The Brimstone Network (Brimstone Network Trilogy) Read online

  Thirteen-year-old Abraham “Bram” Stone has never lived an ordinary life. Home is a monastery in the Himalayan Mountains, where the monks train him in otherworldly fighting skills. Bram’s father, Elijah Stone, leads a group called the Brimstone Network, an order of warriors and sorcerers who provide the last line of defense against all PARANORMAL dangers.

  Bram always knew that one day he’d take his father’s place. But that day comes far too soon when a bizarre man named Mr. Stitch arrives at the monastery and breaks the news to Bram: Every member of the Brimstone Network, including Elijah, has been assassinated. Suddenly it’s up to Bram to form a new BRIMSTONE NETWORK out of the rubble of the old, in the hope that he can rise to the challenge in time to stop a terrifying THREAT to humanity.

  This is only the beginning. The new Brimstone Network faces its next challenge in THE BRIMSTONE NETWORK BOOK TWO: THE SHROUD OF A’RANKA, coming this October.

  ALADDIN PAPERBACKS Simon & Schuster, New York / Cover designed by Karin Paprocki / Cover illustration © 2008 by Zachariah Howard / Ages 9-13 / www.SimonSaysKids.com / 0808

  It begins …

  Bram stirred, pulling himself from the folds of sleep. A shadowy figure stood at the end of his mat, and for a moment, Bram thought he was looking at the ghostly phantasm of his now deceased father. He sat up with a gasp.

  “You … ill … n … er … e … lone.”

  The words were garbled, as if coming from very far away.

  Bram jumped forward, reaching for the ghostly image, desperate for it not to leave.

  “Wait!” he cried as the ethereal shape began to fade, replaced by something larger and more solid.

  “Father?” Bram asked, desperate for it to be so.

  The dark shape suddenly surged forward with a ferocious roar, the smell of blood and rotten meat filling the air.

  Bram leaped back, away from the snarling beast. He saw what it was now and could not believe his eyes.

  Coming soon:

  The Brimstone Network Book 2:

  The Shroud of A’Ranka

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ALADDIN PAPERBACKS

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  Text copyright © 2008 by Tom Sniegoski

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  ALADDIN PAPERBACKS and related logo are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Designed by Mike Rosamilia and Karin Paprocki

  The text of this book was set in Minister.

  First Aladdin Paperbacks edition August 2008

  eISBN: 978-1-4391-5333-8

  Library of Congress Control Number 2008920170

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-5104-9

  ISBN-10: 1-4169-5104-0

  For Thomas M. “Moe” Carroll.

  One of the good guys.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  As it will always be, much love to my wife, LeeAnne, and Mulder the Wonder Dog for letting me live in their house.

  Delicious gluten-free cake-like thanks to my editor extra-ordinaire Liesa Abrams for making this book snap, crackle, and pop.

  Thanks are also going out to Zach Howard for the amazing cover, Christopher Golden, Dave “the Behemoth” Kraus, Eric Powell, John & Jana, Harry & Hugo, James “the Eye” Mignogna, Don Kramer, Greg Skopis, Mom & Dad Sniegoski, Mom & Dad Fogg, David Carroll, Ken Curtis, Lisa Clancy, Pete Donaldson, Kim & Abby, Jon & Flo, Pat & Bob, Sheila Walker, Mike Mignola, Christine Mignola, Katie Mignola, and Timothy Cole and the spawns of the Devil down at Cole’s Comics.

  Good night, and try the veal.

  PROLOGUE

  WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN AFRAID OF the dark.

  Even in our most bestial state, mankind has feared the deep inky blackness of the night, the velvety depths of shadow.

  But it was not the darkness that the first vestiges of humanity feared, back in its earliest days of existence. No, it was what waited within its ebony folds that taught mankind to fear the dark.

  They would eventually call him He Who Kills the Darkness.

  But in the beginning, he was known simply as Atuk, son of Elab.

  The valley folk had been two hundred strong, living peacefully in a lush, jungle basin that in five millennia would be part of North America.

  Atuk knew that he was different; somehow more in tune to the dangers of life in those early days of the world.

  And this set him apart from the others.

  Deep down, Atuk knew that he had a special purpose; that it was something far above being the strongest, or the most handsome to the females in the tribe. He was meant for something of much greater importance.

  And it was when the children of his tribe began to disappear during the nights that he sensed his time had come.

  The tribe’s warriors set a trap for the predator, hoping to catch what they were certain was some cowardly beast that came in when the sun had set, for it feared the strength of the valley folks’ most mighty.

  As it had done before, the night hunter came in search of children, but found the warriors instead. And even though they were the bravest and strongest of the tribe, they too were taken.

  The valley folk were paralyzed with fear, for if their most powerful could be taken with such ease, what hope did the others have?

  As the elders discussed what was to befall them, and the women cried over the loss of their children and their brave men, Atuk felt an awakening.

  Not brave enough, or strong enough, to have stood with the tribe’s warriors, he had instead watched from the shadows, and had seen what hunted them. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before: not animal, not man, and Atuk knew that it did not belong in this world; that it had come from some dark and awful place.

  He also knew that he was destined to destroy it.

  Atuk tried to explain this to the elders, but they scoffed at him. The women were even more cruel, mocking him for even thinking he could be as great as those who had been lost to the beast that stalked them, he was just a boy.

  But Atuk did not listen to any voice other than the one inside him, the voice of his newly awakened instincts taking him down the path to his destiny.

  He found himself thinking of the dark hunter: how it moved with such amazing speed, using the shadows to conceal its presence, and how its glistening black flesh could not be pierced by the stone tips of the warriors’ hunting spears.

  And in these details he saw how he would confront the enemy of his people, and defeat it.

  Atuk ventured out into the wild, accompanied by the jeers of those who remained, for they believed he was running off to hide in fear.

  First he needed a weapon, something stronger than the points at the end of the warriors’ spears; and he found it at the b
ase of the fire mountain. The rocks, flung from the open mouth of the mountain when it was angry, were as black as the flesh of the hunter, and seemed just as tough. Atuk worked the rock, sharpening the edges and filing the tip to a point that he was certain could pierce his enemy’s tough hide.

  But his search for the black stone had taken far more time than he had imagined, forcing him to be away from his village when night fell again. Atuk imagined the screams of those remaining as the hunter came for them. His only solace was in knowing that he would soon destroy it in the names of those who had been taken by the foul monster.

  As the sun rose, Atuk returned to his village and found what he had feared most. No one remained.

  A part of him cried in despair, but as he stood in the empty village, in the early morning rays of the sun, a new Atuk awakened. Tightly clutching his spear, its black tip glinting sharply in the light of dawn, Atuk set off into the jungle. He knew what he had to do, and now was the time.

  The dark hunter did not hide its trail. After all, who was left to track it? Still, the sun was high by the time Atuk found its cave.

  Standing before the yawning darkness, he felt what he thought was fear, but then realized was anticipation. This was what he was supposed to be doing, no matter what his other senses were telling him.

  He stepped closer to the mouth of the cave. A horrible smell that made the thick hair on his neck and arms stand on end drifted out of the yawning darkness. It said to him, Stay away, little man; there is death for you here. But Atuk did not listen. Holding his spear tightly, he entered.

  The floor of the cave tilted down and Atuk found himself walking deeper and deeper under the ground, the nasty stink of the place growing stronger, thicker, with every step. A green fungus growing on the damp cave walls cast just enough of an eerie glow to light his way.

  For a moment, Atuk believed his journey would never end, but then he came to an area blocked with rubble, except for a tight opening between the top of the stone and the tunnel ceiling. He crawled atop the loose rocks, carefully sticking his head through the opening. It was pitch-black on the other side, so he smeared some of the glowing fungus on his hand and stuck it through the hole into the chamber beyond.

  Almost at once he wished for darkness again, for it would have spared him from the nightmarish sight that would haunt him to the last of his days.

  The hole emptied into the dark hunter’s nest. The floor was littered with bones, animal and human, and all had been picked clean of any meat.

  Something white in the far corner of the chamber caught his attention and Atuk pushed himself farther through the opening, holding out his glowing hand for a better look. He had seen similar things in the webs of spiders in the jungle: prey wrapped in bundles of white, sticky webbing; stored, to be consumed later by the predator. There were many bundles lying in that corner of the room, and some were moving.

  Below the wrapped bundles something else stirred. Atuk moved his hand again, then stifled a gasp when he saw the hunter, curled and asleep, its back to its supply of food.

  It was as Atuk suspected. The hunter was nocturnal. How deep it had come to escape the light of day told Atuk much about the beast.

  The hunter did not stir as Atuk crawled through the opening, lowering himself to the chamber floor. It was cold inside, and slippery beneath his feet. Quietly, he moved toward the sleeping hunter, careful not to disturb any of the hundreds of bones strewn about.

  At last, he stood before the beast. Even with the glow from his hand, he could barely discern where the shadows ended, and the hunter began.

  He looked around the chamber at the remains of so much life taken by the hunger of the hunter in the dark. Some had been his friends, and this just fueled his purpose all the more.

  Atuk turned back to the sleeping terror, and raised his spear.

  It was awake.

  Atuk gasped. Multiple eyes glowed like balls of fire suspended in darkness, and when the creature hissed, razor-sharp teeth glinted dangerously in the dwindling illumination of the chamber.

  Channeling his fear into his strike, Atuk stabbed the spear down with all his might, puncturing the hunter’s leathery hide.

  The monster’s scream of surprise was deafening in the confines of the chamber. It had not feared him when it opened his eyes and saw him there.

  But it feared him now.

  Atuk pulled the spear up and brought it down again and again and again. The hunter fought to rise, but each strike drove it back.

  A horrible smell that burned the inside of Atuk’s nose blossomed in the cold, damp air and he knew that the beast was bleeding.

  With a final stab, he withdrew his spear, dropping it to the ground, turning to where he remembered the opening into the hunter’s lair to be. He listened to the sounds of the angry beast scrambling to its feet as he pulled himself up and out of the chamber.

  The monster was enraged.

  Atuk slid down the rocks back into the main tunnel and raced up the passage. He could hear the monster behind him, its lethal claws scraping on the stone. Atuk turned his head slightly to catch sight of the beast as it scuttled after him.

  Its eyes were wild, and in the greenish light thrown by the glowing mold, he saw the areas upon its thin, muscular body where his spear tip had punctured its seemingly impervious flesh. It ran along the sides of the walls, crawling up onto the ceiling as it chased him.

  Atuk forced himself to run faster, the faint, enticing aroma of fresh air somewhere up ahead, giving him the extra strength he needed to continue. The muscles in his legs burned, but still he pushed on, chancing another quick glance to see the monster’s progress.

  The hunter had dropped back down to the cave floor, and was closer. It would not be long before the beast would be close enough to reach out and snag him with a claw, dragging him back to its lair in the ocean of darkness.

  The entrance to the cave was suddenly before him, and he stifled a surge of excitement that was nearly overwhelming. Atuk slowed his pace, allowing the monster to close the distance between them. He could smell it now, the stink of its blood and aroma of evil. It was close, very close.

  As was the mouth of the cave.

  As were the rays of the sun outside.

  Feeling the tickling brush of its claws on his back, Atuk burst from the cave into the jungle, and the scream of pain behind him was even louder than when the beast had been stabbed with his spear.

  He turned, his lungs burning as he gasped for air.

  The hunter writhed upon the jungle floor. Wisps of oily smoke leaked from its slimy black flesh, bubbling blisters erupting everywhere that was touched by the light of the sun.

  His instincts had told him that this thing of shadow would not tolerate the sun’s warming rays, and they had been right.

  The hunter’s wails of pain continued, its leathery flesh making a sound very much like meat sizzling on a fire. It had managed to flip onto its stomach, sinking its claws into the earth, trying to drag itself back to the cave, to the soothing comfort of the dark.

  Atuk grabbed a boulder from the floor of the jungle and, hefting it in both arms, moved to stand between the mouth of the cave and the monstrous predator. It roared in protest as it lifted its awful head and saw him standing there. But Atuk felt not the slightest bit of sympathy, for even as it burned in the sun its many eyes were filled with cruelty and hate. He raised the heavy stone and threw it down upon the monster’s head, ending its life with a mercy that he knew the beast was incapable of offering.

  The flesh of the monster seemed to smolder and smoke all the faster. Soon there would be nothing left to prove that it had been there other than the memories of the terror it had wrought. Memories that Atuk, and the surviving members of his tribe, would carry with them to the ends of their lives.

  Atuk was but the first of those who have dedicated themselves to the protection of their people.

  Of humanity.

  In the early days of civilization they were known as the Or
der of Brimstone; as centuries progressed, the Brotherhood of Brimstone; later, the Brimstone League; and now, the Brimstone Network. Appearing whenever a threat from the countless other realms emerged from the shadows, they destroy evil with a cold efficiency.

  And the world has never needed them more.

  1.

  THE MONKS OF P’YON KEP ALWAYS SAID THAT TIME DID NOT matter.

  That all that he should be concerned with was the acquiring of knowledge, and how that knowledge could best be used for the greater good.

  And as thirteen-year-old Abraham stood in the center of the cold and drafty room, wooden fighting staff in hand, with four monks—also armed with staffs—stealthily converging on him, he tried to call on some of that knowledge.

  Bram thought he was ready, but then, he’d been wrong before.

  The four men, dressed in silk robes of bright orange, moved on him. He wasn’t supposed to think of them as individuals, but as one thing.

  One thing that could hurt him pretty badly if he didn’t do as he’d been taught.

  His father had sent him here, and many other places around the world, to learn how to utilize the talents he had been born with.

  Talents he was afraid to use.

  They circled him, like planets orbiting the sun, and he waited for the inevitable. One of their staffs suddenly jabbed toward him with incredible speed. Bram was ready, using his own to block a blow that would have left him bruised for a month. The second came even faster, but he had already caught the movement from the corner of his eye and managed to intercept that one as well, the sound of the two wooden staffs meeting echoing sharply off the stone walls of the monastery training room.

  The monks began circling again, and Bram allowed his thoughts to wander as he waited for the next assault.

  How long had it been since he had come here, to this holy place of learning, hidden away in the Himalaya Mountains? Truly, he couldn’t remember. He had been to so many places in his thirteen years, completing his education in one, before being sent to the next. There seemed to be so much for him to learn, so that he could be ready is what his father had always told him. But for what, Bram was never really quite sure.