→ “Art!” I yell. “Art!”
No answer. The screech of the trees would probably muffle his cry even if he was here and trying to call back. It’s hopeless. I’ll never find him. He’s probably dead anyway, ripped to pieces by the demon. I should try to find a way home. Worry about myself, not my doomed brother.
But I can’t think that way. I won’t. I’ve got to believe he’s alive. The thought of returning home without Art (even if I knew how) is too awful to consider.
I’ve no idea how long I’ve been here. My watch isn’t working — it stopped when I came through the grey window. Feels like a few hours. I’m wet, cold, miserable, alone. Trying hard not to think about Logan and the kids killed by the demon. Flinching every time my brain recycles an image of the bloodshed. I force myself to focus on other memories. There’s no time to deal with the massacre. I have to concentrate on finding Art.
Some small orange patches of light are flashing several feet ahead of me. They began pulsing soon after I got here. They move with me as I wander the watery forest, keeping me company.
I come to a semi-clearing. The trees don’t grow so thickly together here. I can see the sky, gloomy and purplish. The sun shines dimly on my left-hand side — and a second sun shines weakly to my right!
I rub my eyes and look again. The suns are still there. Not strong like the sun I’m used to. Smaller, duller. I’m not as amazed by the twin suns as I should be — the water and howling trees tipped me off to the fact that I wasn’t on my own world any more. I wonder how day and night work here, or if there even is a night.
As I’m staring upwards, several patches of pulsing light pass by. Different colours, shapes and sizes, slowly gliding along in the same direction. I look around and notice other patches floating through the trees, converging on a point far off to my left. Without any kind of trail, I’ve been walking aimlessly. Now I decide to follow the moving lights.
→ Maybe an hour later I spot the four humans who came through the window after the demon. They’re standing in a clearing, the old bearded man slightly apart from the others. I think he’s muttering a spell, hands wriggling by his sides. He’s the focus for the moving, pulsing lights. They’re gathering in the space in front of him, slotting together, forming a window like the one in the village field.
I creep up without them seeing me.
“…still say we should have killed him,” the Indian woman is saying. “It was not right, letting him murder the children and take one of them. We are supposed to protect people. That is our duty.”
“The master knows what he is doing,” the black man says. “He would not have let the demon go without good cause.”
“You’ll get used to people dying,” the young blonde woman says. “Beranabus isn’t interested in saving the lives of a few individuals. He doesn’t have time for trivialities.”
“Trivialities?” the Indian woman explodes. “You call the loss of human life a trivi–”
“No,” the younger woman interrupts. “That’s what Beranabus calls it. He says we serve a greater purpose, that our mission is nothing less than the protection of mankind itself. He says we can’t worry about every human killed by demons, or waste time chasing strays. He doesn’t mind you lot doing it, but we–”
“I’m trying to work!” the elderly man – Beranabus – barks, turning angrily. “If you’d stop chattering like monkeys, maybe I could…” He sees me and stops. “Who the hell is that?”
The others whirl around defensively. They pause when they see me.
“He doesn’t look like a demon,” the black man says.
“Some don’t,” the young woman growls. “A few can take human form. You have to be careful.” She raises her right hand. I sense power in her fingertips. Power directed at me.
“No!” I cry. “Don’t hurt me! I’m not a demon! I’m Kernel Fleck!”
The young woman’s fingers curl inward, holding back the magical power which she was about to unleash. She frowns. “He doesn’t sound like a demon.”
“It is the boy from the village,” the Indian woman says. “He was with the child Cadaver kidnapped.” She smiles at me. “Hello.”
“Hi,” I squeak nervously.
“What’s he doing here?” Beranabus huffs.
“I imagine he came through the window after us,” the Indian woman says. “In search of his brother perhaps?” She arches an eyebrow questioningly at me.
“Yes. The monster – demon – stole my brother, Art. I came to get him back.”
“Nonsense,” Beranabus snorts. “It will have slaughtered and devoured him by now.”
“Beranabus!” the Indian woman hisses. “Do not say such a thing!”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“You do not know that. And even if it is, you should not say it. Not in front of…” She nods at me.
Beranabus laughs. “If the child was bold enough to follow us, he’s bold enough to be told the truth. Isn’t that right, boy? We don’t have to lie. You’d rather we were honest about it, aye?”
“Art isn’t dead,” I say, my voice trembling. “He’s alive. I’m going to get him back.”
“Steal him back from Cadaver?” Beranabus laughs again. “You’re brave, but stupid. You couldn’t find him, not if you searched for the rest of your life. So it doesn’t really matter if he’s alive or not, does it?”
“Is that the demon’s name?” I ask, ignoring his question. “Cadaver?”
“Aye. But that’s no use to you. What are you going to do — report him to your police?”
“We have to send this boy back,” the young woman says. “Open another window. Return him.”
“We don’t have time,” Beranabus says. “Cadaver knows we’re after him. He’s on the run. The further ahead he gets, the harder he’ll be to find.”
“That doesn’t matter. We must–”
“You’re chasing him?” I cut in, excited. “You’re going after the monster who stole my brother?”
“Aye,” Beranabus says, eyes twinkling.
“Then I’ll come with you. Please. Let me. When you find him, if Art’s still… you know… I can snatch him back. Take him home.”
“No,” the Indian woman says immediately. “It is too dangerous. You do not know what you would be letting yourself in for… Excuse me, but what did you say your name was?”
“Kernel. Kernel Fleck.”
“My name is Sharmila.” She smiles. “You must go home, Kernel. If we find your brother, we will return him to you. I promise.”
“No,” I say stubbornly. “I want to help find him.”
“Help?” Beranabus repeats, cocking an amused eyebrow. “How exactly do you plan to help?”
“I… I don’t know. With the spells? The lights?”
“What lights?” Beranabus frowns.
I point to the patches of light which are joining together ahead of him. He looks at where I’m pointing and his frown deepens. I realise these people can’t see the patches either. Before I can explain, the black man speaks up.
“Sharmila and Nadia are right, master. This child does not belong here. We must return him. If we don’t… if we leave him in this nightmarish world of water and screaming trees… we will be