Free Death's Shadow by Darren Shan Page A

had always been dark.
    When the sun dropped and the sky darkened, Beranabus cautiously crept out again. It was still a lot lighter than he liked, but he was able to adjust to the shades of the night world. He looked back once at the Labyrinth, feeling sad and alone, remembering the good times, riding high on the Minotaur’s shoulders, feeding on the fresh blood and meat of the beast’s kills. Then, reluctantly, he turned his back on his childhood home and set off to explore this new, peculiar world.
    Beranabus was a simple child. He couldn’t speak. He could understand some of what other people said, but not everything. Most of the world was a mystery to him, filled with beings who made a huge amount of noise and fought lots of battles for no reason that he could see.
    He shouldn’t have lasted long in such a hostile environment. But Beranabus had a remarkable gift, which saved him when he first entered the world — he could tame the wildest of creatures and find friendship in the most unlikely places. Wherever he went, he was accepted. People took him in to their homes, gave him passage on carriages and boats, fed and clothed him, treated him with kindness and love.
    Many took pity on the boy and sought to keep him and raise him as their own. But Beranabus liked to wander. After the confines of the Labyrinth, the open space of the world intrigued him and he wanted to see more of it. So, without any real design or purpose, he always moved on, slipping away from those who yearned to root him, feeling nothing more for them than he did for the dirt beneath his feet or the air whispering through his hair.
    One day, when the boy was on the brink of his teenage years (although he’d been alive for more than two centuries), he witnessed a demon on the rampage. The monster had crossed near a small village and was busy killing as many humans as it could before it had to return through the window of light to its own universe.
    The demon reminded Beranabus of the Minotaur. He had come a long way from Crete and seen much of the world and its people, but this was the first demon he’d encountered. The savage beast amused him. It was shaped like an octopus, but with several heads of various animals and birds. He liked the sounds the humans made when the demon killed them, and the patterns their blood created as it arced through the air in streaks and spurts.
    He watched the massacre for a few minutes, as if enjoying a show. The demon saw him but didn’t attack, mesmerized by the boy’s strange aura, as all other dangerous creatures had been.
    Murder meant nothing to Beranabus. He didn’t understand concepts of right and wrong, good and evil. His mind was a muddled grey zone. Many had tried to teach him, but all had failed. The only difference in his head between a living person and a corpse was that the former was more entertaining.
    When the demon retreated, Beranabus was curious to see what the beast would do next, whom it would kill, what sort of mischief it would get up to. So he stepped through the window after the demon, out of his mother’s universe, into the much darker and spectacularly violent playpen of the Demonata.
    Beranabus had a whale of a time in the universe of his father. The demons were far more bloodthirsty than humans. They could kill each other in ways men had never dreamed of. Death didn’t have to be swift either. A demon master could torment a lesser demon for decades . . . hundreds of years . . . millennia if it wished.
    Beranabus drifted with delight from one crazy realm to another. He didn’t need to sleep much or eat and drink. And he aged at an even slower rate there than on Earth. He was part of a universe of marvels, and it seemed he could go on enjoying it for as long as he liked.
    He had to be careful, of course. He could tame most demons, but some resisted his charms and tried to capture him. Beranabus was uneducated, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew what pain and suffering were, and while he