Specter Rising (Brimstone Network Trilogy)

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  “Will somebody teach me how to use this?” she asked, showing him the weapon.

  Bram and the Terrapene both agreed.

  “Then yes, we’re ready.”

  11. THE DARK SORCERER CROWLEY WAS IN control, but for how long, he did not know.

  He knew that he had to find the Specter leader, the one called Barnabas, to let him know that the young member of the accursed Brimstone Network had escaped.

  That she had the potential to ruin everything.

  Crowley moved toward the exit of the tent, when his mind was suddenly wracked with excruciating pain.

  “YAAAAHHHHH!” the evil one screamed, his senses under assault from one of the others with whom he shared this new, magickal body.

  The sorcerer fell to his knees, fighting to maintain control.

  He wasn’t sure what had happened back in the desert, when his plans to tear down the magickal barriers that separated the multitude of supernatural worlds from the world of humanity was thwarted by the son of his most despised enemy, Elijah Stone, and his Brimstone Network.

  Everything had gone according to plan, the Network had seemingly been destroyed from within—one of its own providing him with all that he needed to see them destroyed.

  The traitor who he had enticed to work with him—Tobias Blaylock—had given the dark magick user the means to bring the barriers down. Tobias’s sister had been infected with a rare condition that caused her young body to produce destructive magickal energy—an energy so powerful that, if used properly, it could cause the barriers to be shattered.

  The traitor to the Network wanted to see her cured, and would have sacrificed anything to have that happen. Crowley was happy to oblige him, having no intention of ever curing her.

  The little girl—Claire—was the perfect weapon.

  But something happened . . . something he had not expected.

  Crowley screamed again as he knelt upon the floor. Tobias was trying to take control, or was it Claire?

  Somehow, when the little girl’s body exploded, all three of them had been joined together—her powerful magicks somehow fusing them into one all-powerful being.

  Trinity.

  But even though they shared one body, each still existed as an individual—and all were fighting to be the master of the new, magickal form.

  “I will not let you take control,” the black sorcerer hissed, exerting every iota of his mental strength to keep the others at bay.

  But he could feel his grip beginning to slip as the combined force of Tobias and Claire dragged him down.

  Down. Down. Down.

  Where the evil sorcerer began again his struggle for control.

  Barnabas stood before the mirror as his servants dressed him in his finest armor. He hated the thought of wasting precious time with the Circle, but knew that he must in order to continue with his plans.

  “The Circle,” he said, watching as his scarlet cloak was attached to armored shoulders. “Where are they now?”

  “They were taken to your dining tent, my lord,” his general told him. “And are now being fed the meal you had the cooks prepare especially for them.”

  Barnabas smiled, deep scarlike wrinkles forming at the corners of his dark eyes.

  “Excellent,” he responded.

  The Circle never appeared in the actual flesh, often choosing instead to inhabit and animate dead bodies so as not to risk harm to their actual forms. The fact that they’d chosen to actually appear before him showed that they felt a certain confidence in his command of the current situation.

  The Circle despised humanity, and wanted to see it crushed from existence, and Barnabas was more than happy to oblige their wishes if it would allow his newly formed empire to spread from the Specter realm, to the countless worlds beyond.

  But they had become insistent of late, making demands the raised the warlord’s ire. Barnabas did not tolerate things such as this, and had decided to act.

  The servants moved across his armored body with cloths, polishing the black armor so that it glistened splendidly in the lamplight.

  “Enough,” he stated, and the servants stopped their work, stepping back from him with eyes averted.

  It was time for him to meet with his guests. He managed to tear his gaze away from the splendor of his reflection, and proceed toward the tent, where his guests were enjoying their specially crafted meal.

  The Circle were eager, having heard of his secret weapon—his Trinity. He could only imagine that the foul beasts that comprised the Circle were eager to know how this all-powerful being could be used to best serve their needs.

  If there was one thing they should have known about the Specter warlord—Barnabas did not share.

  His general entered the tent before him, announcing his leader’s arrival. Barnabas paused for a moment, making his guests wait that much longer, then strode into the tent.

  The four demons that made up the venomous Circle sat behind a long table, which was adorned with the finest dinnerware taken from the queen’s royal collection. These table settings were to be used only for the most refined of guests, and he had to wonder how the queen would react to see what was eating from them now.

  “Greetings, members of the Circle,” Barnabas said, his armor clattering as he bowed at the waist.

  “Greetings, O great and powerful warlord,” said one of the demons that resembled some kind of featherless bird. “I am Skeevex of the Mangarii.”

  Skeevex continued to eat, shoving strips of specially prepared meats into its beak.

  “And I am Globulous of the Mass,” said the demon sitting beside the bird. This one seemed to have no real shape or features, appearing to be made from some foul-looking gelatinous mixture. It ate as well, shoving handfuls of fruits and nuts into its soft, wriggling body to be absorbed there.

  Another demon, its flesh the color of dried blood, sat primly at the grand table, its plate empty. It did not appear to be enjoying the special meal that Barnabas had had prepared for his guests.

  “You do not eat?” Barnabas asked it.

  “The Hellion do not dine with species not of my own,” the representative of the Hellion demonic clan announced while staring coldly ahead. It did not appear to enjoy the idea of being there.

  A slight complication to my plans, the warlord thought as he pretended to accept the red-skinned emissary’s wishes.

  “All the more for me, then,” the spiderlike beast standing upon the chair at the end of the table announced, its multiple, bristle-covered limbs reaching out to snatch up samples from the various servings upon the table and shoving them into its circular mouth lined with razor-sharp teeth.

  “The food provided is delicious,” the spider said, and for that you will know my name. I am Teetha of the Arachnis.”

  Barnabas bowed to them again before turning to take a seat at a table especially set up for him.

  “I am honored that you chose to pay me this visit,” he said, attempting to keep the sarcasm from his voice. He reached out, picking up a golden goblet, and poured himself some wine. “Especially since I am so close to achieving my plans.”

  “Your plans?” the Hellion snapped.

  The goblet stopped halfway to his mouth. “Please forgive me, emissary . . . our plans are so close to being achieved.”

  This one is most definitely going to be a problem.

  “So tell us, Barnabus,” Skeevex asked excitedly. “What is this Trinity we’ve heard whisperings about?”

  Barnabas had some wine, some of the contents dribbling from the lip of his goblet down into his beard.

  “Trinity is the answer to my prayers,” the warlord said, placing his goblet back down upon the table. “The validation that the Specter are destined to rule any and all realities.”

  The demons physically reacted to his words.

  “Excuse me?” the Hellion hissed.

  Barnabas chuckled. “Forgive me,” the warlord said. “But I only speak the truth. It will only be a matter of time bef
ore all worlds bow beneath my command.”

  The demons looked about themselves in surprise.

  “Surely you jest,” Teetha asked, thick streams of webbing like saliva leaking from its puckered maw.

  “I do not jest,” Barnabas said, standing up from his chair.

  He watched the demons, sensing that it was only a matter of time before they realized that their lives were in danger.

  But it was already too late for them.

  “I want to thank you for the confidence you had in my skills,” he announced, “believing me to be the perfect candidate to provide you with the earth, and all life upon it.”

  Globulous of the Mass was the first to feel the effects of Barnabas’s betrayal. The demon let out a horrific scream, the milky fluid that made up its body suddenly turning a sickly brown—the demon losing its shape as it flopped upon the table top, now more of a puddle than a living thing.

  Skeevex clutched at his own protruding belly, and Teetha was having a difficult time standing upon its wobbling eight legs.

  The Hellion looked from one of its compatriots to the other, immediately knowing that they had been betrayed.

  “Poisons,” Barnabas said. “Poisons specifically brewed for each of your species and cooked within this welcoming feast.”

  Barnabas glared at the Hellion, sensing what was about to occur.

  The Hellion began to utter a spell that would open a passage to its world, but the warlord was faster, reaching across the table to grab the Hellion by its skinny throat, preventing it from completing the spell.

  The Warlord took great pleasure in listening to the Hellion gasping for breath, with the sounds of the others that made up the Circle dying from the effects of their poisoned meal creating a kind of symphony to his ears.

  A symphony of death.

  The Hellion soon grew limp in his grasp and he let the dead demon drop to the table along with the others.

  Wiping his hand upon his cloak of red, Barnabas left the banquet tent.

  He had wasted enough time; there were prisoners still to question.

  And worlds to conquer.

  Bogey had a plan.

  His ability to rift didn’t come from inside him; it came from the special movements and gestures of his fingers and the song-spells he had learned from the other rifters of the Mauthe Dhoog.

  His stomach continued to growl as he began to put his plan in motion.

  “Are you doing it?” Dez asked.

  Bogey shook his head. “Not yet, want to limber up my fingers first. Got to make sure I do this right. I don’t want the hole to be too big. These things are really hungry and would strip us to the bone before we even got a chance to get away.”

  His captive friends shared a nervous look, but he didn’t blame them. The idea was crazy, maybe even crazy enough to work.

  Bogey’s hunger had made him think of a world that he’d accidentally rifted to when he was first learning to master his skills. The world was overrun with small, mouselike creatures that he’d nicknamed the Hungry Horrors. The things looked cute, but they were the most voracious things he had ever encountered on any of his rifting trips.

  They were always looking for something to eat, and he hoped they would find the bonds around his wrists appetizing.

  But first he had to open a small rift; just big enough for a few to get their heads through.

  He began moving his fingers ever so slightly in a circular motion.

  And then he began to sing.

  Normally he would have sung much louder, but that was for a bigger rift, and this one had to be small—the smallest he’d ever rifted.

  Still singing, he glanced over to the others, their eyes filled with hope intently watching him. He couldn’t let them down.

  Concentrating all the harder, Bogey felt the passage to the world of the Hungry Horrors begin to open, and almost let out a yelp of victory. But he had to keep singing.

  The small passage opened behind his hands with a loud pop and a really nasty smell.

  “Tell me that’s from the other world,” Emily growled, wrinkling her muzzle in disgust.

  “It certainly is,” Bogey said, straining to keep the passage open, but small. The rift wanted to grow bigger but that would be a very bad idea when dealing with the Hungry Horrors.

  “Now what?” Dez asked.

  “We wait until they notice,” Bogey said, wiggling his fingers just outside the conjured rift. He hoped they would resemble delicious wiggling worms and draw the voracious Horrors to him.

  Actually, the thought of wiggling worms was pretty good, even to him. He hoped that once he was able to free them all, he would have chance to grab a bite before they had to defeat the bad guys.

  “Well?” Stitch asked.

  Bogey was about to tell them all to have a little patience when he felt the first nibble. “YAAGH!” he screamed, forcing himself not to move his hands away. This is what he had been waiting for, even though he wished the first of the Hungry Horrors had helped itself to the ropes around his wrist instead of the skin on his fingers.

  “Did you get a nibble?” Dez asked.

  Bogey couldn’t answer. He could feel them, swarming around his hands, fighting to stick their heads through the rift and feast on the treats that had been presented to them. His blood was flowing freely now, making their attack all the more aggressive. He tried to angle his wrists toward them, making the bonds that held his hands just as enticing as his Mauthe Dhoog flesh.

  “Bogey?” Emily asked, concern showing on her lupine features.

  “Don’t . . . worry,” he hissed, tossing his head from side to side, resisting the urge to close the passage.

  Spots of color began to blossom before his eyes. Head swimming, Bogey tested the bonds, letting loose a scream of agony mixed with excitement as the magickally infused ropes broke, and his hands were suddenly free.

  He spun toward the small rift, facing the bloodstained faces of the Hungry Horrors as they struggled to push themselves farther into this world to finish their meal.

  “Feeding time’s over,” the Mauthe Dhoog said, ignoring the pain in his fingers as he began to close the rift. After two verses of a spell-song, the rift slammed shut, cutting the heads from the Horrors still vying for his flesh.

  Bogey turned around, wincing as he untied his feet. Climbing to stand unsteadily, he headed toward his friends.

  The front of the tent came open and for a moment he thought they had been discovered, but then Johanna darted into the tent.

  “Am I glad to see you guys,” she said with a big smile, her ghost dogs sniffing and whining around her.

  “She couldn’t have gotten here a few minutes earlier,” Bogey said, looking at his bloody hands.

  “Anybody got a couple’a Band-Aids?”

  It wasn’t long until daybreak, but there was still enough darkness and shadow to hide the small group as they snuck into the Specter army encampment.

  Huddled behind an outcropping of rock that resembled the tooth of some gigantic prehistoric shark, they watched the camp.

  “Still early enough that activity is at a minimum,” Bram whispered, his eyes darting across the hundreds of tents. “Now all I have to do is figure out which tent has what I’m looking for.”

  Boffa allowed his neck to stretch to its full length. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through the two tiny slits in his beak. “There is powerful magick there,” he said, eyes still closed. “The nature of this place talks to me of it. Very powerful.”

  He moved his head ever so slightly, as if searching for something, then stopped. His eyes flickered open. “There.” He pointed toward an area of tents with a dark, clawed hand. “The dwelling that bears the flag of Barnabas,” he said. “That is where you will find this powerful weapon.”

  Bram looked to where he was pointing and smiled. “Thanks, that’ll make things much easier,” he said, then squatted behind the rock with his friends. “So are we clear on what we’ll be doing?”

/>   From her knapsack, Lita carefully removed the weapon that the Terrapene had given her. “I believe you said that we should cause a distraction any way we can,” she said, hefting the powerful handgun.

  “And don’t get caught,” Bram added.

  “Of course.” She smiled, and at that moment Bram felt as if he’d known her all of his life, which made what they were about to undertake all the more disturbing.

  But what choice did they have?

  Boffa’s arms had disappeared inside his shell and returned with multiple explosives. “Oh yes,” he said, laying the explosives on the ground before them. “There be distractions; distractions that will blow Specter hides to bits.”

  They each helped themselves to the devices, carefully placing them inside their knapsacks, and then they were ready.

  “Good luck,” Bram said, the first to creep out from behind their place of concealment, and make his way through the murk to the encampment below.

  The disembodied form of Douglas St. Laurent floated in the sky above the Specter camp.

  Driven from the powerful, monster body he had inhabited, Desmond’s father wracked his brain, trying to figure out a way to help Dez and his teammates in the Brimstone Network.

  The intensity of the magick that had destroyed the monstrous body he had borrowed earlier nearly finished him off for good. It had taken him quite some time to collect his thoughts, and finally return in the energy form he had assumed after leaving his own body just a few weeks before.

  Gazing down at the various soldiers milling about, he considered possessing one of them, but decided that they would be of little help against Trinity. He had to find something more powerful.

  Deep in thought, he drifted away from the encampment, until something caught his attention. He regained his focus to find himself hovering over a thick forest, and beyond that, a deep valley. On the predawn gusts of wind, he glided over primordial wood, dipping down to examine what he’d seen from above.

  It can’t be, he thought.

  But it was—a giant body lying in the middle of the valley. A gigantic corpse rotting where it had fallen in death.

  The ghostly form of Douglas St. Laurent began to smile as an absolutely wicked idea began to form in his crackling energy mind.