HowlSage Read online

  © Copyright 2011—Brock D. Eastman

  All rights reserved. This book is protected by the copyright laws of the United States of America. This book may not be copied or reprinted for commercial gain or profit. The use of short quotations or occasional page copying for personal or group study is permitted and encouraged. Permission will be granted upon request. Unless otherwise identified, Scripture quotations are taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Please note that Destiny Image’s publishing style capitalizes certain pronouns in Scripture that refer to the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and may differ from some publishers’ styles. Take note that the name satan and related names are not capitalized. We choose not to acknowledge him, even to the point of violating grammatical rules.

  Illustrations by Dana Loch

  DESTINY IMAGE® PUBLISHERS, INC.

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  ISBN 13 TP: 978-0-7684-4005-8

  IISBN 13 Ebook: 978-0-7684-8927-9

  For Worldwide Distribution, Printed in the U.S.A.

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 / 13 12 11

  Dedication

  Matthew,

  Someday you may very well rule the world, but for now enjoy this book. I had you in mind when I wrote it.

  Acknowledgments

  To my wife, Ashley—I never could have finished without you. You are my rock and you keep me going. I tend to take on more than I should, but you always get me through.

  To Christian Miles—your input and thought was such a blessing to have in the final days of writing. You helped me through the home stretch. I expect I’ll be reading great things from you in the future. The publisher that signs with you will be very blessed.

  Mike Harrigan—artist and friend. Your input into this manuscript kept me on track and got it were it needed to be.

  To my friends and co-workers at Focus on the Family. What an amazing bunch of people to work with. For your support, encouragement, and for all the creative opportunities you’ve given me.

  Endorsements

  A clever blend of Percy Jackson and Fablehaven, HowlSage kept me up all night reading. Full of suspense, action, and gadgets—readers will cheer for young Taylor as he hunts down demons and discovers the life he’s supposed to lead. Two thumbs up.

  Christian Miles, age 17

  Thrilling chases, advanced technology, solid friendships, and spiritual warfare; Howlsage is absolutely brimming with adventure! It's also told in a way that younger kids can understand and relate to. I have 5 younger siblings and the youngest is only 6. I know how hard it is to find books that grab their interests and hold their attentions, but that also have good Christian values and Biblical principals that they can understand. Not only did I enjoy reading Howlsage as an adult, but I know that my younger brothers and sisters will love this book as well. I can hardly wait to read it to them!

  Nichole W., age: 22,

  Secor Illinois

  Thrilling events and vivid descriptions of characters made me feel as if I was right there fighting evil with Taylor and his friends! You won’t want to put the book down until you’ve read the last page.

  Larisa K., age:22,

  Davis, CA

  Contents

  Preface

  Map of Ashley Meadows

  CHAPTER ONE

  October 2nd—

  The Day After (The Full Moon) Monday

  CHAPTER TWO

  October 3rd—Tuesday

  CHAPTER THREE

  October 4th—Wednesday

  CHAPTER FOUR

  October 5th—Thursday

  CHAPTER FIVE

  October 6th—Friday

  CHAPTER SIX

  October 7th—Saturday

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  October 8th—Sunday

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  October 9th—Monday

  CHAPTER NINE

  October 10th—Tuesday

  CHAPTER TEN

  October 11th—Wednesday

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  October 12th—Thursday

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  October 13th—Friday

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  October 14th—Saturday

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  October 15th—Sunday

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  October 16th—Monday

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  October 17th—Tuesday

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  October 18th—Wednesday

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  October 19th—Thursday

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  October 20th—Friday

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  October 25th—Wednesday

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  October 26th—Thursday

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  October 27th—Friday

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  October 28th—Saturday

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  October 29th—Sunday

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  October 30th—Monday

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  October 31st—

  Halloween—Tuesday (Full Moon)

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  November 1st—Wednesday

  Ike’s Visual Guide to Demons

  Preface

  The Rocky Mountain range stood to my left as I drove to work one morning. The bright sun was shining and the sky was blue. But for the story that would develop next, you’d expect the dead of night.

  A single word came to me, HowlSage. I wasn’t exactly sure what it meant, but soon a story swirled in my mind. Howl was the wolf’s call and Sage was another word for magician, so the definition for HowlSage became magician of the moon. I believe that neither magic nor a werewolf can be good, so the HowlSage would be my villain, and further, like C.S. Lewis, I recognize that demons are everywhere. To counter the HowlSage, I needed a demon hunter, and soon I had our hero, Taylor.

  In the following pages of this book and continuing through the series, you will read a story that is meant to be fiction, but one that I’ve pulled elements into from a reality we often don’t recognize for its very real and true danger.

  I’m not trying to pose any theology in the following pages, and you may read things you agree with or don’t. I took fictional liberties in the story and am not expressing a belief I hold or that you should. Like stories with dragons, magic, elves, or dwarves, this story is fiction. The Sages of Darkness series should also cause you to think, to make you reflect, to challenge how you live your life.

  I also feel that too often we make light of things that, if real, would truly be nothing short of demonic—say werewolves, vampires, and zombies. These are not heroes, and because of the elements that make up these fictional species, they can never be.

  For the time is drawing near and the battle for souls is being waged every day. Let us not take for granted that each of us is precious to our Lord; we are all worth fighting for.

  Chapter One

  October 2nd

  The Day After

  (The Full Moon)—Monday

  The scene was like that of an ill-made end-of-the-world movie. The intersection of Roth and Horton was a tangle of cars, trucks, traffic signals and signs, cargo, people, and green fire. Yes, green fire.

  Green f
lames spewed from the front of an old blue Ford, whose hood had been smashed and its chassis pummeled two feet into the pavement. The driver escaped, but sat dazed, leaning against the roof of an overturned green SUV. The man muttered incessantly to himself.

  “Hair, big, fangs, hair, blood, hair, big, fangs—”

  I looked down from my perch atop the seven-story bank building. I’d already scoured the cross streets, but there was no sign of the beast. The smile it had given only a second before it jumped told me all I needed to know. This was nothing more than a game. And I was losing.

  How had they honestly thought I was ready to take the mantle from my father? We’d only just buried him, but the very next day the old man in his gray cloak arrived and said, “He has the gift. He must be trained now. The moon is to fall on Samuin.”

  I could still see the old monk look up at the cloudless night sky, the hood of his gray cloak falling back, revealing his bright white hair. “We have one month,” he said to the man charged with my care, someone not quite as old as the monk, but still old. “The beast must be stopped.” The next morning the monk was gone.

  The siren of the first ambulance blared loudly as it arrived on the scene.

  I had seconds to get down there and get pictures of the damage before the place was swarming with emergency personnel. Maybe then Ike and his dad could use their scientific masterfulness to tell me more about the creature.

  With the prongs of my retractable grapple hooked securely on the ledge, I launched myself over the side of the building. I had practiced this before.

  My feet planted firmly on the exterior stone wall of the building and I continued my descent, wind whistling in my ears. Five stories to go…

  Four stories…

  Three stories…

  Two stories…

  One…

  The sidewalk.

  The view atop had been better. I should’ve paid attention and looked for a clear path through the gauntlet of overturned vehicles and signs.

  I’d have to make do.

  A quick Bo Duke-style slide across the trunk of an orange Chevy. Around the smashed grill of a city bus. Through a puddle of nasty-smelling green liquid, and there was the old blue Ford the beast had used to cushion its landing.

  I snapped a picture with my web-phone. Then another, and another. The moon’s bright light exposed my hunting attire and gear to the public. Soon more police, a perimeter, a bigger crowd, news crews, and questions would choke off my escape.

  A few more pictures of the impact to the hood of the Ford and of the scene around. I sprayed a neutralizing agent on the flames and they turned from green to your usual orange and red. I reached in the glove compartment of the smashed burning Ford and pulled out the car registration, and tapped the driver’s name and address into my web-phone.

  “Hey you!”

  The voice startled me. I looked at the man who’d called out to me.

  “Yeah, you. What you doin’ in this guy’s car?” the man said, leaving the muttering driver to confront me.

  Time to go! I stepped backward and pulled the safety pin on a smoke grenade, then threw it under the car. As the white tufts of smoke billowed from under the trunk, I slid around the back of the car and disappeared into the shadows.

  One of the clearest rules I was given: “Don’t get caught.”

  I ran a short way down Roth Street and pulled out my grappling gun. A soft pull on the trigger and the hook and wire launched into the dark, midnight sky.

  I made quick work of the climb to the roof. I paused to listen. A small earpiece invented by Ike’s father allowed me to hear things clearly within 150 feet. The police had arrived and were already beginning to ask questions.

  Then a soft, female voice caught my attention. At the ledge of the building, I looked over. A girl, only a bit older than me, was standing in the shadows. She was talking to someone, but I couldn’t see whom; the person was hidden behind an emergency vehicle. I zoomed in on her with my night vision goggles. Although green and grainy through the lens, I could see she was beautiful.

  Clank clunk clakkity clack!

  Without a thought, my sword was before me in one hand, and my other gripped a cross on a chain as I swung ‘round to meet the disturbance.

  To my relief, two filth-covered rats were fighting over an old tin minced garlic can.

  Back to the ledge, I looked for the girl, but she was gone. The police had extended their perimeter quite a way down each street.

  I exhaled deeply, a breath that seemed to have been held in since the beginning of tonight’s hunt. I had failed, and chances of me finding it again this night were very slim with only a few more hours of moonlight. It’d taken all night to track it down in the first place.

  I replaced my sword back into its sheath and hung the cross around my neck, then extended the silky-feeling wings from my pack and held the small controls in my hand. My finger was on the red ignition button when I remembered how my trip here went.

  Ike had “tweaked” the jet pack his dad had made to fly me faster. Ike was a good inventor; his dad was a great inventor.

  What a disaster.

  Slamming through two trees, I’d only just missed a power line, and I don’t know what I would’ve done had both windows of my targeted building been closed.

  “Be discreet; don’t get caught,” my trainer had said.

  How was I to do that with faulty gear?

  I sighed. Ike was trying, like me. He was my best friend, maybe my only, save for some adults. And our lives had gone from worrying about typical boy things like sports, pizza, and video games to—well, far from normal. We were now immersed in the very war between good and evil, Heaven and hell.

  We—Ike and I—were of course on the good side. And what we fought was, without question, from hell.

  Bzzzz bzzzz bzzzz.

  My phone. It was McGarrett, the guy who—well, the guy who tried to keep all of this together and secret. My trainer.

  I put the phone to my ear.

  “Taylor, are you all right? Did you get it?”

  He couldn’t see it, but the frown and disappointment that came over my face would have told him the answer. “Nope, it got away.”

  Silence on the other side.

  I knew what he was thinking. Tonight was our best chance to kill the HowlSage, while it was still a newborn and at its weakest point. Its strength and size would double every night this first week, and for every day the HowlSage remained, more demons would invade the town through the Etherpit in the mines.

  An Etherpit is a gateway from the underworld, and the HowlSage acts like the beachhead commander for the invasion, clearing the way and shielding the smaller, weaker demons from hunters or Angels.

  McGarrett wasn’t much of a motivational speaker. Sometimes his wife would jab him, and he’d find a few inspirational words to encourage us. But most of the time, he just stumbled over his words, especially when he was disappointed.

  “Ummm, well we’ll get it next time,” McGarrett said. “Come on back, and we’ll get you prepped for tomorrow.”

  “McGarrett, can you send someone?”

  “Can’t you use your Jet Pak?”

  “Naw, I think, I mean Ike tweaked it before I left—”

  “Enough said. Me and the missus will be right over to get you. Your GPS on?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “See yah in a bit Taylor, and—” Silence. “And we’ll get it, don’t you worry.”

  “Yes sir.” I tapped end call on the screen.

  I should mention that Mrs. Riley is McGarrett’s wife. McGarrett you would think is a last name, but Riley is a first name, so his parents decided a kid needed one of each. Without going into too many details, let’s just say his parents were different.

  I waited on top of the building, my feet dangling over the side. The night was cool and cloudless, but not cold. The moon was just starting to wane, so I could see for miles over the town. It’d been full yesterday, harkening the H
owlSage forth.

  As I looked out over the town I shivered to think the hairy wolf-like beast was dashing through the streets heading back to the safety of its dark burrow.

  Ashley Meadows is a quiet town for the most part, about 5,000 people. Set in the middle of rolling hills—what some would call mountains, but if you’ve ever been to Colorado you’d call these hills. Just three roads lead into town—one through a tunnel, one over a bridge, and one by ferry. It’s the sort of place you’d expect existed in the 1950s; friendly, helpful people, two-lane roads, and almost no major chain stores. The town has a Starbucks and a Walgreens, but that’s it. I sulked for an entire week when my dad and I first came—I wanted to be back in Paris, London, or Houston, cities that never slept, not here where the town’s curfew for fifteen-year-olds is 9 p.m.

  But the small-town life does have its upsides too. For example, the school lets you pray at lunch, and we still say the Pledge of Allegiance as it was written, God included. There is also a huge park at the center of town and in the middle is a large lake. The park and lake are the pride of the town, and any given Saturday or Sunday after church you’ll find nearly half the residents there. Picnics, volleyball games, swimming, bocce ball, or croquet, all happen every weekend from spring to fall in the park.

  The mailman knows his patrons, neighbors chat on the sidewalk and sit on their porches, and there’s an old guy who drives his lawnmower down the street because his license was revoked for running too many stop signs and not wearing his seat belt. People are far more in tune to what’s happening around them than in some big city like New York or Chicago. That, of course, also makes my job harder.

  Several headlight beams flashed onto the street below as McGarrett’s car came around a corner. I know it’s him because his customized car has six headlights, two of which were designed especially for our line of work—slaying the evil ones of the world. There’s an old saying, “You don’t choose your work, it chooses you.” Well, in my case that couldn’t be more true.

  My phone started to vibrate, signaling it was time to go.

  With the grappling hook latched into place, I bounded off the roof a bit too freely, trying to speed up my descent.