Demon Apocalypse

With a nervous glance around, I hasten after the shabbily dressed man. Several minutes later we come to the mouth of a cave. Not having had the best experience of caves recently, I pause and peer suspiciously into the shadows.

“It’s fine,” Beranabus assures me. “This is a safe place, protected by its natural position and the strongest spells I could muster. You have nothing to fear.”

“That’s easily said,” I grunt, unconvinced.

Beranabus smiles. He has crooked, stained teeth. This close I can see that his small eyes are grey and his skin is pale beneath a covering of grime and dirt. He’s wearing an old, dusty suit. The only fresh thing about him is a small posy of flowers jutting out of one of his buttonholes.

“If I wanted to harm you,” he says, “I could have done so already, with far less effort than it would take on the ground. That should be self-evident.”

“I know,” I mutter. “It’s just… I don’t like caves.”

“With good reason,” he says understandingly. “But this isn’t like the cave in Carcery Vale. You’ll be safe here. I promise.”

I hesitate a moment longer, then shrug. “What the hell,” I grunt and push ahead of Beranabus, acting like I couldn’t care less.

The cave only runs back four or five metres, then stops. I look for a way out, studying the walls and floor, but I can’t see any. “Are you like a monk who doesn’t believe in material possessions?” I ask.

“No,” Beranabus says, squeezing past me. He touches the ground and mutters a few words of magic. A hole appears. There’s a rope ladder attached to the wall at one side, leading down into the dark.

I move to the edge of the hole and look down nervously. There are torches set in the walls, so it’s not as dark as it seemed at first. But it runs a long way down and I can only vaguely see the bottom.

“I thought you said a magician didn’t need to cast spells,” I say, delaying the moment when I have to descend.

“Most of the time,” Beranabus reminds me. “There are occasions when even the strongest of us must focus our magical energy with words.” He sits and swings his legs into the hole. Turns, grabs the ladder and starts down. Looks up at me before his head bobs beneath my feet. “This will close in a few minutes. If you’re coming, get a move on.”

“Just waiting for you to get out of my way,” I retort. Then, when his head’s clear, I ignore the butterflies in my stomach, sit, turn and climb down the swaying ladder after him.

The hole closes with a small grinding noise before I hit the ground. I try not to think about the fact that I’m shut off from the world. At the base I step clear of the ladder and find myself in a large, bright cave. There are chairs, a sofa, a long table at one end with a vase of flowers on it, a few statues, books, chests of drawers, other bits and pieces. There’s also a fire in the middle of the cave, by which a bald, dark-skinned boy sits warming his hands.

“I’m back,” Beranabus calls.

“I noticed,” the boy replies without looking around.

“I’ve brought a guest.”

The boy’s head turns a fraction. He has bright blue eyes and a sour expression. “I thought you were going to kill him.”

I stiffen as Beranabus scowls. “I said I might have to kill him.”

“What do you—” I start to ask angrily.

“Later,” Beranabus soothes me, then points to a blanket spread out on the ground close to the wall. “Get some sleep. I will too. Later we can have a long discussion over a hot meal.”

“You think I can sleep after all that’s happened?” I snort.

“I know you can,” Beranabus says. “Magic. All you have to do is imagine it and you’ll sleep like a baby.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“You’re exhausted. You need rest, so you can focus on our conversation and ask all the questions I’m sure are welling up inside you. You wouldn’t be able to process my answers in your current state.”

I don’t want to sleep—I want to tear straight into the explanations—but what he says makes sense. Just keeping my eyelids open is a major effort at the moment.

“One thing first,” I mutter. “Dervish and Bill-E—are they OK?”

Beranabus shrugs. “I think so.”

“You’re not sure?”

“No. But Lord Loss and Juni—” For some reason he sneers as he says her name. “—don’t know where we went once we left the plane. I doubt Juni would risk going back in case we got there before her.”

“You’ll warn Dervish?” I ask. “About Juni working with Lord Loss?”

“I can’t contact him immediately,” Beranabus says, “but I’ll get word to him as soon as I can. He’ll have to fend for himself until then.”

That’s not satisfactory, but it’s the best he’s going to offer. So, since I’m worn out, and there’s nothing I could do even if I was on top form, I stumble to the blanket and lie down fully clothed. I doubt I can fall asleep as easily as Beranabus expects, but as soon as I close my eyes and think about it, I find myself going under. Seconds later I’m comatose.

POWER OF THE BEAST

A loaf of fresh bread is waved underneath my nose. I come out of sleep smiling, the scent of warm goodness filling my nostrils. For a few groggy moments I think I’m at home with Dervish, it’s a Sunday morning, no school, no worries, a long, lazy day stretching deliriously ahead of me.

Then my eyes focus. I see the lined fingers clutching the bread and the bearded face beyond. I remember. And all the good thoughts disappear in an instant.

“How long was I asleep?” I yawn, sitting up, wincing from the pain in my back—I’m not used to sleeping on a stone floor.

“Many hours,” Beranabus says, handing me the bread.

“Eight? Ten? Twelve?”

He shrugs.

I look for my watch, but the strap must have snapped during the night of my turning. Standing, I rub the sides of my back, stretch and groan. “Haven’t you heard of beds?” I complain.

“You’ll grow accustomed to the floor after a few months.”

I squint at him. Months? I’ve no intention of being here that long. But before I can challenge him, he walks over to the fire where the sour-faced boy is still perched close to the flames. I follow, tearing a chunk out of the loaf, gobbling it. The bread’s chewy and I haven’t any butter, but I’m so hungry I could happily eat cardboard.

Beranabus sits close to the boy. I stay on my feet, studying the curious couple. Ancient Beranabus and the teenager, not much older than me. The shabby, bearded, hairy, suited magician and the boy—his apprentice or servant?—in drab but clean clothes, completely bald. The boy’s dark flesh is laced with small scars and fading bruises. The tips of the two smallest fingers on his left hand are missing. His eyes have a faraway, miserable look. He wears no shoes. Beranabus is barefoot too, his boots discarded.

“Grubitsch Grady meet Kernel Fleck,” Beranabus introduces us.

“Grubbs,” I correct him, sticking out a hand. The boy only grunts. “What about your name?” I ask, trying to be friendly despite his cold welcome. “Is it Colonel, like in the army?”

“No. Kernel, like in popcorn,” Beranabus answers after a few seconds of stony silence. “It’s short for something longer, but neither of us can remember what.”

Kernel sniffs and faces the fire. There are sausages speared to a stick close by. He picks up the stick and jams the sausages into the flames. Mutters a spell. The heat of the fire increases and the sausages cook in