“Have you fought before?” I ask Kirilli, to distract myself.
“Not really,” he says. “As Sharmila said, I’m a spy. Excellent at sniffing out intrigue and foiling the well-laid plans of villainous rogues like Zsolt and Balint. But when it comes to the dirty business of killing, I’m more a stabber in the back than a face-to-face man. Never saw anything wrong with striking an opponent from behind if they’re a nasty piece of work.”
“I doubt if Juni will turn her back on you. The best thing is to trust in your magic and try not to think too much. If you’re attacked, use your instincts. You’ll find yourself doing things you never thought possible.”
“And if my instincts come up short?” Kirilli asks.
Dervish snorts behind us. “That’ll be a good time to panic.”
Kirilli frowns over his shoulder at Dervish. “It’s rude to eavesdrop.”
“I’m a rude kind of guy,” Dervish retorts. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Hang back when we get there, fire off the occasional bolt of energy — at our opponents, not us — and try not to get in anyone’s way.”
“I can tell you’re a true leader of men,” Kirilli says sarcastically.
“Quiet,” Beranabus snarls. “I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Sorry, boss,” Dervish says, then sticks his right hand under his left armpit and makes a farting noise. We all giggle, even Beranabus. It’s not unnatural to laugh in the face of death. It’s not an act of bravery either. You do it because you might never have the chance to laugh again.
We descend slowly, exploring each level, wary of booby traps. But there are no secret windows, no army of demons, no humans packing weapons.
We pass a mound of bodies, mostly uniformed crew. They armed themselves with axes, knives, flares — whatever they could find — and tried to block off the corridor with bulky pieces of furniture. The demons ripped through them. They never stood a chance.
The lights suddenly snap off. Kirilli gasps and grabs my hand. I get images of his previous limited encounters with demons, his stage act, the tricks he performs. He wanted to be a famous magician when he was young. Practiced hard, but didn’t have the style. Good enough for clubs and cruises, but he never had a real crack at the big time. He was pleased when he joined the Disciples, proud of his talent. But he’d have much rather succeeded in showbiz, where the worst he’d have ever had to face was being booed offstage.
Emergency lights flicker on. There’s a harsh metallic ripping sound somewhere far below. It echoes through the ship. The floor shudders, then steadies.
“Turbulence?” Beranabus asks.
“You only get that on planes,” Dervish says. “It could be the roll of the sea, but I doubt it. Have you noticed the lack of movement? We haven’t tilted since we came aboard. The ship’s been steady, held in place by magic.”
“I knew there was something strange,” Kirilli growls. “I get terrible seasickness. I have to take pills to keep my food down. But I’ve been feeling fine for the last few hours. I thought I’d found my sea legs at last.”
The ripping noise comes again, louder than before. It reminds me of a noise Bill-E heard in a film about the
Titanic,
when the iceberg sliced through the hull and split it open.
“Any idea what’s going on down there?” Dervish asks.
Beranabus shrugs. “We’ll soon find out.”
We press on.
Eventually we hit the bottom of the ship. Except there isn’t much left of it. When we step into the cavernous hold, we instantly see what the noises were. The lowest layer has been peeled away. A huge hole has been gouged out of the hull, eighty or a hundred feet wide, stretching far ahead of us, through the middle of the hold and up the walls at the sides. Water surrounds the gap, held back by a field of magic. If that field was to suddenly collapse, the sea would flood through and the ship would sink swiftly.
There are bodies all over the place, but a huge pile is stacked in the center of the floorless hold, resting in a heap on the invisible barrier. It looks like they’re floating on air.
The tip of a large stone juts through the covering of corpses. Red streaks of blood line the cracks and indentations of the ancient stone. The bodies around it are pale and shriveled. The stone has drunk from them. I recall the stone in the cave where I was imprisoned, when I sacrificed Drust, how it sucked his blood. These stones of magic are alive in some way. The Old Creatures filled them with a power we no longer understand.
A demon stands to attention behind the stone. He has a squat, leathery body and a green head, part human, part canine. A large, surly mouth. Four hairy arms and two long legs. Floppy ears. His white eyes are filled with fear, and he holds himself rigidly, as if standing still against his will.
There’s a grey window of light a few yards from the stone and demon. In front of it, grinning lopsidedly in her warped, pus- and blood-drenched new form, is the monstrous Juni Swan.
“You took your time getting here,” she snarls.
“We stopped for a bite to eat,” Dervish quips. Sharmila is studying the demon. Beranabus is looking at Juni with a mixture of sadness and disgust. Kirilli is just gaping.
“What happened to you?” Beranabus asks quietly.
“Don’t you like my new body?” Juni croons, posing obscenely. “I preferred my old frame, but this is what I’m stuck with. The price of cheating death.”
“How
did
you survive?” Beranabus presses, the pity in his voice vanishing in an instant. “Dervish killed you. I felt your soul leave. Did Lord Loss have the Board with him? Is that how he pulled off this trick?”
Juni shakes her head smugly. “That’s for me to know and you to guess, old man.” She looks at the rest of us, sneering spitefully. “I told them you’d come. My master said you wouldn’t be so foolish, but I knew you would. You’re arrogant. You never let the threat of a trap put you off. I always knew your ridiculous self-belief would prove your undoing — and so it has.”
Beranabus stares at his ex-assistant, shaken by her hideous appearance and the mad hatred in her expression. “How did it come to this?” he croaks. “Life with me can’t have been worse than what you’re going through now.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Juni says. “You were far worse than Lord Loss. I serve him willingly, by my own choice, but I was a slave to you, with no say over what happened to me.”
“But —” Beranabus starts.
“No!” Juni barks. “You’re not worth arguing with.” She glares at the rest of us. “You can choose too. You don’t have to serve this fool or perish with him. Join me now and live. Stay loyal to him and die.”
Dervish laughs. “You’ve lost your marbles. Nadia Moore would have known that wasn’t an option. Even Juni Swan could have seen that it’s a no-brainer. But you’ve become something warped and inhuman. Do you honestly believe any of us would throw in our lot with a thing as twisted and insane as you?”
Juni’s lips tremble and the skin around her cheeks cracks in a series of tiny channels. “How dare you speak to me like that!”
“You were my love,” Dervish says. “I’ll speak to you any way I like.”
She starts to curse him, then restrains herself and giggles. “We’ll be lovers again, darling Dervish. I’ll keep you alive in a body even more wretched than this. I’ll lavish you with torment and pain. You’ll beg me to kill you, every single day for the rest of time, but I won’t.”
“Sounds nasty.” Dervish yawns.
“Um, I don’t know how these things normally work,” Kirilli speaks up, “but shouldn’t we be ripping her into a million pieces instead of trading insults?”
“Don’t knock the insults,” Dervish growls. “This is the best part of a fight. If you don’t get the digs in at the beginning, there’ll be no time later.”
“Who is this charlatan?” Juni huffs, glaring at Kirilli.
“A Disciple,” Beranabus says. “A friend and assistant, as you once were.”
“Assistant only,” Juni corrects him. “Never a friend.”
“You were Kernel’s friend,” Sharmila says softly. “You saved his life, even after you had turned traitor. Do you hate him too? Will you kill him along with the rest of us if you get the chance?”
“Without blinking,” Juni says coldly. “I warned him not to get in my way again. I might not kill him today — if he has any sense, he’ll slip away when the rest of you are dead — but I’ll catch up with him soon. It’s the end of mankind’s reign. Within a year we’ll cleanse Earth of its human fungus and take the world forward into a new demonic era. Your precious billions are living on borrowed time, Beranabus, but you reckless fools don’t even have that. Which is where Cadaver comes in. . . .” She nods at the demon behind the lodestone.
“Cadaver?”
Beranabus frowns.
“He stole the demon that was masquerading as Kernel’s brother,” Sharmila reminds him.
Cadaver whines and strains his neck. He’s not a willing participant in this. He’s a prisoner. When he opens his mouth and speaks, we learn who his captor is.
“Greetings, my brave doomed friends.”
Cadaver’s lips are moving, but the words and accent aren’t the demon’s — they belong to the sentinel of sorrow, Lord Loss.
“A cheap trick,” Beranabus grunts. “Too afraid to face us in person? Reduced to speaking through a puppet?”
“Why not use Cadaver’s mouth?” Lord Loss counters, speaking from his realm in the Demonata’s universe. “I gave it to him. I could have made use of any of my familiars, but I thought this one most fitting. Such a pity Kernel isn’t here. I’m sure Cadaver’s appearance would have revived many fond memories.”
“I have had enough of this,” Sharmila growls. She takes a step forward and raises her hand, taking aim at Cadaver.
“Wait,” Beranabus stops her. “He’s close to the lodestone. If we kill him, his blood will drench it.”
“Will that make a difference?” Sharmila asks.
Beranabus grimaces. “I doubt he’s there for show.”
“Astute as always,” Lord Loss murmurs through the unfortunate Cadaver. “You would have made a fine demon, Beranabus. You have wasted your talent on a far inferior species. But it’s not too late to change. Join us. Live forever as one of the rulers of the universes.”
“Live forever?”
Beranabus laughs. “Nonsense! All things die. That’s the nature of existence.”
“Nature is about to be reversed,” Lord Loss says.
“By whom?” Beranabus asks. “Your shadowy master? What’s his name? I can’t serve him if I don’t even know his name.”
Lord Loss tuts. “No names, not unless you join us.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen,” Beranabus sniffs. “And I don’t think you really expected me to switch sides. So why are we here? Do you want to gloat before your master kills us?”
“No,” Lord Loss says. Cadaver’s head swivels and his eyes fix on me. “We want Bec.”
Beranabus, Dervish, and Sharmila shuffle towards me, forming a protective barrier. I’m touched by their show of support.
“What do you want with me?” I ask in a small, trembling voice.
“Your piece of the Kah-Gash, of course,” Lord Loss says.
Beranabus puts a hand on the nape of my neck. His fingers are shaking. By reading his thoughts, I understand why. Though I’m afraid, I place my hand over his and squeeze, giving my assent.
“You can’t have her,” Beranabus croaks. “I won’t let a piece of the Kah-Gash fall into your foul hands. I’ll kill her first.”
“But you love her,” Lord Loss gasps with mock shock.
“Aye,” Beranabus says. “But I’ll kill her anyway.”
Kirilli is gaping at us, confused and dismayed. Dervish and Sharmila look distraught but resigned.
“Then kill her,” Lord Loss purrs, and I catch a glimpse of his wicked leer in Cadaver’s terror-stricken eyes. “It makes no difference. If she dies, the piece will be set free and faithful Juni will capture and deliver it to our new master. Death isn’t an obstacle to us, not any longer.”
Beranabus squints at Cadaver, not sure if this is a bluff.
“The piece was originally mine,” Lord Loss says petulantly. “It lay dormant within me for hundreds of thousands of years. But when I shared my magic with Bec, back when I wished to preserve humanity, it slipped from my body into hers.” Cadaver shakes a hairy finger at me.
“It can move from one being to another?” Beranabus frowns and his thoughts move quickly. He uses a spell to communicate directly with me.
Give it to me,
he whispers silently.
Pass it on.
I can’t,
I reply.
I don’t know how.
“Master,” Juni interrupts. “This window will close soon. If I am to return to your side, we must act now.”
“Of course,” Lord Loss says. “Wait a few moments more, my dear. Then you can come home.”
Cadaver bends forward over the lodestone, but his eyes remain rooted on us. “I must say farewell, old friends,” Lord Loss murmurs. “I don’t think any of you will survive the coming battle. You have caused me much displeasure over the years, but I shall miss you.”
His eyes settle on Dervish and he smiles. “Don’t worry about how Grubitsch will cope without you. He walked into a trap, just as you did. He will be dead soon if he isn’t already.”
Dervish hisses and starts to respond, but Lord Loss is looking at Sharmila now. “There will be much chaos before the end,” he tells her. “Humanity will be given time to scream before we cleanse the universe of its miserable stain. I will track down those you love and execute them personally. I will lavish extra attention on the children and babies.”
Sharmila is close to tears, but she holds them back and curses Lord Loss foully. He chuckles and his gaze flickers to Kirilli. The stage magician braces himself. “Go on,” he snarls manfully. “I can take any threat you dish out.”
“I don’t know who you are and I have no interest in you,” Lord Loss says dismissively, and Kirilli deflates.
“Bec,” the demon master hums, staring at me directly. “It has been such a long time since our paths —”
“Let’s get out of here,” I snap, backing away from the lodestone and the mound of dead bodies, having no desire to listen to more of his rhetoric.
“Aye,” Beranabus says, retreating beside me. He thrusts a hand in Juni’s direction, but she darts through the window before he can strike. A crazy, lingering cackle is her only parting shot at us.