” I ask nervously, glancing back up the tunnel.
“For a moment,” Drust says. “The spells I’ve cast are at work on the walls of the rock, Brude, the…” He nods towards a point beyond the island. Staring hard, I see the mouth of a second tunnel in the rock on the far side of the pool—but the walls of this tunnel are made of red webs and strips of flesh.
“That’s the tunnel to the Demonata’s world?” I ask.
&n
bsp; “Aye. On their side a demon master has undergone a transformation like Brude, creating that tunnel. The lodestone links the pair. It’s been absorbing magic from Brude and the demon master, uniting their forms, slowly knitting together the fabric of the two tunnels. The lesser demons have been able to squeeze through during the process. When the tunnels become one, the masters will be able to follow their servants to our world. If that happens, mankind is finished.”
“What if a demon comes through when you’re casting the rest of your spells?” I ask.
Drust pauses. “I won’t be able to stop. You’ll have to fight it.” He runs an eye over me. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” I lick my lips, mouth dry from the heat of the tunnel and cave. “Goll and Lorcan are dead. Connla too. I removed his protective spell. The demons killed him.”
“Good,” Drust grunts. “And Bran?”
“I don’t know. He was alive when we entered the tunnel, but there were so many demons…”
“If I make it back, I’ll look for the boy,” Drust promises. “If he’s alive, I’ll take care of him.”
He straightens, casts his tiredness off and steps into the water, starting on the next set of spells. I stare at the island of bones for a second—impossible to tell if they’re human or demon, or a mix of the two—then step in after him. Despite the heat of the cave, the water’s cold, but not as cold as the sea was. No need for a warming spell. I wade after Drust, eyes on the lodestone and bones, morbidly wondering if he’ll leave my bones there, on top of the pile, when he’s done.
The water’s shallow, no higher than my lower thigh. It doesn’t take us long to reach the island. When we’re there, Drust climbs up on to the mound of bones. The bones are brittle and many snap under his feet. He takes no notice, continues with the spells, clambering his way over to the lodestone, beckoning me to follow.
[Demonata 04] - Bec Page 17
