I’m aware of Dervish and Shark talking while I build the window. Dervish is complaining about the cold. His leather jacket is too small to button up properly — it’s for style, not warmth — and his bare chest is freezing in these icy heights.
“Use magic,” I tell him, recalling the way I instinctively repaired my broken arm. “You can warm up if you think yourself warm.”
Dervish is skeptical, but gives it a try, and moments later he’s beaming, even taking his jacket off and tying it around his waist.
“You must have been here a long time to know so much,” Shark says.
“Actually, I don’t think it’s been more than half a day,” I reply. “Though it feels longer. I’ll tell you about it later, if we have time.”
The window comes together smoothly under my guidance. I don’t hurry. Pleased to note I’m no longer hungry or tired. Marveling at the way this universe works. I start wondering if we could float down to the ground from here, but then the assembled patches pulse as one and a brownish window opens. “Here we go,” I say smugly.
“I didn’t think windows could be opened that quickly or simply,” Shark says.
“It’s easy-peasy when you know how.”
Shark steps up beside me and looks back at Dervish. “Ready for the next leg of the tour?”
“Hmm,” Dervish says uncertainly. “Do you know where that leads?” he asks me.
“No. But Beranabus will be there.” I hesitate. “When I left him, he was in trouble, fighting a team of demons. We might have to help him. So be prepared, OK?”
“Yes, boss,” Shark laughs.
“Thanks for warning us,” Dervish says, then takes up a position to my left. Shark slides into place on my right. We step through the window.
It’s the same world where Nadia and I ran out on Beranabus. Night. Three moons shine, closer than the moon is to Earth in my universe. Too bright to see if there are any giant demons soaring by overhead.
Corpses are scattered across the hard, yellow ground. Demons in advanced states of decomposition, most rotted to the bone. Either demons rot quickly here, or this is one of those places where time runs faster than in the human universe.
I spy Beranabus working on a window. Sharmila is nearby, sitting next to a mound of freshly dug earth. I guess it’s Raz’s final resting place, that she and Beranabus — probably just her — dug a grave for the fallen Disciple.
I get a lump in my throat when I think about how Raz died, but there’s no time to cry. I didn’t believe I could be so matter of fact about the death of a friend, but I’m learning a lot here. One of the things is that in times of severe disorder, you can’t worry about the dead, only the living. I still think Art is alive. He’s the one I have to focus on. I can’t do any good for the dead Raz Warlo.
“Beranabus,” I call. “It’s me, Kernel. I’m back.”
The magician’s head whips around and Sharmila’s jerks up. They stare at me in disbelief, then at the two men with me. Then Beranabus cheers — the first time he’s acted like an ordinary human since I met him — and rushes across to pick me up and whirl me around.
“Kernel Fleck!” he booms. “You’re a wonder! I’ve been struggling to build a window to you for days. And here you pop up, cool as a breeze! You’re the most remarkable human I’ve met in centuries!”
He sets me down and I find myself grinning at him. I hadn’t liked the cranky magician before. But now I see he can be as emotional as any normal person. He simply hides his feelings better than most.
“Hello, Beranabus,” Shark says, stepping forward, hand outstretched.
Beranabus shakes the hand briefly, frowning. Then he points at Shark and says, “Octopus?”
“Shark.” Shark laughs.
“Ah. I knew it was something like that.” He looks at Dervish blankly.
“This is Dervish Grady,” Shark introduces him. “My latest recruit.”
“Another Disciple,” Beranabus murmurs, nodding shortly at Dervish. “How many does that make?”
“If you don’t know, I’m sure nobody does,” Shark says.
Beranabus shrugs. “I never was good at numbers. Anyway, welcome to the team, Grady. I hope you last longer than some of my other followers.” His eyes flash on Raz’s grave.
“It is good to see you again, Kernel,” Sharmila says, stepping forward to hug me. She looks drawn and miserable but has reattached her arm and healed her wounds since the battle.