Specter Rising (Brimstone Network Trilogy) (12 page)

Lita got up from the fire.

“My mother, is she . . .”

“Not dead,” Boffa said. “But for how long, I do not know. Terrapene medicine keeps her in breath.”

The princess reached out a hand and touched the turtle’s scaled arm. Boffa flinched, his arms and head partially retreating into his shell.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m not sure why you’re helping us . . . after all we have done to your kind, but . . . but thank you.”

Boffa moved away from Lita’s touch. “Ligeia came to Boffa when she first become queen,” the Terrapene explained. “Came to him alone, without soldiers, swords or knives . . . came to him to tell how sorry she was for what Specter had done to Terrapene kind.”

Bram rose from the fire and went to stand with his sister.

“She say that I could take her life for what Specter kind had done; that it was payment due Boffa as the last of Terrapene.”

“She offered you her life?” Lita asked.

The last of the Terrapene nodded. “And Boffa almost accepted offer . . . remembering all who had died . . . remembering that Boffa was alone . . . but there had already been too much death.”

“You spared her life,” Lita said quietly.

“And for that she made Boffa promise of peaceful world . . . world where Specter not conquer and kill anymore . . . a world of ascension.”

The turtle gazed up into the night sky.

“Boffa hold her to promise,” he said. “Boffa protect her from dying with all his might.”

At last Bram understood why the Terrapene had saved them—a promise from the queen of Specter had guaranteed their lives.

The Terrapene returned his gaze to them. “She awake now,” he said.

Lita made a move toward the burrow, but Boffa reached out and grabbed her arm with thick, powerful fingers.

“Not you,” the Terrapene said, and then his gaze fell on Bram. “She ask to speak to boy,” Boffa said. “She wish to speak to son of Stone.”

D
ez imagined that he could see his father behind the twisted monster’s gaze.

“Are you all right?” his father asked, wearing the form of a monster that mere seconds ago had been a nearly unstoppable force.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Dez answered. “Could you give me a hand getting up?” He struggled to get his legs beneath him, and to retrieve at least one of his crutches.

“Desmond, get back!” a voice bellowed from within the chamber.

Dez and the monster looked to see that Stitch had ripped up a large piece of the stone floor and was preparing to hurl it, even as Emily stalked toward them, fangs bared.

“Oh, crap,” Dez said, managing to get to his feet. “Stop! It’s not what you think!” He got between his attacking friends and the monster that currently contained the essence of his departed father.

“Get out of the way, boy,” Stitch yelled.

“You have to stop,” Dez cried.

Emily reached them first, her snout twitching as she sniffed the air.

“What’s going on, Dez?” she growled.

“It’s my father,” he said, pointing to the beast.

“Your father?” Emily repeated, pulling back. She turned to Stitch, who continued to advance holding the piece of flooring that looked as though it must’ve weighed at least three hundred pounds. “He says this is his father.”

“Your father?” Stitch repeated, letting the stone crash to the floor.

Bogey cleared his throat loudly, making them all aware that he was still standing at the dimensional passage, holding it open with his own unique talents. “Hello! Mauthe Dhoog on the verge of a stroke here!”

“Hey, guys,” the monster croaked at the approaching Stitch and Emily.

“How is this possible?” Stitch asked.

“I know that what Bram wanted me to do was right . . . really, I did,” Dez tried to explain. “And I honestly believed he had been laid to rest . . . but he didn’t seem to stay there very long.”

“Hello?!” Bogey screeched again. “Me over here performing a very important task!”

“Just a minute, Bogey,” Emily said. “Is he a ghost now?” she asked her friend.

Dez shook his head. “I’m not really sure what he is . . .
it’s almost like an electrical impulse or something . . . some kind of energy being.”

The monster nodded. “Electric ghost,” it slurred. “Close enough.”

“Fascinating,” Stitch commented.

The sounds of barking dogs suddenly exploded in the chamber, and the new girl approached them from across the room.

“Hey, if you guys are looking for that creepy demon guy, he’s over there in a few pieces. My dogs didn’t care much for his attitude.”

They ignored her and continued to stare at the monster that now held the electrical essence of Desmond’s father.

“I know I should have told you guys sooner,” Dez continued, “but I didn’t know what to say . . . I didn’t want Bram to think that I’d disobeyed orders. And I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t still like having him around.”

“These are things to be discussed after we have concluded this mission,” Stitch said.

An awful, searing flash of white light from the dimensional rip finally captured their attention.

“Not sure how much longer I can do this,” Bogey groaned. The Mauthe Dhoog was now on his knees, stubby
arms extended toward the tear in the fabric of time and space that battled to repair itself.

“Quickly now,” Stitch said, turning toward the dwindling rip. “Through this passage is our only hope of finding the reason for the attempt on our commander’s life, and possibly locating him.” The patchwork man placed his large hands on either side of the crackling energy rip and started to pull it apart.

“Where the heck is that gonna take us?” Johanna asked, her dogs starting to whine nervously.

“Once more unto the breach, dear friends,” Stitch cried as he climbed through the passage. “Once more; or close the wall up with our English dead.”

And then he was gone.

“What was that all about?” the new girl asked.

“Think it was Shakespeare,” Dez said.

“Sounded like Chuck Norris,” Bogey answered as he got to his feet. “If anybody else is thinking of following him, they might want to get on the bus pronto ’cause this baby isn’t gonna hold up much longer.”

Emily went next, her fur crackling and standing on end as she forced her way through.

“Something tells me that I’m gonna regret this,”
the new girl said, and followed Emily with her barking invisible dogs close behind.

Dez looked to the monster beside him, seeing his father behind the dark, reflective eyes. “Are you coming?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” the monster spoke, reaching out with his powerful arms, throwing Dez over his shoulder and jumping through the rift.

B
ram climbed down into the burrow, the musty smell of damp earth filling his senses as he maneuvered himself through the passage into the underground dwelling. It was little more than a hole in the ground, roots of various sizes and thickness sticking from the moist earthen walls.

Just inside, Bram froze, his gaze fixed on the woman lying at the far end of the primitive room, the faint light of a lantern illuminating her skin, reminding him of the glow from the moon.

She stirred and he heard her voice for the first time. It was like a gentle wind passing over the leaves of fall. “Come closer.”

Bram realized suddenly that he was scared.

After all he had faced in his brief lifetime . . . enraged yeti, immortal sorcerers, nearly indestructible vampires . . . the thought of speaking with her—with his mother—terrified him more than all of them combined.

As if compelled by her words, he went to her.

A root caught his foot, tripping him, and he almost tumbled on top of the fragile woman lying there. Bram caught himself, struggling to hold on to some piece of his wounded dignity.

“I’m sorry,” he heard himself say, one of his hands sinking into the cold dirt of a wall to prevent his fall.

“Now what do you have to be sorry for?” she asked him.

Finally steady, he looked down upon the woman who stared up at him from where she lay.

“I almost fell on you,” he said, stopping himself from laughing nervously.

The queen smiled faintly, her eyes closed again.

“For a moment, you sounded like him,” she said. Her eyes opened again and she looked at him. “Like your father.”

A pale hand snaked out from beneath the fur covers. “Come closer,” his mother said. “Kneel beside me.”

Bram did as she asked, kneeling upon the damp earth. He could feel the moisture begin to seep through the knees of his pants, but it was only a minor inconvenience. He would have endured far worse to be near her.

“You look like him as well,” she said. Her hand reached up, and he lowered his face to allow her touch on his cheek.

“You must think me some cruel witch,” Queen Ligeia spoke as her cool fingers caressed his face. “Sending you away as if you meant nothing.”

Bram remained silent. He’d often wondered why she had given him away, to be raised solely by his father, whose only response to Bram’s questions had been
“That is how it must be.”

So of course Bram had filled in many of the blanks himself; coming up with all kinds of reasons why his mother had abandoned him, the most painful of which was that she had no feelings for a child like him.

A half-breed.

“Your silence tells me much,” Ligeia said, gently cupping the palm of her hand to his face. “The truth is that your life would have been in perpetual danger if you’d remained in my care. Those were the earliest days of the treaty between our two worlds, and whisperings of
the ascension prophecy were growing in strength.”

Bram reached up and took hold of the queen’s hand. His heart fluttered with emotion.

I’m holding my mother’s hand,
he thought. He’d often imagined what it would be like—but had never believed it would actually happen.

“I doubt my feeble explanation could chase away the years of sadness, but do you begin to understand why it had to be this way?”

“I understand,” he said, not wanting to upset her.

“I’ve watched you,” the queen said. “Through scrying pools conjured by our most powerful magick users, I watched to be sure you were safe. Even though your father kept you hidden, I watched just to be certain.”

Her hand had become like ice and he let it return to her side, making sure that the furs covered it. The thought of her keeping an eye on him made him smile. It had actually been one of his dreams, that his mother had been secretly watching out for him.

It was a strange feeling to know that it was true.

The queen seemed to be struggling to keep her eyes open, and he decided that she should rest. Hopefully there would be time for more talking when she was better.

“You need to get some sleep,” he said.

Ligeia’s eyes opened again. “I’m not sure how much longer I have,” she answered him. “The Terrapene’s medicine seems to have slowed the poison’s progress—even though it tasted like poison as well—but I don’t know how much longer it will allow me to live.”

The thought of losing her again made Bram start to panic.

“Don’t talk like that,” he told her. “You’re going to be fine. We’re going to find a cure for the poison . . .
I’m
going to find a cure.”

Queen Ligeia’s gaze widened, a sad smile on her pale face.

“A cure has already been found, my son,” she said. “You are that cure.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Your being here . . . in the realm of the Specter . . . it was all foretold in the ancient prophecies. A child of two worlds would be born, and it would be time for the Specter to become more than what they are.”

“You’re saying that my birth triggered the beliefs in the ascension?” Bram asked.

“Exactly,” the queen replied. “That is why you had to be protected, for those who wished to stay nestled in the grip
of the old ways would do anything to see that the prophecies did not come true.”

“Barnabas,” Bram said. “Lita told me about a warlord named Barnabas.”

“He is the one to beware of,” the queen said. “Perhaps the most dangerous of all the Specter warlords, his opinion of the prophecies was the strongest of all. He tried to overthrow my rule and abolish the treaty with the earthly realms, and for those crimes he was punished.”

The queen seemed to be agitated, and Bram became nervous. She had to rest if she was to recuperate. He reached down to pull the furs up closer to her neck when Ligeia’s hand shot out from beneath the covers to grab his arm in a surprisingly powerful grip.

“Barnabas found a way to escape his sentence, and returned twice as powerful.”

“His weapon,” Bram said. “Do you have any idea what it is?”

“A power that can twist reality itself, turning men to monsters . . . something that wields magick the likes of which I have never seen,” she gasped.

“It is as if Barnabas has struck a bargain with death itself.”

9.
I
F THERE WAS ONE THING
J
OHANNA KNEW FOR
sure, it was that traveling through interdimensional passages really sucked.

She tried to think of the quickest way to describe how it felt if somebody should ever ask her, and decided that having your guts yanked out through your belly button and wrapped around your neck a few times pretty much nailed it.

Passing through Bogey’s rift to the Fthaggua homeworld was one thing, but this was a different story altogether.

Different magicks affected different species differently, she figured.

Through to the other side, she immediately dropped to her knees and tried not to throw up. The ground was cold
and rocky; what grass there was, yellow and dry. She could feel her dogs around her, their ghostly snouts nuzzling her face and hands.

“I’m okay,” she told them, catching her breath. “Give me a sec and I’ll be fine.”

“Not sure if ‘fine’ is the right word,” a voice that she recognized as Wolf-Emily said.

Johanna lifted her gaze, wiping a hand across her bangs for a better look, and just about had a heart attack.

What was that old saying her Grandpa Harkness had always used, something about falling out of a frying pan and into the fire? Yeah, it was something like that.