Slawter (23 page)

BOOK: Slawter

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I start to tell Dervish this, to try to make him see it from my point of view. But all that comes out is a sigh, then a sullen, “Anyway, it’s irrelevant. I’m not a magician or a mage. It was just a Slawter thing.”

“You’re wrong. The power is there. We have to develop it. You can’t —”

“What if it isn’t?” I interrupt. “What if I’m just an ordinary kid who did something weird and wild, but is back to normal now? Would you leave me alone then?”

He frowns. “Yes, of course. If the talent isn’t there, obviously we can’t fan it into life. But it is. It must be.”

“Look for it,” I challenge him. “Can you find out if a person has magic in them or not?”

Dervish nods. “We can’t in people who haven’t tapped into it, but once someone unleashes their power, it’s always there. I can search for it, find it, prove it to you. I should have done it before, after you fought Vein and Artery, but I wasn’t thinking straight when I returned from my battle with Lord Loss.”

“Go on then.” I face him directly. “You won’t find anything, but if you want to look, feel free.”

Dervish puts his hands on my shoulders. My left arm’s still sore from when it was cut off. I wince, but steel myself and grunt for him to continue. I’m not sure why I’m so confident that he won’t find anything. But I am.

Dervish’s eyes close. “Relax,” he says. “You’ll feel a force... an intrusion. Try not to fight it. I’ll get out as quickly as possible.”

I let my eyelids flutter shut. Seconds later I sense a presence, a soft probing, like fingers creeping through the corridors of my brain. I tense against it.

“Relax,” Dervish murmurs. “It’s OK. I won’t hurt you. Trust me.”

It’s hard, but I do as Dervish says, opening myself up to him, letting him probe deep . . . deeper. I feel him closing in on a part of myself that I wasn’t aware of a few months ago. I know that if he finds it, he’ll continue pestering me to become a Disciple. He won’t give up. He’ll keep on and on, and eventually I’ll cave in and let him train me. And that will mean facing the Demonata again. More pain, craziness, terror.

Something moves within me. A pulse. A shiver. Hard to define. Like when you think you catch a movement out of the corner of your eye, but you’re not sure, and when you look closely, nothing’s there.

My eyes open. Dervish’s forehead is creased, his lips moving. I close my eyes again. Smile faintly and let him continue. Warm now, safe, at ease.

Finally Dervish releases me. When I look at him, he’s shaking his head, confused. “I don’t understand. I was certain. You shouldn’t have been able to...if there was nothing there...if you’re not a mage...It doesn’t make sense!”

“I assume that means no magic,” I grin.

“Not even a trace. I thought I was zooming in on it, but then... nothing. I kept on looking, went deeper than necessary, because I was so sure...”

“You can try again if you want,” I tell him.

“No point.” He manages a brief smile. “It’s either there or it isn’t. I’d have found it if it was. You can’t hide magic, not from those who know what to look for. I was wrong. You were right. You’re clean.”

“So I don’t have to sign up? The Disciples can struggle on without me?”

Dervish pulls a face. “I don’t know. The magic isn’t there now, but I suspect, if we placed you in an area of magic again, or took you into the universe of the Demonata.... Our leader, Beranabus, is more powerful than any of us. He spends a lot of time among demons. Perhaps...”

I feel fear creeping back, but then Dervish scowls. “No. I’m not going to sign away your life to him. Maybe you’ll choose to go down that path when you’re older. But I don’t have the right to pass that sort of a sentence on you. Beranabus plays rougher than the rest of us. I’ve seen how he treats those closest to him, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

“Then I’m free?” I say hopefully. “I don’t have to...?”

“No.” Dervish smiles, warmly this time, pleased for me, even though he’s disappointed not to have found a powerful new recruit. “Congratulations, Grubbs. You’re ordinary. I hope you enjoy a long, happy, boring life.”

“Coolio,” I laugh. Then the pair of us settle back, turn the TV on, and spend a few hours surfing channels, chatting about things deliciously unimportant.

In my room. Dark. I haven’t turned the light on. Sitting on the end of my bed. Thinking about what happened earlier, Dervish’s probe, what it would have meant if he’d found magic, how awful my life might have been. I should be celebrating the fact that I’m not one of the magical breed. Rejoicing. But I can’t. Because I know that’s a crock.

I rise, walk into the bathroom, and stand in front of the sink, facing the mirror above it, even though I can’t see it in the darkness. I don’t want to do this. But I have to be sure.

I think I outfoxed Dervish. I think there
is
magic inside me, but it responded to my wishes and hid itself, or deflected my uncle’s probe. He said that wasn’t possible, but if you’re powerful enough, maybe it is. I could be wrong — I’m praying that I am — but I’m not sure. And I have to be. Even if nobody else ever knows, I need to.

I focus on the lightbulb overhead. For a long second nothing happens. The darkness holds. I begin to hope.

Then the light comes on. A warm, steady, unnatural light. And the hope dies away as quickly as it was born.

I look at my scared reflection in the mirror. Make it disappear, so only the wall behind me is reflected in the glass. Then I let my reflection reappear and the light fade. I stumble back to bed. Lie down on top of the covers. Silent. Shaking. Terrified. Unable to sleep. Certain now — I’m not normal. I tricked Dervish, but I’m part of the world of magic. I can’t escape. The universe of the Demonata will call to the magic within me and suck me back in. I know it will. This isn’t over, not by a long shot.

There are no happy endings.

The horrifying adventures continue in

BEC

Book 4 in The Demonata series Coming May 2007 from Little, Brown and Company

A
BOY’S SCREAMS pierce the silence of the night, and the village explodes into life. Warriors are already racing towards him by the time I whirl from my watching point near the gate. Torches are flung into the darkness. I see Ninian, a year younger than me, new to the watch...a two-headed demon, pieced together from the bones and flesh of the dead...
blood.

Goll is first on the scene. An old-style warrior, he fights naked, with only a small leather shield, a short sword and axe. He hacks at the demon with his axe and buries it deep in one of the monster’s heads. The demon screeches but doesn’t release Ninian. It lashes out at Goll with a fleshless arm and knocks him back, then buries the teeth of its uninjured head in Ninian’s throat. The screams stop with a sickening choking sound.

Conn and three other warriors swarm past Goll and attack the demon. It swings Ninian at them like a sword and batters two of them down. Conn and another keep their feet. Conn jabs one of the monster’s eyes out with his spear. The demon squeals like a banshee. The other warrior — Ena — slides in close, grabs the beast’s head and twists, snapping its neck.

If you break a human’s neck, that person will almost surely die. But demons are made of sturdier stuff. Broken necks just annoy most of them.

With one hand, the demon grabs the head that Goll shattered with his axe. Rips it off and clubs Ena with it. She doesn’t let go. Snaps the neck again, in the opposite direction. It comes loose and she drops it. She pulls a knife from a scabbard strapped to her back and drives it into the rotting bones of the skull. Making a hole, she wrenches the sides apart with her hands, digs in and pulls out a fistful of brains. Grabs a torch and sets fire to the grey goo.

The demon howls and grabs blindly for the burning brains. Conn snatches the other head from its hand. He throws it to the ground and mashes it to a pulp with his axe. The demon shudders, then slumps.

“
More!
” comes a call from near the gate. It’s late — later than they usually attack. Most of the warriors on the main watch had retired for the night, replaced by children like me. Our eyes and ears are normally sharp. But this close to dawn, most of us were sleepy and sluggish. We’ve been caught off-guard. The demons have snuck up. They have the advantage.

Bodies spill out of huts. Hands grab spears, swords, axes, knives. Men and women race to the rampart. Most are naked, even those who normally fight in clothes — no time to get dressed.

Demons pound on the gate and scale the banks of earth outside, tearing at the sharpened wooden poles of the fence, clambering over. The one at the rear might have been a diversion, sent to distract us. Or else it just had a terrible sense of direction, as many corpse-demons do.

Warriors mount ladders or haul themselves up onto the ram part. They lock arms with the demons. Hard to tell how many there are. Definitely five or six. And at least two are real demons — the Fomorii.

The Demonata exist in a multi-world universe of their own. Evil, murderous creatures who revel in torment and slaughter. They try to cross over into our world all the time.