Darren Shan - Death's Shadow

Kernel is off by himself, doggedly monitoring Juni’s position. The rest of us are duelling, practising our skills, learning. It’s difficult to define your magical limits. Magic is a mysterious, ever-shifting force. You can test yourself in certain ways on Earth, but you never know how far you can stretch until circumstances compel you to improvise.

Sharmila told me that when Kernel first came to this universe, Beranabus threw him at a flesh-eating tree to establish his magical potential. When his life came under threat. Kernel reacted and he fought free. If he’d been of lesser potential, he’d have perished. That’s a cruel way to test a person, but there’s no easy alternative. Magic is part of a harsh universe. Those who wish to channel its power must accept that.

Beranabus sends twin balls of fire shooting at Dervish and me. I turn the ball aimed at me into an icy mist, but Dervish isn’t as swift. He disperses the flames, but not before they singe his beard and redden his cheeks and lips.

“You’re slow,” Beranabus grunts while Dervish repairs the damage.

“So are you!” Sharmila shouts, hitting Beranabus with a burst of energy from behind. He shoots forward, yelling with surprise, and smashes into a tree, sending bones flying in all directions.

“That hurt,” Beranabus complains, staggering to his feet and rubbing the small of his back. He bends to pick some splinters out of his bare feet. We’ve all got rid of our shoes—they hinder the flow of magic.

“Be thankful I was not aiming to kill,” Sharmila says coolly. “We are all slower and weaker than before. It is the penalty of old age. No one can avoid it.”

“I’ve done better than most for a millennium and a half,” Beranabus growls.

“But time catches up with us all eventually, even you.”

Beranabus twists slowly left, then right, working the pain out of his back. “I suppose you’re right,” he grumbles. “I’ve known for a long time I’m not as quick or powerful as I once was.”

He waves a hand at Sharmila and her artificial legs snap apart. She collapses with a yelp of shock and pain.

“But there’s life in the old dog yet,” Beranabus shouts triumphantly, before guiltily hurrying to Sharmila’s side to fix the damage.

Kernel has kept himself distant, sitting in the open with his legs crossed, tinkering with the lights that only he can see, keeping tabs on Juni. Beranabus told me his bald assistant finds it hard to focus these days. Since he got his new eyes he’s been seeing patches of light which were invisible to him before. He can’t control the new patches and they distract him. He’s been trying to ignore them, but I often spot him scowling and cursing, waving an irritated hand at the air around him.

In the middle of another dry, lifeless afternoon, as the others are resting while I leap from tree to tree testing my powers of flight, Kernel uncrosses his legs and stands.

“She’s moving,” he says.

We’re by his side in seconds. His bright blue eyes are alive with flickering spots of light. He looks nervous.

“Where did she go?” Beranabus asks.

“Earth.”

“And Lord Loss?”

“He stayed in his own realm.”

“Can you tell where exactly she is?” Dervish asks.

“No.” He frowns. “I should be able to, but I can’t place it.”

“Is she close to Grubbs?” Dervish presses.

Kernel concentrates, then shakes his head.

“Well?” Sharmila asks Beranabus.

“Kernel and I will investigate. The rest of you stay here.”

“Nuts to that,” Dervish huffs.

“Don’t forget about your heart,” Beranabus says. “Or Sharmila’s legs. You’re a pair of wrecks on that world. Let us check the situation and report back. We won’t engage her if we can avoid it.”

“What about me?” I ask. “I can survive there.”

“Aye, but I’m asking you to wait. Please. Until we know more about what we’re walking into.” I don’t like it, but I know Beranabus worries about me. Better to go along with his wishes, so he can operate free of any distractions.

Kernel opens a window within minutes. It’s a white panel of light. I think I can smell the real world through it, but that’s just my nose playing tricks. Without saying anything, Kernel steps through, Beranabus half a step behind him.

“We’ll give them five minutes,” Dervish rumbles. “If they’re not back by then, we—” Beranabus sticks his head through the window, catching us by surprise. “It’s an area of magic,” he says. “Sharmila and Dervish will be fine there. Come on.”

He disappears again. We glance at each other uneasily, then file through one by one, back to the human universe, in search of the semi-human Juni Swan and a host of shadowy answers.

Beranabus thought his world had ended when I died. He’d been developing while we were together, the disjointed fragments of his mind linking up, learning to think and reason as other humans did. My magic helped. Unknown to me, I smoothed out many of the creases inside his brain, opening channels which were blocked. Perhaps, deep down, I loved him as he loved me. I was certainly fond of the strange boy.

When the rocks closed, trapping me in the cave with Lord Loss and his familiars, Beranabus went wild with grief. He tried to carve through the wall, using small stones and his bare fingers. When that failed, he kept vigil for several months, drinking from the waterfall inside the cave, abandoning his post only to catch the occasional rabbit or fox.

He held long, garbled conversations with himself in the darkness. Time got confused inside his head and sometimes he thought he was in the Labyrinth and the Minotaur was hiding behind a stalagmite. He’d repeat my name over and over, along with his own—he managed to say “Beranabus” for the first time in the cave. He wept and howled, and sometimes tried to bash his head open on the rocks. Normally he stopped before damaging himself, but a few times he knocked himself unconscious, only to awake hours later, scalp bruised and bloody, his ears ringing.

He knew I was dead, the rock wouldn’t open, that I’d never step out and throw my arms around him. But for a long time he clung to the belief that a miracle would return me to the world. Then, one day, without warning, he kissed the rock, climbed to the surface and staggered away, with no intention of ever coming back.

Beranabus retraced our steps, following the route we’d covered from the shoreline to the cave. He hoped, by doing so, to recall any small memories of me that he might have forgotten. His vague plan was to march west to the shore, then back inland to the crannog where I’d first met Drust, finishing up at my village. After that… he didn’t know. Thinking ahead was a new experience for him and he found it hard to look very far into the future.

When he reached the shore and gazed down over the cliff where we’d sheltered, to the ever-angry sea below, his plan changed. Grief exploded within him and he saw only one way to escape it. He’d had enough of demons and humans, slaughter and love. He didn’t know much about death, but the many corpses he’d seen over the centuries had all looked peaceful and unthinking. Maybe he wouldn’t feel this terrible sense of loss if he put life and its complicated emotions behind him.

Beranabus smiled as he stepped off the cliff and fell. His thoughts were of me and the Minotaur. He knew nothing of the possibility of a life after death, so he had no hope of seeing us again. His only wish was that our faces were the last images in his thoughts when he died.