Demon Apocalypse td-6

by Darren Shan

  “Warn you of what?” Beranabus asks.

  “Maybe that Juni was a traitor. Or of the danger Bill-E was in.”

  “Perhaps,” Beranabus mutters. “There are blood ties between you, which might account for her interest in your predicament, but to break out of the rock and make herself heard must have required a huge amount of energy and effort. Why would she do that just to save your lives?”

  He’s not expecting an answer, so I don’t try to provide one. Instead I pick up on something else he said and ask stiffly, “What blood ties?”

  He waves a hand as though it’s nothing. “The girl was called Bec. A distant ancestor of yours.”

  “Ancestor?”

  “A distant one,” he repeats. “She was a priestess… a magician. A brave, true, selfless girl.”

  “Did you know her?” Kernel asks. He’s slightly behind us, listening closely. “Were you alive then?”

  “I’d be a real Methuselah if so,” Beranabus says. He looks at the drawing again and frowns. “I need to know what she said. She might have simply been trying to help you, but I think there’s more to it. We need to study her words.”

  “But I told you I couldn’t understand her. I don’t speak her language.”

  “I do,” Beranabus says, then gestures to the chair behind the desk. “I’m going to teach you another remembering spell, like the one we used to prove you didn’t kill your brother’s grandparents. But with this one you’ll repeat everything the girl said. I’ll be able to translate.”

  I sit. Beranabus clears an area of the table, then lays the drawing down gently, so it’s facing me. “Look into her eyes,” he says softly. “Forget everything that’s happened recently. Let your mind drift back.” He gives me a minute, then says, “Repeat after me.”

  I mimic Beranabus’s words carefully. As the spell develops, the lines on the paper shimmer. I’m startled, but I’ve seen a lot more incredible stuff in my time, so I don’t lose concentration. The lines begin to move. The face doesn’t bulge out of the page the way it projected from the rocks, but it comes alive. The eyes flicker and the lips part. The girl talks. No sounds come, just the motions. But as the spell concludes and Beranabus stops talking, I find my own lips moving in time with the drawing’s. Only it’s not my voice—it’s the girl’s.

  I speak swiftly, anxiously, the muscles of my throat hurting from having to form such unusual words. I spot Kernel listening with a frown, unable to interpret. But Beranabus understands perfectly. And the more I say, the more his face pales and he trembles.

  Before I finish, the elderly magician sinks to the floor and stares at me, appalled. I want to ask him what the girl said, but I can’t. My lips continue to move and the dead girl’s words spill out. I’m repeating myself from the beginning.

  Beranabus groans and covers his ears with his hands. “No,” he wheezes. “Gods be damned. No!”

  “Beranabus?” Kernel says, approaching his master cautiously. “What’s wrong?”

  “His fault!” Beranabus shrieks, pointing an accusing finger at me. “If he’d told me when he first came here…” He shakes his head and curses. I carry on talking, unable to stop. I’m afraid he’s going to leave me this way, that I’ll warble on like this forever.

  Finally, rising slowly, Beranabus growls something and the words cease. My mouth closes. I rub my aching jaws and throat, staring at the magician, wondering what I’ve done to incense him.

  “Damn you, Grubitsch Grady,” he says bitterly, shooing me out of his chair and lowering himself into it, picking up the drawing and cradling it to his chest. There are angry, hopeless tears in his eyes. “Damn the day you came into this world. If I’d known the trouble you’d cause, I’d have killed you at birth, you meddling, cowardly, destructive brat.”

  “Beranabus!” Kernel gasps as my insides clench tight.

  “It’s true!” Beranabus shouts. “I stood up for the wretched fool, but I shouldn’t have. I should have just… just…” He stops, closes his eyes and moans. “No. You didn’t know what you were doing. I can’t blame you.”

  “I don’t care what you think of me,” I snap, angry and ashamed. “Just tell me what she said, you horrible old buzzard.”

  Beranabus opens his eyes and smiles faintly. “That’s more like it, boy. Spirit.” His smile disappears. “Bec was trying to warn you, but she wasn’t interested in saving your life. The stakes were much higher. She…”

  He clears his throat, then continues lifelessly. “I don’t know how she wound up where she is, or how she managed to communicate with you, but her soul has been trapped in that cave since she died, torn between life and death, between our universe and the Demonata’s. I’ve never seen that before. Ghosts, aye, but only pale shades of those who died. This is different. She somehow defied the laws of death and her soul remains intact. It shouldn’t…” He coughs and shakes his head, then continues.

  “Bec is able to peer into the demon universe from where she’s trapped. She’s been observing the Demonata for centuries. She became aware long ago of a powerful demon master trying to open a tunnel to this world. When she sensed you clearing the entrance to the cave, she was afraid the creature would learn of it and restore the ancient tunnel. That’s why she tried to warn you off. Later she learnt of a more direct threat, which is why she appeared so desperate the last time she established contact.

  “I made a fatal error. I thought Lord Loss wasn’t interested in opening a tunnel between the two universes. But he’s changed his views. When Dervish told Juni about the cave, her master decided to kill two birds with one stone. His plan was to slaughter you, Dervish and your brother—or take you back to his own realm to torture—then open the tunnel, clearing the way for the ranks of demons to cross.”

  Beranabus pauses. Kernel and I are staring at him, struck dumb.

  “Juni must have made a sacrifice after Dervish revealed the cave to her,” he goes on. “It takes a few weeks for the blood of a sacrificed victim to prime the tunnel walls. The spells of opening can’t be cast until then. I was guarding the cave closely, but somehow she got in and killed someone without my knowledge.

  “Lord Loss could have opened the tunnel at any time, but he decided to do it on a full moon, when there was more magic in the air. Tapping into the power of the moon, he could complete the spells within a few hours. That way, if I discovered him while he was at work, he’d only have to hold me at bay for that short time.

  “Being a lover of neatness, he planned to kill or abduct you three and open the tunnel on the same night. Unfortunately for him, your magic burst to the surface and derailed things. He missed his chance to get even with the Grady clan at the cave. Since settling his score with you before he opened the floodgates was important to him, he pushed his plans back by a month.”

  “Then we still have time!” I gasp. “It’s not too late. We know what he’s going to do. We’ll return to the cave and fight.”

  “We?” Kernel says sarcastically.

  “Yes! I’ll fight to save Dervish and Bill-E. I don’t care what those monsters throw at us. When it’s family, it’s different.”

  “You really think you can choose not to be a coward if and when it suits you?” Kernel jeers.

  Beranabus interrupts wearily before I can retort. “It doesn’t matter. You’re arguing about nothing. The time for heroics has passed.”

  “What are you talking about?” I say edgily.

  “It’s difficult to track time here,” Beranabus says softly, “but not impossible. I can reach out and make a quick check on the heavens when I wish. I did that while Bec was speaking. You miscalculated, Grubbs. It’s been seven weeks since I rescued you from the aeroplane.”

  I start to shiver. “But… no… maybe Lord Loss delayed again. He wanted to kill me before he opened the tunnel, but I’m still alive. Maybe—”

  “No,” Beranabus stops me. “Once I’d established the date, I cast my senses further afield. When there’s a rip of great magnitude between univ
erses a magician can detect it. If the spells I’d cast at the cave worked, I’d have known earlier. I should have renewed them, but it seemed like there was no rush. I wouldn’t have made that mistake a hundred years ago. I’m getting so old…”

  Beranabus sighs and his head drops. “The demons crossed as planned. They’ve had three weeks to stabilise, multiply and spread. Your town is theirs. Probably your country too. Dervish… your brother… everybody else you know in Carcery Vale…” He finishes in an awful whisper which fills me with a dread beyond any I’ve ever experienced. “The Demonata have had their way with them. They’re all dead now—and probably millions more besides.”

  PART TWO — BEC-E

  THE MESSENGER

  Everybody in the Vale—dead. Unable to believe it. I want to scream my head off, call Beranabus a liar, demand he tell the truth. Except… I can see the truth in the old magician’s eyes. In his stooped shoulders. In his weariness as he sets his papers in order and prepares to leave for Carcery Vale to find out how far the Demonata have spread. He wasn’t lying. They really did break through. Dervish and Bill-E are…

  I don’t complete the thought. Filled with sickness and fear. The last time I felt this empty inside was when I lost my parents and sister. It took me months to recover, and that was only with Dervish’s help. Now I’m alone, wracked with guilt and shame as well as grief. I don’t know if there’s any way back. Madness looms, waiting to consume me. I doubt if I can fight it.

  Kernel is sitting by the fire, staring glumly into the flames. Every so often he trembles as he thinks about the battle to come. He’s been fighting demons for years, but in their universe, where his powers are far greater than they are here. On Earth his magical talents are vastly diminished. The Demonata are weaker here too, of course, and if it was just a few of them, he and Beranabus would fancy their chances. But if thousands have crossed and are running riot…

  A sudden pounding noise. Three blows, a pause, then three more. Beranabus and Kernel jump nervously at the first sound, then relax.

  “I forgot,” I say quietly, madness receding temporarily, confident of taking me whenever it chooses. “Those noises have been coming for the last week. I went up the ladder to find out what was making them, but I couldn’t get out.”

  “The entrance is protected by spells,” Beranabus says. “Only Kernel and I can open it.” He nods at Kernel, who heads for the ladder. “Be careful,” Beranabus calls after him. “It might not be one of ours.”

  A short while later, Kernel returns. An elderly Indian woman in a light blue sari comes after him, limping but making good speed. She has a kind face, but it’s twisted with worry. At first I don’t know where I recognise her from. Then I remember—she was in a dream I had in Slawter last year.

  “Sharmila,” Beranabus greets her, smiling wanly.

  “Master, there has been a tragic—” the woman begins in a rush.

  “I know,” Beranabus sighs. “The Demonata have crossed. I just found out. I’m going to Carcery Vale shortly, but perhaps you can flesh out the details before I leave.”

  The woman stares at Beranabus blankly. “You are going there?”

  “I think I should,” Beranabus says. “A stand must be made, aye?”

  “But there are so many of them,” the woman wheezes.

  Beranabus frowns, then tilts his head at me. “This is Sharmila Mukherji, one of my Disciples. Sharmila, this is Grubitsch Grady—though I believe he prefers the name of Grubbs. He’s Dervish’s nephew.”

  Sharmila looks at me with surprising anger. “Dervish! He was on watch. He was supposed to make sure the tunnel was never reopened. He failed. He—”

  “I don’t believe in finger-pointing,” Beranabus interrupts curtly, conveniently forgetting that he himself was pointing a finger at me not so long ago. “I trusted Dervish as much as I trust any of you. I’m sure he did all that anyone could. Now tell me how the situation stands. Quickly.”

  “There is no point,” Sharmila snaps. “We have lost. They…” She stops and looks around the cave. Smiles briefly when she spots Kernel. Frowns when she faces Beranabus again. “I have been waiting in the upper cave for many days, incapable of contacting you. I told you years ago that you should share the access spells with us, so we could reach you swiftly in case of an emergency. It was probably too late even then, but if I had been able to find you directly…”

  “It’s easy to be wise in retrospect,” Beranabus sniffs. “I made that call a long time ago and I stick by it, even now. It was essential that I remain protected from…” He trails off into silence, then growls to himself. “This is getting us nowhere. Tell me what’s happening. Please.”

  “I am not up to date with the latest developments,” Sharmila replies sourly. “I was in contact with Shark until four days ago, but he broke the lines of communication. I suspect he lost patience and went into battle without you. He was never the most…”

  She shrugs, then straightens her shoulders and speaks quickly. “The Demonata crossed three weeks ago in great numbers. They worked like soldiers, coordinated, attacking set targets, establishing control of the area around the cave. They have fractured since then, individuals branching off by themselves, spreading in chaotic directions. But they were organised to begin with. We did not expect that. They have never banded together in that way before. Who could have commanded them? Who has the power to unite so many monsters for even a short period of time?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Beranabus says. “The investigation can come later. Tell me more about the invasion. They were able to operate by day as well as night?”

  “Most of them,” Sharmila says. “There were some weaker demons, but most in the first wave were beasts of great strength. The sun meant nothing to them.”

  “Strange,” Beranabus frowns. “They can’t have massed in advance—I would have received word of such a build-up long ago. They must have been summoned when the cave was reactivated. But for so many to gather so quickly… You’re right. This was no ordinary attack. There was a leader working behind the scenes, establishing contacts, making allies, forging secret links, priming them to await a call, so they could respond immediately.”

  He shudders. “It’s our worst fear come true. The disorderly division between the Demonata has always been our strongest card. But if they’ve finally found a figurehead to unite and lead them…” He puts the thought aside and nods sharply at Sharmila to continue.

  “They established control of Carcery Vale and the nearby regions within a day,” Sharmila says. “They expanded steadily over the next few days and nights, conquering neighbouring towns and villages, establishing bases. Most people had fled their homes by then, but the demons did not care. They were more interested in boundaries than victims—again, very undemonlike behaviour.”

  “Did anyone survive?” I ask, not wanting to interrupt but having to. “In Carcery Vale, were any spared?”

  Sharmila laughs brutally. “Do not be ridiculous! It was a bloodbath. They kept a few alive to torture, but most were slaughtered that first day.”

  “But not all,” I whisper, a faint ray of hope forming, forcing the madness back, giving me a ghost of a reason to stay sane. “Lord Loss hates Dervish and Bill-E. He wouldn’t want to kill them quickly. Maybe he spared them, so he could torment them at his leisure.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Beranabus says gruffly. “Alive or dead, it makes no difference, not when an army of demons separates us from them. Finish your report, Sharmila.”

  The Indian lady shrugs. “The rest should be obvious. Public shock, confusion and denial to begin with. We live in scientific, enlightened times. People do not believe in demons. Even when the film crews went in and the first pictures emerged, most refused to accept it. They thought the pictures were computer generated, the work of a prankster, maybe an especially cunning film producer trying to generate interest in their next movie. There was talk of Davida Haym faking her death a year earlier in order to set this up. Quite iron
ic, no? But as the days went by, realisation sunk in. There were too many confirmed deaths, a never-ending series of reports and no government denials.”

  “Bless the governments,” Kernel snorts. “How did our great leaders respond?”

  “Slowly,” Sharmila says. “We warned them of the threat of the Demonata many times in the past, even though Beranabus told us not to bother.”

  “I’ve never met a politician who didn’t deserve to be tossed into a pit full of Kallin,” Beranabus grunts.

  “Nobody heeded our warnings,” Sharmila continues. “Despite all the evidence we presented, and our predictions of what would happen if a prolonged invasion ever came to pass, we were treated as cranks. We have always had a number of supporters in various high-ranking corners of the globe, but not enough to make a difference.

  “Most governments spent the initial week in a blind panic. First they had to confirm the reports were genuine—that took a few days. Then they debated the meaning of it, what the demons might want, how they could placate them, what their response should be if the demons refused to negotiate. A few acted quickly and sent troops in—mostly from nearby countries, who could see they were next on the agenda—but it was the second week before the war began for real.”

  “War,” Beranabus murmurs, face crinkling. “Most humans know nothing of true warfare. They wage their silly territorial battles, kill each other ruthlessly and freely, and consider themselves experts on war and suffering. But the real war has always been ahead of them, unseen, unimagined. Enemies who can’t be killed by normal weapons, who have their base in an alternate universe, who are interested only in slaughtering every living being on the face of the planet.”

  “They know about it now,” Sharmila says grimly. “They have seen the footage on television and the Internet. Hordes of soldiers firing bullets into demons, dropping bombs on them. The demons falling from the force of the bullets, shattered by the bombs. Then rising, piecing themselves back together. Coming on again. Unstoppable. Ripping the soldiers to shreds. They are still trying—or were, the last I heard—to send in more troops, to drop more destructive missiles. But they can see it is pointless. They realise now—too late—the manner of beasts they are dealing with. The human race has learnt a lot about war over the last three weeks. More than I wish they ever had to.”