by Darren Shan
support from the soldiers and werewolves.
The smarter demons realize they’re fighting a lost cause. Cursing foully, they dash through the window to the safety of their own universe, driving back those who were trying to cross. More break for the window but get tangled up with each other or waylaid by our forces. Panic sets in. The street echoes with the hysterical wails of monsters who know they don’t have long to live.
A minute later I’m ripping apart the window, and once it dissolves the demons are finished. As magic drains from the air, some of the weaker specimens collapse and rot. The others battle on hatefully, wanting to kill more humans before they die. But it’s hopeless. The bullets from the soldiers’ guns rip them to shreds, and without the aid of magic they have no way of putting their forms back together. They’re torn to pieces. Soon only humans and werewolves are standing. We laugh and cheer, punch the air with fists, then hurry to embrace one another. We might be standing ankle-deep in rancid guts, blood, and other vile juices, surrounded by corpses, but we’re standing victorious—and that feels good!
Grubbs wants to press on as soon as the danger’s been averted. The Demonata and their twisted, human mages have been working flat-out, crossing in waves. This is the fifth city Grubbs and Bec have defended in less than three days. And they’ve already received word of a planned sixth crossing. Grubbs is eager to get there as swiftly as possible, to stop the mage if he can, or prepare for the demons if not.
“Do you know when the window will open?” I ask.
“Within the next thirty-six hours.”
“No sooner than a day?”
“No.”
“Then what’s the rush?”
“It’s on the other side of the globe,” he growls. “By the time we get to the airport, load everyone up, make the flight, roll off at the other end…”
“You don’t have to do that anymore,” I tut. “I’ll open a window and we can be there in a matter of minutes.”
“Oh. I forgot.” He squints. “But the mage…”
“As soon as we get there, I’ll locate the forming window and we’ll put a stop to it. Let’s rest awhile. You all look beat. We can afford to take a day off now that I’m back on the scene.”
“Showoff,” Grubbs grunts, but he can’t hide a grin.
Teams move in to clean up. I was expecting hysteria, crowds of terrified onlookers, confusion and chaos. But it all runs smoothly. Grubbs explains that the world has woken up to the existence of demons. They’ve attacked five densely populated cities in swift succession. Even though they’ve been driven off each time, thousands have been killed, cities torn apart, in full view of camera crews.
The Disciples kept the war with the Demonata quiet for a long time, with highly placed allies in most of the major news agencies and governments. But it’s no longer possible to cover up. The world knows about demons now, and while panic has swept the globe, most people are behaving sensibly and heeding the advice of the Disciples. They’re evacuating targeted cities quickly and calmly, or staying indoors if they can’t get out in time. Volunteers have flocked to recruiting centers. Disciples test for mages each time a window opens. Those with no magical ability are working with soldiers, doctors and nurses, street cleaners, electricians, plumbers… rallying to the call, doing all they can to restore order and sweep up after an attack so that life can continue as normal.
While Grubbs gathers his pack of werewolves—there were thirty-seven to start with, but only sixteen remain—and takes them off to their holding pens, I retire to a deserted hotel with Bec, Meera, and a guy in a tattered stage-magician’s outfit. It’s ripped all over, revealing more than it conceals, and is caked with dirt and blood. But he wears it with pride, knotting the strips of cloth around himself. His fingers (two on his left hand are missing) tremble as he ties the knots. He looks like a man who’s only just holding himself together.
A frightened manager—but one who stayed when all else fled—shows us up to the hotel’s finest suite. He treats us like celebrities, takes our orders, promises to do his best to process them promptly, and leaves us to collapse into chairs (Meera claims the bed) and stare at each other in weary silence.
“This is Kirilli Kovacs,” Bec finally says, introducing me to the guy in the magician’s costume. “He’s a Disciple.”
Kirilli waves weakly. Blood is seeping through the bandage around the two missing fingers on his left hand, and also through the many bandages wrapped around his body. Bec sighs, rises, and limps across the room. She sets to work on healing the worst of Kirilli’s wounds, drawing on the traces of magic that remain in the air. He studies her blankly while she works, like a child being cleaned by its mother.
“Where have you been?” Meera asks, then snaps her fingers at me before I can reply. “No. Let’s eat, grab some sleep, and wait for Grubbs. We’ve got loads to tell you and I guess you’ve got lots to tell us too.”
“More than you could ever imagine,” I mutter.
“Can it wait for a few hours?” she asks and I shrug. “Great.” Then, forgetting about the food, she drops back, shuts her eyes, and is snoring softly a minute later.
Grubbs joins us as the food’s being wheeled in. He tucks into Meera’s meal—nobody wants to wake her—and asks the manager to deliver more food in nine hours. Then we retreat to different corners of the suite and make ourselves comfortable. I use magic to help me sleep.
We rise nine hours later and feast on the waiting meal. Meera’s especially ravenous. I thought Grubbs was a big eater, but she beats him hollow and is still chewing at strips of chicken long after the rest of us have set our plates aside.
We swap tales while we eat, and the stories continue long after we’ve finished munching. Grubbs and Meera tell me all that happened once he left us at the hospital. With Shark and a squad of soldiers, they went in pursuit of Prae Athim, the head of the Lambs, and tracked her to the appropriately named Wolf Island. A load of Grubbs’s cousins had been genetically modified and bred, producing hundreds of savage, wolfen offspring. They were waiting for the trio on the island.
Juni Swan was also waiting. She drove them back and left them at the mercy of the werewolves. The plan was to get her hands on Grubbs’s piece of the Kah-Gash and deliver it to her new master. The simplest way was to let the werewolves butcher him, then direct the piece into a form of her choosing when it soared free.
They’d have all perished, but Grubbs unleashed the werewolf within himself and took command of his hairy relatives. He turned the tables on their foes, and although Juni escaped, they killed her conspirators.
Grubbs is sullen when he describes his fight with Juni. He doesn’t look anyone in the eye. He’s clearly hiding something from us but I’ve no idea what.
Twelve of them hit the island. Prae Athim made it thirteen. But only Grubbs, Meera, Shark, and someone called Timas Brauss made it off, leaving Prae behind to look after the werewolves, except for the thirty-seven Grubbs brought with him—his own personal army.
“That’s pretty much it,” he grunts. “Shark’s out of action for a while. Timas is busy elsewhere, looking in on Shark whenever he can. Meera and I linked up with Dervish, Bec, and Kirilli, and we’ve been fighting demons ever since.”
“Where is Dervish?” I ask, anticipating the worst. “Is he…”
“… dead?” Grubbs snorts. “Hardly. I wanted to send him back to the demon universe—he’d live longer there—but he wants to stay and fight till he drops. He stood by us in the first two battles but he was wrecked afterwards. Now he’s acting as a talent-spotting scout. He’s on the edge of this city with thousands of people. When the window opened, he tested them for magical ability. He’s come up with some decent mages at the last two stops. I hope he finds more this time. We could use them—I’m running out of werewolves.”
Nobody seems bothered by Grubbs’s appearance. He looks like something out of a horror movie, twisted and misshapen, picking bits of flesh from between his teeth and under his fingernai
ls. But they’re all treating him as if nothing’s changed. I guess, in times as deadly as these, you can’t worry too much about the looks of those who stand beside you.
But I don’t like it. He’s not just physically different. Something’s changed inside him too. He’s rougher than before, more accepting of violence and death. He reminds me of Beranabus, the way he callously wrote off human casualties, like he wasn’t truly one of us. Raz told me to watch out for Bec, but I think Grubbs is the one I need to worry about.
I ask how Beranabus died. Bec answers, telling her story swiftly. They found Kirilli on the ship after they left me, then descended to the hold, where Juni was waiting. She used a lodestone to open a strange window, through which the Shadow crossed. As Bec fought it, she absorbed some of its memories and realized it was Death. She informed Beranabus and he sent them packing, staying behind to fight their shadowy foe and buy them time.
“He transformed,” she whispers. “He let his demonic half take over. I think he meant to die, whether he won or lost. He wasn’t sure he could change back once he set the demon free.”
“Nobody can ever change back,” Grubbs rumbles, scratching a cut on his chest, then licking flaky blood from his fingers.
Beranabus destroyed the lodestone, sending Death back to the universe of the Demonata. But the shadowy creature struck before it was whipped away, and the ancient magician died in the hold, left to be swallowed by the sea.
Bec, Dervish, Kirilli, and Sharmila made it back to the deck, fighting their way through an army of zombies. But they were trapped there, imprisoned by a barrier of magical energy as the ship sank.
“Sharmila sacrificed herself to save the rest of us,” Bec says miserably. “She lay against the barrier and we exploded her, punching a hole through to safety.” She stops, tears welling in her eyes.
“It should have been me,” Kirilli says. He hasn’t said much so far. Now when he speaks he keeps his head low, embarrassed. “I was the weakest. I ran when the others fought. I’ve served the Disciples well in a non-combative capacity, but I’m no hero. She should be here now, not me.”
“You got that right,” someone laughs, and when I look around I find Dervish standing behind me, smiling weakly. He looks even older than he did on the ship, frail, trembling, about two steps away from death. The six silver, purple-tipped spikes he grew on his head in the oasis are as impressive as ever, but apart from that he looks like a man on his last legs.
“Good to see you, old timer,” I grin.
“You too,” he says. “We thought you were zombie pâté.” He winks at Kirilli, who’s glowering. “Modesty doesn’t become you, Kovacs. I prefer you when you’re blowing hot air and claiming credit for every kill in a five-mile radius.”
“I claim nothing from any man,” Kirilli snarls.
Dervish chuckles, then says, “What have I missed?”
“We’ve been bringing Kernel up to date,” Grubbs yawns, as if the stories of their adventures bore him. “Now he’s about to return the favor.”
Nodding reluctantly, not sure how to begin, I cast my mind back to when the dead first stirred on the ship, take a quick breath, and launch myself at it.
RESTLESS SOULS
I SPEAK clearly and concisely. I don’t think I miss anything important, though I have to backtrack a few times when I recall bits that I overlooked. The others listen in silence, their faces lengthening as I reveal the direness of our situation, the belief of the Old Creatures that the universe is doomed.
There’s silence when I finish. Everyone’s brooding. Even Grubbs looks troubled—his face has altered and become more human.
“I wouldn’t have returned,” Dervish finally says. “I’ve faced a lot in my time, stepped up to all sorts of challenges. But in your position, I’d have stayed on the ark. I wouldn’t have had the guts to come back with so much at risk. I’d have gone with the safe option.”
“Coward,” Kirilli laughs.
“I don’t like being the practical one,” Meera mutters, “but what if he imagined it all? Traveling to the center of the universe… life starting with a chessboard… aliens nudging us up the evolutionary ladder… an ark world. That’s pretty far-fetched, even by our standards. What if he’s crazy? No offense, Kernel.”
“None taken.” I sigh. “I wish it was my imagination. But I’m sure it wasn’t.”
“The Kah-Gash told me I was the trigger,” Grubbs says slowly, and he has that shifty look in his eyes again. “In the hospital, when the three of us were together, it said I had the power to unite and direct it. So that part of the story’s true.”
“It’s all true,” Bec snaps. “Let’s not waste time pretending otherwise. Our world is doomed. The universe is damned. Unless we defeat Death.”
“No one ever cheats death,” Dervish says.
“I did,” Bec reminds him.
I say nothing of Raz’s suspicions about Bec. We need to work together, not abandon ourselves to paranoia.
“We need a plan,” Meera says. “Mr. Trigger Man—any ideas?”
Grubbs shrugs. “Track Death down and rip it to pieces. Easy.”
“You almost sound like you believe that,” Dervish snorts.
“I do,” Grubbs insists. “Death made a mistake when it took a body. That puts it on par with us. From what you told me, Beranabus gave as good as he got when he went up against the Shadow. He sent it screaming back to the foul realm of the Demonata. We’re stronger than Beranabus. We can inflict more damage. I say we reassemble the Kah-Gash, hit Death hard, and end this.”
“I don’t know,” Bec murmurs. “The Kah-Gash frightens me more than Death or the Demonata. They can only kill us, but the Kah-Gash can wipe out the universe, so we never even existed in the first place. I don’t think we should unleash its power unless we absolutely have to.”
“Do you have any idea if we can control it?” I ask. “You’re the Kah-Gash’s memory. Is there anything you can tell us about how it functioned in the past?”
Bec shakes her head. “I’ve always had a perfect memory, and now I can absorb the memories of others. This explains why. But I can only recall the memories of my own life or the lives of those I touch. Perhaps, if we joined, the Kah-Gash would reveal more to me, but the dangers…”
“What dangers?” Grubbs snorts. “We’re wrong to be afraid. This is our weapon. We own the pieces—hell, we are the pieces. We’re the Kah-Gash’s masters.”
“No,” I correct him. “We’re its hosts. The pieces have been in thousands of other creatures before. We have no more claim over it than any of them did.”
“Let’s just do it,” Grubbs groans. “It wants to be used. I feel my piece straining to link with yours.”
“I feel that too,” Bec says, “and it scares me. Why is it so eager to be restored, now, after all this time, with Death on the loose and hordes of demons bearing down on our world? It could be plotting against us.”
“It did what we wanted when we linked before,” Grubbs protests. “It took us back in time so that we could stop the tunnel being opened.”
“What if that was a mistake?” Bec argues. “What if we join again and it takes us further back, to when this universe was born? What if it stops that?”
Grubbs scowls and looks away impatiently.
“I share Bec’s concerns,” I tell them. “Even the Old Creatures don’t know what the Kah-Gash is really like, and they’ve been studying it for billions of years. We can’t know its true intentions.”
“Can we afford to wait?” Dervish asks. “If we’re as close to the end as the Old Creatures predict… I think we should test it.”
I sigh. “If it goes wrong, we’ll be condemning all those creatures on the ark.”
“This will sound callous,” Meera says, “but I don’t care. If our world ends, for me everything ends. I’m not concerned about other planets, Old Creatures, or aliens. You feel that way too, Kernel. You wouldn’t have come back if you didn’t.”
“But there are so
many worlds… so many species…”
“Tough,” Meera snorts. “They’re not our problem. You came back to help save Earth, not the universe. Am I right or am I right?”
I smile weakly. “I can’t argue with that. OK, I’ll give it a try. But if I start to think we can’t beat Death—if it looks like we’re fighting a losing battle—I will return to the ark. I won’t go down with a sinking ship.”
Dervish claps my back. “I think you were crazy to return, but I like your style! Here’s what I suggest. We move on to the city where the next crossing’s going to happen and we let the window open. You three link and test yourselves against the demons. If you don’t wreck the universe, we’ll take that experience forward and confront the Shadow. If you do wreck the universe… well, we’ll all be dead, so we won’t have to worry about it. How does that sound?”
“Good to me,” Grubbs grunts.
I shrug.
“I suppose,” Bec says hesitantly. “But assuming we pass the test, I’d like to try and learn more about Death before we attack it, find out if it has any weaknesses, if there’s a way to defeat it.”
“How are we supposed to do that?” Grubbs sneers. “Send it a questionnaire?”
Bec licks her lips nervously. “We might have an inside man who can help us.”
“What are you talking about?” Dervish frowns.
“It’s something Beranabus said before he died.” Bec shudders. She was close to the old magician. His death hit her hard. “In the hold of the ship, after I told him about Death, he said to tell Kernel to find him.”
“He wanted me to open a window out of the hold,” I mutter, feeling guilty even though I know there’s nothing I could have done to help him.
“That’s what I thought,” Bec nods. “I assumed he planned to escape or knock the lodestone through the window. But the more I think about it, the more I doubt that assumption. He knew he couldn’t last long against the Shadow, that it would take us several minutes to climb the stairs. He knew you were part of the Kah-Gash and that the Shadow wanted to get its hands on you. Why would he ask you to risk capture? He was doomed and he accepted his death. His only concern was that we evade the Shadow and live to fight another day.
“I don’t think he was asking for help.” Bec licks her lips again. “I think he was looking ahead. Once he knew what the Shadow was, he resigned himself to dying. But he didn’t give up the fight. Juni and I are proof that death isn’t the end. When he found out who his enemy was, I believe Beranabus saw a chance to learn more about it and share that information with us.
“Death uses souls to create its body. Maybe it held on to Beranabus’s
