by Darren Shan
It’s not foolproof. My piece of the Kah-Gash might desert me when it realizes what I’m doing, or Death might find a way to trap the ark. But the Old Creatures think it will work. If I play along.
In their position, I’d force the guy with the power to accept. I wouldn’t give him any say in the matter. I’d open a tunnel, make him part of it, and leave him with no option but to do what was necessary.
But the Old Creatures believe I have the right to choose. It’s the creed they live by. They’ll guide their foster children in the right direction, but they won’t force us. Ever. Even if the fate of the universe is at stake.
It’s not a nice future—I don’t want to spend the rest of eternity as a cog in a machine—but if I refuse to cooperate and everything falls to the demon hordes, there won’t be any kind of a future at all. The Demonata will either get their hands on all three pieces of the Kah-Gash and destroy everything immediately. Or they’ll work their way through the universe, world by world, and gradually grind us into dust. Either way, universal catastrophe.
But if I stay, I’ll be surrendering all but a slim fraction of this universe to the demons. I might keep the millions on this world alive, but trillions of others will perish horribly. If I go back and link up with Bec and Grubbs… if we reassemble the Kah-Gash and test it against Death… then the universe has a chance. It might even be possible to save Earth.
Is it better to make a stand, fail, and lose all, or sacrifice unimaginable numbers of lives in order to keep a select handful alive? I don’t know! This task should have fallen to someone equipped to meet it, like Beranabus. He’d have said yes to the Old Creatures in an instant, without batting an eyelash.
“Perhaps that’s why he wasn’t chosen,” Raz murmurs. “We don’t know why the Kah-Gash selects those it inhabits. It might be random, or it might be the work of a higher force. Maybe the universe chose someone who would weigh both sides equally, who wasn’t so certain of his path that he’d ignore all others.”
“But what if I make the wrong choice?” I groan.
“You can only do what you believe is right,” Raz says. “Consider the angles. Heed your instinct. Decide. If you are wrong, at least you will have been true to yourself. Life asks questions of us all. We don’t always know the answers. Most times we have to guess.”
“But you think I should stay,” I press, trying to force Raz to decide for me.
“Yes,” Raz says. “But we also believed we were acting in the universe’s best interests when we encouraged evolution. We are not always right.”
I nod glumly. We’ve passed from beneath the trees and I can see the sky again. There are several moons, smaller than Earth’s, different colors. They look like huge marbles. Thinking of marbles, I remember when Art was stolen by a monster from another world. I darted through a window of light to try and rescue him. I didn’t know what lay on the other side. The safe option would have been to wait and consider my actions. But then the window would have closed, Art would have been lost. I’d have regretted my indecision for the rest of my life.
Raz squints at me. “You are going back,” he notes with surprise.
“Maybe Death can’t be defeated,” I sigh. “Maybe the Demonata have won and this ark is all we can hope to protect. But I have to try to stop them. If I run now, I’ll always wonder if there wasn’t something I could have done to save everyone.
“If I fight Death and fail, I’ll return to do what you wish, assuming I survive. But if I quit now, it’ll gnaw away me… at my soul… forever.”
I lower my gaze and wipe tears from my eyes. I don’t know when I started crying, but my cheeks are soaked. “Open a window,” I croak. “I’m going home.”
The journey back passes unremarkably. A series of lights, windows, and worlds. We follow a different route most of the way, but the chambers we pass through are much the same. I don’t explore any of the worlds. I’m fully focused on the battle to come, the huge risk I’m taking, what will happen if I fail. I wish I could be positive about my decision but I’m full of doubts. I think about changing my mind at least ten times an hour.
Eventually we start passing through worlds I remember from the trip out. I get excited as we draw closer to Earth. I might be going to my death, but if that’s to be my destiny, at least I’ll die on home soil.
Finally, as my stomach’s starting to rumble again, we hit Atlantis and come to a stop. Raz looks around to make sure there are no giant slugs, then glances at me. “I’ll wait here for you.”
I’m surprised. “You’re not coming with me?”
“No. I will escort you back but I won’t cross with you. You must face Death by yourself, as everyone must when their time comes. If you wish to return, you can find me here.”
“But I can’t operate the smaller lights,” I remind him.
“You won’t need to,” Raz says. “You will be able to use the normal lights to search for me. It will take a long time to piece them together—at least several hours—but just think of me and you will find the way.”
“How will I breathe while crossing?” I ask.
Raz goes to one of the lodestones and cuts off a sliver of rock with a fingernail, as easily as slicing through paper. “Put this in your pocket,” he says, handing it to me. “Draw on its power if you come back. It will sustain you.”
“You’re sure?” I ask, eyeing the tiny chip of rock suspiciously.
“Yes.”
“How long will you wait?” I ask.
“As long as it takes,” he says. “I will know when you are… finished.”
“You mean when I’m dead,” I smile.
“If the hand plays out that way, yes. But I hope it doesn’t.”
Raz sets to work on the window, and it materializes minutes later. I start to tremble and my stomach clenches. I was never the bravest. I hate fighting. But when I have to, I do. Wincing, I step forward.
“One last thing,” Raz stops me, then hesitates. “This is a delicate matter. I don’t wish to cast doubts without proof, but it’s important that you know about the possibility of the threat.”
“What threat?” I grunt.
“The girl,” Raz says softly. “Her piece of the Kah-Gash was originally part of Lord Loss.”
“So?” I ask warily.
“It was in the demon master for a long time. Pieces normally merge with beings who live no more than a few hundred years. They’re influenced by those they share a life with. Having been part of Lord Loss for so long, her piece might have been more affected by the demon than by other hosts.”
“Are you saying…?” I stop, the thought unfinished, not wanting to continue.
“The Kah-Gash could be manipulating the girl,” Raz says. “Perhaps it spared her soul in order to give Death its freedom. Maybe it wants to restore the original universe. Bec is of good heart, but the best of people can be tricked and misused.
“We might be worrying unnecessarily,” Raz concludes. “You may have nothing to fear. But watch her, Kernel. Use those sharp eyes of yours. Look for treachery and be prepared for it. Beware the priestess, Bec.”
WELCOME HOME
Raz leads me through the sub-universe of lights for the last time, then bids me a quick farewell and propels me forward. Before I can yell goodbye, I’m thrust through a window and straight into the middle of a nightmarish war. No time to gather my senses. I have to adapt immediately or die.
I’m in the middle of a city. Blood and corpses everywhere. The air’s thick with the scent of demons, and also with the buzz of magic, which I swiftly tap into. I try to erect a shield around myself but something clatters into me before I can complete it. A beast rolls with me to the ground and comes up spitting. It’s a wolfish creature, long fangs, claws the size of butcher’s knives, hot yellow eyes. It turns, faces me, snarls—then leaps.
I raise my hands to repel the monster, but instead of attacking me, it jumps over my head and tears into something behind, howling with bloodthirsty delight. Whirling, I s
pot the wolfish beast battling a demon. The wolf rips at the demon’s ribcage, fangs snapping in search of guts.
Wary and confused, I cast my gaze around. There are more wolfen animals on the street and they’re all fighting demons. Soldiers are at work too, tackling the demonic invaders, showering them with bullets. They can’t kill the Demonata but they can injure, disrupt, and stall them.
There’s a burst of magic to my right. I spot a small girl rounding on a demon, frying it with magic until its head explodes and its brains splatter the wall behind it. I’m so pleased to see a familiar face, I forget all about Raz’s warning and call enthusiastically, “Bec!”
She looks up. Her eyes widen with shock, then her lips spread into a smile. She yells something, but as she does, one of the wolf-like beasts wraps its arms around me and howls into my ear, obscuring all other sounds.
I lash at the creature, trying to wriggle free, gathering my energy to fight back. Before I can, the beast laughs and says, “Surely you recognize me.”
I place the voice instantly but can’t believe it. I stare at the creature. He’s two or three feet taller than when I last saw him, and his face is warped—dark skin, lots of blood vessels, tufts of wiry ginger hair, a yellow tinge to his eyes, mouth bigger, teeth sharper. His body is lacerated with cuts and bruises. But it’s definitely—
“Grubbs!” I roar. “What the hell’s happened? You look like a werewolf.”
“I am,” he chuckles. “That’s my pack.” He waves a hairy hand at the wolves. His fingers are twisted and bulging, the nails more like claws. He could probably pop my head one-handed.
“But… how… what…?”
“I’ll deal with this group first and explain later,” he growls, tugging at the waist of his pants. They only just fit him. He’s naked otherwise, chest exposed, rippling with muscles. He’s stained with blood—different colors, so I know it’s demon blood, not his own. Some of the stains are fresh, dripping from his skin and soaking into his hair. But others are caked in. He’s been in the wars since we parted, and he looks like he’s been loving every moment.
As Grubbs pounds away to attack a group of vicious demons, I put my questions on hold and focus on how best I can help. It’s a dirty, messy battle. Normally demons cross singly or in small groups. But there are dozens running riot here. This is no ordinary crossing. It’s the work of a powerful, organized, intelligent foe.
As the battle rages around me, I complete my shield, then focus on the patches of light in the air. A quick check reveals two windows set a few hundred feet from each other. Demons are pouring through both. That suits me perfectly. I might not be a great fighter, but I can turn the tide of this battle single-handed.
Picking a path through the warring forces, I hurry to the nearest window. It’s a large pink panel. Ignoring the demons spilling out of it, protected by my shield, I thrust my hands into the center of the panel and pull at the patches. Within seconds the window pulses, tears apart, then snaps out of existence.
The demons closest to me come alert to the threat I pose. If I can shut down the second window they’ll be stranded, and demons can’t survive long on this world. Screeching for support, they hurl themselves at me. For a split second I think I’m doomed. But then the road explodes at my feet, scattering the converging demons. As they scream, blinded and injured by the flying debris, sheets of fire drop on them from the air, setting them ablaze, sending them thrashing away madly.
I look for my savior and find two angels, Bec and Meera Flame, standing side by side, hands raised, energy flowing through them, wreaking havoc. Meera’s always been a stunner, but she looks more beautiful than ever now, and Bec is no strain on the eyes either. Having said that, I’d probably think anyone who saved my life was gorgeous—even Grubbs!
“Come with me,” I yell at them and press towards the second window. Meera and Bec back me up, blasting the demons ahead of me, calling for 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 l
eaves 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.
