by Darren Shan
She pauses and shrugs stiffly. “That is not the way we like it, but it is the way it must be. There are too few of us to take risks. Better we avoid direct conflict, and prevent other crossings, than fight, perish and leave the demons free to come as they please. Some disagree with that and take the fight to the Demonata, but they do not last very long.”
“You tried fighting when you were younger,” Nadia says, and Sharmila nods. “That’s why Beranabus recruited you. You and Raz have fought demons. He knows he can take advantage of your nobler nature.” She chuckles dryly and shoots Beranabus a dark look. I realise she doesn’t like the ancient magician. Maybe even hates him. But in that case, why does she work for him? Before I can ask, Nadia picks up the story again.
“The mages called themselves the Disciples, to honour Beranabus. He didn’t care about that, but to them it was important. It still is. Their followers have kept the name. There are never many Disciples—maybe forty or fifty at any time. They patrol the world, thwarting the plans of lesser demons, searching for other humans with powers like their own, to recruit, train and set against the Demonata.”
“Mostly we act independently of the master,” Raz says and all our heads bob up. He’s standing over me, rubbing his hands together, smiling. “We were not properly introduced earlier. My name is Raz Warlo. This is Sharmila Mukherji. And Nadia Moore. We are—I’m sure I speak for us all—delighted to meet you, and will do all in our power to make you feel that you are among friends and allies.”
Sharmila laughs shortly. “Always the diplomat, Raz.”
“One of us needs to be,” he laughs back, then squats. “As I said, the Disciples mostly act without orders from the master. He leaves us free to operate as we see fit. Occasionally, he’ll assign one of us a task, perhaps to watch for signs of demonic activity in a certain area, or to come into this universe with him to fight. But mostly we follow our own path.”
“Lucky you,” Nadia says bitterly and shoots another harsh look at Beranabus.
“Are you his… slave?” I ask hesitantly.
“I might as well be,” she spits, then smiles painfully. “No. Beranabus is a real son of a bitch, but I’m free to leave if I wish. I’m different from Raz, Sharmila and the rest of the Disciples—more gifted. Not necessarily more powerful, but I can…” She trails off and glances at Raz and Sharmila, who are staring at her curiously. They don’t know this bit either.
Nadia sniffs. “It’s not a secret. Beranabus didn’t tell you because there wasn’t time. He won’t mind if I fill you in. And I think I should because it concerns you and Raz too. It’s the reason you’re here.”
“I have been curious about that,” Sharmila says, and though Raz says nothing, I can see that he’s intrigued also.
Nadia rubs her arms, shivering slightly. “I’ve been with Beranabus a long time, maybe seven or eight years—though it’s been a lot longer than that in the human world. When Beranabus recruited me, talking movies had just come into fashion. It was 1929.”
We gawp at her. Sharmila covers her mouth with a hand. Raz blinks owlishly.
“1929?” I echo. “But you’re so young.”
“I’ve spent most of those seven or eight years here, where—as I’ve explained—time works differently.”
“You mean you missed the Second World War?” Raz asks. “Rock and roll? The Beatles?”
“Beetles?” Nadia asks innocently.
“The Beatles. The biggest band in the world. They…” He stops, not sure how to explain the Beatles to somebody from 1929.
“Poor girl,” Sharmila says, tears of pity in her eyes.
“It’s not so bad.” Nadia shrugs uncomfortably. “When we return to the human world, we stay in a cave which has been Beranabus’ base for many centuries. I haven’t seen the outside world since I joined him. I’m not jealous or regretful. Not really.”
She tries to make it sound like she honestly feels that way, but it’s clear that she’s deeply unhappy.
“Why?” Raz asks softly. “Why did the master ask this great sacrifice of you? What is your gift?”
“Fortune-telling,” Nadia says with a giggle. “I was a child fortune-teller. I’d dress up as a gypsy and read people’s palms, tea leaves, a crystal ball—whatever. When my parents realised I could make money doing it, they set up a special room in our house. Later, they took me on the road with a travelling fair. I had a tent of my own. They billed me as Nadia Le Tarot. It was fun, but frightening sometimes—I could see people’s death. I was supposed to just tell them good things, but if I saw something upsetting, I couldn’t always hide it. That got me into trouble.
“I don’t know how Beranabus found me. He just turned up one night, and whisked me off into the madness of this. I was terrified. I didn’t know who he was or what he wanted. And all the demons…”
She shudders and glares at Beranabus. I try to imagine what that must have been like. It’s not difficult, since I’m in much the same boat as she was. But at least I made the decision to come here.
“In time, I learnt why Beranabus took me,” Nadia says. “I can sense things which have not yet happened. There are many people who claim that gift, but I’m one of the few who can really do it. Beranabus says my kind are even rarer than magicians.”
“How much can you see?” Sharmila asks, and there’s an edge to her voice. “Can you see when we will die? And by what means?”
Nadia shakes her head. “Not yet. I have to focus to gain insights like that. And I prefer not to. I don’t like knowing such details.”
“You say you can see the future before it happens,” Raz says slowly. “But if that is true, surely you can act to change it.”
“No. It’s not that specific. I might, for instance, see that you’ll die in a fire, but I won’t know when or where it will happen. My insights are never something that can be altered. If I get a glimpse of a future event, it’s because it has in some way already happened. It can’t be undone or prevented.
“But it is possible to use my gift to our advantage—that is, to Beranabus’ advantage.” She goes quiet, staring at her fingernails. Most are bitten down to the quick, except the smallest nail on her left hand. Maybe she’s saving it for an especially stressful moment.
“There is a weapon,” Nadia whispers, and we have to lean in to hear. “A demonic weapon, maybe legendary, maybe real—Beranabus doesn’t know. They call it the Kah-Gash. According to the legends it’s ancient, even by the standards of the Demonata. We’re talking millions of years. It was broken up into a number of pieces aeons ago and they’ve been missing ever since.”
“How many pieces?” Raz asks.
“We don’t know. We don’t think any demon knows either. But certain demon masters have been looking for them ever since. Beranabus is searching for the pieces too. Because whatever the Kah-Gash is, the legends claim it has the power to destroy universes. They say it can wipe out either the universe of the Demonata and every demon in it—or our own, and everyone in that.”
“What weapon could be so powerful?” Raz gasps. “Even a nuclear missile cannot destroy an entire universe.”
Nadia shrugs. “If I had the answer, I’d know more than Beranabus or any of the Demonata. But I know this much—one of the pieces will soon be found. I’ve seen it.” She starts chewing at the smallest nail on her left hand. “Beranabus has had me concentrating on the Kah-Gash ever since he brought me here. I spend hours of every day brooding about it, running the word through my thoughts, trying to find out where the pieces might be.
“A few days ago I had an insight. I sensed that part of the Kah-Gash was going to be discovered in the near future. I caught a glimpse of a demon—Cadaver. Words popped into my thoughts—‘The demon thief will guide you. Find the thief.’ ”
Find the thief. That’s what Mrs. Egin said when she was freaking out, and just before she exploded! I start to tell the others, but Sharmila speaks up before me.
“Cadaver stole the baby—Kernel’s brother.”
Nadia nods. “Beranabus was ecstatic when that happened. It confirmed that we were on the right track, that Cadaver was a demon thief.”
“So that’s what this is about,” Raz says, nudging my right arm. (It doesn’t hurt now. It’s been healed by magic.) “Nadia and the master came for me—having already collected Sharmila—a day or so ago. The master said he had need of me, but didn’t say what he wanted me for. Now I see—it was to help search for the Kah-Gash.”
“But I don’t see what difference you or I can make,” Sharmila frowns. “Were we in your vision, Nadia?”
“No.”
“Then why involve us? If Beranabus has searched for this weapon by himself all these years, why come to us for help now.”
“Because of what I saw and sensed,” Nadia mumbles. “If we pursue this, there will be a confrontation. I caught glimpses of a battle with forces greater than our own.” She pulls her finger away from her mouth. Sets both hands on her knees. Looks at each of us slowly, one after the other, as she speaks. “Beranabus didn’t tell you about this because there was no time. But I doubt he would have told you anyway, in case he frightened you away.”
“I’m not frightened of a fight,” Raz snorts.
“I am,” Sharmila says. “But I would fight regardless, if Beranabus asked me. He knows that. I have fought before. Raz too. You said that is why he chose us.”
“Yes. But it wasn’t just a fight that I sensed.” Nadia lowers her eyes and looks at the hands on her knees. They’re trembling, but only slightly. She stares at them hard. When they stop trembling, she looks up at us and says directly, without any emotion, “I also sensed death.”
OPENING WINDOWS
Nadia falls silent. She squats with her face averted. Raz and Sharmila look anxious and move away to discuss the revelation in whispers. I stay where I am, watching Beranabus work. I’m not that disturbed by Nadia’s prediction. This is all crazy anyway. Death’s only to be expected in a place like this.
Beranabus is having difficulties with the window. The patches of light are slotting into place, but slowly. And while most of the patches he’s joined together are pulsing at the same rate, some aren’t. If he could see the lights, it would be simple, but he can’t. He has to create the window using complicated, time-consuming spells.
I can’t understand why the magician and the others can’t see the lights. They’re more powerful and experienced than me. So why am I the only one who can view the assembly of the window?
While I’m pondering that, a few more patches of light slot into place. A shimmer runs through the panel. The various colours vibrate a few times in unison. Then they all turn yellow and stop pulsing.
“Ah!” Beranabus grunts. He turns, claps his hands to get everyone’s attention, then waves at the window of yellow light, now visible for all to see. Raz and Sharmila approach with suspicion. Nadia hangs back.
“Do you know what is through there?” Sharmila asks.
“Another world,” Beranabus says.
“Can you be more specific?”
He shrugs. “I was searching for Cadaver, not a specific world. Until we pass through the window, I’ve no way of telling where we’ll emerge.” He raises a bushy eyebrow. “Nervous, Miss Mukherji?”
“Nadia told us about her vision,” Raz mutters, gaze lowered. “About the Kah-Gash and your quest. She said there would be fighting and death.”
Beranabus snorts. “That girl should learn to keep her mouth shut.” He glares at Nadia, then shrugs. “You chance death every time you face a demon. That’s nothing new.”
“But we have been told that on this occasion it definitely lies in wait,” Sharmila says. “That is different.”
“Not really,” Beranabus says. “Nadia has no idea who will die. It could be anyone—you, her, me, the boy. Maybe it will be all of us.” Beranabus looks at the window and scowls. “You can quit if you wish. I’ve no time for cowards. But consider this—the Kah-Gash can destroy a universe. If you withdraw and the piece of the weapon we’re chasing falls into the hands of the Demonata…”
“You really believe the Kah-Gash exists?” Sharmila asks.
“Aye.”
Sharmila and Raz share an uneasy glance then Raz nods, followed—after a pause of several seconds—by Sharmila.
“How about you, Fleck?” Beranabus turns his small dark eyes on me. This is the first really close look I’ve had of him. His skin is pale, but covered in dirt and grime. Lots of wrinkles, and a few old scars and blemishes. Untidy black hair, clumps of grey and white, his beard trimmed unevenly. His hands are clean, in contrast with the rest of him, but the tight flesh round his knuckles is covered by lots of blotches and faded scars. Dusty, dirty clothes. He wears a small flower in a buttonhole on his jacket, which looks pathetically out of place. Several of his teeth are missing, and the rest are crooked and rotten. He smells bad, like something that has half decomposed. I don’t like him and I don’t trust him. But he’s the only hope I have of finding Art.
“I’m coming,” I say, trying to sound more positive than I feel.
“Then it’s decided,” Beranabus says and steps through the yellow window. Sharmila follows, then Nadia—reluctantly, chin low.
Raz claps me on the back. “After you.”
I face the window of yellow light. Think about the demons that might be waiting on the other side. Take a breath. Hold it. Step through.
* * * * *
A desert world. It’s night, but lots of stars are glittering, so I can see clearly in all directions. Beranabus is magically searching for Cadaver, standing very still, eyes closed. After a few minutes he shakes his head. “He’s been through here but didn’t stop.” Rolling his shoulders, he spits on his hands, scuffs the sand with his feet, then starts on another spell, to open a new window and follow the demon to whatever world it fled to next.
The patches of light round us are glowing steadily when Beranabus begins. Soon after he starts searching for Cadaver, several pulse and move towards a spot in front of him. As he chants, more pulse and others drift in from afar to be added to the patchwork panel. Beranabus is piecing them together with spells. But if he could see them like I could, and move them directly by hand…
I think about offering my help, but I’m afraid he’ll laugh at me, so I keep my idea to myself. After a while I realise it’s been ages since I ate or drank, yet I don’t feel hungry or thirsty. I mention this to Raz, who’s lying on the sand close by, idly gouging out shapes with a finger.
“I noticed that too,” he says. “And although I have been here a day or two, I don’t feel sleepy. Our bodies must work differently in this universe. It is a place of magic and you can do many incredible things with magic.” He waves a hand over the sand and a sandcastle slowly thrusts upwards, turrets, a moat, tiny sandy guards on the ramparts.
“Cool!” I gasp. “Do you think I could…?”
“Try,” he says. “I didn’t know I could do that until just now.”
Excited, I sit and think about a castle even bigger and grander than Raz’s. I wave a hand over the sand, summoning my masterpiece.
Nothing happens.
Disappointed, I decide I’m being too ambitious, so I picture a smaller castle, with fewer turrets and troops. Again, nothing happens. I keep lowering my expectations, demanding less and less, until finally I ask for the simplest sandcastle possible. The sand ripples, then spits up a meagre glob.
Raz laughs. “Don’t worry. Gifts vary. Magic shows itself uniquely in each person. I can create sandcastles. Perhaps you can change shape or make rain.”
“Really?”
“It’s possible.”
I close my eyes and think about what sort of an animal I’d like to turn into.
Later. No luck with the shape-changing or making rain. If I have a magical gift, it must be very unique!
Beranabus is hard at work on the window, which seems to be nearing completion. I’m lying next to Nadia, Sharmila and Raz close by. Nadia’s bee
n telling us about her life with Beranabus, the ways of demons, how to fight them.
“Where are they all?” I ask during a lull. “This is the second world I’ve been to, and apart from the trees, I haven’t seen any demons.”
“In a hurry to spot some?” Sharmila chuckles.
“No. I was just wondering. Where do they live?”
“They could be anywhere,” Nadia says. “Beneath the sand. All around us and invisible. On the other side of the world. There might be thousands here or only one. It varies. Some demons create a world just for themselves. Others—”
“Demons can create worlds?” Raz interrupts.
“The stronger ones can. Most just rampage through existing realms, but demon masters have the power to make new worlds and even self-contained universes.”
“Do they make the stars as well?” I ask.
Nadia smiles grimly. “Those aren’t stars.”
We stare at her then up at the sky. It’s peppered with glowing dots. They’re not like the stars in our universe—they’re bigger, brighter, closer, and many move across the heavens like meteors. But they can’t be anything other than…
“They’re demons,” Nadia says.
“They can’t be!” Sharmila protests.
“Nevertheless, they are.”
“But…” Sharmila gazes up at the sky, horrified. “To be able to see them from here… they must be enormous!”
“Yes.”
“Are they demon masters?” Raz asks.
“A few, perhaps, but most are just incredibly large demons who sail the skies, looking for others to torture and destroy. They don’t usually bother with the likes of us—we’re too tiny—but occasionally one might decide to squash us like ants.” She chuckles humourlessly. “When that happens, you get out as quick as you can. There’s nothing else you can do against a star-sized demon.”
I gawp at Nadia, then at the sky, filled with monstrous shapes. Suddenly, this place feels a lot more dangerous than it did a few minutes ago.
