“Nobody knows how many there were,” Drust says as he walks. “Maybe thousands. This world was theirs. A playpen… a breeding ground… an experiment? We can only guess. Most have moved on, taken their magic with them, returned to the stars or wherever they came from. Or maybe they’ve died. We’re not sure. The Old Creatures communicated openly with our ancestors, but they’ve been silent for several generations.
“Many druids mourned the passing of our original masters and begged them to stay, to help us protect this world from the threat of the Demonata, to teach us more of the wonders and magic of the stars. But even the Old Creatures must obey the laws of the universe. And those laws state that for everything there is a time. Nothing remains unchanged forever.”
He stops before one of the shapes and stares up at it. Reaches out, then draws his hand back, fingers twitching.
“I was told that when the final Old Creature leaves this world, all life will fade, all lands will fall, everything will turn to dust and blow away in the savage winds which will lash the world in their wake. But I don’t believe that. I think if they created this world and all its beings—especially us—they created it with love. Maybe they’ve created others, and will create more worlds later, a string of them throughout the universe. They give birth, help us through our infancy, then move on, leaving us to our own devices, maybe returning in the far-off future to see how we’ve fared. One day our descendants might be like them—mothers and fathers of worlds and life…”
He trails to a halt. His words are strange, hard for me to understand. I’ve never heard anyone speak of such things before. My head’s spinning as I try to see the universe as Drust imagines it, speckled with beings greater than gods.
And then one of the shapes—or all of them together—speaks.
“Why Have You Come?”
The accent is all the accents I’ve ever heard. The words are both lyrical and flat. Loud and soft. Coming from within my head and all around. Warm and comforting. No malice or threat. Only tired curiosity.
“To seek answers,” Drust says, bowing his head. “I know it’s bold to ask, to disturb you when you wish for peace, but—”
“—These Are Troubling Times,” the voice finishes. A pause. “The Demonata Have Crossed. We Were Not Aware Of It. But It Was Not Unexpected. They Have Always Been A Threat And Always Will Be. The Battle Between Demons And Humans Must Be Fought Over And Over, Until They Defeat You.”
“Or we defeat them?” Drust says hopefully.
“No,” the voice says. “The Demonata Are Creatures Of Pure Magic. Their Power Is Beyond That Of Humanity. That Is Something No Force Can Change. In The Past We Protected Humans And Prevented Demonic Incursions. But We Must Move On. We Cannot Stay And Repulse The Demon Hordes Indefinitely.”
“But you can help us stop this current assault,” Drust groans, voice laced with more than a hint of desperation. He looks up and his eyes are red. I realise he’s crying. “You can show me the location of the tunnel entrance. You can tell me how to close it.”
Another pause. Then the voice says, “Our Time Here Is Almost At An End, But While We Remain, We Will Assist, As We Always Have.”
One of the shapes contracts and changes colour, becoming green, brown, grey, blue. It takes on the form of land, only much smaller than real land. I haven’t seen one of these before but I know what it is. “A map,” I mutter.
“Aye,” Drust says, studying the map eagerly, reading it in ways I cannot. To the right there’s a shining dot, the size of my smallest nail. “That’s where the tunnel entrance lies?” Drust asks.
“It Is.”
“That’s not so far.” Drust looks excited. “We can be there in eight or nine days if we march hard.”
“Indeed.” The map changes and the shape resumes its original, ever-shifting form. “But You Do Not Have Such Temporal Luxury.”
Drust frowns. “What do you mean?”
“The Demonata Gather,” the voice says. “We Can Sense Them Now That We Have Focused. They Press And Rip At The Fabric Of This Universe. In Two Days And Nights The First Demon Masters Will Cross.”
Drust’s face turns a sickly grey colour. “No! They can’t! Not when we’re so close! We have to stop them! You must help us!”
“We Cannot,” the voice says. “We Are Confined Here And Our Powers Are Fading Fast. From This Place, In Our Condition, We Cannot Speed You On Your Way.”
“But…” Drust drops to his knees. “We’re damned then? There’s no hope?”
“There Is Always Hope,” the voice answers. “You Have Two Days And Nights.”
“But we can’t move that quickly, even with magic,” Drust complains.
“You Must Find A Way,” the voice says. “Or Perish.”
Drust nods bitterly, getting his emotions under control. When he addresses the Old Creatures again, he speaks neutrally. “If we make it in time, we can close the tunnel?”
“You Can,” the voice says. “But You Already Knew The Answer To That Question.”
Drust looks sideways at me, then licks his lips. “Aye,” he croaks. “But I hoped… I thought there might be other ways.”
“No,” the voice says. “There Is Only One.”
“So be it,” Drust says, even more stone-faced than usual. “Will she suffice? A demon master worked a charm on her. She has not been warped by his touch?”
“No,” the voice says. “Actually, Without It She Would Not Have Been Suitable.”
Drust looks puzzled. “Do you know why—” he begins, but I interrupt before he finishes, unable to hold my tongue any longer.
“Pardon me,” I say, my voice trembling, “but how can we close the tunnel? What’s my part in this?”
“Quiet!” Drust snaps. “You have no right to speak! This place is—”
“Peace,” the voice cuts in gently but firmly. “All Who Come Before Us Have The Right To Be Heard. The Girl Has Asked A Question. It Will Be Answered.”
“But I only brought her to make sure she was pure!” Drust shouts. “She has no—”
The rock beneath our feet shudders. It’s all the warning Drust requires. He closes his mouth and hangs his head.
“The Tunnel Between Your Universe And The Demonata’s Has Been Created By A Human Magician,” the voice explains. “He Must Be Eradicated For The Tunnel To Be Closed, But That Spell Requires A Sacrifice.”
“A human sacrifice?” I guess.
“It Is More Specific Than That. The Killing Of A Human Would Not Generate The Power Necessary To Destroy The Tunnel. A Magician Must Be Slaughtered In Order For The Spell To Work.” The voice pauses. Drust looks up at me with haunted—but firm, unapologetic—eyes. “A Druid Must be Killed,” the voice concludes, “Or A Priestess.”
TAMING THE WILD
The Old Creatures fall silent and I get the sense that they won’t talk to us again. Drust senses it too and prepares to leave in a hurry without asking any further questions. Once we’ve recast the breathing and warming spells, he takes my hand—without looking me in the eye—and we jump into the pool, sink, then return through the tunnel. I thought we’d move slower this time, because the force of the water is against us, but it’s exactly the same as before.
Shooting out of the tunnel, we rise to the surface, where we hang, bobbing up and down with the swell of the waves. I don’t break my breathing spell—the water is still foaming over my head. With his free hand, Drust points at the cliff face. I think he’s mad—there’s no way we can make the cliff safely or climb it even if we could—but I don’t argue as he guides us towards it, opposing the pull and cut of the waves.
We move on the surface of the sea as we moved below, propelled by magic, not swimming, but gliding like seabirds across the surf. The wind and waves lash us angrily, as though enraged by our ability to defy them.
Closer to the lethal screen of the cliff… closer… almost upon it. One more sweep of a wave and I’ll be able to reach out and touch it.