Dark Calling

“The sky demon,” I say slowly. “Did you see it?”

“Yes. There were more, a convoy of them in the sky.”

“Where were they going?”

“Other worlds.” Art sighs. “There were stones of magic hanging beneath it. You call them lodestones. We set such markers in place on all the worlds we visit. They help us hold the Demonata at bay and give the inhabitants of the planets a chance to evolve.

“The defensive power of the stones fades when we move on. As the safety net crumbles, demons seek to open windows and tunnels. If they succeed, they wipe the world clean. Then, in most cases, they return to their own universe. But sometimes on a world where lodestones are plentiful, they use it as a base to launch more attacks.

“The sky demon and its passengers are heading for neighboring worlds, using the stolen, corrupted magic of the lodestones to sustain them. It will take millennia, but they are patient. The power will drain from the stones eventually and they’ll have to return home, but that might not be for millions of years.”

“And as long as the stones hold, they can stay in this universe?” I ask, feeling sick.

“Yes.”

“How far is that sky demon from Earth?”

“Billions of miles. It will never trouble your people.”

“But if it was setting off from a nearer world, like Atlantis, it could descend on us one day, carrying hordes of demons?”

“Yes,” Art says.

“Is our universe full of sky demons, slowly making their way from one world to the next?”

“Hardly full of,” Art mutters. “But there are many of them.”

“Then we can’t beat them,” I croak. “We thought if we stopped them crossing, we were safe. But if armies are already here, making their way towards us…”

“All worlds will fall eventually,” Art says glumly. “All beings will die. That is the nature of the universe. Nothing is forever. Death claims all things in the end.”

“Sure,” I grunt bitterly. “But I didn’t know there were scores of demons cruising the skies, working hard to wipe us out.”

“It is not an issue,” Art says. “Your world will have fallen long before any sky demon reaches it.”

My eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”

“The lodestones are a temporary form of protection,” he says. “Demons always cross. The only hope any beings have is to master the skies. If a species learns to move on to other worlds, they can stay ahead of the Demonata. Your people haven’t made that crucial step to the stars. Your planet will fall within the next year. It is inescapable.”

My jaw drops, then firmly closes. I breathe in and out through my nostrils, waiting until I’m calm. When I’m in control, I say very clearly, “I want to go home.”

“It would be pointless,” Art says. “You could do nothing to stop it.”

“I have to try. Even if I fail, I want to be there at the end. If Earth’s going to fall, I’ll fall with it.”

“No,” Art says. “You have a greater destiny.”

“I don’t care about—” I begin to snarl.

“Life must continue,” Art interrupts. “We realized, billions of years ago, that this universe was doomed. The Demonata are stronger than those who populate our worlds. In time they’ll conquer all. We devoted ourselves to denying them that victory. We vowed to find a way to ensure life continued.”

“I thought you said all things perish.”

“Ultimately,” he replies. “This universe is a living thing, and it will die of old age eventually. But we can make sure that the end comes in its own time, not at the hands of the Demonata. If you help us.”

I’m silent a long time. I can’t understand everything Art is talking about, but if he’s right… if there’s some way to thwart the plans of the Demonata…

“How much farther do we have to go?” I ask.

“Not far,” Art says. “Another day, perhaps, and we will reach the Crux.”

“And you’ll tell me everything?” I press. “No more riddles or half-answers?”

“Everything will be revealed,” Art promises. “After that you can stay or go as you please.”

“Then I’ll come,” I sigh, and although my intentions are good, it feels like I’ve just sold my soul to the devil —or worse.

THE CRUX

More worlds and chambers. Pretty much all of the planets have fallen. They feel old and cold. Art says these were some of the earliest settled worlds, the first planets that the Old Creatures populated.

“You’re like gods,” I mutter. “You spread life across the universe.”

“We nurture life,” Art corrects me. “We don’t create it. We don’t know where the living things of this universe came from, how life was born out of fire and chaos. There are forces at work beyond even our knowledge.”

“Then gods—or God—might be real?” I press.

“Perhaps.”

“What about an afterlife?” I ask. “Do you know what happens to our souls when we die?”

“No,” Art says. “We will talk more about that later, but first…”

We’re approaching a small window. We’ve been moving at a constant speed, but now Art slows.

“We are almost at the Crux,” he says, and there’s a nervous edge to his voice. I feel the ball of light tighten around me.

“What are you doing?” I ask suspiciously.

“The Crux is a place of great danger,” he replies. “We cannot stay long, and I must cling tightly to you while we’re there, or you will be disintegrated.”

“Hold on!” I yelp. “You never said anything about disintegration!”

“I didn’t want to frighten you,” Art chuckles.

I stare anxiously at the window, wondering if there’s anything I can do to stop this.

“Don’t be afraid,” Art says. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Wait!” I cry as we draw close. “Have you ever taken anyone like me into the Crux before?”

Art hesitates, then says sheepishly, “No.”

“Then how do you know—”

Before I can finish, we smash through the window and I scream at the top of my lungs, as if riding the wildest roller coaster in the universe.

As soon as we slip through the window, the temperature skyrockets. We’re gliding towards a massive orb of seething fire. This must be what the sun is like close up. The space around us throbs with magical energy. I sense Art tapping into that magic, using it to shield us from the unbelievable heat, glare, and radiation. I can’t imagine anything non-magical surviving here.

We zip closer to the ball of fire. It shimmers savagely as I stare at it, awestruck and horrified. It doesn’t have a constant shape. The edges buckle and warp, bulge out, then twist back in on themselves. Pillars of flame shoot from the surface, spiral around the face of the orb, and are absorbed by it again. Sometimes it turns a blinding white shade. Other times it goes black and becomes almost invisible against the expanse of space around it. Most of the time it flickers between the two colors, waves of fire lashing across the surface and bubbling over without pause.

The sun-like ball terrifies me. It’s not just the heat. Being here is wrong. I feel like I’m breaking a sacred law by looking at this wild globe of wondrous fire.

“We’ve broken more laws than you could imagine by bringing you here,” Art says. “But we cannot always be prisoners of the laws we live by. Sometimes we have to transcend them.”