by Darren Shan
“It was when he bit me,” I whisper. “That’s when I knew. Art loved to bite. And the marbles, when he held them over his eyes—they looked like the demon’s.”
Lord Loss nods slowly. “You stole him, Cornelius. You were lonely, desperate for a friend, somebody who would be true to you and with you always. You found a way into my kingdom. Snatched Artery. Gave him human shape. Convinced yourself that he was your natural brother.”
“But Mum and Dad must have known the truth!” I cry.
“They knew he was not theirs,” Lord Loss agrees. “But they did not know he was a demon, where he came from or why you believed he was your brother. He reminded your mother of the baby daughter she lost. She saw him as a second chance, a gift from the gods. Your father wanted to give the baby to the police, to be returned to its rightful parents. He tried to sway Melena, without success. She used you to swing him round to her way of thinking. You thought the baby was your brother. If they took him away, she said you’d suffer dreadfully. Out of love for you, he agreed to lie.
“They watched the news closely—furtively—over the coming days. If a baby had been reported missing, perhaps decency would have won out and your father would have handed Art over. Or perhaps not. Your sister’s death had hurt him terribly too. Maybe he would have let your mother talk him into holding on to the child, no matter what.
“In any event, when there was no mention of a missing baby, they decided to keep him and rear him as their own, as the brother you believed he was. But they couldn’t stay in the city, where people knew they only had one child. So they abandoned their jobs and fled. Took you and the baby away. Started a new life in Paskinston, where nobody had cause to be suspicious, where things were simpler, where they could rear their new son in peace.”
He strokes Art’s head, never taking his eyes off me. I’m trembling uncontrollably, my world falling to pieces, the last year of my life exposed as a lie, me revealed as a villain, Mum and Dad as devious accomplices.
“How did he transform the demon?” Beranabus asks. “Transfiguration’s a complicated spell. He couldn’t have managed it alone.”
“Yet he did,” Lord Loss says. “I assumed he was the pawn of a powerful magician, maybe even a fellow demon. That is why I did not retrieve Artery immediately. I hoped the manipulator of the boy would reveal himself. Eventually, I decided to steal Artery back, hoping to tempt Cornelius’ master out of hiding. It was only when Cornelius came into this universe and tested his powers that I realised he’d acted alone. I still do not know how he did it—only that he did.”
Everyone’s staring at me. I feel like an exhibit at a freak show. Roll up! Roll up! Come and marvel at Kernel Fleck, thief of demons, master of disguise! He can hide a demon from everybody—even himself!
“So I never had a brother,” I whisper. “It was all a lie.”
“A dream,” Lord Loss corrects me. “And now you have awoken, thanks to my generous help.”
“Some help!” Dervish snorts. “You could have just told him.”
“That would have been cheating,” Lord Loss says. “He had to discover the truth himself—or search for it in vain for the rest of his life. I would have been happy either way. The misery of his ignorance would have been sweet. But the misery of his understanding is just as welcome.”
“What misery?” Shark asks. “He beat you. He found out the truth.”
“And lost a brother in the process,” Sharmila says softly, as I weep quietly.
“But he never had a brother,” Shark says. “It was a sham, a cuckoo’s child.”
“But Kernel thought it was real.” Sharmila frees herself from Beranabus’ grip, walks over and lays a hand on my shoulder. Squeezes gently.
“What now?” Beranabus asks, businesslike, no longer interested in the mystery of the theft or the illusion. “Are we free to leave?”
“Of course,” Lord Loss says. “Cornelius fulfilled the terms of our agreement. He discovered the true thief and named him. You can depart whenever you like.” He looks around absent-mindedly. “Cadaver seems to have slipped away while we were otherwise involved, but I am sure you can track him down again.”
“Then let’s go,” Beranabus says. “We’ve wasted enough time on this farce.”
“Shut up, you stupid, thoughtless man!” Sharmila shouts, surprising us all. She glowers at Beranabus, then strokes the back of my neck. “There is the matter of Kernel’s brother to settle.”
“Brother?” Beranabus huffs. Sharmila points at the child on Lord Loss’ knee. “But that’s just a demon made up to look like a boy.”
“Yes. But he has been Kernel’s brother for the past year. And I suspect, by the smile of his master, he can be again. If Kernel so wishes.”
Lord Loss laughs hollowly. “You have a sharp eye, Miss Mukherji.” He holds Art—Artery—up with four of his hands. The baby giggles and tries to bite off one of the demon master’s fingers. “Artery is precious to me, but he has been equally precious to Cornelius. I am not evil-hearted—I have no heart, either evil or good—so I am willing to let my familiar go. If Kernel wishes to take him, I will not stand in his way.”
I slowly look up. “I can have Art back? He can be my brother again?”
“If you want,” Lord Loss smiles.
I stare at the demon master, then at Art, grinning at me over the lumpy fingers. He looks no different than he did the day Cadaver took him. Why shouldn’t I take him home as my brother, carry on with life and try to forget that this mad period of time ever happened?
“What would he be like when he grew up?” Dervish asks.
“Can one ever judge how a child will grow up?” Lord Loss says slyly.
“You know what I mean. Right now he likes biting people. Will he want to do worse things when he’s older? Will he be more demon than human? A man on top, a monster beneath?”
“What a way you have with words.” Lord Loss shrugs. “I think the true Artery will shine through. Cornelius has the power to shackle him, but not rid him of his origins. He’ll want to do terrible things, and will probably find a way to act on his desires. But he will never harm Cornelius, of that I am certain.”
Dervish comes over to stand beside Sharmila. He looks at me seriously. “It’s your call, Kernel, but I don’t think you should take him back. You’ve seen the way demons behave. You couldn’t change him.”
“I could try!” I cry. “If I can change his shape, why not his heart?”
“Demons don’t experience emotions like we do,” Beranabus says softly. “Sometimes they give the impression that they can feel as we feel, care as we care. But they’re monsters, all of them. It’s their nature. We cannot alter that.”
I’m crying hard. I look at Art again, wanting so much to hold him, play with him, grow up with him. It’s not fair, having to choose. I’d have been happier if I’d never had a brother. To have him for a year… to come through so much to find him… only to be faced with this… having to go back to the loneliness… tell Mum and Dad I couldn’t protect him…
“Maybe I don’t care if he kills!” I shout. “Maybe I just don’t want to be lonely anymore, and having a brother matters to me more than anything else. What if that’s the case?
Beranabus sniffs. “Then good luck to you. Just don’t call on my Disciples when the bodies start mounting up. And you might want to tell your parents to stay out of Art’s way. They should be safe on the other side of the world.”
I howl at Beranabus, Dervish, Lord Loss, Art—the entire world and all the worlds beyond. I hate this universe, both universes, life itself. I wish I could destroy it all, the whole damn lot of it, myself as well. One burst of almighty energy and—bang! No more worries or pain.
Then I catch sight of Lord Loss smirking. And Art, smiling innocently, just the slightest twinkle of wickedness in the corner of his eye. I think about Mum and Dad, how they loved me and gave up everything, risking imprisonment and who knows what else, to protect my dark secret and keep me happy. Sure, t
hey did it for themselves too, but I think—believe—they mostly did it for my sake.
And I know I can’t do this to them. I can’t take a demon in human form into their home and leave it free to strike. I’d be as demonic as Lord Loss if I did that.
“To hell with your rotten familiar!” I moan, turning my back on Lord Loss and the baby-shaped demon. Tears overwhelm me and the world becomes a watery, salty sea. I’m aware of Sharmila hugging me tight, leading me away, the others solemnly following. Lord Loss says something, mocking my misery, but we ignore him. Pass out of the main room, through the other webby chambers, past the room of chess sets, to the drawbridge. Where we pause, just a moment. And I hear, during a gulp between sobs, from deep within the castle, one final childish giggle from the demon Artery—my lost never-brother, Art.
GOODBYES
Outside the castle. At the point where we entered this world. Beranabus claps my back and says, “Let’s go find Cadaver.” Sharmila groans. Dervish looks at Beranabus as if he has two heads. Even Shark fidgets as though a terrible curse had been uttered. “What?” Beranabus snaps, frowning at his Disciples. “We have to capture him, squeeze out whatever he knows about the Kah-Gash. That’s what we came here for.”
“It is over,” Sharmila says. “Nadia was wrong about the Kah-Gash. Or we already came upon it and failed to recognise it. Either way, Cadaver’s real purpose was to bring Kernel into this universe, so he could learn the truth about the theft. Now it is time for him to return to his parents and—”
“No!” Beranabus shouts. “His brother never mattered. This is about the Kah-Gash and always has been.”
“To you, perhaps,” Dervish says softly. “But not to Kernel. And not, I think, to the rest of us. Sharmila’s right—it’s over.
Beranabus glares at us. An angry red flush creeps up his neck. He starts to say something but Shark steps forward, halting him. “I’ll serve if you want me. If you think I can help you find this demon-destroying weapon, I’m yours for life. But I doubt I’ll make a difference. I don’t think any of us will. I agree with Dervish—this was about Kernel and his search. That’s what brought us here. It doesn’t seem like much, and it’s crazy that Raz and Nadia had to die because of it—but that’s life.”
Beranabus growls. “Think you’re smarter than me, do you?”
“No. But I can see the truth when it’s sitting before me plain as day. I don’t know anything about the Kah-Gash. Maybe you’ll find it later, maybe you won’t. Maybe Cadaver can lead you to it, maybe he can’t. But it’s time to let Kernel go. He doesn’t belong here. He’s not part of this. Not anymore.”
It’s the most I’ve ever heard Shark say. I want to thank him, but my throat’s as tight as when I was being strangled by Cadaver’s hairs.
Beranabus scowls at his three Disciples, lets his gaze linger on me, then gives a disinterested sniff. “So be it. I’m not going to argue with all of you. I’m starting to think it was a fool’s errand. I’ll look for Cadaver anyway, just in case, but there’s no reason for you to come with me. The fighting’s over. And the deaths.”
He turns away, takes a deep breath, starts muttering the words of a spell.
Sharmila, Shark and Dervish exchange uncertain glances.
“That’s it?” Dervish asks. “We can go?”
“Aye. Get the boy to open a window for you. Return to your normal duties. I’ll be in touch later. If I need you.”
Dervish laughs. Sharmila and Shark smile. Then all three look at me.
“Where do you want to go?” I ask them.
“Drop us off at your place,” Shark says. “We’ll make our own way from there.”
I nod slowly, then face the patches of light. They surround me as usual, now that I’ve come out of the Board, glowing in the air around me. Half eager, half afraid, I think about Paskinston.
It doesn’t take long. I slot the patches of pulsing lights together. The window opens. Clean blue light. The doorway out of all this craziness. I take one last look back at the castle, the demon-laced sky, Beranabus.
“Thank you,” I mutter. “I know you only helped me because you wanted to find the Kah-Gash. But I couldn’t have discovered the truth without you.”
“Much good it did you,” Beranabus grunts. He looks at me with his grey-blue eyes. Cocks his head. “Home isn’t always where you expect it to be. It can change, as life changes. If you ever need me, you know where to find me.”
“He won’t,” Dervish says shortly, then pushes me through the window of light, out of the universe of demons.
* * * * *
Night. We’re in a field outside Paskinston. Where Mrs. Egin exploded and Cadaver crossed. The four of us standing beneath a half moon, looking at each other, breathing in the delicious smell of our own world.
“We are a sight,” Sharmila laughs, nodding at our torn clothes, ripped flesh and bare feet.
“At least we’re not a stench,” Shark says. He sniffs a sleeve and his face turns green at the memory of the gory pool.
“Thank you,” I whisper, eyes lowered, suddenly shy, feeling like a child again, the way I did before I crossed universes. I was their equal over there. Here, I’m just a boy.
“No need for thanks,” Dervish smiles. “We had the adventure of a lifetime.”
“I would not call it an adventure,” Sharmila says thoughtfully. “More a nightmare—the like of which I hope never to experience again.”
Dervish smiles. “Be truthful. Now we’ve come through alive, don’t tell me you aren’t a bit sorry that it’s over. It was wild but magical. Right?”
“No. It was horrible. I hated every minute of it.”
“Shark?” Dervish asks.
“I hated the pool of slime,” he grunts and we all laugh. “Otherwise, it was a buzz. But that’s because we survived. I’m sure Raz and Nadia had a different view of it.”
I feel a jolt of guilt when he mentions Nadia. I should tell them about her. But I gave my word. Besides, she said she wouldn’t hurt them. The only one she hates is Beranabus.
“What was Raz like?” Dervish asks, smile fading.
“A gentleman,” Sharmila says.
“Yeah,” Shark agrees. “I knew Raz. A top cat. But let’s not talk about him. In our business, it’s best to forget about death and focus on living.” He stretches and groans. “I’m off to find a lake to soak in. How about you lot?”
“I’ll come with you,” Dervish says. “I still have a lot to learn about being a Disciple.”
“I’m not so sure,” Shark murmurs, then raises an eyebrow at Sharmila.
“I want some time off,” the Indian lady says, gazing at the moon. “I have been a Disciple for many years. I am due a break. Maybe I will go to the village of my parents and pray to their memory. They were killed by demons.” She sighs and lowers her eyes. “I will pray for Raz too. And Nadia. And the others who died in the course of this quest.” She looks at me. “And I will pray for Kernel. And maybe for Art, even if he did not ever really exist.”
I smile at Sharmila thankfully, then stretch out my arms for a hug. As she wraps her arms around me, she whispers in my ear. “It was strange that you could not find the Kah-Gash.”
“Maybe it doesn’t exist,” I reply.
“Or maybe…” She hesitates, then releases me. “I wonder what would have happened if you’d tried to open a window to one of us when we were with you in that universe.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
She smiles cryptically in answer, kisses my cheeks, then steps back.
“We can stay with you a while,” Dervish says, as I hover uncertainly at the edge of the village. “Help you readjust and explain all this to your parents.”
I laugh. “You really think you can explain Lord Loss to my mum and dad?”
“You have a point,” Dervish chuckles.
I shake Shark’s hand, admiring his tattoos one final time. He salutes sharply when I let go. Then I shake hands with Dervish. “Your spikes have gone
floppy,” I note.
“I feel floppy all over,” he grins.
The four of us share one final glance that says more than any words. With a tired wave, I turn away from the three Disciples, face the village lights, steady myself and wonder what Mum and Dad will say when I step through the door. With an excited but nervous shiver, I start on the short walk home.
HOME ALONELY
It wasn’t a glorious homecoming.
Nearly seven years had passed since I stepped through the window in search of Art. I found it almost impossible to believe, even though Lord Loss had warned me. Seven years of change, births and deaths, the world moving on—and I missed every minute of it.
Mum and Dad looked a lot older than I remembered. Wrinklier, greyer, a sadness in their eyes that hadn’t been there before.
They thought I was a ghost. Although seven years had slipped by, I looked exactly the way I did when I disappeared, even dressed in the same clothes. Mum screamed. Dad too. They spun away from me, covering their eyes, panting with terror.
I hadn’t expected such a reaction or prepared myself for the experience of having Mum and Dad scream at me with horror. I fell apart. Collapsed in tears. “It’s me!” I kept wailing. “It’s me! Me! Me!”
Eventually, shaking with fear, Dad edged forward. Maybe he wouldn’t have been so brave if I hadn’t been crying like a baby. He poked my bald head, finger trembling, expecting it to slide through me. When it didn’t, he frowned and poked me again.
“I’m real,” I moaned, looking at him, wanting him to hold me, hug me, tell me he loved me. “It’s me. Kernel. I’m real, Dad. I’m back.”
“Kernel?” he croaked, shaking his head softly. “It can’t be. You’re… no… it can’t…”
Then he fell on me, folded me in his arms, bellowed my name and burst into tears. Moments later, Mum was beside me too, the pair picking at me, poking me, clutching me. Crying and laughing at the same time.
