The Brimstone Network (Brimstone Network Trilogy) (13 page)

“You’re going to have to trust me,” Stitch said as he bent down to study a particularly nasty-looking pumpkin.

“Don’t tell me, you’ve remembered something else.”

“Something like that,” the patchwork man answered.

Bram could hear movement in the mist behind them, the sound of something running fast across the damp earth and grass.

“There isn’t enough time,” Bram warned, moving to stand with Stitch.

“There’s enough,” Stitch said. “I believe he already knows we’re here.”

Bram didn’t know how to react. Something was coming out of the mist for them, and now Stitch was talking nonsense.

“What are you babbling about? Who knows we’re here?”

The were-hyenas bounded toward the pumpkin patch, sounds very much like the laughter of a crazy person coming from their excited mouths as they rushed at them.

“C’mon,” Bram screamed, grabbing hold of Stitch’s arm, attempting to pull him away.

“It’s too late for that,” the artificial man said, planting his feet. Bram almost fell to the ground as he attempted to move the unmovable.

The were-beasts entered the patch, and Bram felt his eyes grow wide as the demonic animals came at them. He saw it all unfold in slow motion.

It didn’t make sense, and if he happened to survive this latest attack, he was going to have a good long talk with his friend.

The ground moved beneath his feet, and before he could even begin to react, he and Stitch were tossed backward by something that had exploded up from the damp earth coming between them and their hyena attackers.

“Cut it a bit close, but it’ll do,” Stitch said as he picked himself up from the ground.

“What is that?” Bram asked, getting to his feet, eyes locked on the insane sight that now towered above them.

Some kind of creature, its body made entirely of thick, twisting vines braided tightly together to form powerful-looking limbs, its head one enormous pumpkin, had exploded from the earth to halt the were-hyena attack.

The creature of vines, standing at least twenty feet tall, held a squirming were-beast in each of its spindly hands.

“Your father called him the God of the Gourd,” Stitch explained. “An ancient deity whose worshippers have long since died away. Your father felt sorry for him and offered him a place to live out his existence in exchange for moments very much like this.”

“Foul things,” the God of the Gourd roared from a crack split horizontally across its malformed pumpkin head. “Your mere presence taints the ground that you tread upon.”

The hyenas thrashed in its clutches, attempting to bite at the fingers that held them as the god brought its woven arms back, and then savagely slammed the two animals against each other.

The god let the broken bodies of the were-hyenas drop from his clutches, wiping its blood-covered hands upon its long legs. Then it tilted its gaze to address Bram and Stitch standing on the ground below it.

“Filthy creatures,” it said, pumpkin seeds raining from its mouth like spittle. “Filthy creatures that will bother you no more.”

Bram was about to thank the giant when a rolling ball of fire arced across the sky toward them.

“Look out!” Bram screamed.

But as he and Stitch dove for the cover, the God of the Gourd reared back, its mouth opening in a roar of pain as the fireball grazed its shoulder. The god began to burn. More balls of magickal fire appeared in the air, raining down upon their savior.

“Go!” the god ordered, waving them away as he was struck again and again with the unnatural fire.

“We do what he says,” Stitch said, taking Bram by the elbow and leading him from the pumpkin patch.

Bram struggled, turning to see what was happening. Monsters had emerged from the mist attacking the burning god.

“We can’t just leave him,” he cried.

“He’s giving us the time we need to escape,” Stitch argued. “Don’t let his sacrifice be in vain.”

Begrudgingly, Bram had started to turn away when he saw Tobias emerge from the battle. The young man completely
ignored the struggle with the God of the Gourd, his eyes locked on Bram’s.

“Stone!” Tobias screamed, his voice eerily amplified within the chilling mist.

Bram and Stitch ran, heading toward the skeletal copse of woods only feet away. Bram fought the urge to turn around. He knew what he would see. The traitor would be gaining on them, and if allowed to catch up, Bram wasn’t at all sure of the outcome.

“Where are we going?” he gasped as they reached the edge of the forest.

“We’re leaving this place,” Stitch said, stopping in front of a tree with a particularly large knot in the front of it.

He wiggled the fingers of one hand in the air before him as a section of trees to their right was destroyed in a blast of supernatural energy.

“Is this going to become a habit?” Bram asked, watching as the shape of the traitor grew more prominent through the shifting haze and again shrieked his name.

“Stone!”

“Sorry, lad, but it can’t be helped. The memories just sort of appear inside my head.”

“What now?” Bram asked him as another section of
the forest ceased to exist in an explosion of supernatural flame.

“Something that lives in my fingers,” he said as he extended his hands, the tips of his fingers trembling with exertion.

The magic flowed from their blunted ends, like fluid dancing in zero gravity. It touched the trunk of the old tree, and almost instantaneously there was a powerful cracking sound followed by further creeks and moans.

Bram looked to Stitch quickly, and then back to the tree.

Something was happening.

The ugly knot—the gnarled and balled flesh of the tree—appeared to be growing.

“Magick?” Bram asked his companion.

“Yes, magick,” Stitch said, staring at the hand fused to his wrist by a swollen circle of scar tissue. “Powerful magick.”

The knot had become man-size, and had opened like a mouth into a fleshy cave; a strange odor very much like spoiled milk wafted out from within.

“What do we do now?” Bram asked as the trees at his back joined the others in oblivion.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Stitch asked, his large body diving at the opening.

“I was afraid of that,” Bram said, chancing a quick look over his shoulder before following his friend into the tree, for a moment wondering which of his choices was worse.

Tobias held the ball of magickal fire in the palm of his hand as the body of the ancient tree returned to normal.

The power sparked and hummed as if eager to be unleashed, eager to harm those it would have been cast against. But he closed his hand upon the magick, suffocating the power and taking the magick painfully back inside himself.

He heard the sound of approach at his back and turned to see Cracklebones coming through the rolling mist toward him. The troll still held Crowley’s damaged eye carefully in his hand.

Tobias sighed, steeling himself for what came next.

“Where is the child of Stone?” Crowley’s eye demanded.

“They got away.” Tobias tried to keep the anger from his words. “It seems that there was more to the patchwork man than I would have guessed.”

One of the orb’s wings fluttered pathetically. “Disappointing,” Crowley’s eye hissed. “You realize that I would
normally have you destroyed right now … or at least severely punished.”

Tobias crossed his arms in front of him, staring at the nearly deflated eye, thinking about how easy it would have been to destroy it, and the troll that had become its bearer.

Then he remembered Claire.

“But that wouldn’t be smart now, would it?” Tobias asked. “I’m way too valuable to you, with the world on the cusp of change. You’re going to need people like me … powerful people to help you with problems just like this one.”

Tobias despised having to commit himself any more than he had to, but his sister still had to be made well, and he would do anything to see that happen.

“Wise beyond your years,” the orb hissed. “A calming voice in these trying times of change.”

“I try, sir.”

“We will proceed back to my lair, to prepare for the next phase of my plans,” the eye said.

Cracklebones started to leave the woods. Tobias obediently followed.

“Oh yes, and Tobias,” the eye said as if suddenly remembering
something important. The troll turned to face him, holding the damaged eye up.

“Disappoint me again and no matter how calming your voice, you and darling Claire will be the main course for a special meal prepared for the troops. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly,” Tobias answered, feeling the churning of the destructive magick that he’d recently taken back into his body.

Fighting for release.

10.
BRAM COULDN’T BREATHE.

It was like being inside the intestine of some gigantic, nightmare beast.

His lungs had filled with the stink of the place; so thick and unpleasant, it was like trying to breathe underwater. He was sliding down a membranous tube, feeling the slime-covered walls around him pulsating as if alive, squeezing him through the passage; moving him along to who knew where. He cried out for Stitch, but his mouth was filled with the foul-tasting fluid that lubricated the walls of the tube.

He tried to slow his progress, but the harder he fought against it, the faster the muscles flexed, squeezing him along with increasing speed. Bram was beyond tired, the overpowering stink of the tubular environment wearing
him down, threatening to steal away his consciousness.

Then suddenly he found himself falling, no longer trapped within the constricting confines of the fleshy passage, plunging into a thick pool of the nasty-smelling liquid that coated the walls of the tube. The fluid eagerly filled his lungs and mouth. Bram tried to fight it. His arms and leg flailed as he fought to swim toward the surface, but he couldn’t tell up from down. He was growing weaker, his struggles more feeble.

His father had been wrong about him; he wasn’t ready to be a leader.

Not even close.

Something grabbed him, powerful fingers wrapping around the collar of his jacket and pulling him up through the viscous fluids. Bram broke the surface and greedily gasped for air, noisily expelling liquid slime from his mouth and nose as he was laid upon the fleshy shore.

Solid ground beneath him he flipped onto his back, wiping the stinging substance from his eyes.

Stitch stood over him.

“Are you all right?” the artificial man asked.

Bram could only cough, but he nodded his head vigorously. “Where … where are we?” he finally managed,
between coughs, pushing himself up into a sitting position to check out where they’d ended up.

If he thought the inside of the tube was bad, this place was three times worse. They were in some sort of gigantic cave system, yawning black openings pulsating like open mouths in pink, fleshy walls. Above him the open ceiling went on seemingly forever into darkness.

“One of the worlds between worlds,” Stitch explained. “The tree back in the forest had pieced the veil between our world and another, its roots taking sustenance from both places.”

Stitch extended his hand, taking Bram’s and hauling him to his feet.

“Not a very welcoming-looking place, is it,” the boy commented.

“Beggers can’t be choosers,” Stitch replied. “I sensed the potential for passage as we ran into the forest and I remembered that I had an open invitation to visit.” The patchwork man was studying his hand, the one that had wielded the magick that had brought them to this place.

“Open invitation?” Bram asked.

Stitch nodded, still fascinated with his hand. “To this place … the world of Guttswallow.”

“So we’re not in any danger here?” Bram asked, suddenly overcome with the sensation that they were no longer alone.

And as if on cue, small, yet savage-looking creatures emerged from their hiding places, they tiny forms covered in armor, bladed weapons poised and ready to strike.

“I never said that,” Stitch answered.

E
xhausted, his body throbbing painfully from the excessive use of his magical abilities, Tobias found comfort in the presence of his sister.

Crowley had placed her body within a scarlet crystal, a special chamber designed to keep the supernatural energies that her body constantly produced under control.

Small, hunched-backed creatures dressed in heavy robes moved busily about the room, carefully monitoring and adjusting the many machines that kept the young girl unconscious and the power leaking from her body at levels below critical.

Tobias laid a hand upon the hard surface of the scarlet case, wanting so badly to have some sort of contact with the last remaining member of his family, but it wasn’t meant to be. If she was to be released from the crystal, her
disease would destroy him, intensifying to the point where the entire world could be threatened.

There was a part of him—
a scary part
—that would sacrifice all that just to hold her hand again.

He remembered how it had come to this, how he had accepted the offer of his sister’s salvation from the ancient sorcerer called Crowley the immortal.

It had been close to two years since Claire had gotten sick, and he had been staying in her room at the Brimstone Network’s medical facility as often as he could. They’d had her in a form of stasis, too, a bubble of powerful magick that had frozen time to a standstill around her bed. The magick used upon her was powerful, and exhausting to maintain, and he had often wondered how long would it be before the Network declared there was nothing more that could be done for her and another magick was conjured—a deadly kind—that would steal away his sister’s life before she could do anyone serious harm.

Tobias had guessed that it was only a matter of time, choosing to stay with her, sleeping on a cot beside her magickally encased bed, just in case they decided to come for her in the night.

He’d wanted to be there, to stop them if necessary.

One night Tobias was awakened from a restless sleep by a soft whispering voice and had opened his eyes to see a spider hanging by a strand of webbing in front of his face.