The Demonata 6-10. Darren Shan
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 deliciously 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 seconds. He takes one off, blows on it and eats it, then takes off another and gives it to Beranabus. After a pause, he removes a third sausage and offers it to me.
“Thanks,” I say, biting into it. Too hot, but delicious. I ravenously munch my way through it, then gratefully accept another.
“Kernel does most of the cooking,” Beranabus says, holding a sausage in one hand, picking at dirt beneath the nails of his right foot with the other.
“I have to,” Kernel says. “He’d eat the food raw if I didn’t.”
“It’s all the same once your stomach processes it,” Beranabus snorts. “Hot, cold, cooked, raw… it doesn’t make any difference when you’re squatting over a hole.”
“A hole?” I frown.
“No toilets,” Kernel says, looking at Beranabus sourly.
Kernel cooks some chicken legs, again using his spell. (I wonder where they get the food from, but don’t ask.) He piles them on a dusty, cracked plate, then cooks some ribs and potatoes. That done, he takes what he wants from the plate and passes it across.
Bernabus bites into his chicken leg, then looks over at me. “Tell me everything about the last few months. I know a lot already, but I want the complete story. When you realised your body was changing, how the magic developed, the way you dealt with it.”
“I thought you were the one meant to provide answers.”
“I will,” he promises. “But you first. It will make my job easier.”
While we eat, I fill him in on all that happened, discovering my magical ability after Slawter, fighting it, the sickness, using magic to counter the threat of the werewolf.
“Why did you fight the magic in the first place?” he interrupts. “Most people would be thrilled if they found themselves in your position.”
“I know what magic entails,” I say quietly. “It’s linked to the Demonata. I’ve been part of that crazy universe before. I didn’t want to get sucked into it again.”
Beranabus and Kernel share a look. Then Beranabus tells me to continue.
I explain about the cave we unearthed in Carcery Vale, going there under the influence of the beast, digging through the rubble blocking the entrance, Loch’s accident, Dervish covering up, Juni entering our lives.
“Who’s Juni Swan?” Kernel asks Beranabus.
“One of Lord Loss’s assistants,” Beranabus says, squinting. “Actually she…” He stops and clears his throat. “We can discuss Miss Swan and her background later. Finish, please, Grubitsch.”
“It’s Grubbs,” I correct him again, then cover the last couple of days and nights, the werewolf taking over, killing Bill-E’s grandparents, Juni whipping me out of town and betraying me on the plane. I tell the story as quickly as I can, eager to get it out of the way. I don’t go into all the details, like the voice and the face in the rock, figuring they’re not important. I can tell