Dark Calling (7 page)

I punch the slug but my fists make little impact, merely sink into the gooey, sticky layers of its body. Disgusting slime
oozes from the slit, filling my mouth. I collapse, my lungs straining, still pushing and punching the slug, but feebly now.
My strength is fading. Soon I’ll be slug fodder and the beast will be able to feast on my flesh at its leisure.

As the world starts to darken around me, the slug is abruptly ripped away. I catch a glimpse of it flying through the air,
squealing frantically. It lands hard, rolls a few times, then straightens and propels itself at me again.

Somebody steps in front of me and meets the charge of the slug. It looks like a boy, but with pale green skin. He’s small
but strong—he catches the slug and slams it down in a neatly executed wrestling move. While the slug writhes beneath him,
the boy grabs one of the creature’s fingers and bites it off with… a small mouth set in the palm of his hand!

The slug stunned me when it attacked, but when I realize who the boy is I’m shocked to the core. I stare with mounting horror
and bewilderment as the slug shrieks, then quickly slips away when the boy releases it. He makes sure it isn’t going to attack
again, then turns to face me.

He has the body of a young child—maybe three years old—but a head that’s bigger than an adult’s. Mouths in both palms, full
of small, sharp teeth. No eyes—instead, balls of fire burn deeply in his empty sockets. And no hair—in its place, small slugs,
much like the one he just saved me from, slide slowly around his skull.

“Artery!”
I moan. I have no idea how Lord Loss’s familiar came to be here—he was killed a year ago—but I’m certain he only saved me
from the slug in order to kill me himself.

The hell child cocks his head and frowns. “No,” he growls, and it’s the first time I’ve ever heard him speak. His green flesh
ripples and the color fades. His head shrinks and the slugs burrow into his scalp, then turn into hair. The fire in his empty
sockets dies away and eyes sprout to fill them. His large mouth tightens a couple of notches and his sharp teeth soften into
a more human-like shape. The mouths in his palms disappear, flesh closing over them.

“No,” he says again, and this time his voice is softer. “Not Artery.” He glances at his skin—pale, like Mom’s—and smiles.
Almost no trace of the monster remains. I’m gazing at what looks like an ordinary boy. And he’s every bit as familiar as the
green-skinned demon.

“I’m
Art,
” he says, then steps forward and stick out a small, delicate hand.

Y
OU
can’t be real,” I gasp, backing away from the figure. “You’re not my brother. You never really existed. I made you up.”

“Yes,” the boy nods. “You transformed Artery into this shape and kept him safe, even though he should have perished on your
world, by subconsciously utilizing the power of the Kah-Gash. We were surprised it cooperated with you. But the Kah-Gash never
ceases to surprise us.”

“You’re not Art!” I shout. “Art didn’t speak like this. He never spoke at all.”

“True,” the boy says. “Artery could communicate with his own kind, but only telepathically. Art would never have been able
to speak, even if he’d grown up.

“I’m not the demon you stole or the child you turned it into,” the boy continues. “I am the ball of light from the ship. Sensing
the difficulty you had accepting my natural form, I adopted the body of someone you would feel more comfortable with. If you
prefer, I can switch to the shape of your mother or father, but I think you will find me easier to deal with this way.”

My head’s spinning. “Are you a shape-shifter?” I ask, getting to my feet and walking around the boy, checking him from every
angle.

“No,” he says. “I have no physical body. I assembled this from a corpse, remolding its flesh and bones. It was a creature
like the one that attacked you. They are pitiful beasts. Hard to believe they are descended from beings once as industrious
as yourself.”

“What do you mean?” I frown.

“It’s a descendant of the Atlanteans,” Art says. “They were bipeds, like you, and their society was similar to yours. Indeed,
your distant ancestors were strongly influenced by the beings of Atlantis.”

“Atlantis?”
I croak. “What are you talking about? Atlantis was a mythical city.”

“No,” Art corrects me. “It was a world of immense, amazing cities, the closest inhabitable planet to Earth. The Atlanteans
explored this world to its fullest, then the lifeless planets nearby, finally extending to their neighboring galaxies. They
visited your world. Your ancestors worshipped them, built monuments like theirs, dressed in their honor, wrote things down
as they did.”

“Are you pulling my leg?” I growl.

“I do not understand,” Art responds.

“Are you trying to fool me?”

“No. Atlantis was an advanced planet. The Atlanteans were wise and kind. But they harnessed the raw energy of this universe,
and that is dangerous. They knew the risks and accepted them. It was the price they paid to explore further afield, beyond
the confines of their own sector of the universe.

“They fell within the space of an hour,” Art goes on, and although he has a child’s face, he looks like an adult as he gazes
upon the wrecks of the buildings. “An explosion set off a chain reaction and their society crumbled. The ships they’d sent
off into space were linked to the home world, so they were destroyed too. The sky filled with pollutants and ash. Death claimed
nineteen billion souls. A few Atlanteans survived and mutated, but I doubt they would have wished for their offspring to end
up like this. It would have been better if they’d all perished.”

Art falls silent. I stare at the boy who is the image of the child I once thought of as a brother. Now that I’m over my initial
shock, I find that he was right—it’s a lot easier talking to someone who looks like a boy than a ball of light.

I study the graveyard of the world around me. Art could be lying, but I don’t think so. I’m standing on the remains of Atlantis.
The most famous lost city of legends was never a city at all, but a different world. The information is mind-boggling. If
Art’s telling the truth, the Atlanteans visited mankind in the past. They taught us to read and write, to build. Maybe they
even bred with us and—

“No,” Art interrupts. “The Atlanteans did not breed with lesser beings.”

“This is incredible,” I gasp, the word not doing my feelings justice. “But if they traveled to our world by rockets, not windows,
is this still the human universe?”

“Of course.” Art sounds surprised. “I thought that was clear.”

“You said we hadn’t crossed but I wasn’t sure.”

“We have not left your universe and will not during the course of our travels,” Art says.

“This isn’t the end?”

The boy giggles the way Art used to when he bit someone. “Hardly. This is merely the beginning of an amazing journey.”

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Far away,” he answers mysteriously.

“What if I don’t want to go with you?” I counter.

“You have no choice,” Art says.

“Is that a threat?”

“No,” he shrugs. “It’s just the way things are.”

“Who—or what—the hell are you?” I snap.

“Those who know us give us many names,” Art says. “Your people called us the Old Creatures.”

“Beranabus told me about them. He…” That reminds me of the ancient mage’s death and the danger the others face. “We have to
go back!” I cry. “You’ve got to take me home, so I can—”

“That won’t happen,” Art says firmly. “Purge yourself of the notion. We have come far from your world. As skilled as you are
at manipulating the strings of the universe, you cannot find your way back alone. You must see this journey through to its
end.”

“What sort of an end?” I hiss. “Where are you taking me? And if you’re not specific this time, forget it—I’m not going to
wander aimlessly through the universe with you. I’d rather stay here with the slugs.”

“Very well,” Art says. “We are traveling to the birthplace of all things, where time and space began. We call it the Crux.
And it lies at the center of both this universe and the Demonata’s.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I complain.

“Don’t worry,” Art smiles smugly. “By the end it will.”

I
TRY
thinking of a way to outwit the Old Creature. While I might not be able to open a window back to Earth, I’m sure I can open
one to the demon universe and return home from there. But Art reads my mind and chuckles.

“I will not permit it.”

“You can’t stop me,” I retort.

“Actually I can. I have the power to tear apart any window that you create, and I can do it before the window opens. If necessary,
we can stay here for decades and duel with each other, but I would not recommend it. You would lose.”

I start working on a window, to test him, but Art’s smug expression stops me. He’s telling the truth. Cursing, I begin to
question him again, but he only turns and walks back to the stone chamber, where a dark grey window is waiting for us.

“What is it to be?” Art asks.

Since I’ve no real choice, I snarl and step forward with him.

Just before I reach the window, Art’s body unravels and he becomes a ball of multicolored light again. “I have to travel like
this,” he tells me, his words sounding inside my head. “I need to cocoon you again. But I will resume the shape of Art when
we come to our next stop.”

“Whatever.” I sniff unhappily, bitter at being manipulated.

The light sweeps over and surrounds me. When Art gives the command, I step into the window and we progress.

  Over the next few hours we pass through several chambers similar to the one on Atlantis. Some are made of stone but others
are carved out of wood, metal, or other substances. One is simply a chamber of lights, a dome of panels and patches. We don’t
leave any of these chambers, just stay long enough for Art to open a new window, then move on again.

I’m still amazed by Atlantis, stunned by the proof of other life-forms in our universe. I always assumed we weren’t alone,
that there were intelligent beings on other worlds. But to see an actual alien was an incredible experience. Even if it did
just look like a big slug!

Art’s a quiet guide. He concentrates on steering us from one chamber to the next. I don’t think it’s easy. These patches of
lights aren’t as easily mastered as the ones I’m accustomed to. It seems to be hard work.

I’m still worried about Dervish and the others, and in shock about the loss of Beranabus. But there’s nothing I can do, so
I lie back and bide my time. I’m in the grip of something more powerful than myself. I don’t understand it and I can’t fight
or escape.
Yet.

  We pass through another window and I find myself in a waterlogged chamber. I’m not sure what the walls are made of, but it
looks like seaweed. As we slip through, parts of the walls glow. It’s not magic—I can see small organisms in the crevices
of the greenish blocks. They’re like underwater glowworms.