AN- sorry ive decided im gonna temporarily kill off bran but he will return
Beranabus looks up in shock "Perseus but how" he asks voice still demonic . Percy just glares at him "talk later fight now " he replies stiffly "now hang on" he continued clicking his fingers the brothers glowed golden "there we go the demons inside of us are now under our control go for it bro but try not to die." Beranabus nods "youll take over if I fall" he asks his brother. Percy nods himself. Beranabus smirks He whirls away and bellows at the Shadow, an inhuman challenge. Dervish and Sharmila glance back, astonished by the ferocity of the roar. Their faces crumple when they see what Beranabus is becoming.
I back away slowly, but I can't obey Beranabus's final command. I have to look. Besides, he thought my feelings would alter if I saw him in his other form, but they won't. If you truly love someone, you don't care what they look like.
Beranabus is transforming. He outgrows his suit, which falls away from him like a banana peel. His skin splits and unravels. Bones snap out of his head, then lengthen, fresh flesh forming around them. Muscles bulge on his arms and legs, like pustulent sores. They burst, then reform, even larger than before. Tough, dark skin replaces his natural covering. Only it's not really skin-more like scales.
A tail forces its way out through the small of Beranabus's back. It grows to two metres... three... four. Spikes poke out of it, as well as several mouths full of sharp teeth and forked tongues.
I catch sight of his face. Purplish, scaly skin. Dark grey eyes, round like a fly's, utterly demonic. His mouth is three times the size of my head, filled with fangs that look more like stalactites and stalagmites than teeth. Yellowish blood streams from his nose but he takes no notice. Raising his massive arms, he pushes through the undulating nest of tentacles and hammers a fist at the Shadow, driving it back.
"What the hell is that?" Dervish croaks, backing up beside me, helping the one-legged Sharmila along.
"Beranabus," I answer quietly. "The Bran we never saw. The demon side that he kept shackled. This is what he would have looked like if he'd let his father's genes run free, if he'd chosen the way of the Demonata."
Beranabus lashes the Shadow with his tail. The spikes rip through the shadowy wisps of its body, the teeth snapping at it, tearing open holes. The Shadow shrieks angrily but the holes quickly close and the beast fights without pause, smothering Beranabus with its tentacles.
Dervish, Sharmila and I are by the doorway. We should take advantage of the situation and race up the stairs. But we're mesmerised. We can't flee without knowing the outcome. Sharmila clears the stairs of zombies, to keep the route out of the hold open, but she doesn't take her eyes off the battling pair.
"Can he control himself like that?" she asks quietly as the behemoths wrestle.
"Yes he can" Percy replied for her. Sharmila looks at him in curiosity "who are you" she asks. "I am beranabus's brother and before you ask I was frozen in time" Percy answered. Sharmila nodded.
The beast that was Beranabus shrugs free of the Shadow's tentacles and staggers away. For an awful moment I think that he's about to attack us. But then he bellows at the Shadow and darts past it, making for the lodestone.
"Ah!" Sharmila exclaims with sudden hope. "If he breaks the stone..."
"...the Shadow will be sucked back to its own universe," I finish.
"We hope," Dervish adds gloomily.
Finding its path to me unexpectedly clear, the Shadow lunges forward, eager to finish me off. Then it pauses. It doesn't glance back-as I noted earlier, it doesn't have a face-but it's somehow analysing Beranabus. There's a brief moment of consideration-can it kill me and steal the power of the Kah-Gash before Beranabus breaks the stone?
The Shadow decides the odds are against it and reverses direction, launching itself at the transformed magician. It catches him just before he reaches the lodestone. The pair spin past. Beranabus roars with frustration as he shoots beyond his target. The Shadow whips him with its tentacles. Deep cuts open across his arms and legs, and many of the protective scales on his chest and back shatter under the force of the blows.
Just before they fly out of striking distance of the lodestone, Beranabus's tail twitches. The tip catches a notch in the stone and Beranabus jerks to a halt. The Shadow loses its grip and ends up in a heap. It's back on its tentacles within seconds but Beranabus has already jerked himself within reach of the lodestone.
He grabs the stone with his massive hands and exerts great pressure, trying to snap it in half. There's a cracking sound and a split forms in the uppermost tip of the rock. But then it holds and although Beranabus strains harder, it doesn't divide any further.
The Shadow hurls itself at Beranabus and lands on his back. Tendrils jab at him from all directions, destroying his scaly armour, penetrating the flesh beneath. One of his grey eyes pops. Several of his fangs are ripped from his jaw. Blood flies from him in jets and fountains.
Beranabus howls with agony, but otherwise ignores the assault and focuses on the lodestone. He's still trying to tear it in two. The stone is pulsing. The split at the top increases a few centimetres. The gap's just wide enough for Beranabus to jam his unnaturally large fingers into it. Snapping at the Shadow with the remains of his fangs, he transfers his grip to the crack, gets the tips of all his fingers inside and tugs.
There's a creaking sound, then a snapping noise, and the stone splits down the middle to about a third of the way from the top. Beranabus yells with triumph, wraps both arms around the severed chunk of rock and rips it free of the lodestone, tossing it to the floor as an oversized ball of waste.
The Shadow screeches and scuttles after the rock, perhaps hoping to reattach it. I quickly unleash my power and send the piece of stone shooting across the hold. It smashes into the side of the ship and explodes in a cascade of pebbly splinters.
Beranabus roars with ghastly, demonic laughter and bites into one of the Shadow's tentacles. As he rips it off, another tendril strikes the side of his head and slices through to his brain. The triumph that had blossomed within me vanishes instantly.
"Bran!" I scream and dart towards him. Dervish holds me back.
The Shadow strikes repeatedly at Beranabus in a tempestuous rage. It gouges great chunks of flesh from his chest and stomach. Scraps of lung, slivers of a heart and other internal organs splatter the broken lodestone. Then, in a childish sulk, the Shadow tosses him aside like an old doll it's finished playing with.
The demonic beast that Beranabus has become rolls over several times before coming to a rest near the side of the hull. Again I try to race to his aid, but Dervish has a firm hold and doesn't let go even when I bite him.
Beranabus raises his huge, transformed, scaly head. He glances at the Shadow and the lodestone with his one bulbous grey eye and grins. Then his head swivels and he looks for me. When he finds me struggling with Dervish, his grin softens and I see a trace of the Beranabus I knew in the expression. I also see the boy he once was-scatterbrained Bran. He smiles at me foolishly, the way Bran used to, and gurgles something. I think he's trying to say, "Flower."
Then the grey light in his eye dims and extinguishes. The smile turns into a tired sneer. He coughs up yellow blood and tries to drag himself forward. But the strength drains from his arms. His body sags. A jagged breath dances from his lips and his head drops. By the time his forehead connects with the cold steel floor of the hold, the three thousand year old legend is part of this world no more. Perseus watched sadly as his brother died before he glared at the squirming shadow, flames wrapped around him and faded to reveal that his flesh consumed by hellfire, causing his head to become a flaming skull his hands are also skeletal and he wears a black leather jacket with spikes. He pointed at the shadow and streams of hellire sprung from his hands destroying the evil entities body for a short time.
Percy returns to his normal form wished me and the others luck gave one sad look to his brother and flashed out...bastard.I want to rush to Beranabus's corpse and bid him farewell. I'm weeping and all I want is to be by my dead friend's side. But that's not possible. Because now that the lodestone's magic has evaporated, the shield keeping the sea at bay has started to give way.
The fragments of the lodestone fall first, trickling through cracks in the invisible barrier. Water seeps up through the cracks, spreading neatly across the surface of the shield. Then one of the living dead stumbles and drops out of sight as if crashing through a thin layer of ice.
"Let's get the hell out of here!" Dervish shouts, hauling me through the door.
"Beranabus!" I cry.
"We can't help him now," Dervish pants. As he says it, the shield flickers out of existence and water floods the hold.
The ship lurches. A wave of foaming water surges towards us, washing away the helpless bodies of the zombies. We should be washed away too, but Sharmila acts swiftly to avert catastrophe, establishing a barrier around us and the doorway. The wave breaks and seethes away, the sea temporarily cheated of its victims.
"Quick," Sharmila gasps, hopping up the stairs. "The magic is fading. The barrier will not hold."
She's right. I can feel the energy ebbing away at a frightening rate. I look one last time for the body of Beranabus, but the ocean has already claimed it. Wiping tears from my cheeks, I hurry after Dervish and Sharmila, knowing that if we don't climb sharply, we'll soon be joining Beranabus in his watery grave.
We move a lot slower going up than we did coming down. It's not just the fact that we're climbing. We're tired and drained. We were fine when the air was thick with magic, but the unnatural energy is fading fast.
We're halfway up the second flight of stairs when I hear the sea gush up the corridors behind us. I've no idea how long we have. I imagine it would usually take a ship this size at least a couple of hours sink, but the hole in the hull was extremely large.
The zombies are still going strong. The strange magic of the Shadow which reanimated them is fading slower than the energy we were tapping into. While we're rapidly weakening, the zombies haven't been significantly affected.
We don't use bolts of magic anymore, or arrogantly dismiss them with a wave of a hand. We're reduced to close-quarters fighting. We can still repel them with our charged fists and feet-the magic hasn't disappeared entirely-but there are thousands of zombies. If we're still here when the last of the energy fades, they'll swamp us. Unless the sea claims us first.
Sharmila's second leg fragments. She pumps magic into it to hold the bones and scraps of flesh together.
"Don't bother," Dervish grunts, lifting her. "Save your strength. Get on my back. I'll be your legs. You keep the zombies off."
"What about your heart?" Sharmila shouts.
"It'll hold for a while."
I can move much quicker than Dervish now that he's burdened with Sharmila. I'm tempted to race ahead of them, up through the ship, away from the encroaching water. But they're my friends and they wouldn't desert me if I was in their position. If it becomes necessary to flee, I will. But as long as there's a chance we might all make it out alive, I'll stick with them.
I take the lead, knocking flailing, snarling zombies out of our way, pushing ahead, the undead humans crowding the staircase behind and in front. I should feel fear in the face of such warped, nightmarish foes, but my emotions are focused on Beranabus-there's only room within me for mourning.
I can't believe he's dead. It's hard to imagine a world without the ancient magician. He's been mankind's saviour for longer than anyone should have to serve. What will we do without him? I doubt the Disciples can repel the waves of Demonata attacks by themselves. Beranabus believed our universe created heroes in times of need. If that's true, perhaps someone will replace him. But it's hard to picture anybody taking the magician's place. He was one of a kind.
We hit another level. I'm about to lurch up the next set of stairs when I spot Kirilli Kovacs tussling with a gaggle of zombies. He's in bad shape, bitten and scratched all over. A dozen of the living dead surround him.
I should leave him. He doesn't really deserve to be rescued and I can't afford to waste any of my dwindling power. But I can't turn my back on a man just because he's a coward. Kirilli didn't betray or undermine us-he simply gave in to fear, as many people would have.
Drawing on my reserves, I mutter a spell and gesture at the zombies packed around Kirilli. They fly apart and a path opens. "Run!" I yell. Kirilli doesn't need to be told twice. He stumbles clear of the zombies and is by my side moments later. Blood cakes his face, but his eyes are alert behind the red veil. He starts to say something.
"No time for talking," I snap. "Get up those stairs quick, and if you fall, I'll leave you."
Kirilli flinches, draws a breath, then darts ahead of me, taking pole position, staggering up the seemingly endless flights of steps towards the upper deck and its promise of escape.
As we're forcing our way up another staircase clogged with zombies, Dervish gasps and collapses to his knees. One hand darts to his chest. I think it's the end of him, but Sharmila presses her hands over his and channels magic into his heart. She pulls a stricken face as she helps-the magic she's directing into his flesh means she has less to ward off the pain in her legs. But she has no real choice. Without Dervish to carry her, she's doomed.
Kirilli is struggling with the zombies. He's weak and afraid. He lashes out at them wildly, not preserving his energy or channelling it wisely. I've tried warning him, but he either doesn't hear me or can't respond. He knows only one thing-he has to go up. That's tattooed on his brain, driving him on.
Thankfully the walking corpses are moving more like regular zombies now. Their magic is fading. The attacks are clumsier, less coordinated. But they're still on their feet, our scent thick in their nostrils, licking their lips at the thought of biting into our soft, juicy brains.
As we hit the last step of another flight, Kirilli screams something unintelligible. I'm exhausted, but I push forward in reply to his cry, fearing the worst. But when I clearthe step, I realise it was a yell of exhilaration, not dismay. We're back at the upper deck.
The ship is lurching at a worrying angle, and the deck is littered with hordes of zombies. But we get a fresh burst of hope when we breathe the fresh, salty air.
Dervish lays Sharmila down and squats beside her. "I need... a minute," he wheezes, face ashen, rubbing his chest.
"We can't stop," Kirilli shrieks, knocking over a zombie in uniform who's either the ship's captain or a highly placed mate.
"Shut up," I growl and crouch next to Dervish. "Let me help."
"No," he mutters. "Save your magic... for yourself."
"Don't be a fool." I shove his hands away and rest my left palm on his chest. I pump magic into him, enough to keep him ticking over.
"Do you know the way back to Kernel?" Sharmila asks, wincing from the pain in her thighs. They're bleeding at the stumps, the flesh we knotted together in the demon universe coming undone.
"Yes." I grin at her. "Perfect memory, remember?"
She returns the smile, but shakily. "Perhaps you should leave me here."
"We're not leaving anyone behind," I say firmly. "Except maybe Kirilli."
He stares at me with a wounded expression. "I hope you don't-" he starts.
"Not now," I stop him. My cheeks are dry. I must have stopped weeping at some point coming up the stairs. The ship is slipping further into the water. The angle of the deck to the sea is increasing steadily. Kernel's at the end of the ship which is rising. If we don't act quickly, we won't make it.
"Come on," I command. "One last push. We can rest once we slip through the window."
Dervish sighs wearily but staggers to his feet. He reaches for Sharmila. "Wait," I tell him and glance fiercely at Kirilli. "It's time you proved yourself worthy of rescue. Carry her."
"But I have a bad back," he protests. "I never lift anything heavier than-"
"Carry her," I repeat myself, "or I'll cut your legs off, glue them to Sharmila and let her walk out of here on your feet."
Kirilli gives a little cry of horror. He suspects I'm bluffing, but he's uncertain.
"I am not that heavy," Sharmila chuckles. "Especially without my legs."
"We're nearly there," I tell the stage magician. "You won't have to carry her far."
"Very well," Kirilli snaps. "But if I throw my back out of joint, I'll sue." He flashes me a feeble grin and picks up Sharmila. I help settle her on his back, then push through the zombies converging on us, lashing out with both my small fists, praying for the strength to stay on my feet long enough to guide us all to safety.
I'm almost fully drained. Only a sheer stubborn streak keeps me going. I refuse to fall this close to the end. It happened before, in the cave all those centuries ago. I almost made it out. I could see the exit as the rock ground shut around it. It was horrible to come up short with freedom in sight. I won't taste that defeat again.
Deckchairs and unbolted fixtures slide down the deck. Some of the zombies topple and slide too. Extra obstacles for us to dodge. The end of the ship continues to rise out of the water. A few more minutes and the angle will be too steep to climb. We'll slip backwards to perish with the zombies when the ship's dragged under.
We catch sight of the swimming pool. The window's still open and Kernel's in front of it. But he's struggling with a zombie. There are dozens around him and the window, separated from them by a circle of magic. But one has pierced his defences and is wrestling with him.
"Kernel!" I cry. "Hold on. We're almost with you. We-"
Kernel shouts something in response. He tries to tear himself away from the zombie, then reaches for its head to rip it loose-it's only attached by jagged strips of flesh to the neck. There's a flash of blinding light and we all cover our eyes, Kirilli dropping Sharmila out of necessity.
When I open my eyes a few seconds later, it's like looking at a bright light through several layers of plastic. I blink furiously to clear my vision. When I can see properly, I look for Kernel. The circle where he was is still in place. The zombies around it are all momentarily sightless, stumbling into each other, rubbing their eyes. But the window is gone. And where it stood-where Kernel and the zombie were battling-is an ugly swill of tattered flesh, clumps of guts, fragments of bones and several pints of wasted human , I stare at the spot where Kernel and the window were. I'm not sure what happened. Where did the explosion of light come from? Are those the remains of Kernel and the zombie, or just one of them? Did Kernel slip through the window before it closed or did he perish here, the window blinking out of existence along with its creator?
"Is he dead?" Dervish roars, smashing the nose of a zombie which was about to sink its teeth into my skull.
"I don't know."
"Sharmila?"
She shakes her head uncertainly.
Dervish doesn't bother to ask Kirilli. He glances around, desperation lending a wild look to his already strained features. "The lifeboats," he mutters. "We have to get away from here or we'll be sucked under."
"But-" I begin.
"No time," he barks, staggering towards the nearest lifeboat. "Come on. Don't stand there gawping."
Kirilli moans and stumbles after Dervish, picking up Sharmila without having to be told. She punches weakly at a couple of zombies, not much strength left. We're all firing on our final cylinders. Only the promise of escape keeps us going. But I've thought of something Dervish hasn't. Escape will be more complicated than he thinks.
Dervish is working on a lifeboat when I reach him. He doesn't have the magic to release it, so he's having to manually lower it over the side. Kirilli is helping.
"We had a safety drill a few days ago," Kirilli boasts. "Leave it to me. I know what to do. If we pull this lever here..."
"That's where the oar goes," Dervish growls, pushing Kirilli aside.
The lifeboat slides towards the edge of the ship, but comes to a sudden halt just above the rails. "It's stuck," Dervish grunts, pushing at it, looking for something-anything-else to pull.
"No," I sigh, keeping an eye on several zombies heading our way. "It's the barrier. The ship's still encased in a bubble of magic."
"Nonsense," Dervish snorts. "That's gone. My heart wouldn't be hammering like a pneumatic drill if-"
"The barrier's still there," I stop him. "I don't know how, but it is." I point at the nearest zombie, a woman a long way ahead of the others. "Kirilli, grab her and throw her overboard."
"With pleasure," Kirilli says-the zombie is much smaller than him. He runs across, picks her up and chucks her over the rail. She bounces off an invisible wall and lands on top of Kirilli. As she chews his left forearm he squeals and wriggles free. He kicks her hard, then glares at me. "You knew that was going to happen!"
I ignore the irate conjuror and lock gazes with Dervish. The fight has sapped his strength. He looks like an old man ready for death.
"The barrier might crumble before the ship sinks," Sharmila suggests, more out of wretched hope than any real conviction.
"It's as strong as when we arrived," I disagree. "We could have maybe swum out through the hole in the bottom-the barrier must be breached there, since the water's coming in-but we can't get back to the hold to try."
"The zombies!" Dervish cries, coming alive again. "We can use them to punch a hole through the barrier. I did that in Slawter, exploded a demon against the wall of energy. It worked there-it can work here."
"I'm not sure," I mutter, but Dervish has already set his sights on a zombie. Finding extra power from somewhere, he sends the dead person flying against the invisible barrier and holds it there with magic.
"Sharmila," he grunts. "Blast it!"
The old Indian lady tries to focus, but she's too exhausted.
"Leave this to me," Kirilli says, preening himself like an action movie hero. He slides a playing card out from underneath his torn, chewed sleeve, takes careful aim and fires it at the zombie. When it strikes he shouts, "Abracadabra!" and the card and zombie explode. "There," Kirilli smirks. "I'm not as useless as you thought, am I?"
"Nobody could be," Dervish murmurs, but the humour is forced. The explosion hasn't dented the barrier. It holds as firmly as before.
"They're not powerful enough," I note sadly, felling another zombie as it attacks. "The magic they're working off isn't the same as ours. They're puppets of the Shadow, not real creatures of magic. We could butcher a thousand against the barrier, but it won't work any better than exploding normal humans."
"That's why Juni sent the demons back to their own universe," Dervish groans. "So we couldn't use them if we got away from the Shadow."
"Lord Loss isn't a fool," I smile sadly. "He learns from his mistakes."
"We're finished," Dervish says miserably.
"Aye," I sigh, unconsciously mimicking Beranabus. "All that's left to determine is whether the zombies eat us or if we drown in the deep blue sea."
I stare at the ranks of living dead shuffling towards us. The Shadow's magic is dwindling. Many of the zombies have fallen and lie twitching or still, returned to the lifeless state from which the Shadow roused them. But a lot remain active, clambering up from the lower levels, massing and advancing, hunched over against the sharp, angled incline of the deck. If the ship doesn't sink within the next few minutes, they'll overwhelm us.
"I don't want to drown," Kirilli says softly "I've always been afraid of that. I'd rather be eaten." He tugs at the tattered threads of his jacket, trying to make himself presentable. Facing the oncoming hordes, he takes a deep breath and starts towards them.
"Wait," Sharmila stops him. She's smiling faintly. "Disciples never quit. Zahava must have taught you that. We carry on even when all seems lost. When dealing with matters magical, there is always hope."
"She's right," I tell him. "If Kernel's alive, he might open another window and rescue us. Or I could be wrong about the barrier. Maybe it will vanish before the ship sinks and we can clamber overboard."
"What are the odds?" Kirilli asks.
"Slim," I admit. "But you don't want to surrender to the zombies, only to spot the rest of us slipping free at the last second, do you?"
Kirilli squints at me, struggling to decide.
"Actually I was not planning on a miracle," Sharmila says. "We have the power to save ourselves. We do not need to rely on divine intervention."
"What are you talking about?" Dervish frowns.
"There is a way out," Sharmila says. "We can blow a hole in the barrier."
"You've sensed a demon?" I cry, doing a quick sweep of the ship, but finding nothing except ourselves and the zombies.
"No," Sharmila says. "We do not need demons." She looks peaceful, much younger than her years. "We are beings of magic."
Dervish's expression goes flat. So does mine. We understand what she's saying. As one, our heads turn and we stare at Kirilli.
"What?" he growls suspiciously.
"No," Sharmila chuckles. "I was not thinking of poor Kirilli. I doubt he would volunteer and we are not, I hope, prepared to turn on one of our own and murder him like a pack of savages."
"We'll draw lots," Dervish says quickly. "Kirilli too, whether he likes it or not."
"Draw lots for what?" Kirilli shouts, still clueless.
"There will be no lottery," Sharmila says firmly. "Bec is too young and Kirilli is not willing."
"Fine," Dervish huffs. "That leaves me and you. Fifty-fifty."
"No," Sharmila says. "You must be a father to Bec. She has lost Beranabus. She cannot afford to lose you too."
"Wait a minute..." Dervish huffs.
"Please," Sharmila sighs. "I have no legs. I am the oldest. I have no dependants. And I am now too weak to be of any use-I do not think I could find the power to kill you even if you talked me into letting you take my place."
Dervish gulps and looks to me for help. He wants to persuade her not to do this, to let him be the one who goes out in a blaze of glory.
"Everything she says makes sense," I mumble, practical as always.
"Quickly," Sharmila snaps. "There is almost no magic left. It might be too late already. If you do not act now, it will fade entirely and we will all be lost."
"You're a stubborn old cow, aren't you?" Dervish scowls.
"When I have to be," she smiles.
Dervish checks with me and I nod sadly. We move side by side and link hands. Focusing, we unite our meagre scraps of magic. I wave a hand at Sharmila and she slides across the deck, coming to a stop next to the invisible barrier. She sits up and wipes blood from her cheeks. She smiles at us one last time, then serenely closes her eyes and places her hands together. Her lips move softly in prayer.
Dervish howls, partly to direct our magic, partly out of horror. I howl too. Blue light flashes from our fingertips and strikes Sharmila in the chest. The light drills into her head, snapping it back. For a moment her form holds and I fear our power won't be strong enough.
Then the light crackles and a split second later Sharmila explodes. Her bones, guts, flesh and blood splatter the barrier behind her, while the unleashed energy hammers through the shield, creating a porthole to freedom.
We're both shaken and crying, but we have to act swiftly or Sharmila will have died for nothing. We try nudging the lifeboat over to the hole in the barrier but the restraints won't let it be moved in that direction. Weary beyond belief, I yell for Kirilli to join us. When we link hands, I draw on his energy-he hasn't used as much as we have, so he has a fair supply in reserve. I snap the ropes and chains holding the lifeboat in place. Guided by us, it glides through the air, centimetres above the deck. We shuffle along after it.
When the boat is level with the gap, I edge forward, dragging the others with me, refusing to focus on the gory remains of Sharmila which decorate the rim of the hole. I glance over the rails. We're high up in the air. The water's a long way down. Two options. We can let the boat drop and try to scale down to it. Or...
"Climb in," I grunt.
"Will it fit?" Kirilli asks, studying the lifeboat, then the hole, trying to make accurate measurements of both. Typical man!
"Just get in, you fool!" I shout. "That hole could snap shut in a second."
Kirilli scrambles in. When the contact breaks, the lifeboat drops and lands on the deck with a clang. I push Dervish ahead of me, then crawl in after him. The zombies are almost upon us, mewling with hunger.
I grab Kirilli's left hand and Dervish's right. Focusing the last vestiges of our pooled magic, I yell at the lifeboat and send it shooting ahead.
It catches in the hole, jolts forward a few centimetres under pressure from me, then stalls. It's too wide. We're stuck. Worse-it's plugged the hole, so we can't try jumping to safety. What a useless, stupid way to-
The lifeboat pops free with a sharp, creaking noise. We shoot clear of the hole, the barrier and the ship, gathering momentum. We sail through the air like some kind of crazily designed bird. We're whooping and cheering.
Then, before any of us realises the danger of our situation, we hit the sea hard. The boat flips over. I bang my head on the side. My mouth fills as I spill into the sea. I try to spit the water out, but I haven't the energy. As I sink slowly, I raise my eyes and steal one last look at the sky through the liquid layers above me. Then the world turns black.
Arms squeeze my stomach and I vomit. My eyes flutter open and I groan. My head's hanging over the edge of the lifeboat, bits of my last meal bobbing up and down in the water beneath me. I know from the memories flooding into me that Dervish is doing the squeezing.
"It's OK," I groan as he tenses his arms to try again. "I'm alive."
Dervish gently tugs me back over the side. There's water in the bottom. Kirilli is bailing it out with his hands. But we're afloat and the lifeboat doesn't look like it sustained any major damage.
"We thought we'd lost you," Dervish says, smiling with relief. "Kirilli fished you out, but you were motionless..." He clears his throat and brushes wet hair back from my eyes. The tenderness in his expression warms me more than the sun.
"Have I been unconscious long?" I ask.
"No."
"The ship...?"
"Still there."
Dervish helps me sit up and we gaze at the sinking vessel. It's listing sharply. It can't last much longer. We're quite far away from it, but if I squint I can make out theshapes of zombies throwing themselves through the hole in pursuit of us. They don't last long once they hit the water.
Kirilli stops bailing and studies the ship with us. We don't say a word. It's a weird sensation, watching something so huge and majestic sink out of sight. It's as if the ship is a living creature that's dying. I feel strangely sad for it.
"All those people," Dervish sighs as the last section slips beneath the waves in a froth of angry bubbles. "I wish we could have saved them."
"Beranabus," I whisper, fresh tears welling in my eyes. "Sharmila. Kernel."
"A costly day's work," Dervish says bitterly. "And we didn't even destroy the Shadow sure its body is gone but its soul didn't leave meaning It'll come after us again. We've lost our leader and two of the strongest Disciples. If Lord Loss was telling the truth, Grubbs is probably dead too. Hardly counts as a victory, does it?"
He doesn't know how true that is. I start to tell him what I learnt about the Shadow, but Kirilli interrupts.
"When I left you in the hold," he says shiftily, "I hope you didn't think I was running off. I just wanted to make sure the stairs and corridors were clear, so we could make a quick getaway together."
"Of course," Dervish murmurs. "It never crossed our thoughts that you might have lost your nerve and fled like a cowardly rat, leaving the rest of us in the lurch. You're a hero, Kirilli."
Dervish claps sarcastically and Kirilli looks aside miserably. I put my hands over Dervish's and stop him. "Don't," I croak. "He helped us in the end. We couldn't have escaped without him."
"I suppose," Dervish mutters.
Kirilli looks up hopefully. "You mean that?"
"We'd never have shifted this boat ourselves," I assure him. "We needed your magic. If you'd fought in the hold and used up your power, we'd have all died."
"Then it worked out for the best," Kirilli beams. "I did the right thing running. I thought so. When I was down there, sizing up the situation, I-"
"Don't push your luck," Dervish growls. Then he narrows his eyes and studies Kirilli closely. "Are those bite marks?"
"Yes," Kirilli says pitifully. He stares at the stumps where his fingers were bitten off. He must have unwittingly used magic to stop the bleeding, scab over the flesh and numb the pain. He'll be screeching like a banshee once the spell fades.
"Those beasts bit and clawed me all over," Kirilli says sulkily, ripping a strip off a sleeve to wrap around the stumps. "I'm lucky they didn't puncture any vital veins or arteries. If I hadn't fought so valiantly, they'd have eaten me alive."
"Such a shame," Dervish purrs, shaking his head.
"What?" Kirilli frowns.
"You've seen a few zombie films in your time, haven't you."
"One or two," Kirilli sniffs. "I don't like horror films. Why?"
"You must know, then, that their saliva is infectious. When a zombie bites one of the living, that person succumbs to the disease and turns-"
"No!" Kirilli cries, dropping the strip of shirt and lurching to his feet. "You're joking! You must be!"
Dervish shrugs. "I'm only telling you what I've seen in the movies. It might all be nonsense, but when you think about it logically..."
As Kirilli's face crumples, Dervish winks at me. I stifle a smile. This isn't nice, but Kirilli deserves it. Not for being a coward, but for trying to lie. A good scare will do him no harm at all.
We drift for hours. The sun descends. Night claims the sky. After letting Kirilli fret for an hour, Dervish finally told him it was a wind-up. Kirilli cursed us foully and imaginatively. But he calmed down after a while and we've been silent since, bobbing about, absorbing the refreshing rays of the sun, thinking about the dead.
It all seems hopeless without Beranabus, especially knowing what I do about the Shadow. Mankind has reached breaking point and I can't see any way forward. I doubt if even Beranabus could have made a difference. There are some things you can't fight. Certain outcomes are inevitable.
Kirilli has spent the last few minutes examining the lifeboat, scouring it from bow to stern. He returns to his seat with a bottle of water and a small medical box. "Good news and bad," he says, opening the box and looking for ointment to use on his wounds. The healing spell must have passed because he's grimacing. "The good news-both oars are on board, there are six bottles of water and this medical box. The bad news-there's no radio equipment or food, and once we drink the water we can't replace it."
"Do you know if the crew of the ship sent a distress signal?" Dervish asks.
"No idea. Even if they did, would it have penetrated the magical barrier?"
"Probably not," Dervish sighs. "Can I have some water?"
Kirilli takes a swig, then passes it across. "Not too much," he warns. "That has to last."
Dervish chuckles drily. "It'll probably last longer than me. My heart could pop any minute."
"Let me check." I place my hand on his chest and concentrate. I can sense the erratic beat of his heart. He's in very poor condition. He needs hospitalisation or magic. If we could cross to the universe of the Demonata, we'd be fine.
I try absorbing power from the air, to open a window, but there's virtually nothing to tap into and I'm in a sorry state. The moon will lend me strength when it rises, but it won't be enough.
"Were you trying to open a window?" Dervish asks softly.
"Yes."
"No joy?"
"I'll be able to later, when I'm stronger," I lie. But Dervish sees through me.
"No tears," he croaks as I start to cry. "Don't waste the moisture."
"It's OK," Kirilli says, trying to cheer me up. "Even if there was no distress signal, the ship's absence will be noted. The seas are monitored by computers and satellites. Most passengers had mobile phones and were in regular contact with family and work colleagues. They'll be missed. I bet there'll be an army of planes, helicopters and ships out here by dawn."
"What if we've drifted so far they can't find us?" Dervish asks.
"We can do without the pessimism, thank you," Kirilli protests.
Dervish laughs, then his expression mellows. "Listen," he says earnestly, "if I do croak and help doesn't come, I want you to use my remains. Understand?"
"I'm not sure I do," I frown.
"There's not much meat on these bones, but it'll keep you going for-"
"No!" I shout. "Don't be obscene."
"I'm being practical," he says. "I'm letting you know I won't object if-"
"There'll be no cannibalism on this boat," I growl. "Right, Kirilli?"
"He has a point," Kirilli mutters. "He wouldn't just be a food source-humans are seventy per cent water. And we could use his skin for shelter. His bones might come in handy too, if we have to fight off sharks or-"
"Nobody's eating anybody!" I yell, then burst into tears.
"OK," Dervish soothes me. "I was only trying to help. Don't worry. If you don't want to eat me, I won't force you." He pulls a crooked expression. "Does that sound as crazy as I think?"
I laugh through my tears. "You idiot! Besides," I add, wiping my cheeks clean, "it doesn't matter whether we live or die. It might even be better if we perish on this boat. I'm not sure I want to go back."
"What are you talking about?" Dervish frowns.
I take a deep breath and finally reveal what I learned on the ship. "I touched the Shadow and absorbed some of its memories. I told Beranabus. That's why he gambled so recklessly and sacrificed himself. He knew the Shadow couldn't be defeated, that we couldn't kill it. Sending it back to the Demonata universe for a while was the best we could hope for."
"I don't believe that," Dervish snorts. "I don't care how powerful it is. Everything can be killed."
"Not the Shadow," I disagree.
I lie back in the boat and stare at the darkening sky, listening to the waves lap against the sides of the boat. It's peaceful. I wouldn't mind if I fell asleep now and never awoke.
"The Shadow's not a demon," I explain quietly, and Dervish and Kirilli have to lean in close to hear. "It's a force that somehow acquired consciousness. I don't know how, but it has."
"A force?" Dervish scowls.
"Like gravity," I explain. "Imagine if gravity developed a mind, created a body and became an actual entity-Gravity with a capital G, intelligent like us, able to think and plan."
"That's impossible," Dervish says. "Gravity's like the wind or sunlight. It can't develop consciousness."
"But imagine it could," I push. "You've seen the true nature of the universes. You know magic exists, that just about anything is possible. Imagine."
Dervish takes a moment to adjust his thinking. "OK," he says heavily. "It's a struggle, but I'm running with it. Gravity has a mind. It's given itself a body. And it's coming after humanity. Is that what you're telling me?"
"Almost," I smile weakly. "But it's not gravity. It's an altogether different force. More sinister. Inescapable. Every living being's final companion."
"Don't tease us with riddles," Dervish snaps. "Just spit it out."
"I think I already know," Kirilli says softly. "The greatest stage magician ever was Harry Houdini. He was a master escapologist. He could cheat any trap known to man. But there was one thing he couldn't escape, no matter how hard he tried, and it caught him eventually-the Grim Reaper."
"Aye."
I sigh as Dervish stares at me with growing understanding and horror, then close my eyes and cross my hands over my chest. I think about Beranabus, Sharmila, Kernel. Dervish's weak heart. The trap Lord Loss set for Grubbs. What will happen to Kirilli and me if help doesn't arrive in time.
Dead ends everywhere. The dead coming back to life on the ship. Juni and me returning to life from beyond the grave. The Shadow's promise to the Demonata, that they'll live forever once the war with humanity is over.
"The Shadow is ancient beyond understanding," I whisper. "It's as old as life. It doesn't have an actual name. It never needed one. But we've given it a title. The demons have too. It's the darkness when a light is quenched, the silence when a sound fades. It takes the final breath from the smallest insect and the mightiest king. It knows us all, stalks us all, and in the end claims us all. The shadow is death
