THE LAKE OF SOULS
THE SAGA OF DARREN SHAN
BOOK 10
THE LAKE OF SOULS
THE SAGA OF DARREN SHAN
BOOK 10
Fish for Darren Shan on the web at
www.darrenshan.com
For:
Bas – you steer my vaparetto!
OBE’s
(Order of the Bloody Entrails) to:
Nate – the Sheffield Shanster Seer!
Banshee Babes:
Zoë Clarke & Gillie Russell
Global Grotesques:
the Christopher Little Clan
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Other Books in the Series The Saga of Darren Shan
Copyright
About the Publisher
PROLOGUE
DEATH WAS on the cards that day, but would it be ours or the panther’s?
Black panthers are really leopards. If you look closely, you can see faint spots blended into their fur. But trust me — unless it’s in a zoo, you don’t ever want to be that close to a panther! They’re one of nature’s greatest killers. They move silently and speedily. In a one-on-one fight they’ll almost always come out on top. You can’t outrun them, since they’re faster than you, and you can’t out-climb them, because they can climb too. The best thing is to stay out of their way completely, unless you’re an experienced big game hunter and have come packing a rifle.
Harkat and I had never hunted a panther before, and our best weapons were a few stone knives and a long, round-ended stick that served as a club. Yet there we were, on the edge of a pit which we’d dug the day before, watching a deer we’d captured and were using as bait, waiting for a panther.
We’d been there for hours, hidden in a bush, clutching our humble weapons close to our sides, when I spotted something long and black through the cover of the surrounding trees. A whiskered nose stuck out from around a tree and sniffed the air testingly — the panther. I nudged Harkat gently and we watched it, holding our breath, stiff with fright. After a few seconds the panther turned and padded away, back into the gloom of the jungle.
Harkat and I discussed the panther’s retreat in whispers. I thought the panther had sensed a trap and wouldn’t return. Harkat disagreed. He said it would come back. If we withdrew further, it might advance fully the next time. So we wriggled backwards, not stopping until we were almost at the end of the long stretch of bush. From here we could only vaguely see the deer.
A couple of hours passed. We said nothing. I was about to break the silence and suggest we were wasting our time, when I heard a large animal moving. The deer was jumping around wildly. There was a throaty growl. It came from the far side of the pit. That was great — if the panther attacked the deer from there, it might fall straight into our trap and be killed in the pit. Then we wouldn’t have to fight it at all!
I heard twigs snap as the panther crept up on the deer. Then there was a loud snapping sound as a heavy body crashed through the covering over the pit and landed heavily on the stakes we’d set in the bottom. There was a ferocious howl, followed by silence.
Harkat slowly got to his feet and stared over the bush at the pit. I stood and stared with him. We glanced at each other. I said uncertainly, “It worked.”
“You sound like you didn’t … expect it to,” Harkat grinned.
“I didn’t,” I laughed, and started towards the pit.
“Careful,” Harkat warned. “It could still be alive.”
Stepping in front of me, he moved off to the left and signalled for me to go right. Raising my knife, I circled away from Harkat, then we slowly closed on the pit from opposite directions.
Harkat was a few steps ahead of me, so he saw into the pit first. He stopped, confused. A couple of seconds later, I saw why. A body lay impaled on the stakes, blood dripping from its many puncture wounds. But it wasn’t the body of a panther — it was a red baboon.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “That was a panther’s growl, not a monkey’s.”
“But how did…” Harkat stopped and gasped. “The monkey’s throat! It’s been ripped open! The panther must—”
He got no further. There was a blur of movement in the upper branches of the tree closest to me. Whirling, I caught a very brief glimpse of a long, thick, pure black object flying through the air with outstretched claws and gaping jaws — then the panther was upon me, roaring triumphantly.
Death was on the cards that day.
CHAPTER ONE
Six months earlier.
THE WALK up the tunnels, coming off the back of our battle with the vampaneze, was slow and exhausting. We left Mr Crepsley’s charred bones in the pit where he’d fallen. I’d meant to bury him, but I hadn’t the heart for it. Steve’s revelation – that he was the Lord of the Vampaneze – had floored me, and now nothing seemed to matter. My closest friend had been killed. My world had been torn asunder. I didn’t care whether I lived or died.
Harkat and Debbie walked beside me, Vancha and Alice Burgess slightly in front. Debbie used to be my girlfriend, but now she was a grown woman, whereas I was stuck in the body of a teenager — the curse of being a half-vampire who only aged one year for every five that passed. Alice was a police chief inspector. Vancha had kidnapped her when we’d been surrounded by police. She and Debbie had taken part in the fight with the vampaneze. They’d both fought well. A shame it had been for nothing.
We’d told Alice and Debbie all about the War of the Scars. Vampires exist, but not