The Demonata 1-5. Darren Shan
game.”
The demons chatter and gibber madly. The flames in Artery’s eyes flare and he hisses at his lord, shaking his head negatively. Vein snaps her jaws open and shut, then turns again on Dervish.
“You will obey me,” Lord Loss says softly, “or I shall have your heads.”
The demons pause. Then Vein clamps her teeth around Dervish’s arm. Dervish screams. A blinding red light fills the cellar. I shut my eyes and cover my face with my arms. When I dare look again, Vein’s lying in scraps of bloody flesh around my uncle. Artery has backed up to one of the webs and is whimpering fearfully.
Lord Loss floats over to Dervish and studies him blankly as he sits up and sets to work on his injuries, using magic to patch himself back together.
“I won,” I remark, carefully approaching my preoccupied uncle, wary of Lord Loss — he might have killed the rebellious Vein, but I still don’t trust him.
“So I see,” Dervish says, not glancing up from his wounds.
I’m bitterly disappointed by his reaction. I expected cheers and tears, hugging and back-slapping — not this.
“You needn’t sound so excited about it,” I sniff.
Dervish looks up at me. A thin smile crosses his lips, then vanishes. “I’m delighted, Grubbs,” he sighs. “Truly. But this isn’t over for me. I have to fight Lord Loss now, and it’s a fight I probably won’t win. So while I’m ecstatic for you and Billy, I’m a little too worried about myself to celebrate.”
“What are you talking about? We won. I beat him. We can…”
I stop, recalling the full rules of the challenge. Lord Loss is under oath to cure the person affected by lycanthropy if he loses at chess — but the one who beats him has to travel to the Demonata’s universe and fight him there.
“But I beat him!” I cry, stooping to catch Dervish’s eye. “I’m the one who has to go with him and–”
“No,” Dervish interrupts. “The player always goes, while the one who fought the familiars remains. But since we swapped roles, we can choose who goes and stays. Isn’t that right?” he asks Lord Loss.
Lord Loss nods slightly. “It is an ambiguous point, but I have had enough of the boy. I shall seek him out some other time. As I vowed, he will pay for his humiliation of me, but for now I wish only to wash my hands of him.”
“But you’re wounded!” I protest. “You’re not fit to fight any more. Let me. I know how to beat him. I can do it. I’ll–”
“This isn’t a debate,” Dervish says gruffly. He grips both my hands in his and squeezes tightly. “You performed brilliantly on the boards, Grubbs, but this is a different matter. He’s far stronger in his own universe than he is here. Leave it to me, OK?”
Tears roll down my cheeks unchecked. “I don’t want to lose you,” I sob.
“But you must,” he smiles. “At least for a while.” He finishes healing himself and stands, groaning loudly. Turns to Lord Loss. “The cure?”
Lord Loss sneers. “I had not forgotten.” He floats across the room to the cage. Bill-E backs away, snarling fitfully, but at a gesture from the demon master he flies across the cage and thrusts his arms through the bars. Lord Loss wraps two of his own arms around Bill-E’s and slides the other six through the bars of the cage, encompassing the struggling werewolf. He exerts pressure, until Bill-E goes stiff, then presses his face forward, places his lips over Bill-E’s and exhales heavily, as though giving the kiss of life.
Bill-E’s fingers fly out rigidly, then curl up into tight fists. His legs shake fitfully, then go slack. After ten or twelve seconds, Lord Loss breaks contact and releases Bill-E. He floats backwards, coughing and spitting. Bill-E teeters on his feet a moment, then crumples to the floor.
I start towards my brother, concerned. Dervish stops me. “Wait. He’ll be OK. There are things I must tell you before we say goodbye.” I face my uncle, who speaks quickly. “You know where the forms, credit cards and contact numbers are. Use them. Act swiftly. Don’t be ashamed to ask for help. And don’t let the authorities take you away from here. They might interfere when they discover the condition I’m in, seek to separate you from me. Don’t let them.” His face is grim. “Lord Loss has threatened you — that’s serious. He can’t harm you in Carcery Vale — as long as you stay out of this cellar — but you’re vulnerable elsewhere. In time you’ll learn spells to protect yourself — friends of mine will help — but for now you mustn’t leave the Vale.”
“What can I do to stop them?” I ask.
“Stand up to them. Sic my lawyers – your lawyers — on them. Be brave. Prove you’re fit to live independently. Don’t give them any excuse to take you away. Meera will help — if she recovers — but you’ll have to do a lot of it yourself.”
Lord Loss has drifted to the edge of the cellar while we’ve been talking. He’s floating in front of a thick bank of webs, gesturing at them with all eight arms, muttering something inhuman. Artery has crept up beside his master and squats sullenly next to him.
As I watch, the webs shimmer, then twist in a clockwise direction, winding and wrapping together. The centre of the web pulses outwards a couple of times, then stretches backwards at lightning speed, cutting a path through the layers of webs behind it, creating an impossibly long, rotating funnel from the cellar to some indefinite point beyond.
“Take care of Billy,” Dervish says. “He won’t remember any of this. It’s up to you how much you tell him. I won’t advise you one way or the other on that point. If you start to change…” He hesitates, then presses on. “Meera and one of my other friends might challenge Lord Loss on your behalf. If you want to make a fight of it, ask Meera, and she can–”
“No,” I interrupt softly. “I won’t put anybody else through this. It wouldn’t be fair. If the curse hits me, I’ll abandon myself to it, or call in the Lambs. But I won’t ask anyone to face Lord Loss for me.”
Dervish smiles wanly. “You might lose some of those noble ideals when you get a bit older.” His smile softens. “But I hope not.”
“It is time, Dervish Grady,” Lord Loss says. The spiralling funnel he’s created glows redly, the webs revolving rapidly. Artery leaps on to the web at the rim of the funnel. He’s sucked into it instantly. Spins around several times, head over heels, then vanishes down the funnel’s maw, never to be seen in these parts again — I hope.
“Must you go?” I sob, clutching Dervish’s hands.
“Yes,” he answers simply. “If I refused, he could bring his hordes of familiars through and destroy us all.”
“How will I know… if you’re… successful?” I gulp.
“As long as I’m fighting, I’ll be an emotionless shell here,” he says. “If I lose, that won’t change, and you’ll never know — I’ll simply die of old age. But if I win…” He winks. “Don’t worry — you’ll soon find out!”
Dervish faces Lord Loss and the funnel. Takes a deep breath. Holds it. Lets it out nervously. “Remember, Grubbs,” he mutters. “Don’t give up on me. No matter how much time passes — even if it’s decades — there’s always hope.”
“I’ll look after you,” I promise, weeping uncontrollably.
“Your mum and dad would have been proud of you tonight,” Dervish says. “Gret too.”
With that, he turns his back on me and marches to the funnel. Lord Loss bows politely as he approaches, then unfolds all eight of his arms and strikes for Dervish’s throat. Dervish ducks swiftly, avoiding the demon master’s lunge. “Uh-uh!” he laughs. “You won’t make that quick a finish of me!”
Leaping over the demon, he grabs hold of a thick strand