Dark Calling (18 page)

As the others prepare for battle, I use the lights to pinpoint the position of our enemies. I still can’t get a fix on Death, even though I now know its identity. But I find Lord Loss and Juni Swan easily enough. They’re on a world I’ve never been to, surrounded by thousands… no,
millions
of demons. The thought of entering the midst of such an army is terrifying.

I think of telling the others, but what’s the point? We have to do this. Bec, Dervish, and Grubbs for personal reasons, me because I believe—
hope
—Beranabus can reveal something about Death which will give us the power to defeat it. If all goes well, we won’t have to face the demons, just their shadowy master. If it goes poorly…

Best not to dwell on that.

I turn my thoughts away from demons. Breathing calmly, I focus on Beranabus. Lights begin to pulse, but there aren’t many of them and I have a tough time piecing them together. Normally lights flock to me when I summon them but these patches resist. I have to focus harder than I’ve ever had to, and even then they only drift towards me sluggishly, reluctantly.

Gritting my teeth, I bully the patches into place, slotting them together as if they were pieces of a crudely carved jigsaw puzzle. I’m aware of time ticking, the others growing impatient, especially the werewolves, who howl and hammer the ground with their fists, eager for action.

I push the distractions from my mind and focus on the lights. Normally I can multitask, chat with others while I’m working on a window. Not now. This will take everything I have. I’m doing something no one has ever done before, breaching the barriers of life itself.

Eventually, after hours of fierce concentration, when I’m starting to think it’s impossible, a small window opens. It’s an unimpressive, jagged panel of brown light, and it flickers alarmingly at the edges. But I don’t care. It shouldn’t by rights be open at all, so I’m more proud of it than any window I’ve ever created.

“Come on,” I shout, reacting quickly to push the outermost lights back in place before they can buckle. “This will only hold for a few seconds.”

“Where does it—” Grubbs starts to ask.

“No time!” I yell. “We have to go
now
or not at all.”

“Then let’s go,” Grubbs grunts and dives blindly through the window.

The werewolves rush after him. When the last of the sixteen has vanished, a nervous Meera crosses, followed by Bec. Kirilli steps forward but hesitates.

“I really don’t want to do this,” he mutters.

“Too bad!” Dervish laughs and pushes the startled stage magician through.

“Hurry,” I gasp, feeling the window start to disintegrate.

Dervish ducks past my whirring arms. As soon as he’s out of sight, I throw myself after him. I sense the window collapse as I sail through. Whatever happens next, whatever dire mess we wind up in, there’s no quick way out. We’re in this to the end, whether we like it or not.

  I find myself in a realm of shadows, dark and swirling. The shadows whip at me and then flit away as if blown by a strong wind. But there’s no wind here, just the ever-circling shades of the dead.

I was expecting cries and moans of torment, but it’s silent. That surprises me. At the least I should be able to hear the howls of the werewolves. But when I open my mouth to call for the others—I can’t see any of them—I realize why it’s so quiet. Sounds don’t carry. Though I shout at the top of my voice, nothing emerges.

I hunker down, fighting the dark wisps which threaten to bowl me over and sweep me away. There’s no floor, just banks of shadows all around. I’m not floating. It’s more like being stuck in a pool of mud.

I try to create a ball of light but nothing happens. There’s magic here, waves of energy washing between the shadowy souls and binding them, but it’s a different type of magic and I’m unable to channel it.

As I try again, something solid strikes my left shoulder. Cringing away from my assailant, I peer through the streams of shadows masking my eyes. I spy a bulky shape bearing down on me. Impossible to tell if it’s friend or foe. I back up, desperately scouring the space around me for a trace of magic I can use. Then a pair of huge hands grasps my arms and tugs me to a halt. A face thrusts up next to mine. It’s a fearsome, demonic face, and my first instinct is to lash out. But as a veil of shadows whisks away from over the creature’s eyes, I realize it’s Grubbs.

He says something. I shake my head and mouth back the words, “I can’t hear.”

Grubbs narrows his eyes. Nothing happens for a few seconds. Then I hear his voice inside my head. “— me now? Can you hear
me now? Can you—”

“Yes,” I stop him, replying silently, thinking the words instead of voicing them.

“Are you able to channel the magic?” he asks.

“No.”

He tuts, then grins. “I couldn’t either. Nobody could. But Bec adapted swiftly and showed the rest of us. Come on.”

He leads me through the shadows, half-staggering, half-swimming. The others aren’t far away—they’re grouped together, Bec
at the center, the rest huddled round her, lit dimly by flickering balls of light which she has generated. They all look scared,
especially Kirilli. Even the werewolves are subdued, whining silently and glancing around uneasily.

Once I’m in physical contact with the group, Bec speaks. “We haven’t much time. Death isn’t aware of us yet but it will discover
us soon. You have to find Beranabus and Bill-E as quickly as possible.”

I realize she’s talking to me. “How can I find them?” I protest. “I opened the window and brought us here. What more can I
do?”

“You’re the eyes of the Kah-Gash,” she snaps. “You see more than any of us. To me there’s no difference in the shadows. They
all look the same. But I’m sure you can see more.”

“Well, I can’t,” I snarl, hating the way she’s heaping the pressure onto me.

A wave of energy floods through me, opening doors within my brain, clearing passageways. Suddenly I find myself absorbing
and converting the magic of Death. I fill with power and breathe out easily, smiling at the buzz of it.

“How did you do that?” I ask, relaxed and cool.

“I used my gift,” Bec says. “Now use yours and
look.
”

Still smiling, I cast my gaze around and see that Bec was right. Now that I’ve tapped into the magic, the shadows have taken
on a new consistency. There are thousands of individual shards and shapes whirling around us, no two alike. I can’t believe
I didn’t see them before. Each has its own shade, form, and way of moving. They’re all a grey-black color, but there are more
variants of grey and black than I would have dreamed possible.

My first thought is, “So this is what souls look like.” But that’s not right. This is only what they look like
here.
Death has taken these unfortunates and molded them into what it wanted them to be.

As I study the souls, I extend my thoughts, focusing on individuals, trying to communicate. Nothing happens for a while. Then,
all of a sudden, I’m struck by a burst of voices, screams and yowls, tormented cries for help and release. Wincing, I shut
out the noises. After a brief pause, I open myself to the voices again but put filters in place, blocking out the worst of
the background noise.

“Who are you?” I ask a nearby shadow as it floats past.

“Free me!” it screams.

“Who are you?” I shout again, but it only repeats its plea. Others that I focus on are the same, impossible to question, wailing
for freedom.

I turn to tell the others but I don’t need to. Bec has been in touch with me the whole time and has broadcast the short snippets
to the rest. They look distraught. The suffering of these souls is awful. In life, no matter how bad things get, at least
you have the release of death to look forward to, the belief that no matter what lies beyond, nothing can be as bad as
this.

But these people have shuffled off their mortal coils, only to find themselves ensnared by the force they were relying on
to set them free. Every soul here knows it wasn’t meant for this hellish realm. Having escaped the confines of natural life,
they’ve found themselves caught in an unnatural web and it’s driven them insane.

“We have to get out of here!” Kirilli shrieks. “We can’t help them!”

“Bran won’t have given in to madness,” Bec insists. “Find him, Kernel. He won’t have surrendered. Not Bran.”

I don’t have her faith in the ancient magician but I search anyway. Using the magic of Death, I send a radar-like cry out
in all directions, calling for Beranabus, trying to locate his position. Once I’ve sent the signal, I wait for it to echo
back. If he’s still conscious, he’ll respond. But if he’s like the others… if he’s lost his senses and forgotten his name…
become just a swirling shadow with no idea of self…

“Bill-E,” Grubbs snarls as we wait. “Look for Bill-E too.”

“I will,” I tell him, “but give me time. Beranabus first. If we—”

I stop, jaw dropping. Because an answering burst of energy has echoed back to me from a point far away.

“Was that Bran?” Bec hisses.

“I think so,” I say hesitantly. “But it was very weak. I guess there’s only one way to find out.” I look around to make sure
everyone’s ready, then start forward, wading through the sluggish swirls of shadows, repeating the signal, zoning in on the
area where the soul of Beranabus seems to be signaling back.

  We reach the place where the response came from. I don’t see anything different at first. It looks like any other part of
this wretched no man’s land. The souls cluster and swirl around us. I call Beranabus’s name but there’s no reply. I study
the river of souls but it’s impossible to say who they might have belonged to in life. Maybe the reply was a fluke, or I only
heard—

“That was always your problem,” a voice snaps inside my head. “You take too many things into consideration.”

“Bran!” Bec cries, head whipping from side to side, searching the gloom for her childhood friend.

“I’m here,” Beranabus says, and I trace the voice to a shadow circling overhead, no more remarkable than any other.

“Where is he?” Bec shouts. “I can’t see him.”

“Relax, Little One,” Beranabus hushes her. “Kernel’s the only one who can see me. You’ll have to be content with my voice.
Not that it’s a bad voice. I’ve roared down demon masters in my time.”

I burst out laughing. This is the most incredible thing ever. I never thought I’d be in direct contact with my old mentor
again. But before I can tell him how sorry I am that he was killed, Grubbs shouts at the dead magician.

“Is Bill-E here?” he cries.

“Aye,” Beranabus rumbles.

“Where? Let me talk with him. Bill-E!” Grubbs swivels wildly, shouting his dead brother’s name.

“Were you always this stupid or is it a result of your recent metamorphosis?” Beranabus snaps. “I was thousands of years old
when I died, more powerful than any human in history. Yet it took everything I had to hold my thoughts together and not become
one of the wailing cretins this place is stuffed with. Do you really think your young brother fought off the madness that
all the others succumbed to?”

Grubbs draws to a stop and turns to face me, his eyes cold with hatred. “Show me where that vile old buzzard is. I’ll kill
him again.”

Beranabus laughs cruelly. “Control yourself. I never put things politely when I was alive, so I’m hardly going to start now
that I’m dead! Your brother’s here, he’s lost his mind and is suffering, and unless you free us all, he’ll remain trapped
indefinitely.”

“Then we
can
free you?” Bec shouts hopefully.

“I think so,” Beranabus mutters. “That’s not why I told you to ask Kernel to find me, but it will certainly be a bonus. I
can’t hold my mind together much longer. The effort…” In those few words I get the sense of how close Beranabus is to snapping.
Despite his brave front, he’s terrified.

“Before we try that,” Beranabus says more brightly, “I want to know everything that’s happened since I died. Bec—open your
thoughts to me.”

The shadow of Beranabus’s soul darts closer to Bec and hovers over the girl’s head. A tendril gently touches her forehead.
She closes her eyes and smiles. I get the impression of memories being transferred, like data being uploaded from one computer
to another. Then Beranabus sighs.