Specter Rising (Brimstone Network Trilogy) (21 page)

Bram felt the level of magickal power that was about to be expended before it actually happened. The hair on the back of his neck and arms immediately jumped to attention as he watched Trinity spread its arms and then dramatically bring them forward.

A powerful blast of magickal force flowed through Trinity’s arms and connected with the cracked and damaged magickal barrier. There was a powerful explosion; the
sound of shattering glass magnified a hundredfold, and the passage between the worlds was permanent.

Bram didn’t have the best of feelings about this. On the other side of the opening, he could see that a human army had been amassed, and he could also see, amongst the soldiers, the familiar colors of Brimstone Network uniforms.

If things weren’t currently so tense, he would have been proud. Even without him to command them, the organization was still functioning, and he had no doubt it would continue to do so.

The Brimstone Network was alive.

T
rinity now understood.

The powers of the universe spoke to it, buzzing in its ear at all times, explaining away the mysteries of this world, and all the worlds that existed around it.

It was the living manifestation of magick and now it understood why it was best for the Specter and humanity to meet again.

To come together.

To ascend as one.

Trinity turned to look down upon the inhabitants of both worlds.

“Your worlds are ready for this,” it announced, not feeling the need to explain any further. There was no reason to complicate things. It had a sense of what lay ahead and knew that if either species was to survive, they would need to act as one.

It would be interesting to see what the future held for them.

“I’m done here,” the being called Trinity said, hearing the siren call of myriad universes beyond this one.

“Perhaps someday I will return,” it said, opening another passage with just a thought. “And maybe then you’ll understand what it is that I have done . . . and why.”

The one called Abraham Stone, the leader of his affiliation of world protectors, stepped forward, beckoning to him with questions.

But Trinity did not hear them, for it was about to answer a different call.

A call of destiny.

T
rinity’s foreboding words caused severe chills to run up and down Bram’s spine.

Had they just been cautioned to play nice with each other—humanity and the Specter? Had there been a warning in there of some impending threat that
would require their two races to come together?

Bram gazed at the breach opened between two worlds and understood what had to be done.

Turning from the opening he walked across the encampment. Stitch wanted to know where he was going, as did the others. He didn’t want to answer them because he didn’t want them to try and stop him. Johanna’s dogs tried to block his path, but he ghosted through them.

This was how it had to be.

Barnabas still stood staring ahead, swaying in the cool gentle wind of this alien place.

“Bram!” Lita called, the first to realize where he was going.

“I need to do this,” he said.

The Terrapene made an odd clicking sound that showed his displeasure, but Bram knew that he had to try.

A mere five feet from the warlord, Bram stopped.

“Come to gloat, half-breed?” Barnabas asked with a sneer.

“Not at all,” Bram answered. “You heard what Trinity said.”

Barnabas drew his wrist across his mouth, wiping away the grime and blood that had collected there. “All I heard was the death knell of my people,” he growled.

Bram came closer, hands open in a sign of peace. “This could be a new beginning,” he explained. “For both our peoples.”

Barnabas’s soldiers had drifted closer to hear his words. Bram was encouraged by the sight of them dropping their weapons as he spoke.

“Your words stink of prophecy,” the warlord snarled, turning his back on Bram.

“You’re not turning your back on me,” Bram spoke. “You’re turning your back on the future.”

And realizing that there was nothing more that he could say, Bram returned to his friends.

But there came from behind a flurry of movement, and cries of warning from those who saw what was about to transpire.

Bram spun around to see that Barnabas had retrieved a sword and was thrusting it toward him, the blade so close that there wasn’t time to will himself non-corporeal.

Barely enough time to realize that he was about to die.

Something moved around him, something as cold as the darkness of space and yet, strangely comforting.

Barnabas’s thrust was blocked, the blade swatted aside by another.

Bram was roughly pushed from harm’s way to see that Queen Ligeia had appeared, and now stood before the Specter warlord, sword in hand.

But this was not at all the woman Bram had seen lying sick upon a makeshift cot.

This was a woman who exuded fearsome power.

Ligeia wore the full guise of her Spectral nature. Her skin was nearly transparent in its paleness, her hair snaking out around her head as if affected by massive amounts of static electricity.

The sword she wielded was huge, and Bram was impressed that she could even lift it.

“You!” Barnabas screamed in frustrated rage, allowing the savagery of his own nature to come through.

“Did you think me dead, Barnabas?” the queen asked.

Their blades were still locked against each other, their arms trembling with exertion.

“I would have expired by now except for the touch of a boy from another world . . . a hero very much like his father.”

Their blades unlocked as they jumped away from each other.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Ligeia continued.

“Why is it so hard for you to see?” the warlord asked.
“When our warriors’ ways are laid to rest, this will be our end.”

Ligeia shook her head, the hair around it moving as though she were underwater. “Not our end, but our beginning.”

Barnabas laughed sadly. “And the more you tell yourself this, the more true it becomes.”

He lunged at her, sword ready to cut her down.

She moved as if made from air, flowing away from his strike and bringing her own blade down. His body became like smoke, and the blade passed through.

And this is how it went for what seemed like hours . . . days, the two powerful beings locked in mortal combat, the warrior versus the aristocrat, the ways of the brutal past versus the shining future.

Specter versus Specter.

Bram almost made his move, almost jumped in to help his mother, when he felt a steely grip on his arm.

It was Stanis who held him back, the man’s hard face and intense stare telling him so much with zero words.

“They have to do this,” Lita said. Bram could see the pain in her eyes. She, too, wanted to go to her mother, but now it was time for this conflict to be put to rest.
“The dawning on a new age begins . . . or ends . . . here.”

The battlers had become solid again, slowly turning in a circle, their eyes locked upon the other, each of them searching for that spark of weakness, that clue that signaled the time to strike.

Barnabas thought that he had found that moment, moving with the speed of a cobra, lashing out with his sword as the queen momentarily took her eyes from him.

Bram held his breath, a warning on the edge of his lips, but it seemed that this was not necessary. Ligeia seemed to know what the warlord had planned, sidestepping his killing blow, and with a move equal to that of his speed, cut his sword hand away at the wrist, weapon and hand dropping to the ground, a threat to her no more.

Without even a scream of pain, Barnabas clutched his bleeding stump to his chest. Blood pumped from the horrible wound, staining the metal of his armored chest.

He looked toward the weapon lying there, his other hand twitching. The queen placed a foot upon the blade, locking it to the earth.

“This battle is ended,” she said, her voice booming with royal authority.

Barnabas fell to his knees, armor clattering noisily.

“No,” he said, still clutching his wound. “The battle will continue.” He looked over to his soldiers, to those who believed as he did. “As long as I live, the battle will—”

The queen struck, the blade of her sword passing through the thick muscle of Barnabas’s neck with little resistance. The warlord’s head spun momentarily in the air before dropping to the ground and rolling to a stop for all to see.

There was a look of absolute shock frozen upon the Specter warlord’s face.

Bram tore his startled gaze from the decapitated head to look toward the woman responsible for this savage act, a woman who preached that a new age of peace and prosperity was upon them.

Queen Ligeia’s features softened, the Spectral warrior’s guise dropping away to reveal the beautiful woman that he had come to briefly know.

“Perhaps we are farther from the ascension than I believed,” she said, the blood-stained sword dropping from her hand to the ground.

Movement from the passage between worlds behind her captured his attention and Bram watched as Brimstone agents stood at the edge peering through into the alien world.

“Then let us help you reach it,” Bram said as he took his mother’s hand.

Leading her toward the passage.

Bringing her from the world of the Specter into his own.

EPILOGUE
T
HE WORLD HAD RETURNED TO NORMAL
.

Well, as normal as it could possibly be these days.

Bram stood over his bed, gazing down at the items he had gathered to pack into his duffel bag, and wondered if he was doing the right thing.

He was tempted to put it all away—to take everything and stick it back inside his dresser drawers, and to toss his traveling bag back into the corner of the room.

What am I thinking? I can’t leave them now.

There was a knock behind him and he turned to see Mr. Stitch looming in the doorway.

“Do you have everything you’ll need?”

“Hey Stitch,” Bram said in greeting, his eyes again falling upon the items gathered for a long journey. “Yeah . . . yeah, I think so.”

“Do I sense some hesitation?” the large man asked, leaning against the doorframe and folding his arms. “What seems to be the problem?”

Bram turned to look at his friend.

“I feel like I’m abandoning them,” he said.

The patchwork man shook his head. “You know that’s not true.”

“Do I?”

“The Brimstone Network will get along fine without you for a while,” Stitch went on. “You’ve wanted to do this for quite some time, and now seems right.”

Bram sighed heavily, reaching for the heavy bag draped across the corner of the bed. He pulled it open and started to pack. “I know you’ll probably laugh at me, but I worry about them,” he said, not looking at Stitch.

“I don’t find that the least bit funny,” the man said in his gravelly voice. “It’s an important trait of being a leader.”

“A leader and a friend,” Bram added.

Stitch nodded in agreement. “A leader and a friend.”

D
esmond lay in the darkness within his quarters, a mental picture of a burning flame dancing in his head.

His friends and teammates had chosen to leave him alone, believing that he needed the solitude and the time to again mourn the loss of his father. And for the first few days
after their return from the Specter world, that had most certainly been the case, but then he’d heard the voice.

It had awakened him from a deep sleep, and he remembered how he’d lain there, listening in the darkness, hoping that it would come again, so that he could be sure that he’d heard what he thought he’d heard.

It had sounded like his father’s voice, from somewhere far beyond the pale, calling to him.

Wishful thinking? Perhaps, but there was a part of him that wondered if it was possible. Had his father somehow survived when his consciousness was torn from the giant’s body?

Was Douglas St. Laurent lost in some faraway reality, trying to find his way back to him?

Dez couldn’t let the idea go, the words that he thought he heard repeating over and over in his mind. Words that gave him hope.

I’m coming.

So he lay there in the darkness of his room, listening for the sound again, hoping that he hadn’t been wrong.

And thinking of a candle’s flame.

A shining light to guide his father home.

E
mily thought about having another sandwich, but realized she was really just bored.

Mom lay on the checkered blanket, a folded-up sweatshirt behind her head as she snoozed. Dad’s face was buried in some new political thriller he’d picked up the last time he’d gone out to the bookstore.

It had been ages since they’d gone on a picnic, and she’d been absolutely delighted when her suggestion had been met with a unanimously positive response.

She’d been planning it for days, the only thing to distract her being the fact that Bram was going away for a little while. He’d explained why he felt he had to go, but it didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t going to be around, and that she didn’t like that very much.

Which bothered her.

What did it matter? He’d be back soon enough.

But the idea of not seeing him . . . even if it was only for a couple of weeks. . . .

Emily found herself becoming agitated again as she tried to figure out exactly what this all meant, and she couldn’t help but compare these strange feelings to when she’d found herself with a crush on Ben Turner.

Oh, my god,
she thought.
I’ve got a crush on Abraham Stone.

She jumped to her feet, brushing at her skin as if somebody had thrown a bug on her.

“Problem?” her father asked, looking up from the pages of his book.

“Yeah . . . no . . . maybe,” she said, looking off into the thick forest around her.

She knew it was only a matter of seconds before her dad would start to pry, which would wake up her mother, and then they would be a tag team. Looking through wolf’s eyes she scanned the underbrush for something to distract her.