The Brimstone Network (Brimstone Network Trilogy) (15 page)

She glanced at her watch. The dance was supposed to have started ten minutes ago, and she had to make her decision.

Her stomach growled again, and she wondered how much of that was actually hunger and how much was nerves.

Emily wasn’t sure what she wanted to do, growing angry with herself for being so indecisive. Glancing up into the night sky her eyes found the new moon as it slowly emerged, fat and glowing, from behind some puffy clouds that looked like a pair of cartoon sheep.

The moon hung large and swollen in the velvet sky, and there was suddenly no question of what she was going to do.

Emily stepped from the dark surrounding the parking lot, walking toward the entrance to the school gym, filled with a new confidence seemingly fueled by moonlight.

It’s only a school dance
, she told herself as she pulled open the door.
Besides, after all I’ve been through lately, what’s the worst that can possibly happen?

B
ram held the shell firmly between two fingers while using the forklike wooden utensil in his other hand to try to pry the meat from inside it.

He was having some difficulty.

“Problems?” Stitch asked, leaning over to speak directly into his ear to be heard over the pounding of the boggarts’ music.

“It’s stuck in there pretty good,” Bram said, watching as
his friend effortlessly pried the thick wad of meat from the shell and popped it into his mouth.

Determined to do the same, Bram plunged the tines of the fork down between the meat and the gray-colored shell. The sudden squeal made him flinch, and he dropped the shell, allowing the muscular, wormlike animal to crawl from its casing and burrow quickly beneath fleshy ground.

“That one wasn’t cooked enough,” Stitch said, holding back his laughter.

Bram decided to forego any more of the shelled food, and instead reached for a banana-like fruit from the basket that had been placed before them.

The music built to a near deafening crescendo, and then abruptly stopped. Stitch wiped his oily hands on the front of his pants and started to clap. Bram did the same, wanting their hosts to know how much they appreciated this banquet in their honor.

An old Mauthe Dhoog woman, her face resembling a dried piece of fruit, and noticing that he was no longer feasting upon the shell-covered animals, approached with a fresh plate still steaming from the hot oil they had been cooked in.

“No, thank you,” Bram said with a smile, holding up his hands.

“I’ll have more, my dear,” Stitch said, taking the offered plate.

Bram was finishing his fruit when Herlethingus came to stand in the center of their circle. His clothing was less battle-like now, much more relaxed, but he still wore his giant, insect headdress.

“It has been long since we have seen your like,” the boggart leader said, addressing Bram and Stitch. “The world of the man-kind has become too dark and turbulent a place.”

The other Mauthe Dhoog nodded as they continued to eat. Considering what had gone on lately, Bram had no choice but to agree with the gray-skinned chieftain.

“Our friend made from many parts has told us what has happened in the world,” Helethingus said, calling attention to Stitch.

The Mauthe Dhoog warriors rose, coming over to pat the large man upon the back and shoulders.

“A terrible evil has attacked from the shadows, striking down the men of Stone and he who led them, and who was also friend to the Mauthe Dhoog.”

The chieftain was talking about Bram’s father, and hearing it come from the boggart leader’s mouth, he was struck by how unreal it all seemed. Elijah Stone was dead, and the burden of his responsibility, and that of the organization for which he had sacrificed his life, had now been given over to him.

It was a huge job, and one that he was still not sure he was capable of handling, but he couldn’t let that stop him. His father believed he was ready, and right now, that had to be enough.

“But the son of Stone now sits before us,” Herlethingus said with a sly smile. “And it is he who will gather new warriors … new men of Stone to beat back the flow of darkness to their world and the worlds of others.”

The Mauthe Dhoog grunted, nodding their large heads again.

The chieftain’s words reminded Bram of the urgency of their mission. He didn’t want to be rude, but he suddenly couldn’t stand to sit around any longer. “We really should be going,” he whispered to Stitch.

The patchwork man agreed. “I think I’ve caught my second wind,” he said, stretching his long legs as he climbed to his feet. “Good Chieftain, we thank you for your hospitality
and the hospitality of your world, but now it is time for us to continue on our great mission to find these men of Stone.”

Bram stood as well, eager to be on the move. “Thank you,” he said, and also bowed to the chief.

Herlethingus returned the gesture before raising his large, dark eyes to them.

“As the Stone leader gave his own son to the gathering of warriors, so shall I,” the chieftain of the Mauthe Dhoog suddenly declared.

Bram didn’t understand, but watched as the tribe leader turned and strode toward his dwelling. The chief’s tent was bigger than all the others, and painted with intricate symbols that none of the other tents displayed.

“Did he just say he was giving us his son?” Stitch asked, leaning to the side and speaking from the corner of his mouth.

“I’m really not sure,” Bram answered. He knew what he thought he’d heard, but that couldn’t be right.

The chieftain pulled back the curtain of his dwelling, allowing a younger Mauthe Dhoog, his ash-colored face painted in symbols similar to those on the tent, to emerge.

Herlethingus accompanied the youngling back to the gathering.

“To aide you in your future struggles, I give to you my son,” the chieftain of the Hauthe Dhoog proclaimed. “His spirit is young, but it will not take long before he is …”

Bram stepped forward. “We mean no disrespect, sir, but we can’t take your son.”

The chieftain’s eyes widened.

“As Abraham, son of Stone, was trying to explain,” Stitch began quickly, “there are very dangerous times ahead for us, and we would not risk the life of your only son and …”

“I have many more sons,” Herlethingus said, motioning to the crowd behind him. A Mauthe Dhoog woman stood, holding a baby in her arms, there were seven more of varying ages crying at her feet.

“If this one should be slain, I will send you another.”

Bram glanced toward the young Mauthe Dhoog standing in the circle’s center. As his father spoke, he hung his head, refusing to look at them.

Sensing that it would be a huge insult not only to the chieftain but to the entire Mauthe Dhoog tribe not to accept their young warrior, Bram made up his mind.

He approached the chief’s son. If he was going to be the
new Brimstone Network leader, these were the kinds of things that he was going to have become used to doing.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

The son of the chief raised his head.

“Bogachan Sabhaill Britoomartis,” the young warrior said.

“That’s certainly a mouthful,” Stitch commented.

“Do you actually want to come with us?” Bram asked the youth.

The young Mauthe Dhoog nodded.

“Even though there will be a lot of danger?”

He nodded again.

“And it will probably be a very long time—if ever—before you see your family and village again.”

The Mauthe Dhoog nodded even more emphatically.

Harlethingus sauntered over to stand beside his son.

“This one is very talented,” he said proudly, putting his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “He has a way with the rifting.” The chief’s eyes twinkled mysteriously.

“Rifting?” Bram asked, not sure what that meant, but certain it wouldn’t be a mystery for long.

“Show,” the chieftain said, nudging his child into action.

Bogachan Sabhaill Britoomartis stepped back from his father and rubbed his hands together. He spread his short legs and extended his stubby arms. His fingers began to knead the air as he sang a strange, alien song beneath his breath.

The air was suddenly split by what sounded like a crack of thunder, and Bram instinctively jumped back as a jagged, black gash appeared in the air.

He knew what it was. The young Mauthe Dhoog had a natural ability to open passages from wherever he was, to someplace else.

Rifting.
It made complete sense to him now.

The tear grew larger as if a knife had been plunged within time and space, and pulled down to cut it open.

“Where would you like to go?” the chieftain’s son asked, brows furrowed as he concentrated to keep the doorway open.

“Impressive,” Stitch said, folding his powerful arms across his chest.

A talent like that sure could come in handy
, Bram thought. “Bogachan Sabhaill Britoom … ,” Bram said aloud, then paused. “How about we just call you Bogey for short?” he suggested.

“Bogey is awesome,” the chieftain’s son answered with an extra-wide smile that almost split his face.

“Then welcome to the Brimstone Network, Bogey.”

T
he gym lobby was empty, and the thought that she could still back out again crossed Emily’s mind.

Nope. No way
, she told herself, taking a few more deep breaths and using the glass trophy cases to check her reflection. She combed her fingers through her shoulder-length hair as she studied herself from various angles.

“Knew I should’ve gotten it cut,” she muttered, not at all satisfied by what she was seeing, but then again, when was she ever?

Before she became any more disgusted, Emily turned from the cases toward the double doors that would take her into the gym. Although the doors were closed, she could still hear the muffled sounds and feel the vibration of the dance music drifting out from inside.

“At least I like the song,” Emily said, using the music’s beat to psyche herself up and push her toward the entrance.

Pulling one of the double doors open a crack, Emily
slunk inside. It was darker than she expected, but it took her eyes only a moment to adjust.

A small stage had been set for the DJ over near the bleachers, a funky disco ball turned to the beat of the music, shooting beams of multicolored light around the gym area. She was surprised to see that nobody was out on the floor dancing, but remembered that some of her friends who went to these things had said that was usually the case.

It took a few brave souls to get out there and look like they were having a good time before anybody else joined them.

She walked farther into the gym, looking through the semidarkness, trying to find where everybody had gathered. Expecting boys to be on one side and girls on the other, Emily was shocked to see one large clump of kids standing directly across from her under the scoreboard.

And to make matters worse, they all seemed to be looking at her.

Emily suddenly felt more self-conscious than she had in her entire life. Well, other than that time in fourth grade when she got gum in her hair and tried to cut it out by herself so she wouldn’t get in trouble and ended up with huge bald spots on her head.

But other than that, this was probably the worst.

The song that had been playing ended, but another didn’t follow, plunging the gym into an eerie silence, which was in and of itself bizarre. She knew most of the kids that were here tonight, and they didn’t have the first clue on how to shut up.

Nobody was talking.

Am I so much of a dweeb that I can bring a room to silence?
she wondered, forcing herself not to turn right around and run from the building.

But it was weirder than that. The hair on the back of her neck was suddenly standing on end, which was never a good sign.

“Hey,” she said, lifting her hand in a pathetic wave before bringing it right down again. She stopped about halfway across the gym, staring at the group. “Is … is something wrong?”

It sounded stupid rattling around inside her head, and even more stupid coming out of her mouth. She expected them all to start laughing; laughing and pointing at what a spaz she was.

But they didn’t say a word, and just kept on looking at her.

Emily felt herself starting to get upset, which these days wasn’t a good thing at all. Her skin started to itch, and her heart began to race.

She had to relax, or the situation would get a whole lot more embarrassing than it already was.

Something on the floor, at her classmates’ feet, distracted her. Something moving in the shadows.

There were bugs on the floor, large cockroach-things scurrying around the kids’ feet, attempting to stay in the shadows, as if trying not to be seen.

She thought she might get sick.

But it didn’t stop there; it just kept getting stranger. Emily pointed to the floor, her mouth moving to warn the others, but they didn’t seem to mind. She felt the beginnings of a scream in the back of her throat as she watched one of the fat-shelled insects crawl over Annie Ritchfield’s shoulder, up her neck, and onto her face, disappearing beneath her hair.

And she might have done it, screamed louder than she ever had before, but the scream was put on hold by another terrible sight.

A thin, pale-skinned man emerged from the shadows farther back in the gym, the sound of a toilet flush fading
in the background as he came to stand before her schoolmates. He was wiping his hands on a paper towel.

“I’m sorry,” the man said, his voice sounding strange, like he was talking underwater. “Had to use the little boys’ room.”

The man seemed to be naked from the waist up, his skin so white that it glowed in the dark of the room. He had strange hair, dark—shiny—it looked bumpy on his head.

And then his hair … the bumps started to move, and Emily saw that it wasn’t hair it all. The bumps on his head were bugs, and they were crawling down his body … down onto the floor.

Emily started to back away.

“Where are you going, Emily?” the man with the gargling voice asked. “You are Emily, right? Of course you are.” The bugs from his head had started toward her in a zigzag pattern and the pale, shirtless man started to follow. “Aren’t you going to stay for the dance?”