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I hunker down, fighting the dark wisps which threaten to bowl me over and sweep me away. There’s no floor, just banks of shadows all around. I’m not floating. It’s more like being stuck in a pool of mud.
I try to create a ball of light but nothing happens. There’s magic here, waves of energy washing between the shadowy souls and binding them, but it’s a different type of magic and I’m unable to channel it.
As I try again, something solid strikes my left shoulder. Cringing away from my assailant, I peer through the streams of shadows masking my eyes. I spy a bulky shape bearing down on me. Impossible to tell if it’s friend or foe. I back up, desperately scouring the space around me for a trace of magic I can use. Then a pair of huge hands grasps my arms and tugs me to a halt. A face thrusts up next to mine. It’s a fearsome, demonic face, and my first instinct is to lash out. But as a veil of shadows whisks away from over the creature’s eyes, I realize it’s Grubbs.
He says something. I shake my head and mouth back the words, “I can’t hear.”
Grubbs narrows his eyes. Nothing happens for a few seconds. Then I hear his voice inside my head. “— me now? Can you hear me now? Can you—”
“Yes,” I stop him, replying silently, thinking the words instead of voicing them.
“Are you able to channel the magic?” he asks.
“No.”
He tuts, then grins. “I couldn’t either. Nobody could. But Bec adapted swiftly and showed the rest of us. Come on.”
He leads me through the shadows, half-staggering, half-swimming. The others aren’t far away—they’re grouped together, Bec at the center, the rest huddled round her, lit dimly by flickering balls of light which she has generated. They all look scared, especially Kirilli. Even the werewolves are subdued, whining silently and glancing around uneasily.
Once I’m in physical contact with the group, Bec speaks. “We haven’t much time. Death isn’t aware of us yet but it will discover us soon. You have to find Beranabus and Bill-E as quickly as possible.”
I realize she’s talking to me. “How can I find them?” I protest. “I opened the window and brought us here. What more can I do?”
“You’re the eyes of the Kah-Gash,” she snaps. “You see more than any of us. To me there’s no difference in the shadows. They all look the same. But I’m sure you can see more.”
“Well, I can’t,” I snarl, hating the way she’s heaping the pressure onto me.
A wave of energy floods through me, opening doors within my brain, clearing passageways. Suddenly I find myself absorbing and converting the magic of Death. I fill with power and breathe out easily, smiling at the buzz of it.
“How did you do that?” I ask, relaxed and cool.
“I used my gift,” Bec says. “Now use yours and look.”
Still smiling, I cast my gaze around and see that Bec was right. Now that I’ve tapped into the magic, the shadows have taken on a new consistency. There are thousands of individual shards and shapes whirling around us, no two alike. I can’t believe I didn’t see them before. Each has its own shade, form, and way of moving. They’re all a grey-black color, but there are more variants of grey and black than I would have dreamed possible.
My first thought is, “So this is what souls look like.” But that’s not right. This is only what they look like here. Death has taken these unfortunates and molded them into what it wanted them to be.
As I study the souls, I extend my thoughts, focusing on individuals, trying to communicate. Nothing happens for a while. Then, all of a sudden, I’m struck by a burst of voices, screams and yowls, tormented cries for help and release. Wincing, I shut out the noises. After a brief pause, I open myself to the voices again but put filters in place, blocking out the worst of the background noise.
“Who are you?” I ask a nearby shadow as it floats past.
“Free me!” it screams.
“Who are you?” I shout again, but it only repeats its plea. Others that I focus on are the same, impossible to question, wailing for freedom.
I turn to tell the others but I don’t need to. Bec has been in touch with me the whole time and has broadcast the short snippets to the rest. They look distraught. The suffering of these souls is awful. In life, no matter how bad things get, at least you have the release of death to look forward to, the belief that no matter what lies beyond, nothing can be as bad as this.
But these people have shuffled off their mortal coils, only to find themselves ensnared by the force they were relying on to set them free. Every soul here knows it wasn’t meant for this hellish realm. Having escaped the confines of natural life, they’ve found themselves caught in an unnatural web and it’s driven them insane.
“We have to get out of here!” Kirilli shrieks. “We can’t help them!”
“Bran won’t have given in to madness,” Bec insists. “Find him, Kernel. He won’t have surrendered. Not Bran.”
I don’
t have her faith in the ancient magician but I search anyway. Using the magic of Death, I send a radar-like cry out in all directions, calling for Beranabus, trying to locate his position. Once I’ve sent the signal, I wait for it to echo back. If he’s still conscious, he’ll respond. But if he’s like the others… if he’s lost his senses and forgotten his name… become just a swirling shadow with no idea of self…
“Bill-E,” Grubbs snarls as we wait. “Look for Bill-E too.”
