Copyright

First published in hardback in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2009

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

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DARK CALLING. Copyright © Darren Shan 2009. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Darren Shan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work.

EBook Edition © February 2011 ISBN: 9780007435388

Version: 2014-10-29

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

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Turn Around, Bright Eyes

A Word in your Ear

Lying Low

Death Watch

Come…

Tripping the Light Fantastic

The Man from Atlantis

Under the Sea

Taking to the Skies

Going Universal

The Crux

New Face, Old Story

Picking up the Pieces

World of the Dead

The Reaper Unleashed

NOAH MK II

A Warning

Welcome Home

Restless Souls

Shades of the Fallen

The Carriage Held…

Swan Song

Casualties of War

Other Books by Darren Shan

About the Publisher

TURN AROUND, BRIGHT EYES

→ 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

→ 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 — she 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

→ 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

→ 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…

→ 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

→ 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.”

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