CASUALTIES OF WAR

It sounds like the entire universe is screaming. Dervish and Grubbs wail for Meera. In the air, Lord Loss bellows Juni’s name and reaches out to her with a couple of his arms, offering Bec a brief respite. The demon hordes screech with delight, the scent of human death like a red rag to a bull. They press even tighter around us, each wanting to be next to claim a soul.

I drown out the screams and focus on the window. It’s all that matters now. We have seconds to get the hell out of here, or we’ll wind up like Meera. No time for misery or joy. Just focus, work fast, and pray.

A werewolf is slaughtered and collides with me as it thrashes in its death throes, opening a new, deep cut down the side of my head, just behind my left ear. I shrug it off and concentrate.

Kirilli leaps high into the air, raining handfuls of bones down upon the demons. He must have picked them up from the floor of the battlefield. They strike like shrapnel, blinding, wounding, killing. He roars with delight—then shrieks as a demon’s jaws flash and his right foot is bitten off at the ankle. Kirilli collapses. His foot drops on top of me and I head it away like a football, never pausing, right hand moving mechanically, fending off demons with my damaged left hand.

Grubbs head-butts a demon and smashes its skull to pieces. His forehead comes out drenched in brains and foul-smelling fluid. Extending his tongue, he licks his eyes clean and fights on, laughing through his tears.

Lord Loss and Bec crash to earth, then rise again. They’re still struggling with each other, but he doesn’t seem to be inflicting as much damage. His hands move lazily, more like they’re caressing Bec than savaging her. And she doesn’t react as violently as before. She wriggles less frantically in his embrace, almost as if…

Before I can complete the thought, a window of pale blue light blinks into existence. I stare at it stupidly. Then exhilaration sweeps through me and I yell at the top of my voice. “The window is open!”

The Demonata scream hatefully and lash at us frantically. The smarter beasts try to crowd around the window, to block our path, but they’re hampered by the mass of demons. There are too many of the monsters. They get in one another’s way.

Kirilli hops to the window, grabs Dervish’s right arm—he’s still staring at the spot where Meera fell—and topples through, dragging Dervish after him.

A bloodied, panting Grubbs draws up beside me. He casually repels a handful of demons with one swipe of a massive arm. We’re both looking to the sky overhead where Bec is locked in the embrace of Lord Loss.

“Go!” she yells. “Leave me!”

“We can’t,” Grubbs croaks.

“We must,” I mutter as more demons bear down on us, snarling, spitting, claws and fangs at full stretch.

“But—” Grubbs begins.

“We’re demon fodder if we stay,” I snap, then throw myself through the window and out of the demonic universe of death.

I hit a hard floor and I’m on my feet a split second later. This is the cave where Beranabus and I were based before our quest to find the Shadow began. It was the first place that popped into my mind when I started putting a window together.

I rip at the fabric of the window, dismantling it, not waiting for Grubbs. If he crosses within the next few seconds, fine. If not, he’s a fool and he’ll deserve all he gets.

As my hands move within the panel of light, tearing at the individual patches, a werewolf stumbles through, wrapped in the arms of a giant insect-shaped demon. They crash past me and continue their fight on the floor. As Kirilli yelps and slips out of their way, Grubbs backs through the window, bolts of magic flying from his fists, roaring a challenge at those he’s leaving behind.

Two more werewolves follow their leader into the cave. The head and shoulders of a third appear, but something clutches its legs and hauls it back. It howls and kicks at whatever has hold. Grubbs grabs the creature and pulls. But then the window comes undone. The patches of light pulse and snap free of each other. The panel vanishes and the werewolf’s cut neatly in half, its lower body stranded in the universe of the Demonata, its head and upper arms dropping to the floor here. Its death roar catches in its throat.

It’s over.

Well… almost. The insect demon gibbers and breaks free. It darts at the place where the window was, pauses when it realizes it’s trapped, then turns on me. Before it can strike, all three werewolves pounce. They rip it to pieces and feast on the brittle remains, instantly forgetting about the trauma of the battle, fully focused on their meal, ignoring the rest of us as we sink to the floor and stare silently at each other with shock, bewilderment, and dismay.

Grubbs is the first to move. Rising slowly, groaning painfully, he hobbles over to check on Dervish. His uncle’s in bad shape, the worst of any of us. Blood is pumping from the hole in his chest and I don’t think any amount of magic will stop it. Grubbs starts arguing with him. He wants to open a window back to the demon universe, where Dervish will stand a chance of recovery, but the battered Disciple is having none of it. He told Grubbs a while ago that he wanted to die on Earth when his time came. It looks like he’ll soon be granted his wish.

“How’s the foot?” I ask Kirilli, who’s sitting nearby, staring at the place where his right foot used to be. He’s crying softly.

“It’s gone,” Kirilli moans, then looks up. “I don’t feel any pain.”

“You will soon,” I tell him. “But I can work some magic here. I’ll bandage it up and help numb the pain. Then I’ll open a window and drop you off at a hospital before I leave.”

Kirilli doesn’t ask where I’m going. Instead he grins weakly. “I did good, didn’t I?” he asks hopefully.

“You did great.” I smile.

“I never thought I’d be a hero,” he whispers. “I dreamed of it many times but I never believed…” He falls silent, reliving the highlights, conveniently ignoring the part where he danced like a fool in the stomach of the Shadow. I don’t remind him of that, but fetch bandages from behind the spot where I used to sleep. He’s earned the right to be proud. It’s not stumbling along the way that matters, but how you finish.

Grubbs limps over as I’m bandaging Kirilli’s ankle and healing it with magic, closing off the veins and arteries. He watches silently until I’m done, then nods at me. Leaving Kirilli, we squat near the place where we once kept a fire burning. Grubbs’s face has altered. He looks more human than he did when he was fighting. He also looks like he’s in a lot of pain, but he says nothing of it.

“Meera’s dead,” he mumbles.

“I know.”

“She took Juni with her. I’d have rather killed that traitor myself, but as long as she’s gone…” He sighs, then says quietly, “Dervish is dying. He asked me to take him up top, so he can die outside. I need you to open the trapdoor.”

We’re deep beneath the ground. A rope ladder leads to the surface, but a stone slab blocks the way out. It’s operated by magic. Focusing, I mutter the correct phrase and set it sliding free. “Done.”

“Thanks,” Grubbs says and starts to rise.

“I could take him to a hospital with Kirilli,” I suggest.

Grubbs shakes his head. “No point. They couldn’t do anything for him. What a moron, letting the demons bite a chunk out of his chest. He should have kept his guard up. The old fool deserves…” He shudders, fighting hard to hold back tears.

“I’ll wait for you to return,” I tell him.

“That’s OK. Take care of Kirilli. You can come back for me.”

“I’m not coming back.”

Grubbs had made it to his feet, but now he pauses, stares at me, and squats again. “What are you talking about?” he asks gruffly.

“It’s over. I’m going to the ark.”

“You can’t. We need you. This isn’t finished.”