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“You think we can beat it?” I ask eagerly.
“Not a hope in hell,” Beranabus chuckles. “But you have to try, don’t you?”
Bec’s eyes are open. She looks troubled. I don’t know what Beranabus shared with her, but I’m reminded of Raz’s warning. I have a bad feeling. Suddenly I wish I hadn’t insisted on this mission, that I’d left Beranabus alone. I thought he could teach us how to vanquish our foes, but all he’s done is predict doom and tell Bec something that’s set her mind awhirl. But awhirl with what? Deceit?
Before I can press the issue, a cluster of shadows to my left bunches together, throbs, then rises high above us like a cobra’s head.
“Ah,” Beranabus sighs. “The behemoth awakes.”
“It’s alive!” Kirilli shrieks as the shadowy growth studies us ominously.
“This would be a good time to split,” Meera mutters.
The pillar of shadows smashes down on us before anyone can volunteer a plan. We’re thrown apart, yelling with panic. The werewolves howl and lurch at the massed head of shadows, but it bats them aside with ease and rises above us again. As it does, more shadows converge around us. Death might have taken a while to note our presence, but it’s moving swiftly to turn its imprisoned souls against us.
“Bec!” I roar, dodging another of the Shadow’s blows. “How do we get out?”
Beranabus answers mockingly. “Can’t you open a window, Kernel? That was always your specialty.”
“No time!” I yell. “Bec?”
“The Kah-Gash,” she says shakily, reaching towards me. A twisting fist of shadows slams into her right arm, snapping it at the elbow. She screams as her hand goes limp, then grits her teeth and unleashes a burst of energy at the fist. The shadows shatter beneath the force of the blow. Bec clutches me with her left hand. “Grubbs!” she yells.
He’s already making his way towards us, lips moving silently as he speaks to his piece of the Kah-Gash. A sword of shadows slices across his back, drawing blood, but he just grunts and pushes on.
Kirilli’s bouncing about like a Mexican jumping bean, dodging the spines and hammers that are forming and striking at us, yelping with each narrow escape, the rags of his tattered suit flapping up and down to comical effect.
“That’s the way.” Beranabus laughs at the petrified stage magician. “Dance, fool, dance!” He cackles madly. I think he’s closer to insanity than he realizes.
Grubbs reaches us and lays a powerful paw on my neck, the other on Bec’s. I immediately feel the Kah-Gash flare into life. There’s not as much power as before, because we’re surrounded by Death, unable to draw energy from the stars. But I still feel about ten times more powerful than normal.
As a hammer of shadows crashes upon us, Grubbs roars and it disintegrates. He releases Bec and me but the link remains. With his hands, he claws at the shadows around us, ripping dark holes through the fog of souls. Bec an
d I follow his lead, using magic to split shadows and blast through thicker banks of them. The others join in—except Kirilli, who’s still leaping about—and we attack the formations that Death has sent against us.
“This way,” Beranabus calls, shooting ahead. I don’t know how anyone could find their bearings here, but I have to trust him. It’s not like we have much choice.
We struggle after the fleeing shadow. I’m following Beranabus, the others are trailing me. Kirilli is the only one who doesn’t come. He hasn’t looked around. I call his name a few times but he doesn’t respond. In the end I curse and leave him. I feel bad, abandoning the Disciple, but you can’t save everyone. Some of the werewolves have already been killed. The power of the Kah-Gash is fading, having no outside source to draw from. If I went back for Kirilli, I’d waste energy and time, and that would prove the death of us all.
A noise grows as we push on. It’s a hissing sound, the spitting of a million furious snakes. Death is venting its rage. I’ve heard all sorts of shrieks and cries during my years in the demon universe. Nothing sent a shiver down my spine as much as this.
A spear of shadows strikes Grubbs just above his heart and shoots out the other side. With a roar of pain he falls to his knees but is up again instantly. His fangs lengthen and as another spear arcs towards him, he snatches it between his oversized teeth and grinds it to pieces, then spits them out.
A shadowy scythe splits the flesh of Meera’s lower back. She staggers, finds her feet, then is struck by a thick club. She falls unconscious, but Dervish is there to grab her and haul her forwards. His face is flushed, his limbs are trembling, his heart must be pounding fit to burst, but he carries on. I don’t know if it’s for Meera’s sake or his own, but he doesn’t quit, even though it would be easier for him to lie down and die.
I’ve been hammered all over and I’m bleeding from a variety of cuts, like the others, but Bec’s hardly been touched. She’s the strongest of us in this place of death. Grubbs might be the trigger, but Bec is pulling the strings at the moment, directing the energy of the Kah-Gash, using it to keep the lights going, protect herself from the blows of the Shadow, and help the rest of us as best she can. For such a small girl, she packs one hell of a lot of power.
“Here!” Beranabus calls. He’s come to a halt by a thick bank of souls. “This is a wall. Focus on this spot. Quickly—you’re almost out of time.”
Bec unleashes a ball of energy at the wall. I do the same. Grubbs starts to, then snarls and hurls himself at it instead. He hits the bank of shadows and rips into it, roaring as he scoops dark handfuls out of
his way. The surviving werewolves crowd around him and tear at the shadows too.
“Nearly there,” Beranabus roars cheerfully as Dervish and Meera are knocked aside, and I narrowly avoid being speared through the center of my head.
A hole appears in the side of the Shadow. Light shines through, blinding after the gloominess of this unnatural realm. The werewolves howl gleefully and double their efforts. The hole widens and I hit it with another blast of energy. Bec focuses on the area around it. Grubbs rips at the shadows like a madman. More holes and tears appear. Some of the souls drift free and disappear as they hit the air outside. Others follow, streaming after the first few. The holes widen, then the fabric around them crumbles away. The hissing reaches its peak, only now it’s a scream of pain. Souls dart from their prison, sensing escape, surging towards the exit from all parts of Death’s makeshift body.
Beranabus yodels enthusiastically, fighting the flow, holding his position. “Not bad,” he chuckles approvingly.
