Volumes 9 and 10 - Dark Calling/Hell’s Heroes

TRIPPING THE LIGHT FANTASTIC

→The ball of light sails through the window with me. It completely envelops me, crackling over my creamy brown skin, tickling my hairless scalp, buzzing in my ears. I’m warm and comfortable in its embrace. I think this is what it must be like for a baby in its mother’s womb.

I try to fight the enveloping light, to break free of its hold, but it just buckles and bulges to match my movements. Finally I settle back and conserve my energy, saving it for when I can focus it more usefully.

I study my surroundings. Though the multicoloured ball of light holds me in its grasp like fingers clutched around a coin, it’s translucent. There are other lights beyond, patches and panels, a dazzling variety of colours and sizes. They fill the area around us completely. No stars, sky or planets. A universe of lights.

We’re floating through them, sliding from one patch to another, following some sort of hidden path. I hope. Or maybe there’s no path and we’re lost. Perhaps this is what the lights wanted all along, to strand me in this wilderness. But I don’t think so. We seem to be moving meaningfully. Or is that just wishful thinking?

Whatever the truth, I’ve never experienced anything like this before. Whenever I’ve stepped through a window, I’ve emerged instantly on another world. This is like travelling through an immense tunnel.

“Correct,” the voice says. The ball of light can evidently read my thoughts, which is bad news—I can’t spring any surprises. “We are travelling further than you have ever been, but we are still in your universe. Space is not as easily traversed here as in the Demonata’s realm.”

“Where are we going?” I ask. Except I don’t ask out loud. My mouth won’t open. “What’s going on?” I cry silently.

“There is no oxygen,” the voice explains. “You are cocooned. It is the easiest way to travel. Don’t worry—it will not last long and you won’t be harmed.”

I’m not sure I trust the voice, but there’s nothing I can do except lie back and accept it. “So where are we going?” I ask again, trying to sound casual.

“You will find out soon,” the voice replies and says nothing more, leaving me to study the spectacular light show in awed, helpless silence.

→After several minutes we zone in on a massive patch of green light. As we pass through, the cocoon around me slips away and I tumble to a cracked stone floor. My mouth opens and I drag in a lungful of acidic but breathable air. Pinching my nose shut to block out the stench, I look around. I’m in a domed chamber. The ball of light hangs in the air several feet away, pulsing steadily. The stones around us are throbbing in unison.

Blanking my thoughts, desperate not to betray myself, I back away. There’s an exit behind me. As I reach it, I pause, expecting the ball of light to shoot across and block my way. When nothing happens, I slip out of the chamber and scurry through a short, narrow tunnel.

The tunnel opens out on to a plateau. I race away from the chamber, planning to put plenty of space between myself and the ball of light. But the air here is foul and my body revolts. As a stitch hits me hard, I collapse, gasping for air, lungs straining, head aching.

After a minute of painful gasping, the stitch eases and I stand. Instead of running again, I turn slowly and study my surroundings. I’m on a ruined world. The sky is a dark purple colour, full of poisonous-looking clouds. Forks of lightning split the air every few seconds although I can hear no thunder. When the lightning hits the ground, the dark earth flashes and explodes in short-lived funnels of dirt, mud and pebbles.

Huge, bone-like pillars jut out of the scorched, pockmarked earth. At first I think they’re the remains of giant demons. I’ve seen plenty of sky demons in my time, massive monsters, some the size of a world. But the longer I look, the more convinced I become that these aren’t bones, but rather the remains of buildings.

Wandering slowly to the nearest pile of pillars, breathing shallowly, I find that they’re made of some sort of metal. That confuses me. Demons aren’t builders. Some create houses or palaces, even towns and cities, modelled after those on Earth. But they use bones, flesh, cobwebs, plants and other organic substances to fashion their facsimiles. I’ve never known a demon to utilise metal or concrete.

The voice told me we were still in the human universe. I thought we slipped out of it when we crossed through the window, but it looks like we didn’t. I don’t know where I am, but I’m pretty sure it’s not a demon world.

As I move through the ash-ridden remains of what was once maybe a skyscraper, something moves in the filth nearby. Jumping backwards, I try to absorb magic from the air, but there’s virtually nothing to tap into. Like Earth, this is a zone of little or no magical energy.

The thing wriggles clear of the hard mud and debris it was nestling beneath. It looks like a giant slug, but with six small eyes, a jagged gash for a mouth, and other human-looking bits and pieces—a few fingers, a toe, a strip of flesh that might be an ear. The eyes stare at me for a moment, then the mouth opens and it thrusts itself at my face, making a gruesome, high-pitched noise.

The slug creature strikes my chest and I fall. It’s on me in a flash, slithering to my face, leaving a slimy trail. Thin fingers scratch at my chin, then a grey, cold slit clamps over my mouth and nostrils. I feel it tighten on my lips and nose, and the slug squeals with excitement as I struggle for air.

I punch the slug, but my fists make little impact, merely sinking into the gooey, sticky layers of its body. Disgusting slime oozes from the slit, filling my mouth. I collapse, my lungs straining, still pushing and punching the slug, but feebly now. My strength is fading. Soon I’ll be slug fodder and the beast will be able to feast on my flesh at its leisure.

As the world starts to darken around me, the slug is abruptly ripped away. I catch a glimpse of it flying through the air, squealing frantically. It lands hard, rolls a few times, then straightens and propels itself at me again.

Somebody steps in front of me and meets the charge of the slug. It looks like a boy, but with pale green skin. He’s small but strong—he catches the slug and slams it down in a neatly executed wrestling move. While the slug writhes beneath him, the boy grabs one of the creature’s fingers and bites it off with… a small mouth set in the palm of his hand!

The slug stunned me when it attacked, but when I realise who the boy is I’m shocked to the core. I stare with mounting horror and bewilderment as the slug shrieks, then quickly slips away when the boy releases it. He makes sure it isn’t going to attack again, then turns to face me.

He has the body of a young child – maybe three years old – but a head that’s bigger than an adult’s. Mouths in both palms, full of small, sharp teeth. No eyes—instead, balls of fire burn deeply in his empty sockets. And no hair—in its place, small slugs, much like the one he just saved me from, slide slowly around his skull.

“Artery!” I moan. I have no idea how Lord Loss’s familiar came to be here – he was killed a year ago – but I’m certain he only saved me from the slug in order to kill me himself.

The hellchild cocks his head and frowns. “No,” he growls, and it’s the first time I’ve ever heard him speak. His green flesh ripples and the colour fades. His head shrinks and the slugs burrow into his scalp, then turn into hair. The fire in his empty sockets dies away and eyes sprout to fill them. His large mouth tightens a couple of notches and his sharp teeth soften into a more human-like shape. The mouths in his palms disappear, flesh closing over them.

“No,” he says again, and this time his voice is softer. “Not Artery.” He glances at his skin – pale, like Mum’s – and smiles. Almost no trace of the monster remains. I’m gazing at what looks like an ordinary boy. And he’s every bit as familiar as the green-skinned demon.

“I’m Art,” he says, then steps forward and sticks out a small, delicate hand.

THE MAN FROM ATLANTIS

→”You can’t be real,” I gasp, backing away from the figure. “You’re not my brother. You never really existed. I made you up.”

“Yes,” the boy nods. “You transformed Artery into this shape and kept him safe, even though he should have perished on your world, by subconsciously utilising the power of the Kah-Gash. We were surprised it cooperated with you. But the Kah-Gash never ceases to surprise us.”

“You’re not Art!” I shout. “Art didn’t speak like this. He never spoke at all.”

“True,” the boy says. “Artery could communicate with his own kind, but only telepathically. Art would never have been able to speak, even if he’d grown up.

“I’m not the demon you stole or the child you turned it into,” the boy continues. “I am the ball of light from the ship. Sensing the difficulty you had accepting my natural form, I adopted the body of someone you would feel more comfortable with. If you prefer, I can switch to the shape of your mother or father, but I think you will find me easier to deal with this way.”

My head’s spinning. “Are you a shape-shifter?” I ask, getting to my feet and walking around the boy, checking him from every angle.

“No,” he says. “I have no physical body. I assembled this from a corpse, remoulding its flesh and bones. It was a creature like the one which attacked you. They are pitiful beasts. Hard to believe they are descended from beings once as industrious as yourself.”

“What do you mean?” I frown.

“It’s a descendant of the Atlanteans,” Art says. “They were bipeds, like you, and their society was similar to yours. Indeed, your distant ancestors were strongly influenced by the beings of Atlantis.”

“Atlantis?” I croak. “What are you talking about? Atlantis was a mythical city.”

“No,” Art corrects me. “It was a world of immense, amazing cities, the closest inhabitable planet to Earth. The Atlanteans explored this world to its fullest, then the lifeless planets nearby, finally extending to their neighbouring galaxies. They visited your world. Your ancestors worshipped them, built monuments like theirs, dressed in their honour, wrote things down as they did.”

“Are you pulling my leg?” I growl.

“I do not understand,” Art responds.

“Are you trying to fool me?”

“No. Atlantis was an advanced planet. The Atlanteans were wise and kind. But they harnessed the raw energy of this universe and that is dangerous. They knew the risks and accepted them. It was the price they paid to explore further afield, beyond the confines of their own sector of the universe.

“They fell within the space of an hour,” Art goes on, and although he has a child’s face, he looks like an adult as he gazes upon the wrecks of the buildings. “An explosion set off a chain reaction and their society crumbled. The ships they’d sent off into space were linked to the home world, so they were destroyed too. The sky filled with pollutants and ash. Death claimed nineteen billion souls. A few Atlanteans survived and mutated, but I doubt they would have wished for their offspring to end up like this. It would have been better if they’d all perished.”

Art falls silent. I stare at the boy who is the image of the child I once thought of as a brother. Now that I’m over my initial shock, I find that he was right—it’s a lot easier talking to someone who looks like a boy than with a ball of light.

I study the graveyard of the world around me. Art could be lying, but I don’t think so. I’m standing on the remains of Atlantis. The most famous lost city of legend was never a city at all, but a different world. The information is mind-boggling. If Art’s telling the truth, the Atlanteans visited mankind in the past. They taught us to read and write, to build. Maybe they even bred with us and –

“No,” Art interrupts. “The Atlanteans did not breed with lesser beings.”

“This is incredible,” I gasp, the word not doing my feelings justice. “But if they travelled to our world by rockets, not windows, is this still the human universe?”

“Of course.” Art sounds surprised. “I thought that was clear.”

“You said we hadn’t crossed but I wasn’t sure.”

“We have not left your universe and will not during the course of our travels,” Art says.

“This isn’t the end?”

The boy giggles the way Art used to when he bit someone. “Hardly. This is merely the beginning of an amazing journey.”

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Far away,” he answers mysteriously.

“What if I don’t want to go with you?” I counter.

“You have no choice,” Art says.

“Is that a threat?”

“No,” he shrugs. “It’s just the way things are.”

“Who – or what – the hell are you?” I snap.

“Those who know us give us many names,” Art says. “Your people called us the Old Creatures.”

“Beranabus told me about them. He…” That reminds me of the ancient mage’s death and the danger the others face. “We have to go back!” I cry. “You’ve got to take me home, so I can –”

“That won’t happen,” Art says firmly. “Purge yourself of the notion. We have come far from your world. As skilled as you are at manipulating the strings of the universe, you cannot find your way back alone. You must see this journey through to its end.”

“What sort of an end?” I hiss. “Where are you taking me? And if you’re not specific this time, forget it—I’m not going to wander aimlessly through the universe with you. I’d rather stay here with the slugs.”

“Very well,” Art says. “We are travelling to the birthplace of all things, where time and space began. We call it the Crux. And it lies at the centre of both this universe and the Demonata’s.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I complain.

“Don’t worry,” Art smiles smugly. “By the end it will.”

UNDER THE SEA

→I try thinking of a way to outwit the Old Creature. While I might not be able to open a window back to Earth, I’m sure I can open one to the demon universe and return home from there. But Art reads my mind and chuckles.

“I will not permit it.”

“You can’t stop me,” I retort.

“Actually I can. I have the power to tear apart any window that you create, and I can do it before the window opens. If necessary, we can stay here for decades and duel with one another, but I would not recommend it. You would lose.”

I start work on a window, to test him, but Art’s smug expression stops me. He’s telling the truth. Cursing, I begin to question him again, but he only turns and walks back to the stone chamber, where a dark grey window is waiting for us.

“What is it to be?” Art asks.

Since I’ve no real choice, I snarl and step forward with him.

Just before I reach the window, Art’s body unravels and he becomes a ball of multicoloured light again. “I have to travel like this,” he tells me, his words sounding inside my head. “I need to cocoon you again. But I will resume the shape of Art when we come to our next stop.”