“No?” He nods at the earth far below. “Then how do you explain this?”
“But Dervish said… I’ve never… Bartholomew Garadex!” I throw the name out desperately.
“You’re different to Bartholomew,” the tramp says. “Different to every magician I’ve ever known or heard about. But you’re a magician none the less. You draw your power directly from the universe, like the Demonata.”
Mention of the demons reminds me of the plane and its doomed passengers. “We have to go back!” I shout, cursing myself for flying around happy and carefree while Lord Loss and his familiars wreak havoc. “We have to save the people on the plane.”
The tramp sighs. “Dead, all of them.”
“No! They can’t be! We have to—”
“They’re dead,” the tramp says stiffly. “And even if they aren’t, what could we do?”
“Fight!” I roar.
“Against Lord Loss?” He shakes his head. “I’m powerful, boy, and so are you, but Lord Loss is a demon master. We wouldn’t last long in a battle with him.”
“We have to try,” I whisper, thinking of all those men, women and children. Picturing the Demonata and Juni Swan at savage work. “If we abandon them…”
“We’ve already abandoned them,” the tramp grunts. “The choice was taken when I pulled you out. Everyone on that aeroplane is dead and it has crashed—or will shortly—destroying the evidence.”
“You let them die,” I gasp.
The tramp shrugs. “I would have saved them if I could. I’ve devoted my life to protecting humanity from the Demonata. But some battles you can’t win. Some you can’t even fight.”
Flying in silence. Thinking about what happened and what the tramp said. Cold inside and scared. Unable to get the faces of the people—the dead—out of my mind. Yet a big part of me is secretly glad we didn’t go back, that the tramp spared me another run-in with the demons.
“This is insane,” I mutter, looking at the world beneath. “Who are you? What were you doing on the plane? Why have you been following me? I thought you were one of the Lambs. I know nothing about you. I need—”
“Soon,” the tramp hushes me. “I’ll answer all your questions once we’re safe on the ground. For now, just fly.”
And since there’s no point arguing, I tuck my arms in tighter, pick up speed, trail the tramp through the air and try—unsuccessfully—to push the faces of the dead from my thoughts.
We fly for hours, mostly above the clouds where people on the ground can’t see us. I spot the occasional plane, but the tramp always steers us clear. A shame—I love the thought of gliding up to one and tapping on the windows, scaring the living daylights out of the passengers and crew.
I’ve no idea where we are. I didn’t ask Juni where we were going when we set off and I don’t know how long I was asleep, so I can’t judge how far from home we might have been when the demons attacked.
Juni…
Rage seethes up inside me every time I think about her. I trusted her. I thought she was on my side, that she loved me like a mother. And all the time she was playing me for a fool, setting me up for Lord Loss, cutting me off from Dervish.
I want to quiz the tramp about her. Find out where she comes from, how she operates, where I can find her—so I can track her down and burn her for the evil witch she is. But this isn’t the right time. I have loads of questions for the tramp. So much I want to know, that I need to find out. Hell, I haven’t even asked his name yet!
* * * * *
Finally, five or six hours after I bailed out of the plane, the tramp guides me down. The land is barren desert, more rocky than sandy. No signs of human life—it’s been the better part of an hour since I saw any kind of house.
“This is the complicated part,” the tramp says as we come in to land. “The easiest way is to hover a bit above the ground, then stop thinking about birds. After a few seconds you’ll fall.”
“Can’t we touch down?” I ask.
“I can, but I’ve had a lot of practice. If you try it, you’ll probably hit hard and break a leg or arm.”
He spreads his arms and drifts down, landing lightly on his feet. I’m tempted to copy him, to prove I’m nimbler than he gives me credit for. But it’s been a long day and the last thing I want is to break any bones. So I float to within a metre of the rocky floor, then empty my head of images of birds. For a couple of seconds nothing happens. Then I drop suddenly, stomach lurching.
I hit the ground awkwardly, landing face first in the dust. Sitting up, I splutter and wipe dirt and grit from my cheeks, then get to my feet and look around. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Some rocky outcrops and hills, a few rustling cacti, nothing else. “Where are we?”
“Home,” the tramp says and starts walking towards one of the hills.
“Whose home?” I ask, hurrying after him.
“Mine.”
“And you are…?”
He stops and looks back, surprised. “You don’t know?”
“Should I?”
“Surely Dervish told…” He trails off into silence, then laughs. “All that time in the air, you didn’t know who you were with?”
“I was going to ask, but it didn’t seem like the right moment,” I huff.
The tramp shakes his head. “I’m Beranabus.” The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.
“Beranabus what?” I ask.
“Just Beranabus,” he says, then starts walking again. “Come. We have much to discuss, but it will hold. I never feel safe in the open.”
With a nervous glance around, I hasten after the shabbily dressed man. Several minutes later we come to the mouth of a cave. Not having had the best experience of caves recently, I pause and peer suspiciously into the shadows.
“It’s fine,” Beranabus assures me. “This is a safe place, protected by its natural position and the strongest spells I could muster. You have nothing to fear.”
“That’s easily said,” I grunt, unconvinced.
Beranabus smiles. He has crooked, stained teeth. This close I can see that his small eyes are grey and his skin is pale beneath a covering of grime and dirt. He’s wearing an old, dusty suit. The only fresh thing about him is a small posy of flowers jutting out of one of his buttonholes.
“If I wanted to harm you,” he says, “I could have done so already, with far less effort than it would take on the ground. That should be self-evident.”
“I know,” I mutter. “It’s just… I don’t like caves.”
“With good reason,” he says understandingly. “But this isn’t like the cave in Carcery Vale. You’ll be safe here. I promise.”
I hesitate a moment longer, then shrug. “What the hell,” I grunt and push ahead of Beranabus, acting like I couldn’t care less.
The cave only runs back four or five metres, then stops. I look for a way out, studying the walls and floor, but I can’t see any. “Are you like a monk who doesn’t believe in material possessions?” I ask.
“No,” Beranabus says, squeezing past me. He touches the ground and mutters a few words of magic. A hole appears. There’s a rope ladder attached to the wall at one side, leading down into the dark.
I move to the edge of the hole and look down nervously. There are torches set in the walls, so it’s not as dark as it seemed at first. But it runs a long way down and I can only vaguely see the bottom.
“I thought you said a magician didn’t need to cast spells,” I say, delaying the moment when I have to descend.
“Most of the time,” Beranabus reminds me. “There are occasions when even the strongest of us must focus our magical energy with words.” He sits and swings his legs into the hole. Turns, grabs the ladder and starts down. Looks up at me before his head bobs beneath my feet. “This will close in a few minutes. If you’re coming, get a move on.”
“Just waiting for you to get out of my way,” I retort. Then, when his head’s clear, I ignore the butterflies in my stomach, sit, turn and climb down the
swaying ladder after him.
The hole closes with a small grinding noise before I hit the ground. I try not to think about the fact that I’m shut off from the world. At the base I step clear of the ladder and find myself in a large, bright cave. There are chairs, a sofa, a long table at one end with a vase of flowers on it, a few statues, books, chests of drawers, other bits and pieces. There’s also a fire in the middle of the cave, by which a bald, dark-skinned boy sits warming his hands.
“I’m back,” Beranabus calls.
“I noticed,” the boy replies without looking around.
“I’ve brought a guest.”
The boy’s head turns a fraction. He has bright blue eyes and a sour expression. “I thought you were going to kill him.”
I stiffen as Beranabus scowls. “I said I might have to kill him.”
“What do you—” I start to ask angrily.
“Later,” Beranabus soothes me, then points to a blanket spread out on the ground close to the wall. “Get some sleep. I will too. Later we can have a long discussion over a hot meal.”
“You think I can sleep after all that’s happened?” I snort.
“I know you can,” Beranabus says. “Magic. All you have to do is imagine it and you’ll sleep like a baby.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“You’re exhausted. You need rest, so you can focus on our conversation and ask all the questions I’m sure are welling up inside you. You wouldn’t be able to process my answers in your current state.”
I don’t want to sleep—I want to tear straight into the explanations—but what he says makes sense. Just keeping my eyelids open is a major effort at the moment.
“One thing first,” I mutter. “Dervish and Bill-E—are they OK?”
Beranabus shrugs. “I think so.”
“You’re not sure?”
“No. But Lord Loss and Juni—” For some reason he sneers as he says her name. “—don’t know where we went once we left the plane. I doubt Juni would risk going back in case we got there before her.”
“You’ll warn Dervish?” I ask. “About Juni working with Lord Loss?”
“I can’t contact him immediately,” Beranabus says, “but I’ll get word to him as soon as I can. He’ll have to fend for himself until then.”
That’s not satisfactory, but it’s the best he’s going to offer. So, since I’m worn out, and there’s nothing I could do even if I was on top form, I stumble to the blanket and lie down fully clothed. I doubt I can fall asleep as easily as Beranabus expects, but as soon as I close my eyes and think about it, I find myself going under. Seconds later I’m comatose.
POWER OF THE BEAST
A loaf of fresh bread is waved underneath my nose. I come out of sleep smiling, the scent of warm goodness filling my nostrils. For a few groggy moments I think I’m at home with Dervish, it’s a Sunday morning, no school, no worries, a long, lazy day stretching deliriously ahead of me.
Then my eyes focus. I see the lined fingers clutching the bread and the bearded face beyond. I remember. And all the good thoughts disappear in an instant.
“How long was I asleep?” I yawn, sitting up, wincing from the pain in my back—I’m not used to sleeping on a stone floor.
“Many hours,” Beranabus says, handing me the bread.
“Eight? Ten? Twelve?”
He shrugs.
I look for my watch, but the strap must have snapped during the night of my turning. Standing, I rub the sides of my back, stretch and groan. “Haven’t you heard of beds?” I complain.
“You’ll grow accustomed to the floor after a few months.”
I squint at him. Months? I’ve no intention of being here that long. But before I can challenge him, he walks over to the fire where the sour-faced boy is still perched close to the flames. I follow, tearing a chunk out of the loaf, gobbling it. The bread’s chewy and I haven’t any butter, but I’m so hungry I could happily eat cardboard.
Beranabus sits close to the boy. I stay on my feet, studying the curious couple. Ancient Beranabus and the teenager, not much older than me. The shabby, bearded, hairy, suited magician and the boy—his apprentice or servant?—in drab but clean clothes, completely bald. The boy’s dark flesh is laced with small scars and fading bruises. The tips of the two smallest fingers on his left hand are missing. His eyes have a faraway, miserable look. He wears no shoes. Beranabus is barefoot too, his boots discarded.
“Grubitsch Grady meet Kernel Fleck,” Beranabus introduces us.
“Grubbs,” I correct him, sticking out a hand. The boy only grunts. “What about your name?” I ask, trying to be friendly despite his cold welcome. “Is it Colonel, like in the army?”
“No. Kernel, like in popcorn,” Beranabus answers after a few seconds of stony silence. “It’s short for something longer, but neither of us can remember what.”
Kernel sniffs and faces the fire. There are sausages speared to a stick close by. He picks up the stick and jams the sausages into the flames. Mutters a spell. The heat of the fire increases and the sausages cook in seconds. He takes one off, blows on it and eats it, then takes off another and gives it to Beranabus. After a pause, he removes a third sausage and offers it to me.
“Thanks,” I say, biting into it. Too hot, but delicious. I ravenously munch my way through it, then gratefully accept another.
“Kernel does most of the cooking,” Beranabus says, holding a sausage in one hand, picking at dirt beneath the nails of his right foot with the other.
“I have to,” Kernel says. “He’d eat the food raw if I didn’t.”
“It’s all the same once your stomach processes it,” Beranabus snorts. “Hot, cold, cooked, raw… it doesn’t make any difference when you’re squatting over a hole.”
“A hole?” I frown.
“No toilets,” Kernel says, looking at Beranabus sourly.
Kernel cooks some chicken legs, again using his spell. (I wonder where they get the food from, but don’t ask.) He piles them on a dusty, cracked plate, then cooks some ribs and potatoes. That done, he takes what he wants from the plate and passes it across.
Beranabus bites into his chicken leg, then looks over at me. “Tell me everything about the last few months. I know a lot already, but I want the complete story. When you realised your body was changing, how the magic developed, the way you dealt with it.”
“I thought you were the one meant to provide answers.”
“I will,” he promises. “But you first. It will make my job easier.”
While we eat, I fill him in on all that happened, discovering my magical ability after Slawter, fighting it, the sickness, using magic to counter the threat of the werewolf.
“Why did you fight the magic in the first place?” he interrupts. “Most people would be thrilled if they found themselves in your position.”
“I know what magic entails,” I say quietly. “It’s linked to the Demonata. I’ve been part of that crazy universe before. I didn’t want to get sucked into it again.”
Beranabus and Kernel share a look. Then Beranabus tells me to continue.
I explain about the cave we unearthed in Carcery Vale, going there under the influence of the beast, digging through the rubble blocking the entrance, Loch’s accident, Dervish covering up, Juni entering our lives.
“Who’s Juni Swan?” Kernel asks Beranabus.
“One of Lord Loss’s assistants,” Beranabus says, squinting. “Actually she…” He stops and clears his throat. “We can discuss Miss Swan and her background later. Finish, please, Grubitsch.”
“It’s Grubbs,” I correct him again, then cover the last couple of days and nights, the werewolf taking over, killing Bill-E’s grandparents, Juni whipping me out of town and betraying me on the plane. I tell the story as quickly as I can, eager to get it out of the way. I don’t go into all the details, like the voice and the face in the rock, figuring they’re not important. I can tell Beranabus about them later.
Beranabus listens silently, t
hen spends a couple of minutes thinking about what I’ve said. “The boy who fell,” he finally says, echoing Dervish’s concerns when he first came to the cave. “Was it definitely an accident? Nobody else was—”
“No,” I cut in. “We were alone, just the three of us. He slipped, fell, died. An accident. No demons or evil mages were involved.”
“Good,” Beranabus grunts. “When I heard the entrance had been excavated and someone had died in the cave, I feared the worst—especially since my spells of warning hadn’t worked. I should have been alerted the moment the first rock was lifted out. I assumed a powerful mage had spun a counterspell and was preparing the way for a demon invasion. I’ve never moved so quickly in my life.”
“He ran like his feet were on fire,” Kernel says, smiling for the first time—but it’s a brief, thin smile.
“Dervish told me about the cave,” I say softly. “How it was used as a crossing point for demons. He said the tunnel between universes could be reopened, that the Demonata could come through in their thousands and take over our world. You don’t think Juni and Lord Loss…”
“No.” Beranabus smiles wryly, showing his crooked, discoloured teeth. “Lord Loss has no interest in opening tunnels between universes. Most demons want to destroy humanity, but Lord Loss thrives on human misery. He’s as keen to keep that tunnel closed as we are.”
Beranabus picks at his teeth with a thin chicken bone. His breath stinks. In fact most of him stinks. He obviously isn’t concerned about personal hygiene. Finally, laying the bone aside, he speaks again. “The cave brought me to Carcery Vale, but you’re why I stayed. I could feel the power in you, bursting to be released. I wanted to be there when it exploded—or when you imploded.”
“Imploded?”
“You could have burnt up. If the magic hadn’t found an outlet, it would have destroyed you from within. There was no way of telling until the full moon, when I knew you’d be pushed to the point where you and the beast had to settle the matter once and for all.
“The werewolf is the key,” he continues. “The curse of the Gradys. Many centuries ago, your ancestors bred with demons.”
[Demonata 06] - Demon Apocalypse Page 2
