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Volumes 9 and 10 - Dark Calling/Hell’s Heroes
Darren Shan


The king of horror’s demonic symphony in ten volumes, now available in omnibus editions – each containing two titles in the spine-chilling Demonata series.Dark Calling:The Disciples are being manipulated. Only Kernel Fleck knows that something is wrong. But he is in the grip of a creature who cares nothing for the fate of humanity. Voices are calling to him from the darkness and he's powerless to resist.Kernel has already been to hell and back. Now he's about to go further…Hell’s Heroes:Beranabus and Dervish are gone. Bec has formed an unholy alliance with Lord Loss. Kernel is blind, held on Earth against his will. Grubbs is mad with grief and spinning out of control.* The demons are crossing.* The Disciples are falling.* The Shadow is waiting.Welcome to the end…










DARREN SHAN THE DEMONATAVOL. 9&10










Dark Calling & HELL’S HEROES










CONTENTS


Cover (#u66c71ba0-b3df-5bc3-9030-dfa256b1c8af)

Title Page (#ub0343369-23b3-5678-9106-ffdde4ab0c30)

Dark Calling (#u18f75051-14c6-5134-8989-6a5931cd31af)

Dedication (#ufc6e5064-4376-5043-b2df-96e34b0d14c9)

Turn Around, Bright Eyes (#uca17dbf9-6d42-503b-bbc4-7f6b252cc731)

A Word in Your Ear (#u7990fb1a-a62a-5634-8d79-4dfde189e7ce)

Lying Low (#uc7a11bb4-07fb-510e-8e83-04f2e58d4516)

Death Watch (#ue29ab723-c929-5e53-9f85-26b92a04db55)

Come… (#uf8ca7a26-00e0-5255-812a-a9893ae51ae9)

Tripping the Light Fantastic (#u736d906a-f4aa-5674-842e-413e7eecc6d2)

The Man From Atlantis (#u9e0d3b52-cb37-5b53-96f4-d4ee5bf0560b)

Under the Sea (#uee4e90de-432d-51aa-a3ae-6057646a71bd)

Taking to the Skies (#u24709b07-1806-5084-9bcd-1f956cd1c54d)

Going Universal (#u4555d73b-52f8-5968-ab9e-fa9c021a264e)

The Crux (#ue16fe0cd-b5e6-506e-980c-fb7e322a7f51)

New Face, Old Story (#u287a07a4-5751-55f4-84b1-fdd120ba001d)

Picking Up The Pieces (#uff111307-4a2a-5ca2-8aa7-bd40bdd0582c)

World of the Dead (#litres_trial_promo)

The Reaper Unleashed (#litres_trial_promo)

Noah Mk Ii (#litres_trial_promo)

A Warning (#litres_trial_promo)

Welcome Home (#litres_trial_promo)

Restless Souls (#litres_trial_promo)

Shades of the Fallen (#litres_trial_promo)

The Carriage Held… (#litres_trial_promo)

Swan Song (#litres_trial_promo)

Casualties of War (#litres_trial_promo)

Hell’s Heroes (#litres_trial_promo)

Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)

The Last Laugh (#litres_trial_promo)

Clocking Off (#litres_trial_promo)

Mr Grumpy-Puss (#litres_trial_promo)

In Dreams I Walk With You (#litres_trial_promo)

Execvtive Board (#litres_trial_promo)

Home Sweet Home (#litres_trial_promo)

Rock on (#litres_trial_promo)

Shark Attack (#litres_trial_promo)

Who’s That Girl? (#litres_trial_promo)

Unstill Waters (#litres_trial_promo)

Knights in Slimy Armour (#litres_trial_promo)

Soulful (#litres_trial_promo)

An Unholy Quartet (#litres_trial_promo)

Lights Out (#litres_trial_promo)

Tunnelling Through (#litres_trial_promo)

Bigger, Better, Badder (#litres_trial_promo)

À La Moses (#litres_trial_promo)

The Missing Linke (#litres_trial_promo)

The Wink (#litres_trial_promo)

With A Bang (#litres_trial_promo)

Ah Yes, I Remember It Well (#litres_trial_promo)

Devilment (#litres_trial_promo)

Once None, With Feeling (#litres_trial_promo)

Start Me Up (#litres_trial_promo)

Other Works (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)



DARK CALLING (#u46057add-33ab-566e-b8d8-3204a10c4ddf)




DEDICATION (#u46057add-33ab-566e-b8d8-3204a10c4ddf)


For:

Bas—you love it when I call!



OBEs (Order of the Bloody Entrails) to: Sam “the snapper” White Rachel Wasdyke—demon mistress of New Orleans Tom Woodhead – in a word – Sligstatic!!!

Hallowed hollerer: Stella Paskins

Greek chorus: the Christopher Little choir




TURN AROUND, BRIGHT EYES (#ulink_9c21244e-f0c0-538f-bcc9-dddb3f6add6f)


→A small, wiry, scorpion-shaped demon with a semi-human face drives its stinger into my right eye. My eyeball pops and gooey streaks flood down my cheek. In complete agony, I scream helplessly, but worse is to come. The demon spits into the empty socket. At first I think it’s just phlegm, but then dozens of tiny things start to wriggle in the space where my eye once swam. As I fill with confused horror, teeth or claws dig into the bone around my ruined eye. Whatever the mini-monsters are, they’re trying to tunnel through to my brain.

Beranabus roars, “Kernel!” and tries to grab me, but I wheel away from him as insanity and pain claim me. I whip around, flailing, shrieking, wild. The demon strikes again and punctures my left eye. Darkness consumes me. I’m in hell.

→A lifetime later, someone picks me up from where I’ve fallen and drags me forward. It might be Beranabus or Grubbs, or maybe it’s Lord Loss. I don’t know or care. All I can focus on is the blind, hellish pain.

I pull away from the person or demon and run from the madness, but crash into something hard. I fall, moaning and screaming, but not crying—I no longer have eyes to weep with. The creatures which were spat into my eyes are munching on my brain now. I try to scrape them out with my fingers, but that just adds to the torment.

Then magic sears through my ruined sockets. The things in my head burn and drop away. The pain lessens. I sigh blissfully and slump unconscious.



→I dream of the end of the world. Everything comes apart and everyone perishes. The universe warps and twists upon itself. In my dream, I float as a spirit through panels of light. I don’t know how I see the lights without eyes, but I do. There are others—Grubbs, Beranabus, a girl. I slot the patches of light together and we sail from one window to another. Peaceful. No pain. I’m at ease. In my element. Master of the lights.

Maybe this is heaven. Constructing and passing through an endless series of windows. An eternal, beautiful, cosmic light show. I’ll settle for that. Anything’s better than torture, blindness and micro-demons feasting on my brain.



→Heaven doesn’t last. I wasn’t dreaming. The destruction was real. The lights fade and I find myself back on Earth. Blind as ever. Pain muted by magic, but hovering, waiting for its chance to kick back in. Turns out the creatures in my eyes were maggots.

No time for panic or self-pity. Beranabus drops a bombshell—we’ve travelled through time. I’m part of a magical weapon, the Kah-Gash. Grubbs is another part. By linking with the third component, the ghost of a dead girl, we took our doomed world into the past to avert demonic conquest. Now we have to fight again or it will all have been for nothing.



→In a cave. Blindly battling Spine, the scorpion demon. I have the horrible beast pinned to a stalagmite. I’m pounding him with my fists, over and over. Without warning he melts away and I’m left standing in a puddle of sticky blood, frowning sightlessly.

I later learn that I’ve been cheated out of my revenge by a girl called Bec who’s returned to life after sixteen hundred years. She drives Lord Loss back to his own foul realm. Job done.



→We return to the universe of the Demonata. Grubbs comes with us, but Bec stays behind. I’m surprised Beranabus leaves her. She’s part of the Kah-Gash. By uniting us, he could wield the power of the ancient weapon and destroy the Demonata. But he’s afraid. The Kah-Gash made an independent decision to reverse time. Beranabus isn’t sure whether that was a conscious act of mercy or a random reaction. He doesn’t want to press ahead, worried the weapon might side with the demons next time and wipe out mankind.

I’m stronger in the universe of magic. I numb my pain and set to work on building a new set of eyes. I’m not sure that I can. Magic varies from person to person. We all have different capabilities. Some can restore a missing limb or organ. Others can’t. You never know until you try.

Thankfully I’m one of those who can. With only the slightest guidance from Beranabus I construct a pair of sparkling blue eyes. I build them from the rear of my sockets outwards, repairing severed nerve endings, linking them with the growing globes, letting the orbs expand to fill the gaps.

I keep my eyelids shut for a minute when the eyes are complete, afraid I won’t be able to see anything when I open them. I hardly breathe, heart beating fast, contemplating a life of darkness, the worst punishment I can imagine.

Then Beranabus stamps on my foot. I yell and my eyes snap open. I turn on the magician angrily, raising a fist, but stop when I see his cunning smile. I see it.

“You looked like an idiot with your eyes shut,” Beranabus grunts.

“You’re a bully,” I pout, then laugh with relief and hug him. He’s laughing too, but Grubbs isn’t. The teenager glares at us. He’s lost his brother and abandoned his uncle and home. He’s in no mood to give a stuff about my well-being. But that’s fine. Right now I can’t sympathise with him either. All I care about is that I can see. I relish my new eyes, drinking in the sights of the demon world.

I’m so happy, it’s several hours before I realise I can see more than before, that my new eyes have opened up a wonder of the universe previously hidden from me.



→I’ve always been able to see patches of light which are invisible to everybody else. For years I thought they were products of my imagination, that I was slightly (lightly) crazy. Then I learnt they were part of the realm of magic. I have a unique talent. I can manually slot the patches together and create windows between universes, far faster than anyone else.

I use my talent to help Beranabus save the world from demons. The magician has been around for thousands of years and has spent much of that time patrolling the demon universe, protecting humanity from its savage, nightmarish hordes. Although demons have limitless galaxies of their own, they long to cross over—they love killing humans.

Beranabus stops them. He ensures no tunnels are built between universes, holds the demon armies in check, prevents mass crossings. I assist him. My gift allows us to zip from one part of the demon universe to another and track down just about any demon we want.

I thought I might not be able to see the lights with my new eyes, but they work the same way as my original pair. I can still see the multicoloured patches, and when I think of a specific place, person or thing, some of the lights flash and I can slot them together to create a window. In fact I can do it quicker than before and my powers on Earth are greater than they were. Where I used to struggle to open windows on my own world, now I can do it swiftly and easily.

But now there are other lights. At first I thought they were illusionary specks, that my new eyes weren’t working properly. But I soon realised the lights were real and fundamentally different to those I was familiar with. They’re smaller, they change shape and their colours mutate. The regular lights never alter in size or shade, but these new patches grow and subside, bleed from one colour to another. A square pink panel can lengthen into a triangular blue patch, then gradually twist into an orange octagon, and so on.

They shimmer too. Their edges flicker like faulty fluorescent tubes. Sometimes creases run through them, like ripples spreading across the face of a pond.

I can’t control the new lights. They ignore me when I try to manipulate them. In fact, if I start to get close, they glide away from me.

There aren’t many of them, no more than twenty or thirty anywhere I go. But they worry me. There’s something deeply unsettling about them. I initially thought that I was nervous of them just because they were new. But several weeks later, as I was trying to coax them nearer and link them up, they whispered to me.

I know it’s ridiculous. Lights can’t whisper. But I swear I heard a voice calling to me. It sounded like static to begin with, but then it came into focus, a single word repeated over and over. It’s the same word the lights have been whispering to me ever since, softly, slyly, seductively.

Come…”




A WORD IN YOUR EAR (#ulink_45db744c-0f72-5445-a59c-1bb1a1fbc130)


→Beranabus unleashes a burst of magic and the gazelle-shaped demon we’ve been chasing stops in its tracks. The beast turns and snarls at us. It has the head of a human baby. Opening its mouth, it wails. The noise increases sharply and blood trickles from my ears and nose. I use magic to mute the demon’s cry. Beranabus and Grubbs do the same and the three of us close in on the mewling monster.

When the demon realises it can’t harm us with its harpy-like wailing, it falls silent and its look of hatred changes to one of fear. It knows who we are and what we want.

I hang back while Beranabus tortures the creature. I have a problem with demons that model themselves after babies or young children. I can’t bring myself to hurt them, even though I know they’ve only stolen their human attributes.

I was a lonely child. Driven by unhappiness, I unintentionally tapped into my powers, kidnapped a demon and used magic to make it look like a baby. I convinced myself the changeling was my brother and I maintained the lie for ages. I was shattered when I learnt the truth. Demons like this one make me think of my “brother” Art and I go cold at the thought of harming them. Beranabus understands. He doesn’t try to push me.

Grubbs rips off the demon’s head. The baby-faced monster squeals with pain and terror, but doesn’t die. In this universe of magic almost anything is possible. Physical dismemberment won’t necessarily kill a demon. You need to use magic to finish it off.

Grubbs hates this life even more than I do. When I agreed to join Beranabus and devote myself to battling demons, I didn’t have a better choice. My parents knew I wasn’t normal, and though they loved me, they feared what I might do. I didn’t have any friends. It was Beranabus or a life of isolation and loneliness.

Grubbs has an uncle who he loves like a father. He has lots of friends. He could have rejected his destiny. I’m not really sure why he didn’t. Maybe it was the call of the Kah-Gash. Perhaps the weapon persuaded him to leave the human world and ride the demonic waves of this universe with Beranabus and me.

“The Shadow,” Beranabus snarls, grabbing the baby’s head from Grubbs and gouging out one of its snake-shaped eyes. “Tell us all you know and we’ll let you go. Otherwise…” He moves his thumb over the creature’s other eye.

The Shadow is our latest foe in a long line of monstrous opponents. Beranabus thinks it’s our most dangerous enemy yet, but I’m not worried. I’ve seen all manner of unimaginable demons. In the early days I thought each was invincible. Every time we went up against one, I was sure we were doomed. But we always got the better of the beasts, pinpointed their weak spots, defeated them with cunning if brute force failed.

I know it’s dangerous to assume we’ll overcome every demon we go up against, but I can’t help thinking that way. I’m sure the Shadow will fall to us when we face it, just like all the others. It’s simply a matter of time, patience and violence.

Beranabus and Grubbs believe the Shadow is the herald of universal doom. They saw it in the cave when I was blind, a huge beast that seemed to be made from strips of shadow. They say it was deadlier than anything else we’ve fought. Maybe they’re right. If I’d seen it, I might be trembling with fear too. But I don’t think so. It’s just another demon. We’ve fought and killed thousands of them since I joined Beranabus. How can this one be any different?



→We’re hunting a flock of sheep-like demons. Each boasts dozens of woolly heads dotted around its body, no eyes or ears, just large mouths full of sharp teeth. Beranabus hopes they know something about the Shadow, but I think he’s scraping the bottom of the barrel.

The Shadow is as elusive as the name we’ve given it suggests. We’ve learnt almost nothing of the creature in all the time we’ve been trying to track it. We know it’s gathering an army of demons, that it’s promised to wipe out mankind and restore the universe to its original condition (whatever that means), but everything else about it is a mystery.

These minor demons – easy pickings for stronger members of the Demonata – won’t provide us with any clues. We’re wasting our time, as we’ve wasted it on so many worlds. We’ll torture them, kill a few, then move on, no wiser than when we stepped through the window and set off in chase of the howling beasts.

As we close in on the flock, I sense a throbbing in the air nearby and draw to a halt.

“Come on!” Beranabus shouts. “Don’t stop now. We –”

“A window’s opening,” I tell him, and excitement instantly gives way to panic.

“Start opening one of your own,” Beranabus commands and steps in front of me, to protect me. The tall, muscular Grubbs joins him. They think a demon is after us. But I know better. I’ve come to understand the lights more intimately than ever since I built my new pair of eyes. This is a window of human origin.

“Wait,” I tell Beranabus. “It’s not a demon. We have company.”

Seconds later a window of orange light opens and two of Beranabus’s Disciples step through. One’s a beautiful, fiery woman called Meera Flame. I know the other one better, and shout his name with unconcealed joy. “Shark!”

“Been a long time, kid,” the ex-soldier grins, shaking my hand as Grubbs and Meera hug close by. Beranabus is squinting at the newcomers suspiciously. He doesn’t like surprises.

“What are you doing here?” I gasp.

“Came to catch the sun,” Shark laughs, then casts his gaze over my bald, caramel-coloured head. “There’s something different about your eyes.”

“It’s a long story.” I smile broadly, still clutching him. We’ve spent long months in this foul universe and Beranabus and Grubbs are poor company. The unwelcome flames of loneliness have been burning hot inside me recently. I’m overjoyed to see my old friend, to escape the dark feelings for a few minutes. I know Shark must be the bearer of bad news, that he and Meera wouldn’t have come unless things were serious, but for a few moments I block that out and pretend this is a social visit.

“Hi, Shark,” Grubbs says.

Shark frowns. “Do I know you?”

“Grubbs Grady. We…” He pauses. “Dervish told me about you. I’m Grubbs, his nephew.”

Shark nods. “I can see a bit of him in you. But you’ve got more hair. You’re a lot taller too—what’s Beranabus been feeding you?”

“Enough of the prattle,” Beranabus snaps. “What’s wrong?”

“We were attacked,” Meera says. “I was at Dervish’s. We –”

“Was it Lord Loss?” Beranabus barks. “Is Bec all right?”

“She’s fine,” Shark says.

“But Dervish…” Meera pauses, glancing nervously at Grubbs.

“He was alive when we left,” Shark says as Grubbs freezes with fear.

“But in bad shape,” Meera adds. “He had a heart attack.”

“We have to go back,” Grubbs says, darting for the window.

Shark stops him. “Hold on. We didn’t come here directly. That leads to another demon world.”

“Besides,” I chip in, “if the demons are still at the house…”

“We weren’t attacked by demons,” Meera says. “They were… Werewolves.”

That throws me. Does she mean werewolf-shaped demons? Then I recall the curse of the Gradys. Lots of teenagers in Grubbs’s family turn into mindless, savage, wolf-like beasts.

Grubbs starts to tremble. Without waiting to be told, I turn, flex my fingers and focus, thinking of Dervish. Lights pulse around me—that means the ex-punk is still alive. I begin to open a window that will take us to him. Then, on second thoughts, I focus on Bec instead. As much as I like Dervish, the girl is more important. She’s probably with him, but if not she must take priority. Dervish is only human. Bec – like me and Grubbs – is so much more.



→When a window of amber light opens, Beranabus rushes through, swiftly followed by Grubbs. “There are demons,” I tell Shark and Meera, sensing their presence in the vibrations of the lights. “Are you guys ready to fight?”

“Always,” Shark grins, cracking his knuckles.

Meera gulps, then grinds her teeth together and nods fiercely.

We cross.

I find myself in a hospital ward. Bec is lying on the floor. She looks like any normal girl, a bit smaller than most, but otherwise unremarkable. You would never guess from looking at her that she’d been dead for sixteen hundred years, or that this body wasn’t originally hers.

Two demons are backing away from Bec. One is some sort of lizard hybrid. The other looks like an anteater with several snouts. One of its eyes is missing, blood and goo surrounding the empty socket. I suppress a shudder as Beranabus growls at the demons, “What do the pickings look like now?”

They turn and run. Shark bolts after them. Meera and I follow, leaving Beranabus and Grubbs to help Bec back to her feet. I wonder about Dervish, if he’s still alive, but I’ve no time to dwell on that. Another window is open and the hospital has been flooded with magical energy, but I’m still nowhere near as strong here as I am in the demon universe. My power will dwindle. We need to deal with these monsters swiftly, and we have to be cautious. It’s much easier to die on this world.

I spot the remains of a few babies as we pursue the demons. My stomach churns and I tear my gaze away from the tiny corpses. Even so, thoughts of Art flash through my mind. I fill with sorrow, then rage. They shouldn’t have gone after the newborns. That was too cruel. I’m going to make them pay.

The demons burst out of the maternity ward and scuttle towards the stairs. Shark crouches, then propels himself forward, shooting through the air as if fired from a canon. He knocks the pair of demons aside and they crash into the wall on either side of the staircase. As they yelp with surprise and pain, Meera and I fall upon them. I take the lizard, leaving Meera to deal with the anteater.

It’s a slimy little beast. It slithers around and lashes at me with a forked tongue. Drops of poison hit my eyes and sizzle. I use magic to transform the drops into water, then grab the demon’s tongue and yank hard. It utters a choked scream. The tongue slips through my fingers. I follow it back into the demon’s mouth, jamming my hand halfway down the lizard’s throat. Taking a firmer hold of the tongue, I rip it loose and toss it away. Black blood gushes from the demon’s mouth and its beady eyes roll wildly.

I let the demon drop, then pin it to the floor with one knee. I start tearing off scales, working my fingertips into the gaps, using magic to torment the demon. For a long time I didn’t understand how Beranabus could butcher so nastily. As evil as demons are… as much as I accept the need to kill them… I couldn’t condone torture. But my attitude has changed over the years. I’ve seen too many corpses. Too many murdered babies. These monsters deserve all the agony we can put them through and a whole lot more on top.

Shark helps Meera finish off the anteater, then studies me as I work on the lizard.

“Need a hand, kid?”

“No,” I pant.

The ex-soldier squats beside me and waits for me to look at him. “I know where you’re coming from,” he says quietly, “but we don’t have time. There are others on the loose. They’re still killing.”

I sigh, then shoot a burst of magic into the lizard. It slumps and I rise. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” Shark says. “Another time and place, I’d have joined in and we’d have had hours of fun.”

“Fun?” Meera barks.

“Sure,” Shark smiles. “You’ve got to get a buzz out of fighting. It’d be a hell of a life if you devoted your time to battle and didn’t enjoy it.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a sicko?” Meera snorts.

“We’re all the same,” Shark protests. “I’m just more open about it. Killing demons is noble and necessary, blah blah blah. But it’s a blast too. Right, Kernel?”

“Come on,” I mutter, not wanting to engage in the debate, afraid I’d come down on Shark’s side and not liking what that says about me. “Let’s kill the rest of them before they slaughter more babies.”

That sobers Shark and saps Meera of her indignation. Turning our backs on the dead demons, we go into killing mode and set off in search of monsters viler and more vicious than ourselves.



→We kill three more demons, then the mage who is keeping their window open. He’s a thin, balding, middle-aged man in a cheap suit. He doesn’t look evil. Most people who work for the Demonata don’t. He shuts his eyes as we close in on him and doesn’t cry out when Shark grabs his throat and crushes it. The nearby demons escape through the window to their own universe before it closes. We let them flee and get stuck into those left behind. Demons don’t last long once a window shuts. Their bodies fall apart after a few minutes and they crumble away to dust. But they can still kill a lot of people during that time, so we afford them no mercy.

When the hospital’s clean, we join the others on the roof. Bec, Dervish and Sharmila are there. Sharmila’s legs have been cut off. Beranabus is working hard to patch her up. Dervish is sitting on a trolley, looking close to death. Meera goes to him immediately, to check that he’s OK.

“I’ll guard the staircase,” Shark says. “Make sure we aren’t taken by surprise.”

“But the demons are gone,” I frown.

“We have humans to worry about too,” he snorts, then nods at Bec. “She’ll tell you all about it.”

And she does, swiftly and clearly. It’s a disturbing story. First I learn that an old enemy – once a friend – has returned from beyond the grave. Juni Swan, who I first knew as Nadia Moore, has come back to life in a new, mutated form.

I’m always torn when I think of Nadia/Juni. She was a bitter but kind young woman when we first met. She saved my life in Lord Loss’s realm when I fell into a river of lava. She told me then to be wary of her if we ever met again, that she served the demon master now and I should think of her as a foe. But I find it hard to hate her. She’s a person who lost her way. She didn’t seek out evil—she got sucked into it. I pity her as much as I fear and mistrust her.

Bec describes the attack on Dervish’s home in Carcery Vale. Werewolves broke in, supported by humans with guns. She tells us she has a curious gift—canshe can absorb the memories of anyone she touches. One of the werewolves was a Grady. Its parents turned it over to the Lambs – family executioners – to dispose of. But the Lambs kept the beast alive and they or some other group subsequently used it as a weapon.

We discuss this troubling turn of events. Grubbs is more worked up than the rest of us—he hates the thought of his relatives being manipulated. Bec thinks Lord Loss masterminded the attack, that he knows she’s part of the Kah-Gash. Beranabus agrees, then tells me to open a window. Dervish and Sharmila won’t last long in this universe. They need magic to survive.

I’m glad to set to work on the window because I need magic too. My eyes are burning. It was bad as soon as I set foot on this world, but since the demons’ window closed, the pain has increased sharply and my vision has started to blur. My new eyes are the work of magic. They can’t function normally here. As much as I despise the universe of the Demonata, I’m a slave of it now.

As I’m working on the window, I hear the whispers from the mysterious small lights. I glance around and spot several pulsing rapidly. But the whispers don’t seem to be directed at me this time. And they’re not repeating a single word. There’s a steady stream of phrases, none of which I can make sense of.

Behind me, Dervish and Beranabus are arguing. Dervish wants to stay and find out more about the werewolves. Beranabus says we can’t waste time on them. Meera sides with Dervish. There have been lots of crossings recently and the Disciples are struggling to cope. She’s afraid the werewolves might be used to target members of the secret group. If they killed a large number of the mages, demons could cross freely.

Even though I’m not paying a huge amount of attention to the argument, I find myself pausing. “It might be related,” I say.

“Related to what?” Bec asks. Beranabus waves her silent and frowns at me.

“This could be part of the Shadow’s plan,” I tell him, the words tumbling out by themselves. The whispers from the lights have increased. I have to concentrate hard to drown them out. “It could be trying to create scores of windows so that its army of demons can break through at once. We’ll need the Disciples if that’s the case—we can’t be everywhere at the same time to stop them all.”

“Maybe,” Beranabus says. “But that doesn’t alter the fact that Dervish will last about five minutes if we leave him here.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dervish snarls.

“No,” Beranabus says. “Your heart is finished. You’ll die within days. That’s not a guess,” he adds before Dervish can argue. “And you wouldn’t be able to do much during that time, apart from wheeze and clutch your chest a lot.”

“It’s really that bad?” Dervish asks quietly.

Beranabus nods. “In the universe of magic, you might survive. Here, you’re a dead man walking.”

“Then get him there quick,” Grubbs says. “I’ll stay.”

“Not you too,” Beranabus groans. “What did I do to deserve as stubborn and reckless a pair as you?”

“It makes sense,” Grubbs insists. “If the attacks were Lord Loss looking to get even, they’re irrelevant. But if they’re related to the Shadow, we need to know. I can confront the Lambs, find out if they’re mixed up with the demon master, stop them if they are.”

“Is the Shadow the creature we saw in the cave?” Bec asks.

“Aye,” Beranabus says. “We haven’t learnt much about it, except that it’s put together an army of demons and is working hard to launch them across to our world.”

He stares at Grubbs, and as he pauses, the whispers change. They’re softer now, almost musical. I feel uneasy, even slightly sick, but I’ve no idea why.

“You’d operate alone?” Beranabus asks.

“I’d need help,” Grubbs replies, and asks for Shark and Meera’s assistance. While they discuss that, I focus on the window again. I’m close to opening it. The whispers of the lights have almost died away. I feel worse than ever, as if we’re in great danger. But there’s no reason to be afraid… is there?

A pale green window opens. Beranabus still hasn’t chosen whether or not to let Grubbs stay. “Time to decide,” I tell him, and as I say that, the whispers spark up again.

“Very well,” Beranabus snaps at Grubbs. “But listen to Shark and Meera, heed their advice and contact me before you go running up against the likes of Lord Loss or the Shadow.” He picks up the unconscious Sharmila. “Follow me, Bec,” he says and steps through the window.

Bec doesn’t leave immediately. She’s confused, not sure of what’s happening. Dervish is busy saying goodbye to Grubbs and Meera, wishing them luck, cursing the fact that he can’t stay and help them. As he finally stumbles through the window, Grubbs has a short chat with Bec. Then she faces me. She looks more lost than I feel. As difficult as it is, I force a smile. “The world moves quickly when Beranabus is around,” I tell her, trying to cheer her up.

“What’s it like through there?” she asks, staring at the window with quiet terror.

“Bad.” My smile slips. “The Shadow’s promising the eradication of mankind and a new dawn of demon rule. Others have threatened that before, but it’s convinced an army of demons – even powerful masters like Lord Loss – that it can make good on its vow. We could be looking at the end this time.” I take a step into the window of light but don’t cross fully, straddling two universes at the same time. I wave Bec forward. “Let’s go.”

She looks back once, then follows me through the window to an oasis in the demon universe which Beranabus and I are familiar with. We’ll be safe here, for a while at least.

But I take no comfort from our security. I’m steady on my feet, maintaining a calm front, but inside my head sirens are blaring, my thoughts a million miles removed from werewolves, the Lambs, Juni Swan and the Shadow. I feel sicker than when I saw the dismembered babies in the hospital.

I’ve realised why the whispers unnerved me. That final burst of chattering, just before Beranabus made his decision to let Grubbs go, clued me in to what was really happening.

Beranabus should have brought Grubbs along. He’s been wary of uniting the pieces of the Kah-Gash, but this was the time to risk it. Our enemies are on the move, trying to kill one of us or get their hands on a piece of the ancient weapon. Beranabus should have kept us all with him, if not to unleash the power of the Kah-Gash, then to protect us. We’d be a lot safer if we stuck together. Leaving Grubbs behind was madness.

Why did someone as experienced as Beranabus make such a slip? And why did the others – myself included – go along with his bad call?

Answer—the lights. The whispers influenced us. Something didn’t want us to band together, so it subtly interfered and split us up, making it seem as if it was our own choice. We’re being manipulated by the whispers of the lights!




LYING LOW (#ulink_844a14b7-82ec-55a6-a052-ae763d158fad)


→I can’t tell the others about the lights, the whispers or my suspicion that we are being used. I want to, but whenever I try to share my fears, my lips seize up. I’m unable to speak, or else everyday rubbish spills out and we end up talking about something else. I’ve tried writing, scribbling a warning in the sand of the oasis, but my fingers clench and turn against me.

When we first stepped through the window, I thought I might have imagined the whispers or the influence they’re exerting over us. Now I’m sure I called it right. The lights did – do – control us. They must have planted a hidden command inside my brain that makes me clam up whenever I try to share my misgivings.

While I struggle to break through the spell, the others argue about what to do next. Beranabus wants to hunt the Shadow, pick up where we left off. Dervish is against that. He’s determined to go after Juni, to settle old scores.

I stay out of the arguments for a couple of days. But when Dervish is pressing his claim for the umpteenth time, trying to sway Beranabus by saying we might be able to torture Juni to find out information about the Shadow, the small, ever-changing lights pulse and the air hums with whispers only I can hear.

“We can’t go after Lord Loss directly—he’s too powerful,” I find myself telling Beranabus, and although I know these aren’t my words, that I’m being used like a puppet, I can’t stop. “But we can target Juni. Lord Loss didn’t show himself at the hospital, but Juni was acting on his behalf. She might have been part of the group in Carcery Vale too. If more assaults on the Disciples are planned, she’ll possibly act as the go-between again, conveying Lord Loss’s orders to their allies. If we can trap her, we can find out what she knows about the Shadow.”

Beranabus thinks that makes sense – or the lights make him think it – so he tells me to focus on Juni, track her movements and let him know when she slips out of Lord Loss’s realm.

I want to scream foul and tell them we’re being toyed with, but my lips gum up. I throw everything I have at the spell, to no avail. In the end I do as Beranabus bids. I retire to one of the fake trees – the oasis is dotted with trees made of bones and scraps of flesh – and sit in the shade, glumly training my thoughts on Juni Swan.



→As days pass, the others recuperate. Beranabus and Bec fashioned new legs for Sharmila out of the bones and skin of the trees when we arrived, and she adapts to them smoothly. Bec has worked a lot with Dervish, drawing on her healing powers, doing what she can for his faltering heart. Neither he nor Sharmila can live on Earth again, but as long as they stay in this universe of magic they can function almost normally.

The four of them pass a lot of the time duelling, sharpening their reflexes, testing their skills. Magic is all about trial and error. Even after thousands of years, Beranabus is still discovering new aspects of himself, depending on what’s thrown at him.

I’d like to join them, but I’ve been given a task and Beranabus doesn’t take it kindly when one of his assistants disobeys a direct order. So I keep to myself, studying the lights and focusing on Juni Swan and her master.

It’s difficult because of the whispers. The murmurs come regularly while I’m concentrating, not as strongly as at the hospital, but distracting none the less. I can’t stop thinking about the spell they’ve woven. Is it the work of the Shadow? Unlikely—if the creature could exert such influence, it would turn us against one another.

The Kah-Gash? A weapon that can destroy universes and distort the laws of time would have no difficulty bending a few humans to its will. But the Kah-Gash would surely have wanted me, Grubbs and Bec together, to unite so it could be reassembled.

If not the Shadow or the Kah-Gash, who can be controlling the lights? Are they self-conscious, some new life form? Or maybe I’m imagining them. I’ve doubted my sanity in the past. Maybe this time I’ve cracked for real.

Finally, after a week of self-torment and doubt, I sense Juni opening a window and leaving Lord Loss’s world.

“She’s moving,” I tell the others, disrupting their latest duel.

They crowd around me. “Where did she go?” Beranabus asks.

“Earth,” I say after a brief pause to confirm her location.

“And Lord Loss?”

“He stayed in his own realm.”

“Can you tell where she is exactly?” Dervish asks.

“No. I should be able to, but I can’t place it.” That worries me more than I reveal.

“Is she close to Grubbs?” Dervish presses.

I do a quick scan and shake my head.

“Well?” Sharmila asks Beranabus.

“Kernel and I will investigate,” he says. “The rest of you stay here.”

“Nuts to that,” Dervish huffs.

“Don’t forget about your heart,” Beranabus says. “Or Sharmila’s legs. You’re a pair of wrecks on that world. Let us check the situation and report back. We won’t engage her if we can avoid it.”

“What about me?” Bec asks. “I can survive there.”

“Aye, but I’m asking you to wait. Please. Until we know more about what we’re walking into.”

I’d like to know more about it too before I cross. But I’ve lived with Beranabus long enough to know he doesn’t hold much faith in the philosophy of look-before-you-leap. Except for his edgy pursuit of the Shadow, I’ve never seen him act cautiously. He believes it’s best to jump in the fire and deal with the flames when they’re licking the soles of your feet.

Keeping silent about my fears, I slot patches of light together and open a white window. With my back to the others, I offer up a quick prayer, the kind I used to reel off when I was a fresh apprentice, before I grew hardened to the terrors of the Demonata. Then, sensing Beranabus behind me, I step forward into the unknown.




DEATH WATCH (#ulink_acc2d818-c125-5b05-bc29-474e12f748c7)


→We find ourselves on the deck of a massive ship, close to a swimming pool. Deckchairs are strewn about the place. Bodies everywhere, ripped to pieces, stomachs carved open, heads and limbs torn loose. Puddles of blood merge and spread slowly, seeping into the cracks between the planks. The water of the swimming pool is a deep, dead red.

Beranabus ignores the corpses. He’s seen worse in his time. I have too. But it still hits me hard whenever I walk into a nightmarish scene like this. It only takes me a few seconds to recover, but Beranabus doesn’t even need that. He’s instantly alert, looking for threats, sizing up the situation. I see him relax slightly and, once I overcome my initial shock, I realise why. The area is charged with magic. We’re on Earth, but it feels like the Demonata’s universe. We can operate at full capacity here.

“We’re encased,” Beranabus says. “The ship’s been sealed off by a bubble of magic. They must have a lodestone.”

Lodestones are rocks which were filled with magic by beings known as the Old Creatures. They ruled our world in the distant past, holding the demons at bay. They fled many generations ago, but left the charged stones behind. Many have drained of power over the centuries, and Beranabus destroyed most of the others, to stop the Demonata’s power-hungry mages from making use of them. But some remain, secreted away, either unknown to him, inaccessible or indestructible. Demons or evil mages sometimes find them and use them to open limited tunnels between universes, allowing the Demonata to spend more time here and wreak maximum havoc.

“Where’s Juni?” Beranabus asks.

“Lower down. I thought it would be wiser not to face her until we’d assessed the risk. I don’t know if anyone’s with her, but there’s an open window. It’s not very sturdy. Only weak demons could cross through it.”

Beranabus thinks about that, then says, “I’m going back for the others.” He steps through the window, leaving me with the dead.

The silence is disturbing. I play out crazy scenarios inside my head, imagining the corpses coming back to life and attacking. I’ve never seen a zombie film. I heard about Night of the Living Dead when I was a child, but my parents wouldn’t let me watch it.

I don’t have any hair – I’ve always been bald – but if I did, it would be standing on end. I’ve got a bad case of what my mother used to call the heebie-jeebies. I want to duck through the window after Beranabus. This ship is bad news. We’ll wind up dead if we stay, bleeding sacks of flesh and bone.

Before I can bolt, Beranabus returns and the others cross after him. My nerves settle and I laugh away my fears. Zombies—ridiculous! I’ve seen enough of the universe to know we need never fear the dead, only the living.

The Disciples are nervous. Bec scans the lower decks and says there’s only one demon on board with Juni. I tell the others about the open window.

“We should go back,” Sharmila says. “Juni has set this up to ensnare us.”

“Why would she be expecting us?” Dervish asks.

“Lord Loss may have reasoned that we would target Juni. Perhaps everything – the attacks on Dervish, Juni revealing herself on the roof of the hospital – was designed to lure Beranabus here. The demon master might be poised to cross and finish us off personally.”

“Not through that window,” I tell Sharmila, certain no demon master could make use of the opening close to Juni.

“Then through another,” she says. “We have never been able to explain why Lord Loss can cross when other masters cannot, or how he goes about it.”

Beranabus sighs. “You could be right, but we might never get a better shot at Juni. If she’s not expecting us, it’s the perfect time to strike. If she is and this is a trap, at least we can anticipate the worst. The magic in the air means she’ll be dangerous, but it serves us as much as her. If Lord Loss doesn’t turn up, we can match her. If he does cross, we’ll make a swift getaway.”

“Are you sure of that?” Sharmila frowns. “If we have to open a new window…”

“We won’t,” Beranabus says. “Kernel will stay here and guard our escape route. You’ll know if any other windows open, won’t you?”

“Yes,” I say confidently.

“Then keep this one alive and watch for signs of further activity. If you sense anything, summon us and we’ll withdraw. Is everyone satisfied with that?”

Sharmila is still dubious, but she shrugs. I’m not happy either. I don’t want to stay by myself, surrounded by corpses. But we need to protect our only way out. Besides, I’ll be safer up here than down there. Beranabus is doing me a favour, though I’m sure he’s thinking only of his own well-being, not mine.

As they make their way across the deck, I move closer to the window and pat a couple of patches back into place. Windows never remain stable for more than a few minutes, but I have the power to keep them open indefinitely. If demons were able to manipulate the lights like I can, mankind would have been wiped out long ago.

The minutes pass with agonising slowness. The sun is relentless and my mouth is dry. I could easily find something to drink, but I don’t want to abandon my post. I’m sure I could open another window if this one blinks out of existence but I don’t want to take any chances. I’m not sure how lodestones work. Maybe Juni could use its power to slow me down.

As I’m concentrating, trying not to obsess about the mounds of corpses around me, the smaller, unpredictable patches of light begin to pulse. “Not now,” I groan, but the patches ignore me. Moments later come the whispers. Faster, more urgently than before. I tense, expecting to find myself acting against my wishes. Maybe they’ll make me close the window or head after the others, to die with them in the ship’s hold.

But nothing happens. If the lights are trying to influence me, they’re failing. Ignoring them, I focus on the window, holding it in place, keeping the shape.

Something flickers to my left. I turn and see a group of the small patches click together. They swirl over and around one another, a mini vortex of various hues and shades of light.

More patches are attracted to the cluster. It grows and spins faster, changing shape, pulsing rapidly. The whispers grow louder, become shouts. I don’t know what’s happening, but it can only be bad news. I wish the others were here, so we could abandon this place immediately.

When almost all of the small lights have joined and are whirling around, they suddenly zip towards me. Yelping, I throw myself aside. I expect them to chase me, but then I see that I was never their target. They were aiming for the window. They slap into it and shimmer across the face of the white panel. As I sit up and stare, the window becomes a multicoloured rip in the air.

The whispers die away. Silence falls. I stand but don’t approach the window. I study it cautiously, fearfully. The lights pulse rapidly, then slide towards the centre, all the colours angling to the focal point, drawn to it as if by gravity.

Then—an explosion. A ball of light bursts from the heart of the window and shoots across the ship’s swimming pool, circling it in a spiral pattern, like a punctured balloon careening across a room. The window resumes its white colour.

The ball circles the pool a few more times, then drifts towards the deck and comes to a halt three or four feet above it. The ball is rainbow-coloured, about the size of a large dog, though its shape changes constantly. It reminds me of the jellyish substance in a lava lamp, the way it oozes from one form into another, altering all the time.

“What the hell are you?” I gasp, not expecting an answer. But to my astonishment I receive one.

“I have no name.”

I’ve seen a lot of crazy stuff over the last few years that would leave most people’s jaws hanging. I thought I was immune to surprise. But this blows me away. All I can do is gawp at the ball of light like a five-year-old who’s walked in on Santa Claus.

“You must come with me,” the voice says. I don’t know where the words are coming from. They seem to be forming inside my head.

“Come…” the voice insists.

“Come where?” I croak. “Who are you? What are you?”

“There will be time for explanations later. We must depart this world before…” The voice stops and there’s a sighing sound. “Too late.”

“What do you mean?”

Before the ball of light can answer, my crazy fantasy of a few minutes ago becomes a reality. All around me, the corpses on the deck shudder, twitch, then clamber to their feet. As impossible as it is, the dead have come back to life, and they’re focusing their glinting, hungry eyes on me.




COME… (#ulink_42691a2f-0fae-52ec-b50b-602a7d280fe7)


→The rising dead terrify me more than any demon ever did. Demons are natural. They obey certain laws. You know what to expect when you face one of them. But the dead aren’t supposed to return. When a body perishes, the soul moves on. That’s the way it’s always been. But someone must have forgotten to mention that to these walking, snarling, slavering corpses.

I stand like a simpleton, watching them advance. I’d heard that zombies in movies walk slowly, stiffly, mechanically. Not these. They don’t have the look of living people, but they move like them, fluidly and firmly.

As the dead close in on me, teeth exposed, hands outstretched, the ball of light flits over their heads and flares, causing them to cover their eyes and stumble to a halt. They mewl like newborn calves and lash out at the light.

“Come…” the voice repeats. “Cross while they are distracted.”

“Where?” I howl, gaze fixed on the zombies.

“Come…” is the only response. The ball of light skims over the heads of the walking dead and hovers by the window.

“I can’t,” I whisper, studying the ranks of animated corpses. “The others…”

“Doomed,” the voice says. “You cannot worry about them. They are no longer your concern. Come…” It sounds impatient.

A man without a chest – it’s been ripped away, exposing the bones of his spine and shoulders – lowers his arms and blinks. Realising he can see again, he sets his sights on me and rushes forward, howling wildly.

My hands, which have been trembling by my sides, shoot up and I unleash a ball of energy. The dead man flies backwards, knocking down those behind him. As others converge, I blast them with magic and back up close to the window.

“Yes,” the voice murmurs approvingly.

But I’ve no intention of going anywhere with this freakish ball of talking light. I ran out on Beranabus once, long ago. Never again.

Taking a firm stand, I construct an invisible barrier, a circle of magic six or seven feet in diameter, through which the dead can’t pass. I’m not good at this type of magic. I doubt I could put a barrier in place strong enough to stop a demon. But if these revived corpses are only as strong as they were in life, it should repel them.

My stomach rumbles with fear as the zombies cluster around the barrier. They scrape, punch, kick and spit at it. I hear – imagine – a creaking noise. I reinforce the barrier, sweating desperately, and turn 360 degrees, trying to cover every angle at once, ensuring there are no weak points.

There aren’t. The barrier holds. As long as the magic in the air remains, I can keep these wretched zombies at bay.

I’ve been holding my breath. Letting it out, I bend over and smile raggedly. I even manage a weak laugh. That would have been an awful death. To stand up to one powerful demon after another, only to fall to a pack of alarming but relatively weak zombies… It would have been a shameful way to go.

“You have done well,” the voice says, pulsing eagerly by the window. “Now come with me. We must leave this world. We have far to go.”

I straighten and study the ball of light. I’m glad of the excuse not to look at the writhing zombies, especially the children, every bit as ravenous as the adults.

“I’m going nowhere without the others,” I tell it.

“They do not matter. You are the one we need. Come…”

“Who are ‘we’?” I challenge the voice. “What do you want? Where –”

The ship lurches. I’m thrown sideways, towards the ranks of living dead. I yell with shock, but the barrier deflects me away from the gnashing, grabbing zombies.

I get to my feet slowly, rubbing my arm where I collided with the barrier. The ship has tilted. The water in the swimming pool is starting to spill out over the lowest edge, and some of the deckchairs are sliding backwards. A few of the zombies slip away from the barrier, but they’re back again moments later.

“What’s happening?” I ask the ball of light.

“The ship is sinking,” it answers. “Beranabus has been killed. Come now, before it is too late.”

It takes a few seconds for that to hit. At first I’m just panicked that the ship’s going down. Then the full impact of the statement rams home. “Beranabus?” I gasp.

“The Shadow killed him.”

“No!” I shake my head wildly. Beranabus can’t be dead. The world doesn’t make sense without him. He’s single-handedly held back the hordes of demons for more than a thousand years. I knew he was old and tired, and he often spoke half-heartedly of retiring. But secretly I believed he was invincible, that he’d live forever, reborn like a phoenix when he grew tired of the confines of his old bones.

“There will be no rebirth,” the voice says calmly as everything collapses into chaos. “Beranabus is dead. This world will have to struggle on without him. You must come with me. You must.”

I expect tears, but there aren’t any. I’m devastated by the loss of Beranabus, and maybe I’ll weep for him later, but for now I’m dry-eyed. When I’m sure I’m not going to cry, I look at the light again. This time I regard it with a hint of loathing.

“You set this up,” I snarl. “You led us here. You’re in league with Juni Swan.”

“No,” the voice says. “We do not serve the Demonata.”

“You split us from Grubbs,” I accuse it. “You forced me to advise Beranabus to focus on Juni. This is your work as much as it’s hers.”

The ball is silent for a moment. “You were aware of our guiding hand,” it says. “Interesting. You see and hear more than we thought.”

“Yes.” I laugh roughly. “And I see through you now. Beranabus would be alive if we hadn’t come here. You manipulated us.”

“To an extent,” the voice agrees. “We needed a lodestone. I could not make the final push to your world without one. So we influenced you and your foes, and tempted you to this place. It is unfortunate that it resulted in Beranabus’s death, but that is an acceptable loss. All that matters is that you come with me. Everything else is immaterial.”

“Bull!” I snort.

The ball of light flickers. “I do not understand.”

“I’m going nowhere. My friends are here—Bec, Dervish, Sharmila. I’m staying to help them. I promised I’d keep this window open and I will.”

“No,” the voice says. “We cannot wait. If you fall, all is lost. I do not have the power to reclaim your fragment of the Kah-Gash. It would go to –”

“So that’s it!” I yell. “You want the weapon.”

“Only your part.”

“You can’t have it,” I sneer, taking a step away from the window.

The ball turns dark blue, before resuming its normal variety of colours. I think it just lost its temper.

“You cannot defy us,” the voice says. “You must come with me. It is vital.”

I shake my head and back up to within a couple of inches of the barrier. “My friends come first. Always.”

The ball pulses for a few seconds. Then the voice says, “Very well.”

The light flicks up over my head and cuts through the barrier, vanishing into the crowd of zombies. The deck is rising steadily. The pool is almost empty now. Some of the less sturdy zombies have started to slide down the deck, towards the end dipping into the sea. But most remain pinned to the barrier.

More worrying than the zombies or the disappearance of the ball of light is the fading magic. The bubble around the ship is intact, but the magical energy is dwindling. I can still maintain the barrier, but not for long.

I think about retreating, closing the window behind me, then building a new one, opening it to whatever level of the ship Bec and the others are on. It wouldn’t take more than a few minutes. But they might not have even that short time. If they make it to the upper deck, this window offers their fastest route out. If I disable it, they’ll have to wait, besieged by zombies, and that might be asking too much of them. Better to linger as long as I can, and only resort to the other plan if the barrier cracks.

As I make up my mind to stay, a man steps through the crowd. Most of his throat has been chewed away. His head’s attached to his torso by stray strands of flesh and muscle. He puts his hands on the barrier, palms flat. His calm expression is in sharp contrast to the twisted grimaces of the other zombies. As I stare at the man, wondering why he looks different, light flickers in his eyes. I realise that the ball of light has wormed its way into the zombie and possessed him. Before I can do anything, the man steps through the barrier and clutches me.

“Do not fight,” he gurgles, pushing me towards the window.

“Let go!” I roar, wrestling wildly. I manage to slip loose. I think about darting through the window, but that’s where the light wants me to go. Before I can come up with an alternate plan, the zombie grabs me again.

“We do not want to hurt you,” he says, nudging me closer to the window of white light. “You must trust us. We only want –”

I knee the man in the stomach. Even though he’s dead, he winces with pain or the memory of it.

As I prepare to break free, I spot Bec, Sharmila, Dervish and a man I don’t recognise. They’re fighting against the tilt of the ship, forcing their way towards me, battling through zombies. Bec spots me locked in combat.

“Kernel!” she shouts. “Hold on. We’re almost with you. We –”

“The lights!” I roar back in reply. “The lights are doing this! Don’t –”

“Enough,” the man snaps. “You are coming. Now.”

I reach for his head, to tear it all the way off. Before I can, the man’s eyes open wide and the ball of light gushes from them, as well as from his mouth and the gap in his throat. The light is blinding. I squeeze my eyelids shut, but the glare sears through them and I see almost as clearly as if they were open.

As light streams from the man, he explodes, his body ripping apart as if someone had planted a stick of dynamite inside him. The blast sends me flying backwards, through the window, which shatters behind me, stranding the others and cutting me off from the world of all things human.




TRIPPING THE LIGHT FANTASTIC (#ulink_714286e0-615b-56f0-b5a4-9905aad1adf5)


→The ball of light sails through the window with me. It completely envelops me, crackling over my creamy brown skin, tickling my hairless scalp, buzzing in my ears. I’m warm and comfortable in its embrace. I think this is what it must be like for a baby in its mother’s womb.

I try to fight the enveloping light, to break free of its hold, but it just buckles and bulges to match my movements. Finally I settle back and conserve my energy, saving it for when I can focus it more usefully.

I study my surroundings. Though the multicoloured ball of light holds me in its grasp like fingers clutched around a coin, it’s translucent. There are other lights beyond, patches and panels, a dazzling variety of colours and sizes. They fill the area around us completely. No stars, sky or planets. A universe of lights.

We’re floating through them, sliding from one patch to another, following some sort of hidden path. I hope. Or maybe there’s no path and we’re lost. Perhaps this is what the lights wanted all along, to strand me in this wilderness. But I don’t think so. We seem to be moving meaningfully. Or is that just wishful thinking?

Whatever the truth, I’ve never experienced anything like this before. Whenever I’ve stepped through a window, I’ve emerged instantly on another world. This is like travelling through an immense tunnel.

“Correct,” the voice says. The ball of light can evidently read my thoughts, which is bad news—I can’t spring any surprises. “We are travelling further than you have ever been, but we are still in your universe. Space is not as easily traversed here as in the Demonata’s realm.”

“Where are we going?” I ask. Except I don’t ask out loud. My mouth won’t open. “What’s going on?” I cry silently.

“There is no oxygen,” the voice explains. “You are cocooned. It is the easiest way to travel. Don’t worry—it will not last long and you won’t be harmed.”

I’m not sure I trust the voice, but there’s nothing I can do except lie back and accept it. “So where are we going?” I ask again, trying to sound casual.

“You will find out soon,” the voice replies and says nothing more, leaving me to study the spectacular light show in awed, helpless silence.



→After several minutes we zone in on a massive patch of green light. As we pass through, the cocoon around me slips away and I tumble to a cracked stone floor. My mouth opens and I drag in a lungful of acidic but breathable air. Pinching my nose shut to block out the stench, I look around. I’m in a domed chamber. The ball of light hangs in the air several feet away, pulsing steadily. The stones around us are throbbing in unison.

Blanking my thoughts, desperate not to betray myself, I back away. There’s an exit behind me. As I reach it, I pause, expecting the ball of light to shoot across and block my way. When nothing happens, I slip out of the chamber and scurry through a short, narrow tunnel.

The tunnel opens out on to a plateau. I race away from the chamber, planning to put plenty of space between myself and the ball of light. But the air here is foul and my body revolts. As a stitch hits me hard, I collapse, gasping for air, lungs straining, head aching.

After a minute of painful gasping, the stitch eases and I stand. Instead of running again, I turn slowly and study my surroundings. I’m on a ruined world. The sky is a dark purple colour, full of poisonous-looking clouds. Forks of lightning split the air every few seconds although I can hear no thunder. When the lightning hits the ground, the dark earth flashes and explodes in short-lived funnels of dirt, mud and pebbles.

Huge, bone-like pillars jut out of the scorched, pockmarked earth. At first I think they’re the remains of giant demons. I’ve seen plenty of sky demons in my time, massive monsters, some the size of a world. But the longer I look, the more convinced I become that these aren’t bones, but rather the remains of buildings.

Wandering slowly to the nearest pile of pillars, breathing shallowly, I find that they’re made of some sort of metal. That confuses me. Demons aren’t builders. Some create houses or palaces, even towns and cities, modelled after those on Earth. But they use bones, flesh, cobwebs, plants and other organic substances to fashion their facsimiles. I’ve never known a demon to utilise metal or concrete.

The voice told me we were still in the human universe. I thought we slipped out of it when we crossed through the window, but it looks like we didn’t. I don’t know where I am, but I’m pretty sure it’s not a demon world.

As I move through the ash-ridden remains of what was once maybe a skyscraper, something moves in the filth nearby. Jumping backwards, I try to absorb magic from the air, but there’s virtually nothing to tap into. Like Earth, this is a zone of little or no magical energy.

The thing wriggles clear of the hard mud and debris it was nestling beneath. It looks like a giant slug, but with six small eyes, a jagged gash for a mouth, and other human-looking bits and pieces—a few fingers, a toe, a strip of flesh that might be an ear. The eyes stare at me for a moment, then the mouth opens and it thrusts itself at my face, making a gruesome, high-pitched noise.

The slug creature strikes my chest and I fall. It’s on me in a flash, slithering to my face, leaving a slimy trail. Thin fingers scratch at my chin, then a grey, cold slit clamps over my mouth and nostrils. I feel it tighten on my lips and nose, and the slug squeals with excitement as I struggle for air.

I punch the slug, but my fists make little impact, merely sinking into the gooey, sticky layers of its body. Disgusting slime oozes from the slit, filling my mouth. I collapse, my lungs straining, still pushing and punching the slug, but feebly now. My strength is fading. Soon I’ll be slug fodder and the beast will be able to feast on my flesh at its leisure.

As the world starts to darken around me, the slug is abruptly ripped away. I catch a glimpse of it flying through the air, squealing frantically. It lands hard, rolls a few times, then straightens and propels itself at me again.

Somebody steps in front of me and meets the charge of the slug. It looks like a boy, but with pale green skin. He’s small but strong—he catches the slug and slams it down in a neatly executed wrestling move. While the slug writhes beneath him, the boy grabs one of the creature’s fingers and bites it off with… a small mouth set in the palm of his hand!

The slug stunned me when it attacked, but when I realise who the boy is I’m shocked to the core. I stare with mounting horror and bewilderment as the slug shrieks, then quickly slips away when the boy releases it. He makes sure it isn’t going to attack again, then turns to face me.

He has the body of a young child – maybe three years old – but a head that’s bigger than an adult’s. Mouths in both palms, full of small, sharp teeth. No eyes—instead, balls of fire burn deeply in his empty sockets. And no hair—in its place, small slugs, much like the one he just saved me from, slide slowly around his skull.

“Artery!” I moan. I have no idea how Lord Loss’s familiar came to be here – he was killed a year ago – but I’m certain he only saved me from the slug in order to kill me himself.

The hellchild cocks his head and frowns. “No,” he growls, and it’s the first time I’ve ever heard him speak. His green flesh ripples and the colour fades. His head shrinks and the slugs burrow into his scalp, then turn into hair. The fire in his empty sockets dies away and eyes sprout to fill them. His large mouth tightens a couple of notches and his sharp teeth soften into a more human-like shape. The mouths in his palms disappear, flesh closing over them.

“No,” he says again, and this time his voice is softer. “Not Artery.” He glances at his skin – pale, like Mum’s – and smiles. Almost no trace of the monster remains. I’m gazing at what looks like an ordinary boy. And he’s every bit as familiar as the green-skinned demon.

“I’m Art,” he says, then steps forward and sticks out a small, delicate hand.




THE MAN FROM ATLANTIS (#ulink_70a88fec-71d4-5721-aa63-6f147bfa7a27)


→”You can’t be real,” I gasp, backing away from the figure. “You’re not my brother. You never really existed. I made you up.”

“Yes,” the boy nods. “You transformed Artery into this shape and kept him safe, even though he should have perished on your world, by subconsciously utilising the power of the Kah-Gash. We were surprised it cooperated with you. But the Kah-Gash never ceases to surprise us.”

“You’re not Art!” I shout. “Art didn’t speak like this. He never spoke at all.”

“True,” the boy says. “Artery could communicate with his own kind, but only telepathically. Art would never have been able to speak, even if he’d grown up.

“I’m not the demon you stole or the child you turned it into,” the boy continues. “I am the ball of light from the ship. Sensing the difficulty you had accepting my natural form, I adopted the body of someone you would feel more comfortable with. If you prefer, I can switch to the shape of your mother or father, but I think you will find me easier to deal with this way.”

My head’s spinning. “Are you a shape-shifter?” I ask, getting to my feet and walking around the boy, checking him from every angle.

“No,” he says. “I have no physical body. I assembled this from a corpse, remoulding its flesh and bones. It was a creature like the one which attacked you. They are pitiful beasts. Hard to believe they are descended from beings once as industrious as yourself.”

“What do you mean?” I frown.

“It’s a descendant of the Atlanteans,” Art says. “They were bipeds, like you, and their society was similar to yours. Indeed, your distant ancestors were strongly influenced by the beings of Atlantis.”

“Atlantis?” I croak. “What are you talking about? Atlantis was a mythical city.”

“No,” Art corrects me. “It was a world of immense, amazing cities, the closest inhabitable planet to Earth. The Atlanteans explored this world to its fullest, then the lifeless planets nearby, finally extending to their neighbouring galaxies. They visited your world. Your ancestors worshipped them, built monuments like theirs, dressed in their honour, wrote things down as they did.”

“Are you pulling my leg?” I growl.

“I do not understand,” Art responds.

“Are you trying to fool me?”

“No. Atlantis was an advanced planet. The Atlanteans were wise and kind. But they harnessed the raw energy of this universe and that is dangerous. They knew the risks and accepted them. It was the price they paid to explore further afield, beyond the confines of their own sector of the universe.

“They fell within the space of an hour,” Art goes on, and although he has a child’s face, he looks like an adult as he gazes upon the wrecks of the buildings. “An explosion set off a chain reaction and their society crumbled. The ships they’d sent off into space were linked to the home world, so they were destroyed too. The sky filled with pollutants and ash. Death claimed nineteen billion souls. A few Atlanteans survived and mutated, but I doubt they would have wished for their offspring to end up like this. It would have been better if they’d all perished.”

Art falls silent. I stare at the boy who is the image of the child I once thought of as a brother. Now that I’m over my initial shock, I find that he was right—it’s a lot easier talking to someone who looks like a boy than with a ball of light.

I study the graveyard of the world around me. Art could be lying, but I don’t think so. I’m standing on the remains of Atlantis. The most famous lost city of legend was never a city at all, but a different world. The information is mind-boggling. If Art’s telling the truth, the Atlanteans visited mankind in the past. They taught us to read and write, to build. Maybe they even bred with us and –

“No,” Art interrupts. “The Atlanteans did not breed with lesser beings.”

“This is incredible,” I gasp, the word not doing my feelings justice. “But if they travelled to our world by rockets, not windows, is this still the human universe?”

“Of course.” Art sounds surprised. “I thought that was clear.”

“You said we hadn’t crossed but I wasn’t sure.”

“We have not left your universe and will not during the course of our travels,” Art says.

“This isn’t the end?”

The boy giggles the way Art used to when he bit someone. “Hardly. This is merely the beginning of an amazing journey.”

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Far away,” he answers mysteriously.

“What if I don’t want to go with you?” I counter.

“You have no choice,” Art says.

“Is that a threat?”

“No,” he shrugs. “It’s just the way things are.”

“Who – or what – the hell are you?” I snap.

“Those who know us give us many names,” Art says. “Your people called us the Old Creatures.”

“Beranabus told me about them. He…” That reminds me of the ancient mage’s death and the danger the others face. “We have to go back!” I cry. “You’ve got to take me home, so I can –”

“That won’t happen,” Art says firmly. “Purge yourself of the notion. We have come far from your world. As skilled as you are at manipulating the strings of the universe, you cannot find your way back alone. You must see this journey through to its end.”

“What sort of an end?” I hiss. “Where are you taking me? And if you’re not specific this time, forget it—I’m not going to wander aimlessly through the universe with you. I’d rather stay here with the slugs.”

“Very well,” Art says. “We are travelling to the birthplace of all things, where time and space began. We call it the Crux. And it lies at the centre of both this universe and the Demonata’s.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I complain.

“Don’t worry,” Art smiles smugly. “By the end it will.”




UNDER THE SEA (#ulink_915ea23e-4e06-57f6-b94e-59fc37bc600d)


→I try thinking of a way to outwit the Old Creature. While I might not be able to open a window back to Earth, I’m sure I can open one to the demon universe and return home from there. But Art reads my mind and chuckles.

“I will not permit it.”

“You can’t stop me,” I retort.

“Actually I can. I have the power to tear apart any window that you create, and I can do it before the window opens. If necessary, we can stay here for decades and duel with one another, but I would not recommend it. You would lose.”

I start work on a window, to test him, but Art’s smug expression stops me. He’s telling the truth. Cursing, I begin to question him again, but he only turns and walks back to the stone chamber, where a dark grey window is waiting for us.

“What is it to be?” Art asks.

Since I’ve no real choice, I snarl and step forward with him.

Just before I reach the window, Art’s body unravels and he becomes a ball of multicoloured light again. “I have to travel like this,” he tells me, his words sounding inside my head. “I need to cocoon you again. But I will resume the shape of Art when we come to our next stop.”

“Whatever,” I sniff unhappily, bitter at being manipulated.

The light sweeps over and surrounds me. When Art gives the command, I step into the window and we progress.



→Over the next few hours we pass through several chambers similar to the one on Atlantis. Some are made of stone, but others are carved out of wood, metal or other substances. One is simply a chamber of lights, a dome of panels and patches. We don’t leave any of these chambers, just stay long enough for Art to open a new window, then move on again.

I’m still amazed by Atlantis, stunned by the proof of other life forms in our universe. I always assumed we weren’t alone, that there were intelligent beings on other worlds. But to see an actual alien was an incredible experience. Even if it did just look like a big slug!

Art’s a quiet guide. He concentrates on steering us from one chamber to the next. I don’t think it’s easy. These patches of lights aren’t as easily mastered as the ones I’m accustomed to. It seems to be hard work.

I’m still worried about Dervish and the others, and in shock about the loss of Beranabus. But there’s nothing I can do, so I lie back and bide my time. I’m in the grip of something more powerful than myself. I don’t understand it and I can’t fight or escape. Yet.

→We pass through another window and I find myself in a water-logged chamber. I’m not sure what the walls are made of, but it looks like seaweed. As we slip through, parts of the walls glow. It’s not magic—I can see small organisms in the crevices of the greenish blocks. They’re like underwater glow-worms.

“We will rest a while,” Art says, letting the window close behind us. The lights surrounding me shimmer, then slip off, although a layer remains, keeping me dry and providing me with air.

“That’s clever,” I note as the ball of light transforms into a boy.

“What?” Art frowns.

“The shield.”

“It is nothing special.”

“Are you tired?” I ask, detecting weariness in his tone.

“Yes.” He sighs. “Travel of this nature is draining. We don’t normally cross vast distances so swiftly. But time is against us, so I must push myself.”

“How far have we come?”

He pauses, then says, “You do not have words to describe it. Your scientists do, but their terms would mean nothing to you.”

Art heads towards a gap in the glowing blocks and I glide after him. We exit the chamber and I’m confronted with an underwater paradise. I’m blown away by what I see and it takes a minute before I can do anything except bob up and down in the water and stare.

We’re in the middle of a city. The buildings are all kinds of weird shapes, made of seaweed, shells and huge, twisting roots. Many rise far above and deep below us, two hundred floors high, maybe more. Most sway gently. All sorts of colours, illuminated by enormous swathes of the glowing organisms I saw in the chamber.

There are no roads, just avenues between, through and around the buildings. No glass or doors, only scores of holes in the structures.

I spot some creatures. There are hordes – schools? – of them all around us, floating along the avenues, darting in and out of holes in the buildings. They look like the sea life of my world, only more varied.

As I’m watching, a shark-like beast with several mouths and one giant eye chases an animal that looks like a cross between a seal and a deer. The predator runs down its prey and rips it to shreds. Clouds of scavengers move in quickly and finish off the scraps that the shark leaves behind.

“Are we safe?” I ask nervously. There are more of the sharks around, and other mutations that look even fiercer.

“They won’t harm us,” Art says. “This is a perfectly balanced world. Nothing would attack anything that it was not, by nature, designed to prey upon.”

As he says that, a sea snake the size of a redwood tree passes beneath us. It raises its huge head and studies us. I feel like I’m going to be its lunch. But then it moves on, jaws opening and closing slowly, in search of other food.

“I don’t like this,” I mutter. “When can we leave?”

“Soon,” Art says. “First I must acknowledge the greeting of the natives.”

A ring of creatures closes around us. Each looks like a cross between a small whale and an octopus, large but graceful. Their many arms are adorned with shells and sea flowers, and intricate designs which might be tattoos. They swirl over, under and around one another, as if dancing.

“They are dancing,” Art says. “They worship my kind and wish to perform in our honour. We have not passed through here in a long time. They are excited.”

“Why do they think so much of you?” I ask.

“We saved them from a demon attack long ago.”

“The Demonata cross to other worlds?” I frown.

“Of course,” Art says. “They hate all life forms. You are not the first to suffer at their hands. And you won’t be the last. Far from it.”

Other creatures gather round us, joining the dance. Their movements become more involved, dozens of different species sweeping around one another, every blink of an eye or swish of a tail carefully choreographed. Through the crush I spot something weird rising from the depths.

“Is that a chess board?” I ask. It’s much bigger than any board I’ve ever seen, but it’s the right shape, with the usual arrangement of black and white squares.

“There are Boards like this on almost all the worlds where we have had an influence,” Art says. “The Boards are central to the development of intelligence. Some species forget about them as they evolve, but most remember in one way or another.”

“I don’t get it. What’s the big deal about chess?”

“The game means nothing,” Art answers. “The Board is everything.”

Something about the way he stresses the word sparks a memory. I recall a visit I paid to Lord Loss’s kingdom several years ago. The demon master loves chess. One of the rooms in his web-based castle was full of sets. He produced a board which he referred to as the Original Board. Each square was a self-contained universe of its own, filled with an array of demons.

“Yes,” Art says before I can form a question. “That was the Board we used on your world.”

“I still don’t understand,” I frown. “The Board was just a toy.”

“The Boards are not toys,” Art says. “Each is a map of the original universe, a link to the past before time.”

“You’re talking gibberish,” I scowl.

“It will become clear soon,” Art assures me, then pushes through a gap that the sea creatures have created. “Come. I am fully rested, and the dance has moved into its final arc. It is time for us to depart.”




TAKING TO THE SKIES (#ulink_cad0a31f-e6ff-56e7-95d5-07d2e2d591ad)


→We skip from one world to another, chamber to chamber, through the sub-universe of strange lights. I try to figure out how the windows are being opened, hoping to use the information to break free and make my way back home. But I don’t know how Art gets the panels to pulse and merge.

“Tell me about yourself,” I suggest, partly to break the monotony, partly to learn more about my mysterious guide.

“What do you wish to know?” he replies.

“Where are you from? Beranabus only said that the Old Creatures were beings of ancient, powerful magic, who left our world long ago.”

“We leave every planet eventually,” Art sighs. “We are nomads, moving from one world to another, never settling.”

“But you must have a home,” I press. “Everyone comes from somewhere.”

“Not us,” Art says. “We are of the original universe. We had no beginning.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I grunt.

“It will –” Art begins.

“– soon,” I finish sarcastically.

“Sorry,” Art says. “I know this is hard. But there is much we have to tell you and it is complicated.”

“Let’s try something simpler then.” I think about the sort of things I’d ask any stranger. “How old are you?”

Art makes a sound like someone clearing their throat.

“Oh, come on!” I shout. “Surely you can tell me that much.”

“There is no easy answer,” Art says. “We are as old as this universe but we existed before it. In the original universe, there was no such thing as time. We were not born. We did not age. We simply were.”

“You can’t be as old as the universe,” I challenge him. “It’s billions of years old. Nothing lives for that long.”

“We do,” Art insists. “We exist as spheres of light, and light is almost ageless.”

“Almost? You’re not immortal?”

“Not any more,” Art says.

“This is crazy,” I mutter.

“Be patient,” Art urges. “By the end of this journey we’ll reveal the secrets of the universe, the origins of life and the cause of the Big Bang.”

“What’s the Big Bang?”

Art is silent for a long time. Then, in a dejected tone, he says, “This is going to be harder than we thought.”



→More worlds and chambers. I doze during some of the journey. In the demon universe I can go weeks or months without sleep, but here I grow tired, just as I do on Earth. I start to wonder how long we’ve been travelling.

“This is the fourth day,” Art answers.

“How much longer will it take?”

“I cannot say.”

“A week?” I snap. “A month? Years?” I lick my lips and ask quietly, “You will take me back, won’t you?”

There’s a pause. “If you choose to return, we –”

“What do you mean?” I roar. “Of course I’ll return! Why shouldn’t I? Are you going to try to –”

“Peace,” Art hushes me. “The choice will be yours. I don’t think you’ll want to go back, but we will not prevent you from following your destiny.”

“I’ll definitely want to go back,” I growl.

“You should not make such sweeping statements,” Art says. “When you went in search of the demon masquerading as your brother, you were certain you’d return home when you found him, but you didn’t. There are no certainties except death. And even that –”

Whatever he was about to say is lost, because we pass through a window into a chamber made of moss-covered stones. And the place is crawling with demons.

They’re foul beasts, shaped like horses, but their flesh is rotting away and their bones poke through. Yellow blood drips down their legs from their rib cages. The heads are larger than on any horse I’ve seen, and each has two sets of mouths, one above the other. There are no teeth—instead, human-looking fingernails jut out of their gums, blood and drool dribbling between the cracks.

The demons had been fighting or playing with each other – hard to tell with these monsters – but they stop when we pop out in the middle of them. Then, with howls of hunger and delight, they hurl themselves at us.

I react automatically and fire a ball of energy at the nearest beast, then leap clear, on to one of the higher stones of the chamber. The roof caved in long ago and I can see out. A quick survey of the land beyond reveals a scorched, ruined world teeming with monsters. A massive demon is rising into the air a few miles away. Hundreds of beasts are clinging to it, or settled on its back in rows. Fleshy strands dangle from its stomach. Large rocks are attached to the lower ends.

A horse-demon jumps, rears its hooves and slashes at my throat. I duck, slam my shoulder into its face and knock it back. “Art!” I scream as others come pounding closer.

“Cover your eyes,” Art says. “Use magic as well as your hands.”

“What good will that do?” I yell, jumping to another stone.

There’s a flash of light and my eyes melt in their sockets. The pain is intense but nothing new. It’s just like when my original eyes were stabbed out.

As I howl and fight off waves of pain and madness, Art says, “You should have done what I told you. These demons are called the Sligstata. Light is my only weapon against them. Most can construct new eyes, as you can, but you have done it before, so you should be faster. Set to work immediately, but focus your other senses on the Sligstata. You can avoid them if you concentrate.”

“But I can’t see!” I howl. “I’m blind!”

“You’ll be dead if you don’t do what I tell you,” Art snarls. There’s real fear in his tone. “I can’t fight these creatures, even if I turn into Artery—there are too many. I can blind them again, but they’ll soon grow wise to that trick. I’m opening a new window but it will take a few minutes. You must defend yourself.”

I curse the Old Creature, then set to work on building a new pair of eyes. It was a long, complicated process before, but this time they grow swiftly, smoothly.

As the eyes form, I listen to the demons and sense their positions. They’re stumbling around, lashing out at one another, wild with blind panic. No threat as long as I remain up here. But others are coming. They swarm over the ruins of the chamber, knocking each other aside in their eagerness to tear into me, the echo of their hooves ringing louder as they draw closer.

There’s strong magic in the air. I let a ball of power build in my fists and wait until the monsters are several feet away, packed tight, focused on me. Then I let them have it, a blast straight down the middle, scattering them, ripping open stomachs and heads, incinerating eyes, faces and internal organs.

The demons screech with pain and anger, falling beneath the hooves of those behind them. One of the Sligstata hurls itself at me, both sets of mouths gnashing, fingernails twitching. I pirouette away from it like a ballet dancer and end up on the opposite side of the chamber. My eyes have almost completed the healing process, but I still can’t see.

“Protect yourself,” Art hisses. I was letting another ball of magic build in my hands, but now I divert the power to my eyes and erect a wall of blackness. I see nothing but I know when the light flashes by the screams of the Sligstata.

One of the beasts must have expected the flash and guarded its eyes, because while the others thrash around and topple into the chamber, it makes a beeline for me. No time to dance aside. Planting my feet firmly, I grab the monster by its neck and hold its spitting mouths a few inches from my throat. The stench of its breath would floor a lesser mortal.

As I’m struggling with the demon, my eyes connect with my brain and the world swims back into sight. The Sligstata’s mouths are closer than I thought. Gritting my teeth, I push hard and its jaws slide back. But it’s tenacious and my fingers are damp with sweat and blood. In a few seconds it will wriggle forward and finish me off.

When I first tried to fight in the Demonata’s universe, I was so scared I threw up. I was ashamed at the time, but since then I’ve learnt the value of a good stream of vomit. I send a magical buzz down my throat and a wave of digested food rises. I spray the demon with hot, thick puke. It gurgles happily, then screeches as I turn the liquid to acid. As the Sligstata burns and writhes, I drop it and look around.

Dozens of fresh demons are racing towards the chamber. Too many to fight. Some of those beneath me have grown new eyes and are knocking aside the blind Sligstata, zoning in on me, hell-bent on making me pay for their torment.

“It’s looking bad,” I yell at Art, firing a magical bolt at a demon as it tops the chamber wall, driving it back.

“A few more seconds,” Art says calmly, pulsing steadily, hovering in the air above my head.

“We don’t have that long.”

“Just keep them busy a couple more…”

A blue window blinks into life. I don’t wait for Art to give the order. With a yell of fear and triumph, I throw myself at it, linking my hands like a person diving into a swimming pool. The Sligstata snap at me with their nightmarish mouths, but miss, and a second later I’m flying through the panel of light. I start to cheer but the sound catches in my throat as fingernails bite into my left leg. I kick but the beast holds firm and drags me back. The patches of light are twinkling seductively but I’m being hauled away from them, back into the chamber of death.

I try summoning magic to fry the Sligstata, but I’m temporarily drained. This looks like the end of Cornelius Fleck. I just hope they kill me quickly. Some demons can keep their victims alive for thousands of –

A crackle of electricity shoots through my leg. It sets my skin tingling but hurts the demon more. It starts to lose its grip. I glance back and see that the Old Creature has once again taken on the shape of Artery. The fire in the green-skinned demon’s right eye socket narrows then expands—he’s winking at me! Then he grabs hold of me and leaps. We shoot forward and the window snaps shut behind us. Art transforms back into a ball of light and wraps around me. We swoop towards the pulsing lights like a pair of birds, laughing hysterically at our narrow escape.




GOING UNIVERSAL (#ulink_f6def597-b9a8-53f1-b335-4ccf644a6ef7)


→It takes a while to settle down. “Thanks,” I say when I’ve stopped chuckling. “You saved my life.”

“That’s my job,” Art says wryly.

“I thought I was done for. There were so many of them…” I frown. “That wasn’t the demon universe, was it?”

“No,” Art says. “I told you we would not be crossing to their realm.”

“Then what were the Sligstata doing there?”

“That world was demon-free a few months ago,” Art says. “They must have broken through recently. I wouldn’t have come this way if I’d known.”

“Even so, how could so many…” I stop as the answer pops into my head. “They opened a tunnel between their universe and that world.”

“Yes,” Art says.

“The sky demon,” I say slowly. “Did you see it?”

“Yes. There were more, a convoy of them in the sky.”

“Where were they going?”

“Other worlds.” Art sighs. “There were stones of magic hanging beneath it. You call them lodestones. We set such markers in place on all the worlds we visit. They help us hold the Demonata at bay and give the inhabitants of the planets a chance to evolve.

“The defensive power of the stones fades when we move on. As the safety net crumbles, demons seek to open windows and tunnels. If they succeed, they wipe the world clean. Then, in most cases, they return to their own universe. But sometimes on a world where lodestones are plentiful, they use it as a base to launch more attacks.

“The sky demon and its passengers are heading for neighbouring worlds, using the stolen, corrupted magic of the lodestones to sustain them. It will take millennia, but they are patient. The power will drain from the stones eventually and they’ll have to return home, but that might not be for millions of years.”

“And as long as the stones hold, they can stay in this universe?” I ask, feeling sick.

“Yes.”

“How far is that sky demon from Earth?”

“Billions of miles. It will never trouble your people.”

“But if it was setting off from a nearer world, like Atlantis, it could descend on us one day, carrying hordes of demons?”

“Yes,” Art says.

“Is our universe full of sky demons, slowly making their way from one world to the next?”

“Hardly full of,” Art mutters. “But there are many of them.”

“Then we can’t beat them,” I croak. “We thought if we stopped them crossing, we were safe. But if armies are already here, making their way towards us…”

“All worlds will fall eventually,” Art says glumly. “All beings will die. That is the nature of the universe. Nothing is forever. Death claims all things in the end.”

“Sure,” I grunt bitterly. “But I didn’t know there were scores of demons cruising the skies, working hard to wipe us out.”

“It is not an issue,” Art says. “Your world will have fallen long before any sky demon reaches it.”

My eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”

“The lodestones are a temporary form of protection,” he says. “Demons always cross. The only hope any beings have is to master the skies. If a species learns to move on to other worlds, they can stay ahead of the Demonata. Your people haven’t made that crucial step to the stars. Your planet will fall within the next year. It is inescapable.”

My jaw drops, then firmly closes. I breathe in and out through my nostrils, waiting until I’m calm. When I’m in control, I say very clearly, “I want to go home.”

“It would be pointless,” Art says. “You could do nothing to stop it.”

“I have to try. Even if I fail, I want to be there at the end. If Earth’s going to fall, I’ll fall with it.”

“No,” Art says. “You have a greater destiny.”

“I don’t care about –” I begin to snarl.

“Life must continue,” Art interrupts. “We realised, billions of years ago, that this universe was doomed. The Demonata are stronger than those who populate our worlds. In time they’ll conquer all. We devoted ourselves to denying them that victory. We vowed to find a way to ensure life continued.”

“I thought you said all things perish.”

“Ultimately,” he replies. “This universe is a living thing, and it will die of old age eventually. But we can make sure that the end comes in its own time, not at the hands of the Demonata. If you help us.”

I’m silent a long time. I can’t understand everything Art is talking about, but if he’s right… if there’s some way to thwart the plans of the Demonata…

“How much further do we have to go?” I ask.

“Not far,” Art says. “Another day, perhaps, and we will reach the Crux.”

“And you’ll tell me everything?” I press. “No more riddles or half-answers?”

“Everything will be revealed,” Art promises. “After that you can stay or go as you please.”

“Then I’ll come,” I sigh, and although my intentions are good, it feels like I’ve just sold my soul to the devil—or worse.




THE CRUX (#ulink_0e8dad44-0f5b-58c3-af43-41f23955483f)


→More worlds and chambers. Pretty much all of the planets have fallen. They feel old and cold. Art says these were some of the earliest settled worlds, the first planets that the Old Creatures populated.

“You’re like gods,” I mutter. “You spread life across the universe.”

“We nurture life,” Art corrects me. “We don’t create it. We don’t know where the living things of this universe came from, how life was born out of fire and chaos. There are forces at work beyond even our knowledge.”

“Then gods – or God – might be real?” I press.

“Perhaps.”

“What about an afterlife?” I ask. “Do you know what happens to our souls when we die?”

“No,” Art says. “We will talk more about that later, but first…”

We’re approaching a small window. We’ve been moving at a constant speed, but now Art slows.

“ We are almost at the Crux,” he says and there’s a nervous edge to his voice. I feel the ball of light tighten around me.

“What are you doing?” I ask suspiciously.

“The Crux is a place of great danger,” he replies. “We cannot stay long, and I must cling tightly to you while we’re there, or you will be disintegrated.”

“Hold on!” I yelp. “You never said anything about disintegration!”

“I didn’t want to frighten you,” Art chuckles.

I stare anxiously at the window, wondering if there’s anything I can do to stop this.

“Don’t be afraid,” Art says. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Wait!” I cry as we draw close. “Have you ever taken anyone like me into the Crux before?”

Art hesitates, then says sheepishly, “No.”

“Then how do you know –”

Before I can finish, we smash through the window and I scream at the top of my voice, as if riding the wildest rollercoaster in the universe.



→As soon as we slip through the window, the temperature skyrockets. We’re gliding towards a massive orb of seething fire. This must be what the sun is like close up. The space around us throbs with magical energy. I sense Art tapping into that magic, using it to shield us from the unbelievable heat, glare and radiation. I can’t imagine anything non-magical surviving here.

We zip closer to the ball of fire. It shimmers savagely as I stare at it, awestruck and horrified. It doesn’t have a constant shape. The edges buckle and warp, bulge out, then twist back in on themselves. Pillars of flame shoot from the surface, spiral around the face of the orb and are absorbed by it again. Sometimes it turns a blinding white shade. Other times it goes black and becomes almost invisible against the expanse of space around it. Most of the time it flickers between the two colours, waves of fire lashing across the surface and bubbling over without pause.

The sun-like ball terrifies me. It’s not just the heat. Being here is wrong. I feel like I’m breaking a sacred law by looking at this wild globe of wondrous fire.

“We’ve broken more laws than you could imagine by bringing you here,” Art says. “But we cannot always be prisoners of the laws we live by. Sometimes we have to transcend them.”

We press closer to the orb. We’re almost upon it. My mouth is dry. My skin feels like it’s burning. My eyes seem to be roasting in their sockets. I want to turn and get as far away from here as possible. But before I can beg Art to stop, we hit the outer rim and are swallowed by a billion licks of ravenous flame.



→It takes several minutes to cut through the outer ring. I’ve fought demons made of fire, so a realm of flames is nothing new. But this fire is hotter than any I’ve experienced. It roars about us like a living, furious sea. But Art holds firm and guides me through the billowing walls of the furnace.

Finally we break through the flames and enter a realm of bewitching marvels. It’s a vast, oval, grey space, illuminated by constant bolts of lightning. There’s debris everywhere, asteroids, pebbles and dust swirling around. The lightning regularly splits rocks and splinters them, but the pieces join with other shards to form new, larger rocks, which in turn are split again.

The space is dominated by a series of enormous square panels. Half are black, half white. The panels revolve slowly around the sphere, never meeting. Anything that hits the panels – lightning forks, rocks, flickers of flame – is absorbed, then spat out moments later.

Balls of multicoloured light – Old Creatures – float around the black panels. Hundreds of demons cluster around the white squares. My insides tense when I spot the Demonata but Art speaks quickly to calm me.

“They Will Not Harm Us,” he says. “This Place Is Sacred To Both Sides. We Do Not Kill Here.”

“You could have warned me earlier,” I growl, then frown. “What happened to your voice? It’s deeper than before, and echoey.”

“We Are All Speaking To You Now,” Art says stiffly. “We Do Not Experience Individuality When We Are Together.”

I glance around at the various balls of light. They were pulsing in unison as Art spoke. It’s too confusing to think of them all speaking at the same time, so I focus on Art and pretend I’m talking to a single entity.

“What’s the story?” I ask, shivering as a bolt of lightning strikes the film of light around me and is deflected. “Why are we here? What are the big secrets?”

“The Panels Are The Key,” Art says. “You Remember The Chess Board We Saw On The Earlier World?”

“Yes, but what does…” I stop and cast an eye over the panels again, doing a quick count. There are thirty-two black squares and an equal number of white.

“The Original Universe Was Shaped Like A Chess Board,” Art explains. “There Were Sixty-Four Zones, Half Black, Half White. Each Zone Was Limitless In Size. Time Did Not Exist. The Universe Had Existed And Would Exist Forever. It Was The Same For Us And The Demonata.”

“I don’t understand,” I interrupt. “Everything has to begin somewhere.”

“Only If Time Exists,” Art corrects me.

“How can time not exist?” I huff.

“Time As You Know It Began With The Big Bang.”

“I told you I don’t know what that means.”

“Peace,” Art calms me. “We Will Come To That. First, Accept That This Was The State Of The Universe. Sixty-Four Zones, Equal In All Respects, Black Separated From White By A Force We Called The Kah-Gash.”

I focus intently when he mentions the Kah-Gash, ignoring the things I don’t understand. I can try to make sense of the bewildering bits later.

“Demons Existed In The White Zones,” Art continues. “Vile, Violent Monsters Who Could Reproduce. We Inhabited The Black Zones And Were Sterile. That Did Not Trouble Us. Since There Was No Time, We Were Immortal. Death Did Exist – We Could Be Killed – But It Rarely Bothered Us. We Roamed The Endless Depths Of Our Zones, Peaceful And Content.

“Demons And Old Creatures Were Never Meant To Mix. The Kah-Gash Kept Us Separate.”

I spot a disturbance among a group of demons clustered around one of the white panels. Until a few seconds ago, they swarmed around the panel like ants, but now they part, forming two neat ranks. One of the beasts glides between the others, angles for the panel, then brushes against it and is absorbed. I wait for it to emerge, but nothing happens.

“The Demon Is Dead,” Art says. “It Was Ancient, One Of Those Who Existed In The Original Universe. No Living Creature Can Touch The Panels And Survive. Most Of The Original Demonata And Old Creatures Choose To Perish Here When It Is Their Time.”

“One down, just a few trillion to go,” I chuckle humourlessly. Then I pause. “Is that why the other demons are here, to bid farewell to the dead one?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t think demons worked that way. Those I’ve known don’t care about any of the others.”

“The Original Demons Are Different,” Art says. “They Have Known Each Other For So Long That They Have Formed Bonds. We Would Normally Stay Away At A Time Like This, As They Do When We Gather Here For A Funeral. But It Was Important To Protect You.”

“I thought you said you don’t kill here.”

“We Don’t,” Art says. “But If They See A Human, They Might Attack. We Will Distract Them If They Grow Curious, And Defend You If Necessary.”

We watch the end of the ceremony. Nothing much happens. The demons hold their ranks for a while, then break apart and drift towards the ring of fire which encircles the Crux.

“Initially We Were Not Aware Of The Demonata And They Knew Nothing Of Us,” Art resumes. “But The Demonata Were Curious. They Tested The Barriers Where White Met Black, And Found A Way To Cross. They Discovered Us.”

“And they attacked,” I guess. “They set out to kill you all.”

Art sighs. “We Knew Nothing Of War. We Fled For The Furthest Reaches Of Our Zones, Hoping The Demonata Would Lose Interest And Let Us Be.”

“Some hope!” I snort.

“It Was Brutal,” Art says softly. “We Learnt About Pain, Suffering And Loss For The First Time. We Were Innocent, But We Matured Fast. We Had To Or They Would Have Slain Us All.

“We Fought Back. Your People Know Much Of Warfare, But They Have Never Seen It On Such A Scale. Universal, Timeless, A War Of Magic. The Universe Burned. The Kah-Gash Buckled. Ultimately It Could Stand The Strain No Longer.”

We’ve been drifting closer to one of the black squares. It’s bigger than I assumed, several miles high. I feel tiny as we pass within its shadow.

“We Knew We Should Stop,” Art whispers. “The Laws Were Shattering. The Universe Was Crumbling. The Kah-Gash Could Not Hold. But Still We Fought. We Had Become Slaves To War.

“In The End The Kah-Gash Fractured. In A Blinding, Destructive Flash, All Sixty-Four Zones Shrank To The Size Of A Speck. A Split-Second Later, The Ball Of The Universe Exploded. Everything Was Destroyed And Reborn. Life As You Know It Began.”

“And that’s when the universe was created?” I ask.

“Universes,” Art corrects me. “There Are Two. Although There Were Sixty-Four Zones Before The Big Bang, There Was Only One Universe. The Laws Of The White Zones Differed To Those Of The Black, But They Were Held In Place By The Kah-Gash. Now The Two Universes Are Separate.”

“I don’t understand why they exist at all,” I mutter. “Why wasn’t everything wiped out in the explosion?”

“The Kah-Gash Protected Us. Its Last Act Was To Create Two Individual Universes, Dividing The Warring Races. It Hoped The New Structures Would Keep Us Apart. As You Have Seen, They Did Not.”

“OK,” I say slowly. “Our universe and the Demonata’s were born out of the ashes of the old one, like a phoenix rising from the flames after it dies. So what’s this place?”

“This Is The Crux, The One Point Common To Both Universes. The Explosion Happened Here. The New Universes Spread Out In All Directions From This Area. The Universes Overlap Each Other. They Share The Same Space But Never Touch. Except Here. The Crux Exists In Both Universes At Once.”

“And those black and white panels are the remains of the Kah-Gash?”

“Yes, But Only Of Its Body. All Conscious Beings Have A Body And A Soul. What You See Here Are The Kah-Gash’s Physical Remains. The Segments Of Its Soul Flew Off Along With Everything Else.”

“Does that mean there are sixty-four pieces?” I ask.

“No. There Are Only Three. You, Bec And…” Art falls silent, then says, “Something Is Happening.”

“What do you –” I start to ask.

“Quiet!” Art snaps.

I look around, trying to determine the source of Art’s unease. My first thought is that the demons are mounting an attack, but they don’t seem to be paying any attention to us. And the panels are revolving the same as before. So why…

Wait. I’m wrong. The panels aren’t the same. They’re not circling any longer. They’re gliding forward now. Towards us. Towards me.

“Art?” I mumble. “What are they doing?”

“Gravitating Towards You. Possibly Trying To Reunite.”

“Is that bad?” I ask.

Art doesn’t answer. Instead he reverses direction and suddenly we’re flying towards the ring of fire as fast as we can.

“What’s going on?” I shout.

“We Do Not Know,” Art says. “We Had Not Expected Such A Reaction.”

“What will happen if they join?”

“We Are Not Sure. Maybe Nothing. Maybe The End Of All We Know.”

“The end of the universes?” I gasp.

“Perhaps.”

I stare with horror at the giant squares. They’re coming together slowly, but not slowly enough for my liking.

“Will they stop if we get out of here?” I ask.

“We Think So,” Art says. There’s a brief pause. “We Hope So.”

I watch helplessly as we draw away from the panels. It looks like we’ll make it out of here before they join. After that we’ll just have to pray that –

A blast of magic strikes us and Art makes a high-pitched shrieking noise. We’re knocked sideways. I glance to my left, the direction the shot came from. I spot a pack of demons streaking towards us. They unleash more bolts of magic, but the Old Creatures intercept them and blast them aside or absorb the shots themselves.

“Art?” I whisper, fearing the worst.

“I Am Not Dead,” he says. “You Will Perish Too If I Die.”

We pick up speed again.

“Why are they doing this?” I pant, keeping a close eye on the fighting. The Old Creatures and demons aren’t engaging at close quarters – they hover apart and take long-range shots at one another – but it looks ugly. A few of the balls of light are shattered while I watch, and several of the demons are ripped apart.

“The Demonata Wish For The End Of The Universes,” Art says. “They Must Have Seen The Panels Move, Spotted You And Guessed You Were The Source Of The Disturbance. Like Us, They Cannot Know What Will Happen If The Panels Join, But They Clearly Wish To Keep You Here And –”

Art is struck again. He doesn’t slow this time, but his scream lasts even longer than before. We’re almost at the ring of fire, but a demon has broken through the ranks of Old Creatures and is narrowing the gap, moving faster than we are.

We hit the wall of fire and plough through. It feels even hotter than it did the last time. Areas of my skin start to smoulder.

“You Must Use Magic,” Art says calmly. “I Cannot Protect You As I Did Before. I Am Wounded And Must Focus On Opening A Window.”

“If we make it through the fire, we’ll be safe, right?” I yell, doing what I can to counter the burns breaking out across my flesh. “They can’t follow us into the human universe, can they?”

“No,” Art says. “But We Will Not Make It. The Demon Will Catch Us. We Have To Open The Window From Here.”

“Can you do that?” I ask.

“In Theory,” he says, doing nothing to calm my frayed nerves.

Art is struck again, but pushes on, concentrating on the small patches of light which I glimpse through the flicker of the flames. I try to create a barrier to help but there isn’t a strong supply of magic here, at least not the sort I can tap into. The best I can do is cool my skin and quench the worst of the flames.

The demon looks nothing like those I’ve fought in the past. It’s huge, a mass of bulges, not shaped like any animal I’ve ever seen. I’m not even sure where its face is. All I know is that it’s utterly evil, determined to kill us and closing quickly.

“Art…” I mutter.

“We Know,” he replies. “I Have Almost…”

A window of red light forms in the distance, almost impossible to see against the fiery backdrop. I give a shout of triumph, but it’s drowned out when another blast of magic hits us. Art screeches. The bolt of energy drives us closer towards the window, but Art’s scream cuts out midway and the lights around me shatter.

I realise with horror that Art has been killed, but there’s no time to mourn. My flesh erupts, fire exploding from every pore. I scream silently, consumed by flames. In a mad fury I try to slap them out. It’s a hopeless task, but before the fire can finish the job, I hit the window and plunge into the sub-universe of multicoloured lights without anyone to protect or guide me.




NEW FACE, OLD STORY (#ulink_3f203c32-2fd8-5aa0-b862-33f9782b16e8)


→There’s no oxygen, so the flames die away. The pain doesn’t, but I’ve no time to focus on that. It’s freezing and there isn’t any air. If I can’t construct a shell around myself, and swiftly, I’m finished.

I search for magic, but there’s nothing I can make use of. This zone of lights contains even less magical energy than there was on Earth. I thrash about like a fish on dry land, lips shut, eyes bulging. I feel my skin tighten from the cold but that doesn’t bother me. I’ll suffocate long before I freeze to death.

As my lungs strain for air that isn’t there, my limbs go still and a calm wave spreads through me. In a way this is fitting. I was always a lonely child. I often felt out of place, not in sync with the people around me. Now I’m going to die in true isolation, more alone than any human has ever been.

A gloomy mist crosses my eyes. I think it’s the shades of death drawing over my face, but then I blink and realise it’s a dark green window which has opened ahead of me. As I stare at it numbly, a ball of light shoots through and envelops me from head to toe. I’ve just enough time to marvel at the warmth it brings. Then my eyelids flutter and I fall unconscious.



→I awake on a grey, cold, ashen world. I sit up, groaning. My skin is blistered. Parts feel raw. But I’m alive.

Something moves nearby.

“Art?” I call.

“No.” A tall black man steps into view. He’s fat, with very dark skin, dressed in an expensive-looking suit.

My eyes widen. “Raz?” I gasp.

“Only in appearance,” the man says solemnly.

“I don’t understand.” I start to rise, but pain prevents me. Grimacing, I frown at the fat man. Raz Warlo was a Disciple. I met him when I first joined Beranabus. He was killed during the quest to find my baby brother. “Why change?” I wheeze.

“The one you knew as Art is dead,” Raz says. “Although shapes mean nothing to us, we know you need them to make sense of the universe. We felt it would be easier for you if I took a different form.” He looks down at himself and frowns. “The suit was a difficult touch.”

“What happened back there?” I ask.

“The panels of the Kah-Gash reacted to your presence,” Raz says. “The demons attacked. We managed to get you out before they killed you.”

“And the panels? Did they stop?”

“The fact that we still exist makes me think so,” Raz says drily.

I nod slowly, then clear my throat. “Art sacrificed himself to save me.”

“Evidently.”

“And you placed your life at risk by coming after me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” I groan. “Why take me to the Crux and risk your lives for my sake?”

“That will become clear very soon,” Raz says and nods at a rock behind me. “That is a lodestone. It is the reason I brought you to this world. I suggest you use its power to heal yourself before we continue.”

Now that I focus, I realise there’s a strong current of magic flowing around me. I tap into it gratefully and set to work on my wounds, patching up the holes burnt in my flesh.

As I’m sealing the last of the gashes, Raz looks around at the dead land, then says, “Did you ever plan to have children?”

The question throws me and I squint at him. “I hadn’t given it much thought. Probably not. It’s hard to bring up a child when you’re busy battling demons.”

“The Old Creatures can’t reproduce,” Raz says. “It didn’t matter in the original universe, since we were immortal. That changed when the Kah-Gash fractured. Now every creature ages. We are captives of time and the price of our captivity is death.”

As Raz speaks, I stand and stretch. My stomach rumbles. I’m ravenous and thirsty, but there’s nothing to eat or drink, so I do my best to ignore the cries of my deprived body and focus on the Old Creature’s lecture.

“We accepted our mortality,” Raz continues, “but the Demonata craved a return to the way things were. They wanted to live forever. So they set about thwarting the hold of death.”

“How?” I frown.

“As long as the new universes exist, death will claim us all,” Raz says. “But if those universes are eradicated… if the Kah-Gash is reassembled and the old laws are re-established…”

I start to tremble. “Beranabus said the Kah-Gash could destroy a universe. But you’re saying it could destroy both?”

“Yes. The Kah-Gash could draw everything back through time to the moment of the Big Bang, eliminate all that has happened since and restore the original universe.”

“What would happen to us?” I gasp.

“You would have never existed,” Raz says. “Time would be reversed. All the creatures and planets of the new universes would be wiped out. Only the Old Creatures and the Demonata would survive.”

“Why wouldn’t you be killed too?”

“We think we would be protected, as we were when the Kah-Gash exploded. If we are correct, even the new Demonata – the spawn of the original beasts – would be spared, since they carry the genes of their parents.”

“Then why not us?” I ask hollowly.

“You are not our offspring,” Raz says sadly. “New life was created when this universe was born. We have guided many species and helped souls develop. But you are not ours.

“We must go,” Raz says abruptly. “You need to eat, so we will move on.” He sets to work on the tiny patches of light in the air around us.

“What world of wonders are we heading for now?” I ask.

“We’re not going to a world,” Raz says. “We are going to a spaceship.”




PICKING UP THE PIECES (#ulink_e5445387-c168-56b1-9073-67573cfb276e)


→I wanted to be an astronaut when I was younger, walk on the moon, fly around in a rocket, zap aliens with a laser gun, teleport across galaxies. I’ve done a lot more than that in the years since, boldly going to places where no man would ever want to go. Still, that love of spacemen and rockets remains, and when Raz tells me we’re heading for a spaceship, I fill with excitement. But when we slide through the window, it’s into a large room of concrete walls, boxes stacked neatly at the sides, fluorescent lights overhead. There’s a small garden in the middle of the room.

“This isn’t a spaceship,” I grumble. “Spaceships are made of metal, full of stuff like…” I stop, realising how ridiculous that sounds. Spaceships in movies and comics might be like that. But in the real world, built by beings of another planet, why should they be?

“Precisely,” Raz says. “This is a massive craft designed to navigate the vastness of space. It is the size of a city, home to two million creatures. They fled their dying planet long ago and have sailed among the stars ever since.

“Now eat.”

“Eat what?” I ask, looking around.

“Anything,” Raz says. “The crates are packed with nutritious substances. And there are bottles of liquid in those.” He points at the boxes to my left.

“Won’t anyone mind?” I ask nervously, not wanting to get on the wrong side of short-tempered aliens.

“These are excess supplies. Nobody will notice.”

I shuffle over to the crates and lift off the lid of the nearest box. There are large plastic bottles inside. The liquid in them is an unpleasant green colour. The stench, when I snap the top off, is vile.

“Are you sure this is safe?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t you drinking any?”

“I don’t need it.”

Sceptical, I raise the bottle and take a sip. It’s disgusting! I spit it out and grimace, then reluctantly drain a mouthful and swish it around. The taste doesn’t improve, but after half a minute of swishing, I gulp, then lower the bottle and wait to be sick. When nothing happens, I drink some more, then look for something to sink my teeth into. The food is as unappealing as the liquid, but it fills me up. When my stomach can hold no more, I wipe my lips with a hand and glance at Raz.

“Done?” he asks.

“Done,” I confirm.

“Are you ready to go on a quick tour?”

“Can I?” I ask eagerly.

“I know you want to. I can disguise us to look like natives.”

“Great! Let’s do it.”

Leaving the storeroom, we walk down a long corridor, then take an elevator to an upper level. It looks remarkably like the elevators on Earth.

“You shouldn’t be surprised,” Raz says. “We sowed the seeds of intelligence among most of the universe’s beings, and the rest were assisted by those we first helped. There are many similarities between species.”

The elevator comes to a halt and the doors slide open. I step out into a noisy street that could be in any of Earth’s busier cities. Buildings like ours, vehicles that look like cars, streetlamps and power cables. The only difference is that instead of a sky, there’s another level overhead. Otherwise it’s unnervingly familiar.

The same can’t be said for the people. They have no human traits. Long tendrils instead of arms and legs. Their faces, which are in the middle of their bodies, have several gloopy eyes set in a semi-circle around a small, toothless mouth. No ears or nose. Each is a mix of colours. They’re slimy, dripping freely as they pass. Smaller creatures feast on the mucous, an army of insect-like slime-eaters who gobble it up, keeping the paths clean.

I stare for a long time at the aliens, then glance at Raz and myself and frown. “We don’t look any different. I thought you were going to disguise us.”

“I haven’t altered our bodies,” Raz says. “I’m affecting the visual sensors of those around us, so that to their eyes we appear as they do. Yes,” he adds with a grin before I can say anything, “that is pretty cool.”

We wander down the street. I peer in windows as we pass, and even enter a few of the buildings, trying to figure out what the stores are selling, what the creatures are doing, what the buildings are for. Raz whispers in my ear as we wind our way down the street, then turn into another, and another, exploring.

“When the Kah-Gash split, the pieces of its soul shot off ahead of the blast, travelling faster than light or any of the other forces unleashed by the explosion. They darted in and out of the new universes, passing from one to the other as they flew further apart.

“Eventually they slowed and drifted. Sometimes they floated across realms like cosmic butterflies. Other times they disappeared from one part of a universe and popped up on the opposite side in the blink of an eye.

“The patches of light you have seen since birth are physical remnants of the Kah-Gash. There were barriers of energy and magic between the squares of the original universe. When the Kah-Gash exploded, the barriers shattered, but their fragments were used to stitch the fabric of the new universes together. It took us a long time to realise that, since we cannot see them.”

“You can’t see the lights?” I frown.

“No,” Raz says. “They only reveal themselves to the eyes of the Kah-Gash.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There are three parts of the Kah-Gash,” Raz says. “The trigger, memory and eyes. The trigger is the commanding force. The memory stores all that happens. The eyes see the hidden strings which bind the universes in place.

“This only became clear to us over the long course of time. In the beginning we didn’t know how many pieces there were, what function they played, where they’d gone. We were not even sure that parts of the Kah-Gash still existed.

“The Demonata knew no more than we did, but threw themselves into the search. Their desperate plan was to find the parts of the Kah-Gash, reassemble them and restore the original universe. It’s a plan they haven’t wavered from.

“For a time we saw no threat. We thought it was a fool’s quest. But then the parts began to reappear. They had the ability to turn up anywhere, in a comet, a rock, a tree, an animal, even in one of the new demons. The pieces never merged with any of the Old Creatures or original demons, but all other forms were fair game. They caused no harm, existing in harmony with their hosts, but their re-emergence filled us with panic.”

Raz shivers, then continues. “The Demonata pursued the pieces with a mad passion. When they finally found one, they experimented, seeking ways to harness its power. They found they could influence its destination when it moved from one form to another, ensuring it stayed within their grasp.

“The demons searched hard for the other pieces. They couldn’t cross from their universe to ours, but they didn’t need to. The parts of the Kah-Gash passed freely between universes. The Demonata could wait, even though it might take billions of years.”

We come to another elevator and ride it down to a random lower level. I find a park, full of strangely shaped trees and bushes. I dodge between them as Raz speaks.

“We couldn’t let them reunite the Kah-Gash,” Raz says. “We felt responsible for this universe’s new life forms. They were simple creatures, but they had a right to exist. So we counter-plotted. Although the demons couldn’t cross universes, we had the power to enter theirs. We launched a raiding party. After a brief battle, we freed the piece of the Kah-Gash and fled. The Demonata couldn’t follow. All they could do was keep searching and waiting.

“That’s how things continued over millions of years,” Raz says, as if talking about the passing of a couple of weeks. “The Demonata imprisoned pieces of the Kah-Gash. We crossed, fought and freed them.”

“Are you stronger than the demons?” I ask.

“No,” Raz says. “But we only needed to destroy the form in which a piece was stuck. When that happened, it shot free. If the demons had been able to focus, they could have directed it into another form of their choosing, but we distracted them.

“We also searched for pieces in our universe,” Raz goes on. “We had no wish to reassemble the Kah-Gash, but we hoped to capture the pieces and hold them from the Demonata forever. We learnt to influence the pieces, but only as the Demonata did. We can keep them in place a while, but eventually they slip free.”




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