Hell's Heroes td-10 Read online

  “There would have been much more magic to tap into if you hadn’t destroyed the lodestone,” Kirilli murmurs.

  I lean in close. “See those werewolves?” I hold my thumb and index finger a quarter of an inch apart. “I’m this close to serving you to them for lunch.”

  As Kirilli blanches, I close my eyes and draw all the power that I can from the air. It’s fading now that the lodestone’s been smashed, but I don’t give the stage magician the satisfaction of telling him he was right. Taking a deep breath, I recall the first line of the spells that Beranabus taught me, and begin.

  WHO’S THAT GIRL?

  It takes longer than I thought it would to open the window, and it’s bloody uncomfortable. Kernel makes it look easy—he just moves his hands around and voilа! Even Beranabus was able to open one with relative ease. But I operate more like Dervish did when he once summoned Lord Loss in the cellar at Carcery Vale. Lots of huffing and puffing, incantations, smoke steaming out of my pores.

  Finally, after hours of intense effort, a weak-looking window of yellow light forms. “Quick,” I groan at the others. “I don’t know how long it will last.”

  Shark is first through. He moves stiffly, hindered by his brace, and looks quite pitiful, but I wouldn’t like to be the demon who mistakes Shark for an easy target. Timas hurries after him. I don’t think he’ll be much use over there—he has all the magical talent of a slug—but he won’t abandon Shark.

  Kirilli hesitates. “Maybe one of us should stay here to…” He stops, unable to think of a valid excuse.

  “Cower?” I suggest.

  Kirilli shoots me a dark look, then steps through. I bark at Moe and Curly and they cross. Then I take Kernel’s hand and lead him to the window. He pauses in front of it.

  “I can still sense the lights,” he whispers, moving his head as if he had eyes.

  “I bet my window doesn’t compare with any of yours.”

  “No.” He smiles. “But you did good for a novice.”

  He steps into the window, sighing happily, and disappears.

  Are you sure this is wise? the Kah-Gash asks as I lift my leg to cross.

  I frown. “You don’t want me to go?”

  My wants are yours, the voice of the ancient weapon says. I have always served, hiding myself when you wished, fighting your wolfen half when you were afraid of it, helping you take the world back through time when the Demonata crossed. You don’t trust me, but I have always respected your desires.

  “Then tell me if this is the right thing to do.”

  I cannot judge. I merely question your actions because I sense your uncertainty.

  “Will I destroy the world if I go after Bec?” I press. “Should I flee with Kernel to the other side of the universe? Throw myself off a cliff?”

  I don’t know, the Kah-Gash says. I have no insight into the future. I only know that you mistrust this course, so I ask as your friend—is this wise?

  “You want me to find her, so we can unite and set you free,” I challenge it.

  I have always been free, the Kah-Gash retorts. I choose my hosts and stay of my own free will.

  “But you want to be made whole again?”

  There’s silence for a few seconds. Then a sigh. The window is about to close. Cross or stay, the choice is yours. But choose now.

  I want to question it further, but there isn’t time. Cursing, knowing this might be the worst move I ever make, I throw myself through the window just before it blinks out, severing the link between universes.

  We’re in the middle of an oasis. At least that’s what it looks like, but on closer examination you can see that the trees are made of bones and scraps of human skin, and the pool at the center is alive and carnivorous. This was one of Beranabus’s favorite spots in this foul universe. He often rested here.

  “What kept you?” Shark asks.

  At the same time Kernel says, “We shouldn’t be here.”

  “I was tying my shoelaces,” I tell Shark, then turn to answer Kernel.

  “You’re not wearing any shoes,” Shark notes.

  “You’re so observant,” I respond drily.

  “Bec knows about this place,” Kernel says, raising his voice. “We stayed here after the attack at the hospital. She might be keeping tabs on it.”

  “I already thought of that,” I scowl, “but this is the only place Beranabus showed me how to get to. I couldn’t guide us anywhere else.”

  “That’s stupid,” Kernel barks. “The location is irrelevant. You could have—”

  “You can stand there and lecture me,” I snap, “or you can build a fresh pair of eyes and lead us all to safety.”

  Kernel grumbles, but turns, sits, and focuses on his empty sockets. As he directs magic at the place where his eyes once were, Moe growls and advances on him, followed by Curly.

  “Easy,” I soothe them. “Change of plan. Let him work on the eyes.”

  The werewolves stare at me. Sighing, I thicken the cords in my throat and growl their new instructions. Once the message has penetrated, they explore the trees around us, chasing each other through them, munching strips of flesh and breaking off bones to gnaw.

  “Is the water safe to drink?” Kirilli asks, stepping towards the dark pool.

  “It’s not water,” I tell him. “If you get close, it will pull you in and eat you.”

  “Nice,” Shark grunts. “You know how to pick the perfect spot for a date.”

  “Are there any computers here?” Timas asks, studying the trees.

  “This is the universe of the Demonata,” I remind him. “The home of magic and monsters, nightmares and madness. Of course there are no bloody computers!”

  “Why not?” he asks. “Maybe demons like to surf the web too.”

  I roll my eyes, but inside I’m smiling. They’re a weird, wounded lot, but I can rely on every one of them to stand by me in a fight. Well, maybe not Kirilli if his yellow streak kicks in… or Timas if he gets bored… or Kernel once he takes off for his rendezvous with the Old Creatures… or Shark if the brace holding his guts in place cracks open…

  “What are you grinning at?” Shark asks.

  “You wouldn’t like it if I told you,” I chuckle. To hell with the odds—at least they’re my friends. If things go bad, I’d rather die in the company of this bunch of misfits than with anyone else.

  Kernel’s still working on his eyes. They’re starting to come together. At the moment they look like a runny egg that’s been poured back into the two halves of its shell. The rest of us are sitting nearby. Moe and Curly lie by my feet, panting after their playful chase.

  I’m in the middle of telling Shark and Timas about Beranabus’s soul, how we found it inside the Shadow and freed it, what he told us before he departed. I’m interrupted by choking noises. Glancing over, I spot Curly shaking her head and retching. I grin, figuring she swallowed a bone the wrong way, but then Moe growls and edges away from her. I sense something’s wrong.

  “Move back,” I tell the others. They shuffle away, Kernel too, knowing better than to question me. Moe is snarling, his teeth bared, eyeing Curly darkly.

  The female werewolf rolls around, whining and gasping. I howl a question, but she either doesn’t hear or can’t respond. She’s clawing at her face. I howl again, trying to calm her, but she staggers to her feet and whirls away, making horrible sounds. She crashes into a tree, rebounds, and picks up speed. She’s unconsciously heading for the pool. I see the liquid draw towards the edge closest to us. It senses a victim and is getting ready to pounce.

  I race after the distressed werewolf and tackle her. She lashes out at me, but feebly, no power in the punch. I get a glimpse of her face and shudder. Her flesh is bubbling as if she’s been dunked in a bucket of acid. Her eyes bulge, and her tongue swishes madly from one side of her mouth to the other.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Kirilli yells.

  “Damned if I know,” I mutter, nudging her away from the pool, ready to defend myself
if she attacks.

  Curly lurches to her knees, then throws herself down and buries her face in the soil. She thrashes wildly, sending clouds of dust shooting into the air. She slams her face harder into the ground, as if she wants to destroy it.

  Curly screams, squeezes her head, then slumps. Her hands fall away. Her legs shiver, then go still. She lies facedown, breathing shallowly, silent. I edge closer, wary, expecting her to leap up and attack. But she’s not playing possum. She doesn’t move as I poke her with my right foot, or when I kneel beside her and pull her head up by her hair.

  There are gasps from the others when they see her face. I frown at them, then rotate her head. As her face swings into view, I see what disturbed them. Her features have altered. There’s another face poking out of the flesh and bones. It’s still forming, the skin around the cheeks bulging and warping. But I recognize it in spite of all the blood and goo.

  “Bec!”

  Her eyes snap open and focus on me. I almost drop her and stamp her head into the ground. But that wouldn’t achieve anything. This isn’t the real Bec, merely a projection. I might as well hear her out. If I do any damage, I’ll only hurt Curly.

  Bec’s lips move and she spits out clumps of Curly’s hairy flesh. She tries to speak. Blood gurgles in her throat and she chokes. Spits it out, then retches. Curly’s hand twitches and rises towards her mouth. It’s probably just to wipe blood away, but I’m taking no chances. I pin her with a wrestling move and clamp her hands behind her back. There are now only inches between my face and Bec’s. I draw back slightly, in case she bites.

  “You don’t look worried,” Bec says, her voice rougher than usual, a bit of Curly’s growly tone mixed in with it.

  “I’ve seen a lot weirder than this,” I shrug.

  “Is that really Bec?” Shark barks.

  “Quiet,” I tell him.

  “We should kill her if—”

  “Shut up!” I roar.

  Bec smiles crookedly. “You’ve been spying on me. I thought I sensed you, but I wasn’t certain until now. You’d be more concerned if my appearance had come as a complete surprise. Will you try to kill me, Grubbs, or do you still hold out hope of reassembling the Kah-Gash?”

  “What have you done?” I growl. “Have you pledged yourself to that foul hunk of rotting demon meat?”

  “We can’t beat them,” she sighs. “Everybody realizes that except you.”

  “So we join them instead?” I sneer. “Never. I’d rather die than fight beside the likes of Lord Loss.”

  “I tried death,” Bec says. “It wasn’t much fun.”

  “Are you having more fun now?” I want to pound her face to bits, but it wouldn’t change anything.

  “Enjoyment isn’t an issue any longer,” Bec says. “I won’t become a shrieking harpy like Juni Swan. I take no pleasure from this. But I want to survive. There’s no point sacrificing ourselves when the fight has already been lost.”

  “Of course there is,” I protest. “Dying for the people you care about has always been the ultimate point.”

  “But who do you care about?” Bec asks softly. “Your parents and Dervish are dead. Your sister, Bill-E, Meera, Sharmila. Who’s left? Who are you fighting for? I think you’re only resisting because it’s expected. You’ve never looked around and said, ‘I don’t have to do this.’ Try it, Grubbs. Ask who you fight for. Then tell me I’m wrong for choosing life over a pointless death.”

  I shake my head. The scary thing is, it’s tempting. I could easily accept everything she’s said, choose the same way she has, abandon the post of protector that Beranabus saddled me with, ride off into a gleeful, savage sunset with Bec and Lord Loss. I never wanted to be a hero. Why die miserably when I could live triumphantly? All it takes is a slight adjustment in the way I think, and…

  “No,” I whisper, putting temptation behind me.

  Bec smiles. “I almost had you for a moment, didn’t I?”

  “Almost,” I admit, chuckling wolfishly.

  “Grubbs,” Kernel says.

  “Not now,” I snap, staying focused on Bec. “What else do you have to say? I doubt you went to all this trouble just to tempt me.”

  “I wanted to warn you,” Bec says. “I feel I owe you that much.”

  “Warn me of what?” I frown.

  “Grubbs!” Kernel yells. “A window is opening. I can feel it.”

  “That,” Bec says sadly. Then her face freezes, turns a paler shade, and starts to disintegrate.

  I drop Curly’s head, lurch to my feet, and scan the surrounding area. I can’t see anything, but I don’t doubt Kernel. “Your eyes!” I shout.

  “Not finished,” he says.

  “Do I have time to open a window back to Earth?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Then get ready to fight.”

  As soon as I’ve said it, a dark, grey window snaps into existence and hordes of Lord Loss’s familiars spill through. They overrun the oasis in seconds, screaming and spitting, bearing down on us in a blast of frothing, demonic hellfire.

  UNSTILL WATERS

  I’m driven to the ground by gibbering demons, but back on my feet moments later, scattering the beasts with a burst of magic. I look over their heads, searching for Lord Loss. The familiars don’t bother me—I’m far stronger than them—but their master is a different matter. If he crosses, we’re in real trouble.

  But there’s no sign of the eight-armed sentinel of sorrow. Demons are spilling through the window, but only underlings. Maybe he’s saving his grand appearance for the end, to make more of an impression. Or maybe he’s wary of Kernel and me, and wants to see how we fare against his familiars first.

  Several small, furry demons attack the blind teenager. They have long snouts with suckerlike mouths at the end. I think their orders were to focus on his eyes if he’d reconstructed them.

  “Kernel!” I roar.

  He bats most of them away and smashes the snouts of another pair with a karate kick that Bruce Lee would have been proud of.

  An octopus-like demon launches itself at me and wraps its tentacles around my throat. I bite through a couple—sushi… yum! — then grab one and yank the demon in hard. I head-butt it and send a thousand volts of magical electricity crackling through its brain. The octopus drops, its remaining tentacles withering. Stepping onto its carcass, I bound into the air and rain a sheet of fire down on the demons closest to me. Their screams are music to my ears.

  Kirilli is warding off monsters, firing weak bolts of energy at them, yelping and staggering around anxiously. He’d be a good fighter if he could forget about his fear and just focus. Even in this agitated state, he’s powerful enough to drive back the demons who attack him. His biggest worry will be tripping over his own feet and leaving himself open to assault.

  Timas and Shark are fighting side by side, with their bare hands and feet. Shark prefers the old-fashioned ways, punching, kicking, throttling. He likes to get his hands—well, thumb! — dirty. Timas isn’t able to do anything magical, but he’s fast and sharp, and although he can’t kill the demons, he repels them artfully and calmly. He wouldn’t last long by himself, but with Shark by his side he holds his own.

  Moe is slaughtering the stampeding creatures with delight. It’s Christmas come early as far as he’s concerned. He rips throats open, tears off limbs, disembowels viciously. His only regret is that he can’t stop to feast on the spoils.

  Curly staggers to her feet, her face a broken mess. She lasts about three miserable seconds, mewing painfully and trying to push the pieces of her cheeks back into place. Then demons drag her down and finish her off. A sad end for a fine warrior.

  Five large, burly beasts slide through the window. They’re giants, twelve feet tall. I get the sense that they’re tough as rocks, but not much on the magical front. If these are the fiercest foes we have to deal with, it will be a breeze. It’ll take a while, but we can wipe out this crowd without having to go into second gear.

  I don’t g
et it. There must be more to come, or maybe there’s a hidden threat among the smaller, yapping demons. Lord Loss wouldn’t waste his familiars on us. He’d happily sacrifice them if he thought they could wear us down and leave us ripe for the picking, but these guys wouldn’t even test a run-of-the-mill mage.

  As I’m trying to figure out the method behind his apparent madness, the giants grab the smaller demons and lob them through the air into the pool of living liquid. It bubbles and seethes, swiftly stripping the skin and burning through the bones of the familiars, dissolving the shells of the more heavily protected.

  “What’s going on?” Shark yells, throwing a poodlelike demon with four heads at one of the giants, who grabs it like a frisbee and spins it off into the pool, where it only has time to bark twice before its tongue is fricasseed by the foaming liquid. “They’re doing our work for us.”

  “Maybe they’re on our side,” Kirilli squeals happily. “They think we’re going to win the war, so they’ve betrayed their master and are trying to prove themselves worthy of our mercy.”

  “I doubt it,” I mutter, head-butting another octopus demon, watching warily as more demons are thrown into the pool. The liquid’s glowing with different hues of demon blood. I’ve a bad feeling about this.

  As another demon is tossed into the ravenous pool, the liquid throbs. The giants kneel in front of the pool and bow their heads. Some of the demons attack them spitefully, but the giants ignore their blows and wait patiently, like monks praying at an altar.

  The liquid throbs again, then rises up in a circular sheet of dripping darkness. It looms over the kneeling giants and lesser demons. For a mad moment I think it’s going to form legs and stride towards us. But instead it crashes down over the giants and those around them, breaks like a wave, then re-forms and rises again, even larger than before.

  The sheet of lethal liquid sloshes forward several yards, by means I can’t work out, then collapses over another pack of demons, smothering and dissolving them, expanding again as it pulls itself up to its full, majestic height.