by Darren Shan
My first thought is, “So this is what souls look like.” But that’s not right. This is only what they look like here. Death has taken these unfortunates and molded them into what it wanted them to be.
As I study the souls, I extend my thoughts, focusing on individuals, trying to communicate. Nothing happens for a while. Then, all of a sudden, I’m struck by a burst of voices, screams and yowls, tormented cries for help and release. Wincing, I shut out the noises. After a brief pause, I open myself to the voices again but put filters in place, blocking out the worst of the background noise.
“Who are you?” I ask a nearby shadow as it floats past.
“Free me!” it screams.
“Who are you?” I shout again, but it only repeats its plea. Others that I focus on are the same, impossible to question, wailing for freedom.
I turn to tell the others but I don’t need to. Bec has been in touch with me the whole time and has broadcast the short snippets to the rest. They look distraught. The suffering of these souls is awful. In life, no matter how bad things get, at least you have the release of death to look forward to, the belief that no matter what lies beyond, nothing can be as bad as this.
But these people have shuffled off their mortal coils, only to find themselves ensnared by the force they were relying on to set them free. Every soul here knows it wasn’t meant for this hellish realm. Having escaped the confines of natural life, they’ve found themselves caught in an unnatural web and it’s driven them insane.
“We have to get out of here!” Kirilli shrieks. “We can’t help them!”
“Bran won’t have given in to madness,” Bec insists. “Find him, Kernel. He won’t have surrendered. Not Bran.”
I don’t have her faith in the ancient magician but I search anyway. Using the magic of Death, I send a radar-like cry out in all directions, calling for Beranabus, trying to locate his position. Once I’ve sent the signal, I wait for it to echo back. If he’s still conscious, he’ll respond. But if he’s like the others… if he’s lost his senses and forgotten his name… become just a swirling shadow with no idea of self…
“Bill-E,” Grubbs snarls as we wait. “Look for Bill-E too.”
“I will,” I tell him, “but give me time. Beranabus first. If we—”
I stop, jaw dropping. Because an answering burst of energy has echoed back to me from a point far away.
“Was that Bran?” Bec hisses.
“I think so,” I say hesitantly. “But it was very weak. I guess there’s only one way to find out.” I look around to make sure everyone’s ready, then start forward, wading through the sluggish swirls of shadows, repeating the signal, zoning in on the area where the soul of Beranabus seems to be signaling back.
We reach the place where the response came from. I don’t see anything different at first. It looks like any other part of this wretched no man’s land. The souls cluster and swirl around us. I call Beranabus’s name but there’s no reply. I study the river of souls but it’s impossible to say who they might have belonged to in life. Maybe the reply was a fluke, or I only heard—
“That was always your problem,” a voice snaps inside my head. “You take too many things into consideration.”
“Bran!” Bec cries, head whipping from side to side, searching the gloom for her childhood friend.
“I’m here,” Beranabus says, and I trace the voice to a shadow circling overhead, no more remarkable than any other.
“Where is he?” Bec shouts. “I can’t see him.”
“Relax, Little One,” Beranabus hushes her. “Kernel’s the only one who can see me. You’ll have to be content with my voice. Not that it’s a bad voice. I’ve roared down demon masters in my time.”
I burst out laughing. This is the most incredible thing ever. I never thought I’d be in direct contact with my old mentor again. But before I can tell him how sorry I am that he was killed, Grubbs shouts at the dead magician.
“Is Bill-E here?” he cries.
“Aye,” Beranabus rumbles.
“Where? Let me talk with him. Bill-E!” Grubbs swivels wildly, shouting his dead brother’s name.
“Were you always this stupid or is it a result of your recent metamorphosis?” Beranabus snaps. “I was thousands of years old when I died, more powerful than any human in history. Yet it took everything I had to hold my thoughts together and not become one of the wailing cretins this place is stuffed with. Do you really think your young brother fought off the madness that all the others succumbed to?”
Grubbs draws to a stop and turns to face me, his eyes cold with hatred. “Show me where that vile old buzzard is. I’ll kill him again.”
Beranabus laughs cruelly. “Control yourself. I never put things politely when I was alive, so I’m hardly going to start now that I’m dead! Your brother’s here, he’s lost his mind and is suffering, and unless you free us all, he’ll remain trapped indefinitely.”
“Then we can free you?” Bec shouts hopefully.
“I think so,” Beranabus mutters. “That’s not why I told you to ask Kernel to find me, but it will certainly be a bonus. I can’t hold my mind together much longer. The effort…” In those few words I get the sense of how close Beranabus is to snapping. Despite his brave front, he’s terrified.
“Before we try that,” Beranabus says more brightly, “I want to know everything that’s happened since I died. Bec—open your thoughts to me.”
The shadow of Beranabus’s soul darts closer to Bec and hovers over the girl’s head. A tendril gently touches her forehead. She closes her eyes and smiles. I get the impression of memories being transferred, like data being uploaded from one computer to another. Then Beranabus sighs.
“I’d gathered some of that already—you can learn a lot here if you keep your eyes and ears open, metaphorically speaking—but there’s much more to consider now. I don’t think…”
He falls silent. Bec’s eyes half open, then close again. She nods softly and I realize he’s speaking privately to her.
Grubbs steps up beside me. “Can you find Bill-E?” he asks.
“Even if I could, would you want to speak to him like this?” I answer quietly. “Wouldn’t it be better to just free him?”
“But I never said a proper goodbye. There are so many things—”
“Kernel’s right,” Dervish says, laying a trembling hand on Grubbs’s shoulder. “Better to remember Billy as he was. If we can set his soul loose, that will be enough.”
Grubbs nods reluctantly, then squints at Bec. “What’s going on between those two? Why the secrecy?”
“I was wondering the same thing,” I whisper.
“Such suspicious minds,” Beranabus barks. “You’ll need to trust each other if you’re to defeat Death and save the universe. Haven’t you heard of teamwork?”
“You think we can beat it?” I ask eagerly.
“Not a hope in hell,” Beranabus chuckles. “But you have to try, don’t you?”
Bec’s eyes are open. She looks troubled. I don’t know what Beranabus shared with her, but I’m reminded of Raz’s warning. I have a bad feeling. Suddenly I wish I hadn’t insisted on this mission, that I’d left Beranabus alone. I thought he could teach us how to vanquish our foes, but all he’s done is predict doom and tell Bec something that’s set her mind awhirl. But awhirl with what? Deceit?
Before I can press the issue, a cluster of shadows to my left bunches together, throbs, then rises high above us like a cobra’s head.
“Ah,” Beranabus sighs. “The behemoth awakes.”
“It’s alive!” Kirilli shrieks as the shadowy growth studies us ominously.
“This would be a good time to split,” Meera mutters.
The pillar of shadows smashes down on us before anyone can volunteer a plan. We’re thrown apart, yelling with panic. The werewolves howl and lurch at the massed head of shadows, but it bats them aside with ease and rises above us again. As it does, more shadows converge around us. Death might have taken a while t
o note our presence, but it’s moving swiftly to turn its imprisoned souls against us.
“Bec!” I roar, dodging another of the Shadow’s blows. “How do we get out?”
Beranabus answers mockingly. “Can’t you open a window, Kernel? That was always your specialty.”
“No time!” I yell. “Bec?”
“The Kah-Gash,” she says shakily, reaching towards me. A twisting fist of shadows slams into her right arm, snapping it at the elbow. She screams as her hand goes limp, then grits her teeth and unleashes a burst of energy at the fist. The shadows shatter beneath the force of the blow. Bec clutches me with her left hand. “Grubbs!” she yells.
He’s already making his way towards us, lips moving silently as he speaks to his piece of the Kah-Gash. A sword of shadows slices across his back, drawing blood, but he just grunts and pushes on.
Kirilli’s bouncing about like a Mexican jumping bean, dodging the spines and hammers that are forming and striking at us, yelping with each narrow escape, the rags of his tattered suit flapping up and down to comical effect.
“That’s the way.” Beranabus laughs at the petrified stage magician. “Dance, fool, dance!” He cackles madly. I think he’s closer to insanity than he realizes.
Grubbs reaches us and lays a powerful paw on my neck, the other on Bec’s. I immediately feel the Kah-Gash flare into life. There’s not as much power as before, because we’re surrounded by Death, unable to draw energy from the stars. But I still feel about ten times more powerful than normal.
As a hammer of shadows crashes upon us, Grubbs roars and it disintegrates. He releases Bec and me but the link remains. With his hands, he claws at the shadows around us, ripping dark holes through the fog of souls. Bec and I follow his lead, using magic to split shadows and blast through thicker banks of them. The others join in—except Kirilli, who’s still leaping about—and we attack the formations that Death has sent against us.
“This way,” Beranabus calls, shooting ahead. I don’t know how anyone could find their bearings here, but I have to trust him. It’s not like we have much choice.
We struggle after the fleeing shadow. I’m following Beranabus, the others are trailing me. Kirilli is the only one who doesn’t come. He hasn’t looked around. I call his name a few times but he doesn’t respond. In the end I curse and leave him. I feel bad, abandoning the Disciple, but you can’t save everyone. Some of the werewolves have already been killed. The power of the Kah-Gash is fading, having no outside source to draw from. If I went back for Kirilli, I’d waste energy and time, and that would prove the death of us all.
A noise grows as we push on. It’s a hissing sound, the spitting of a million furious snakes. Death is venting its rage. I’ve heard all sorts of shrieks and cries during my years in the demon universe. Nothing sent a shiver down my spine as much as this.
A spear of shadows strikes Grubbs just above his heart and shoots out the other side. With a roar of pain he falls to his knees but is up again instantly. His fangs lengthen and as another spear arcs towards him, he snatches it between his oversized teeth and grinds it to pieces, then spits them out.
A shadowy scythe splits the flesh of Meera’s lower back. She staggers, finds her feet, then is struck by a thick club. She falls unconscious, but Dervish is there to grab her and haul her forwards. His face is flushed, his limbs are trembling, his heart must be pounding fit to burst, but he carries on. I don’t know if it’s for Meera’s sake or his own, but he doesn’t quit, even though it would be easier for him to lie down and die.
I’ve been hammered all over and I’m bleeding from a variety of cuts, like the others, but Bec’s hardly been touched. She’s the strongest of us in this place of death. Grubbs might be the trigger, but Bec is pulling the strings at the moment, directing the energy of the Kah-Gash, using it to keep the lights going, protect herself from the blows of the Shadow, and help the rest of us as best she can. For such a small girl, she packs one hell of a lot of power.
“Here!” Beranabus calls. He’s come to a halt by a thick bank of souls. “This is a wall. Focus on this spot. Quickly—you’re almost out of time.”
Bec unleashes a ball of energy at the wall. I do the same. Grubbs starts to, then snarls and hurls himself at it instead. He hits the bank of shadows and rips into it, roaring as he scoops dark handfuls out of his way. The surviving werewolves crowd around him and tear at the shadows too.
“Nearly there,” Beranabus roars cheerfully as Dervish and Meera are knocked aside, and I narrowly avoid being speared through the center of my head.
A hole appears in the side of the Shadow. Light shines through, blinding after the gloominess of this unnatural realm. The werewolves howl gleefully and double their efforts. The hole widens and I hit it with another blast of energy. Bec focuses on the area around it. Grubbs rips at the shadows like a madman. More holes and tears appear. Some of the souls drift free and disappear as they hit the air outside. Others follow, streaming after the first few. The holes widen, then the fabric around them crumbles away. The hissing reaches its peak, only now it’s a scream of pain. Souls dart from their prison, sensing escape, surging towards the exit from all parts of Death’s makeshift body.
Beranabus yodels enthusiastically, fighting the flow, holding his position. “Not bad,” he chuckles approvingly.
“Is that it?” I cry, hardly daring to believe it could be this simple. “Have we killed Death?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Beranabus snorts. “Death can’t die.”
“But conscious Death… the Shadow… have we destroyed it?” I yell.
“No,” Beranabus says sadly, sounding more like his old self. “You’ve delayed matters, that’s all. It will have to find new souls and create another body. That will take weeks, maybe a month or two. Then it will be back, stronger than ever. Having learned from this setback, it will be more vigilant. You won’t pierce its defenses so easily again.”
“Then how will we beat it?” I shriek. “How will we win?”
“You won’t,” Beranabus whispers. Then he’s gone, whipped free of his prison, cheering wildly, to depart the universe of the living once and for all, bound for whatever lies beyond. Bec yells a frantic farewell but I don’t think he hears. He doesn’t care about life now or those who inhabit it. He’s done.
As I stare at the souls flying past, shocked by Beranabus’s parting prophecy, Death’s brittle shell dissolves and I fall through the layers of shadow onto hard, dry land—and drop into the middle of an army of millions of demons.
SWAN SONG
Ranks of monsters surround us, stretching far into the distance. This must be the world from which the Demonata are plotting their invasion of Earth, the base from which they send troops when they open windows to our world. We knew an army was massing but we never dared confront it. Beranabus was a reckless fighter but he wasn’t crazy. He knew we couldn’t hope to face this many demons and walk away alive.
The demons have backed off from the disintegrating mammoth of the Shadow. They’re watching it with alarm, chittering and bellowing, not sure what’s going on. It’s their leader. Death drew them together, promising them control of the universe and eternal life. Now it’s falling to pieces like a punctured zeppelin. They don’t know what to do.
“There!” shrieks an all-too-recognizable voice. Pushing myself to my feet, I spy her near the fore of the demons to my left—Nadia Moore, AKA Juni Swan. She’s by the side of her eight-armed master, Lord Loss. Both are staring at us with a mix of hatred and uncertainty.
I look around slowly, showing no signs of panic in case I incite the Demonata. Grubbs and Bec are nearby. Grubbs has also seen Juni and Lord Loss. He’s taking deep breaths, preparing for battle. Bec is fixing her arm and doesn’t seem to be aware of the trouble we’re in. Dervish is using magic to revive Meera, glancing around anxiously as he fans her back to life. The ten surviving werewolves have gathered in a circle behind Grubbs, growling softly as they eyeball the demons. And a little further over,
hopping around, unaware that we’ve escaped the stomach of the Shadow, is Kirilli Kovacs.
“Grubbs,” I hiss. “Any ideas?”
“Can you open a window?” he mutters, cracking his knuckles.
“I’ve already started,” I whisper, nudging patches of light into place with deft flicks of my fingers, not wanting to alert our enemies to the fact that I’m at work. “It’ll take a few minutes. Can you cover me?”
“I’ll give it a good shot,” he growls, then bellows at Lord Loss. “Where’s your mighty leader now? Death offered you the universe and immortality. Hah!”
Bec finishes setting her arm and calmly walks over to Grubbs. She stands behind him, back to back. Dervish and a woozy Meera shuffle up beside them. When Kirilli hears Grubbs, he stops dancing and stares around. The werewolves haven’t moved, awaiting Grubbs’s command.
“Very commendable, Grubitsch,” Lord Loss says. His voice silences the mutterings and snarls of the other demons. He drifts to the front of the army, Juni by his side. When he’s in the open, he looks at each of us in turn and smiles. “But Death cannot be destroyed. You have merely inconvenienced it. A valiant victory, but you have only won a battle, not the war. You know that. We all know that.” He addresses the last cry to the army of demons, raising his voice, and they roar back encouragingly.
“This feels like a reunion,” Lord Loss says, smiling sadly, the snakes writhing in the hole where his heart should be, blood oozing from the many cracks in his pale red flesh. “So many familiar faces. Grubitsch, Dervish, Cornelius, even little Bec, back from the dead and as tenacious as ever.”
“Master,” Juni murmurs, nodding sharply at me.
“I am aware of Cornelius’s efforts,” Lord Loss chuckles. “Don’t worry, sweet Swan, he will not have time to open a window. I let him get this far in order to fan the flames of hope in their hearts. Now that those flames are flickering nicely”—his red eyes flash dangerously—“it is time to quench them.” He shouts at the millions of demons, “Attack!”
