Sharmila falls silent. Beranabus is chewing his right thumbnail, frowning.
“We could attack from their side,” Kernel suggests. “Cross universes, find the other end of the tunnel, hit them there.”
“They’ll be expecting that,” Beranabus mumbles. “They’ll have left a guard. Also, every demon within a million-world radius will be rushing to the tunnel, eager to squeeze through and get their claws on some humans before they’re all gone. We wouldn’t have a hope. We’re too late to do anything from that side. We stop them at Carcery Vale or nowhere.”
“Then Carcery Vale it is,” Kernel says, and stands. “When do we go?”
“Yes,” I say, taking my place beside Kernel. “When?” I expect him to say something cutting but he only looks at me calmly, then nods approvingly.
“Soon,” Beranabus mutters. “We’ll catch some sleep first, then —”
“Sleep?” I explode. “We can’t waste time —”
“Let me make this as clear as I can,” Beranabus cuts in. “Mankind is in its death throes. The war has come and gone. We lost. We’re going to give it one last try, hit Carcery Vale with all we have, go down fighting. But go down we certainly will, bar a miracle. And while I believe in miracles, I don’t think we’re going to experience one this time. When we go to the Vale, we go to die. And once we’re dead, the rest of humanity will soon follow.
“But we have to pretend that we do stand a chance. For the sake of our sanity, we must act like we believe we can pull this off. That means going in fresh and feisty, at our physical and mental best. So I’m going to sleep, fully aware that it will probably be my last-ever snooze—bar the never-ending slumber—but desperately hoping it will make the blindest bit of difference. I highly recommend that the rest of you follow suit.”
With that he stumbles to the rug that serves as his bed, lies down, closes his eyes, mutters a spell, and falls asleep.
“He is right,” Sharmila says softly. She looks at me and I see nothing but negativity in her eyes. “I hoped he would be able to offer hope, that he knew some secret way to stop this. But I could not believe it. We should sleep. Once we start, there might not be any later opportunities for rest.”
“I’ll find a blanket for you,” Kernel says.
“My thanks.”
While Kernel searches for a spare rug, Sharmila studies me. “What I said earlier about your uncle . . . I did not mean it. I just wanted someone to blame. I am sure it was not his fault. There are some things you cannot stop.”
“No problem,” I mutter, though part of me doesn’t agree with her. Dervish had been hoodwinked by Juni. He was probably frantic with worry about me. His mind was elsewhere. He wouldn’t have been focusing, doing his job. Maybe part of this is his fault—and mine—for not seeing through Juni Swan in the first place.
Kernel spreads a rug for Sharmila. She lies down as soon as it’s ready and repeats Beranabus’s sleeping spell. Her face goes smooth and I can tell she’s having pleasant dreams.
“How about you?” Kernel asks. “Want me to teach you the spell?”
“I don’t think so. It doesn’t feel right, sleeping at a time like this.”
Kernel shrugs. “If you don’t, you’ll only brood about what’s happened and what lies ahead.”
I think about that, then sigh wearily. “OK. Tell me.” Moments later magic sends me under and I tumble gratefully into the arms of a deliberately dreamless sleep.
Valkyries
IN Sharmila’s personal jet, streaking through the skies. I’d think that was cool any other time but I’m hard to impress right now. Versatile Sharmila is the pilot. There are six other seats. Beranabus has taken up the rear pair and is making a series of phone calls—we could have used a window to get to Carcery Vale and saved some time, but he wanted to talk with the Disciples first and maneuver them into position. Kernel is on the middle left, staring down at the clouds. I’m on the front right, flicking through newspapers.
Tales of mayhem and terror. Splash photos of demons and their victims. An array of monsters never dreamed of by most people until now. Long, sprawling lists of victims. Firsthand accounts from survivors. Speculation and theories—where are the Demonata from? What are their motives? How can we kill them?
That’s the most burning question—how to destroy the invaders. Mankind has never had to face an unstoppable enemy before. There have been countless movies and books about such encounters, and the aliens or monsters have always had a weak spot, an Achilles’ heel that some clean-cut champion has discovered and exploited in the nick of time. But that’s not the case here. The reports are from the early days of the invasion and there’s a hint of optimism in them. But even in these columns I can sense desperation as the realization seeps in—we can’t kill them!
There are a few reports about the Disciples, but they’re vague and patchy. Rumors of a group of experts with knowledge and experience of demons, but no mention of magic or names.
Some of the older papers still have ordinary sections, sports coverage, and gossip columns, the usual padding. An attempt to maintain normalcy. But the later editions focus solely on the Demonata. Nothing else, just page after page of horror and catastrophe.
I stop reading after half an hour. I’ve had enough. Humanity has hit a brick wall. We’re facing our end, like the dinosaurs millions of years before us. The only difference is we’ve got journalists on hand to document every blow and setback, cataloging our rapid, painful downfall in vibrant, vicious detail. Personally, I think the dinosaurs had the better deal. When it comes to impending, unavoidable extinction, ignorance is bliss.
We set down hours later on a private landing strip outside a small town close to the border where humans and demons are locked in battle. There are several other planes and helicopters parked at the sides of the strip. A large grey square building occupies one corner. We head for it once we’ve disembarked, Beranabus leading the way with the stride of a confident, commanding general.
Inside the building are eleven men and women, a mix of races. A couple aren’t much older than me, a few look to be in their seventies or eighties, while the others fall into the thirty-to-sixty bracket. Most are neatly dressed, though one or two could compete with Beranabus in the scruffiness stakes. They all looked tired and drained.
“Hail to the chief!” a large man in military fatigues shouts ironically, saluting Beranabus as he enters. There are letters tattooed on his knuckles and a shark’s head covers the flesh between knuckles and thumb. Like when Sharmila turned up at the cave, I know his face and name, even though we’ve never really met.
“Shark?” Beranabus scowls. “Sharmila thought you were dead.”
“When you broke contact, I feared the worst,” Sharmila says, shuffling around Beranabus.
“Couldn’t wait for the messiah forever,” Shark grunts. “There was fighting to be done. I was going to summon you back, but I knew you wouldn’t return without our regal leader.”
“I had to wait,” Sharmila says stiffly. “Beranabus is our best hope.”
Shark snorts. “Hope? What’s that? I heard about it once, in a fairy tale.”
“Be quiet,” Beranabus says softly, and the larger man obeys, though he eyes Beranabus accusingly, as though he blames the magician for our dire predicament. “Any more to join us?” Beranabus asks, addressing the question to the room in general.
“Two, maybe three,” a small, dark-skinned woman answers.
“Then I’ll start.” Beranabus looks around, meeting everybody’s gaze in turn. “I won’t offer false hope. We’re in deep trouble, and I doubt we’ll be able to wade out. But the war isn’t lost yet. If we can destroy the tunnel linking the two universes, the demons will be sucked back to their own realm.”
There are excited mutterings. “Are you sure?” Shark asks suspiciously. “You’re not just saying that to rally our spirits?”
“Have I ever lied to any of you?” Beranabus retorts sharply. He waits a moment. When nobody respond
s, he continues. “One of Lord Loss’s human allies killed a person in the cave in order to prime the tunnel opening. The killer later joined with the rock where the mouth of the tunnel was originally situated. He or she has become a living part of the opening. If we dismantle the tunnel walls, the killer dies, the demons get sucked back to their own universe, and all will be well with the world.”
“How do we close the tunnel?” Sharmila asks.
“There’s a lodestone set deep within the cave,” Beranabus says. “The demons are using its power. If I can reach it, I know the spells to disable it and rid us of our unwelcome guests. I’ll need somebody to help me inside the cave—Kernel or Grubbs. The rest of you only have to concern yourselves with getting us there.”
“You want us to clear the way for you, even if it costs us our lives,” Shark growls.
“Aye,” Beranabus says. “This is a suicide mission. We’re going to drop into a nest of demons. They’ll be waiting for us, expecting an attack. They’ll outnumber us, and many are probably more powerful than we are. Our chances of making it to the lodestone are slim. Even if the boys and I get through, the rest of you are doomed—you’ll need to continue fighting while I cast the spells, to guard our backs. I doubt any of you will survive.”
“That’s a lot to ask,” Shark says icily.
“It’s no more than I ask of myself. Sacrifice opened this tunnel, and only sacrifice can close it.” He glances at Kernel and me, hesitates, then pushes on. “For the spell to work, I must kill Kernel or Grubbs. If they both perish along the way, I’ll offer my own life. I think I can make that work. Whatever happens, it’s a death trip for me. I have to get deep inside the tunnel to work the spell. Once it’s finished, I won’t be able to fight my way out. I’m too old and weary.”
Beranabus looks straight at Shark and awaits his response. The big man shrugs thoughtfully, and Beranabus addresses the room again. “I don’t think any of us will make it through this day. But if we succeed, humanity will go on.”
“Until another tunnel is opened,” Sharmila notes. “If we all perish, who will protect mankind the next time?”
“That’s not our problem,” Beranabus says. “I believe the universe will spit out more heroes to lead the good fight. But whatever happens, it’s out of our hands. This is what we must do to counter the present threat. Are you with me? If any of you aren’t, say so now and leave the rest of us to get on with it.”
Nobody backs down from the challenge. Most don’t look very happy—who the hell would!—but they accept the magician’s verdict. Seeing this, Beranabus smiles approvingly, then circulates, chatting with the Disciples individually, making sure they’re prepared for the fight, offering advice and strategic tips, raising morale.
Kernel and I are in the middle of the room, looking at each other uncertainly. Beranabus’s announcement that one of us must be sacrificed came out of the blue. Neither of us knows what to say. It’s one thing to go into a fight knowing you’ll probably lose. Quite another to be told that to win, you must offer up your throat to be slit.
Sharmila approaches, smiling thinly. “He did not tell you that you were to be killed?”
“He’s a busy man,” Kernel snaps. “He doesn’t have time to tell us everything.”
Sharmila sighs. “You are loyal. That is good. But are you loyal to the point of death? Will you allow yourself to be slaughtered?” She looks at me. “Will you?”
“We’ll do what we must,” Kernel says fiercely. “We’re not ignorant children. We know our duty. If we have to die, so be it. We’d rather not, but we’ll be killed by the demons anyway if we lose, and probably more painfully and slowly.”
Sharmila tilts her head toward us. “I apologize if I seemed critical. But I had to know the nature of the boys I am to fight and die for. Now I am confident that you will not fail if the opportunity presents itself. Thank you for reassuring me.”
She wanders off to talk with Beranabus. Kernel looks sideways at me. “I normally wouldn’t give another person’s word for them, especially when I’m not sure of it, but it seemed like the right thing to say.”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” I reply stiffly. “I won’t let us down.”
“I wish I could believe that.” He doesn’t say it to hurt me. Just speaking the truth as he sees it.
“I chickened out in the Demonata’s universe,” I whisper, blushing. “But this is different. I’ll fight. And I’ll die if I have to. I’m not afraid of dying, no more than anybody else in this room.”
“Really?” Kernel’s unconvinced. “If I fall, and you and Beranabus make it to the lodestone, you’ll let him drive a knife through your heart or chop off your head?”
“Without a moment’s hesitation. Not because I’m incredibly brave, but because I’m terribly afraid.” I give a sickly laugh. “If I don’t let him kill me, it would mean fighting to survive in a world overrun by demons. The thought of that scares me more than death.”
Kernel chuckles. “Know something crazy? I believe you.” He offers his hand and I take it. “Good luck, Grubbs.”
“Good luck.”
“May we both die honorably,” he says.
“And take every damn demon down with us,” I add with a twisted grin.
Tooling up. Everybody arms themselves with guns, knives, axes—pretty much anything we can carry. Demons can’t be killed by regular weapons, but we can invest the blades and bullets with magical powers.
“How many of the Disciples are capable of killing demons?” I ask Kernel, testing short swords for feel and weight.
“In this universe?” He pulls a face. “If it was a normal crossing . . . Sharmila, Shark, one or two others. But there’s more energy in the air because it’s a tunnel, not a window. Others should be able to tap into that and find the ability to kill. If we’re lucky.”
One more Disciple arrives while we’re getting ready. An ancient, tiny woman who walks with the aid of a cane. The sight of her picking up a mace and swinging it over her head makes me smile. A few of the others grin too. But then she mutters a quick spell and a crop of seven-inch-long blades grow out of the mace head, which glows with magical energy. Nobody doubts her after that.
Then it’s to the helicopters that Shark has arranged through his contacts in various armies. We’re going to fly in and set down as close to the cave entrance as we can. Three helicopters, five of us to each. I’m with Beranabus, Kernel, Shark, and Sharmila—the core of the force. Our pilot’s an ordinary human, as are the other two. Soldiers on loan from the forces currently engaged in hopeless warfare with the Demonata. Shark has told a few commanders of our plan. They’ve handed him control of their troops and will do whatever else they can to assist.
The helicopter rises smoothly, as if the ground is dropping away. I haven’t been in a helicopter before. It’s a curious sensation. Not as much of a blast as flying through the sky with Beranabus, but way more interesting than a plane.
“I never thought I’d be doing this,” Shark bellows over the noise of the whirring blades. He’s smiling. “How often does the chance come along to end a war? You see it all the time in films, but in real life wars are decided over a variety of fronts and battles. It’s possible to play an important role in victory, but only a limited part. To actually be charged with the task of going in and saving the world . . .” He whoops with joy.
“I’m glad you’re having fun,” Kernel remarks sarcastically.
“Damn straight I am,” he hollers. “Might as well—we’re going to die regardless.”
I turn my attention away from the battle-hungry Shark. He’s probably got the right attitude for a fight like this, but I find his gung-ho approach tasteless and disturbing. This isn’t a game. We’re not competing for a trophy. If we lose, we take humanity down with us. I don’t see how you can be anything but stone-cold miserable when burdened with a responsibility like that.
Looking down as we whiz along, closing in on Carcery Vale. We’re deep into Demonata t
erritory now. This used to be my home. Not anymore. It’s theirs now. Abandoned cars. Burning buildings. Pools of blood smear the roads and fields. Slaughtered animals and humans everywhere, some cut up into bits and strewn about the place, others arranged in obscene patterns by the demons, either for their own amusement or to scare anyone who ventures into their realm.
I spot a few of the monsters messing with bodies on the ground. I don’t look closely enough to determine whether their victims are alive or dead. I turn my gaze away and pray for their sakes that they’re corpses.
Others are lounging in trees or in patches of shade, sheltering from the sun. Although stronger demons can move about during the day, they don’t like sunlight and aren’t as powerful as they are at night. The land would be teeming with lots more of the beasts if we were a few hours later in the day.
The outskirts of Carcery Vale. More of a visible demonic presence. Most of the buildings are ripped to pieces. Bodies scattered everywhere. We fly over my old school—dozens of children and teachers are impaled on spikes, grey and red, covered in feasting flies, slowly rotting.
For the first time I think about my friends. Until now I’ve been fixed on Dervish and Bill-E. But all the others will have fallen to the Demonata too. Frank, Mary, Leon, Shannon . . . Reni. I rip my gaze away from the bodies in case I spot the face of someone I know. Tears come but I fight them back. I can’t think about my friends, not even my uncle and brother. The best—only—way I can avenge them is by focusing on the demons and the battle. No room for pity, doubt, or fear. Mustn’t imagine them suffering, the pain they must have gone through, whether any escaped. The demons. The cave. Dying. These should be my only concerns.
The air above the Vale is thick with planes and helicopters. Shark ordered the regular troops in ahead of us. They’ve been blanket-bombing the area for the past twenty minutes, most of their force aimed at the demons around the entrance to the cave, disrupting them, blowing up the bodies of the lesser demons. The effects are temporary—the demons will piece themselves back together once the shelling stops—but any minor advantage is a bonus.
Zoning in on the cave. I don’t recognize the area anymore. There used to be a forest here at the back of our house, stretching all the way to Carcery Vale and for many miles in other directions. Now it’s been firebombed into oblivion. The land is ash and tree stumps. Bare, scarred, dead. It resembles the face of an asteroid. Doesn’t belong to this world. Something from outer space or a bad dream.
We fly over the rubbly ruins of a large building. We’re several seconds past it before I realize—that wreck used to be my home! The wonderful three-story mansion has been reduced to a skeletal shell. I’m almost glad Dervish isn’t here to see it. He loved that house. The sight of it in this sorry state would bring tears to his eyes.
The pilot’s in constant contact with the other aircraft, snapping orders and directions, carefully maneuvering his way through the fleet. If he’s scared, he doesn’t show it. I wish the fighting could be left to the professionals like him. But I guess ordinary people always get sucked into battles. It’s the nature of warfare.
“Like a scene out of hell, isn’t it?” Shark notes with relish, stroking the long, gleaming barrel of a machine gun hanging from his neck.