“Are you going to tell it or not?” she asked, certain his love of stories would prevail.
Milo pulled the book a few inches closer. He eyed it for a few seconds, then shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
“Don’t leave anything out.”
He seemed to cheer up a little as he recounted the story. Emma smiled.
Mission accomplished.
MANY AGES AGO, before the arrival of mankind, gods walked the earth.
They were sons and daughters of the universe, like us, fused together by chance and the elements, forces of nature with—as we humans would call it—distinct personalities. No one knows what forms they took, or if they spoke a common language at first, but it was said they helped shaped the Earth.
They existed in peace with one another until the arrival of the human being. Never before had the gods encountered such a creature. Our ingenuity, resourcefulness, the power we had to love and to hate, astounded them. Some of the gods admired us—others were jealous. One saw us as a nasty virus and called for our destruction.
As a result of these different attitudes, a war ensued over the fate of the human race, a war that came to be known as the Cataclysm. Supposedly, it lasted twenty-five thousand years, and almost caused the destruction of the entire planet. Much of humanity was wiped out. Millions of these god-like beings were killed, leaving only the five strongest.
One of the gods was called Xelios, and he had decided that instead of destroying humans, he would harvest our life forces to make himself more powerful. It would have caused the destruction of our entire race. Fortunately for us, he wasn’t powerful enough to overcome his four siblings, who chose to band against him.
After a battle that lasted a thousand years, the other four gods defeated Xelios and banished him to a dark place called the Nether, where he would remain for the rest of eternity, powerless and dormant. They would have killed him had their sister-goddess, Aliara, not spoken up. She believed the murder of a brother-god was a terrible sin and assured them that as long as the four remained allies, Xelios would never be able to rise again. There were those who thought Xelios was actually awake inside his prison, planning his return and vengeance against his siblings.
(Milo flipped the pages, gesturing at the different drawings. Emma listened in rapt attention.)
The four remaining gods were Aliara, Kenatos, Valcyona, and Sargos. During the Cataclysm, they had spawned entirely new beings—based on the human form but imbued with god-like abilities—whom they used as warriors. Their children were known as “Godkin”.
Aliara, known as the goddess of light and harmony, had wanted to protect humans, and so she created “Acolytes,” a race of beings capable of healing any living creature using magic. Acolytes were lovers of beauty and peace and wanted only to help those around them. They detested conflict of any sort and were known for their poetry and art, as well as their beautiful singing voices and eloquent speeches.
They also had wings that grew right around adolescence—great, white wings capable of lifting them into the air and carrying them across great distances. Some Acolytes were born with wings tinted different colors—green, for example, if their ancestors grew up in the forest. It was a result of evolution that helped them survive in certain ecosys—
(“Yes, yes, I get how evolution works,” Emma interrupted, fluttering her hand in a motion to keep her brother on track. Milo nodded and kept going.)
Then there was Kenatos, god of knowledge and light. He created a race of thinkers capable of manipulating earth, air, fire, water, and metal using only their minds. Known as “Savants,” the children of Kenatos joined together after the Cataclysm to form specialized schools of elemental manipulation, known to us as “magic”.
Unlike Acolytes, Savants were more concerned with knowledge than goodness, and were therefore always tempted by low magic, which was said to be the most powerful because it stole energy from people instead of nature. Those who chose the lower path invented things like necromancy—the art of raising and controlling the dead—while those who followed the higher path developed magic that allowed them to build vast cities without the use of slaves. Savants who devoted their lives to magic were known as “magicians” or “sorcerers” and enjoyed a high social standing among their people. “Low mages” and necromancers were despised and feared.
Valcyona, goddess of nature and the hunt, cherished the animal above all else.
(“Ooh, she’s my favorite,” Emma said.)
She was a wild, passionate, and sensual goddess who often took human form so she could ride horses across our valleys and swim with whales in the depths of our seas. Said to have been enchantingly beautiful in human form, Valcyona was also temperamental and jealous. When she saw the beauty and goodness of her sister’s Acolytes, she decided to make a different sort of being, equal in beauty but not limited by a devotion to harmony and peace—subjects she found boring.
Her children, known as “Ferals,” could drink the blood of any animal, and then take that animal’s form at will. In addition to being shapeshifters, all Ferals had heightened reflexes and senses of sight, smell, and hearing while in human form—as well as orange eyes and animal tails that make them stand out from the others.
Finally, there was Sargos, god of war and order.
(“This guy was awesome,” Milo said, grinning. Emma clapped in delight.
Sargos found it thrilling to watch humans form empires and start wars and revolutions. He created a race of fighters called “Sargonauts,” who possessed superhuman strength. They could punch through stone and lift an object as heavy as a school bus with only their bare hands. They were also excellent athletes and could hold their breath underwater for hours and run without stopping for days. Sargonauts were the guardians of order and justice, and made excellent soldiers and leaders. In times of peace, when there was little need for weapons or fighting, Sargonauts were renowned for their sportsmanship and love of debates.
Aside from Sargonauts, Acolytes, Ferals, and Savants, there were also Humankin, and they made up about half the realm’s population. Humankin were like us, with no special powers—but they had the blood of the gods in their veins. They lived much longer than ordinary humans and were quicker and stronger in every respect.
(“No special powers? Looks like they got the short end of the deal,” Emma said. “Who created them?
“No one,” Milo said. “They’re like us, but born with a tiny bit of gods’ blood.”
“Too bad.”
“Not really. They outnumber the other races ten to one. Their power is in their numbers, which is why any attempts by the other races to enslave them have always failed.”
“Got it. Keep going.”)
There was also Xelios, god of darkness and chaos. Said to be the twin brother of Kenatos, little was known about him except that he loved to watch things be destroyed. During the Cataclysm, he created races of monstrous creatures to use in battle. Enormous one-eyed giants called Orglots, dragon-like creatures called Cebrons, crafty imps with devil horns called Irkin, and squid and jellyfish as big as islands that could destroy a whole fleet of ships in a single swipe.
Worst of all, instead of following his siblings and creating a race of human-like beings, Xelios invented a process by which those who wished to join him could become like him. It was called “the Dark Ritual,” and any one of the five races that succumbed to it would be twisted and made more powerful by its effects. White-winged Acolytes became black-winged “Dark Acolytes” with larger wings, faster flight, and keener senses. Ferals became “Pestilents,” able to transform into giant insects and communicate through telepathy to form deadly swarms. Savants became “low mages,” capable of raising the dead and feeding off powerful “blood ether” stolen from the bodies of their enemies. Finally, his version of the Sargonaut was not a noble and duty-bound soldier, but the wild and immoral “Berserker,” twice as strong, who lived only to raze and pillage entire cities, drink the blood of children, and smash everythin
g in their path—
(“Okay, okay, I get it,” Emma said. “They’re bad.
“Really bad,” Milo agreed.)
If you were wondering where these gods are today, or what happened to their children, the story is an unfortunate one. Ten thousand years ago, the gods mysteriously disappeared, never to be heard from again. Some said they grew bored with their children and disillusioned with humans. Others believed that Xelios, through some loophole, rose from his slumber and finally got revenge on his brother and sister gods for banishing him, and then died from his wounds before he could take control of Astros, the realm of the gods, where all the races exist and thrive despite racial tensions, mad magicians, and political strife.
The end.
“REALLY? THAT’S THE END?” Emma said.
Milo shrugged. “Did you hear something different?”
“No, but… I guess I just want to know more. What about half-breeds? Can two different races have a child with both—”
“Nope. No half-breeds. However, the bloodlines eventually became so mixed that an Acolyte and a Feral could have a Sargonaut as a child, for example. Actually, ancient Sargonaut cultures would kill their babies if they weren’t born big and strong.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Hey, no one said it was a fairy tale.”
Emma studied the drawings. “I wish it were a real place. Wouldn’t that be cool?”
“And I thought I was the dreamer.” He slammed the book shut. “Come on, time for bed. We have school tomorrow.”
“You sound just like Dad,” Emma said, rising.
Milo had no response. Standing, he resumed his sullen look from before.
“Can I take the book for the night?” she asked.
“Whatever.” He kicked it lightly toward her, as if he wished to be rid of it. “I’m done with stories.”
“Milo…”
“And you should be, too. Good night.”
Emma lifted the book with a grunt. She held it tightly against her chest, watching solemnly as Milo headed toward the window, crossed his arms, and stood looking through the glass in silence.
Back in her bedroom, Emma was too tired to read. She put the book aside and switched on the TV. She settled into her bed and flipped channels, already feeling her eyelids droop. Somewhere in the distance, a dog began to bark.
It was joined by another. Then another. Finally, there were so many dogs barking in her neighborhood that Emma jolted upright in surprise.
She slipped out of bed and went to the window. What could it possibly be? Did it have anything to do with all the weird things that had been going on over the summer?
She hoped not. Sticking her head through the open window, she listened. There must have been a hundred dogs, all barking together—not in solidarity, as if they wanted to join their voices and howl against the night, but in fear, like they were warning humanity about a monstrous intruder descending upon them from the sky.
Even more urgent was the sound of the woman speaking behind Emma. She was a broadcaster on a local news channel. Emma spun around to see what news story had made her sound so serious.
“In breaking news tonight,” the woman announced, “Air Atlantic Flight 347 crashed over Dearborn, New Jersey at approximately 10:15 Eastern Standard Time. There were no survivors…”
EVENTUALLY, the dogs stopped barking.
It happened all at once, like music being cut off by the sudden twist of a dial.
Emma barely slept that night. When she did, her dreams were of a demon flying down to her, coasting on wings as black as onyx, his features dark except for the savage whites of his eyes.
CHAPTER 12
School was a totally different story in Milo’s life.
A prison story.
He had been correct in assuming he’d be the smallest kid in his freshman class. Even the girls were taller. To make things worse, word had already gotten around about “baby Einstein,” the kid who had skipped the eighth grade to grace everyone at Dearborn High with his presence.
He hated it. Whenever Milo raised his hand in class to answer a question, the bigger guys would roll their eyes, frown at him, or make stupid gestures he only ever caught from the corner of his eye. The girls ignored him, more concerned with their cell phones, gossip, and social lives. It became clear to Milo—who didn’t even have a cell phone because his parents were old-fashioned—that he was now in a much different league.
In order not to call too much attention to himself, he spoke very little and spent his free time reading. He would immerse himself in books during lunch and again during study period, which students could spend outside on the benches as long as they were reading or doing schoolwork. He endured the first few weeks like a prisoner in a penitentiary, trying to make as few enemies as possible by keeping his head down.
He made enemies anyway.
In his very first week of school, his social studies teacher praised his essay on the importance of Ancient Greek contributions to western civilization. Soon after, three boys began to tease him. Whenever they saw Milo in the hallways, they would erupt in fits of beeping and buzzing noises, walking stiffly and bending their arms like robots, as if Milo was just that—a calculating machine with no human qualities. They would walk behind him and pepper their conversation with highfalutin phrases like “indubitably so” and “hypothetically speaking” and “according to my calculations,” all intended to make Milo self-conscious about his abnormal intelligence.
It worked. Milo found himself eyeing the halls cautiously and darting from class to class like a World War I soldier avoiding poisonous gas in the trenches. But that foul gas—in the form of a nagging, gut-wrenching anxiety—followed him everywhere. Now he knew how Emma felt whenever she got up on stage.
He spent his study periods outside to take advantage of the pleasant weather, and also to be alone. Even there, he wasn’t safe. One day, the bullies caught him looking at the beacon crystal. Gregory Wiles, the biggest of the bunch, crept up behind Milo’s bench and plucked it out of his hands. He hadn’t known such a big guy could be so stealthy.
Alarmed, Milo leaped to his feet, sending his book tumbling across the stone walkway. A girl who had been walking by gave him an annoyed look, then noticed Gregory and scurried away.
“Look at this,” Gregory said, holding it up to the sun. The crystal was fully charged and glittering.
Greg—or “G-dog,” as his friends called him—was a large, ham-fisted kid with greasy hair and buckteeth. He had a crooked mouth and equally crooked eyes that were always squinting. Two stringy, goofy-looking boys hung around him all the time, Jimbo and Tucker, and they looked so much alike with their shaggy, skateboarder haircuts and grinning mouths that Milo always got them mixed up.
“What is that, a crack pipe?” Jimbo said. He and Tucker crowded around Gregory to get a better look at the crystal.
“Nah, it’s one of those mood rocks,” Tucker said. “The kind girls carry around. Baby Einstein’s real emo.”
They laughed at that.
“Give it back,” Milo said, trying to keep his voice from sharpening into a whine. This wasn’t like all the times they had grabbed portions of his lunch off his tray, or stolen his calculator, or the kit where he kept his pens; this time, the separation felt different, as if he and the crystal had bonded somehow. Milo felt like there was a literal hole in his chest without it.
He leaped forward, grabbed at it, and missed. Gregory pushed him away, sending Milo sprawling across the grass. Jimbo and Tucker laughed at him.
“Baby Einstein go fly-fly,” Jimbo, or maybe Tucker, said.
“Did he make poo poo in his lab coat?” said the other.
They laughed hysterically, even bending and clenching their stomachs. Others were watching now. Members of his class, who would never forget the day Milo Banks failed to stand up for himself.
“Give it back, Greg.”
“Or what?”
Gregory held the crystal up and gazed
deeply into it. With growing fascination, Milo watched as the lights glittered, brightening the tip of his nose. Gregory’s eyebrows lowered and his mouth began to open. For a second, Milo thought the bigger boy was going to swallow it.
Instead, Gregory grinned at his prize and said, distantly, “Finders, keepers… Finders…whoa…”
Just then, the bell rang. A teacher walking back from her car, Mrs. Owlidge, took notice of the crowd and strutted over, ponytail swinging. Her glasses were hard little rectangles that made her eyes look beady and small. Everybody in the freshman class was afraid of her. Jimbo and Tucker backed away from Gregory, who was still gazing into the crystal. It dimmed with each passing second, losing its charge.
“Gregory,” Mrs. Owlidge said, folding her arms across her chest. “What have you got there?”
“It’s mine,” Milo said, afraid that if he took his eyes off the crystal, Gregory would make it disappear somehow. “He took it from me.”
Mrs. Owlidge glanced at her watch. “Gregory, you’re making everyone late for class. Give it back, now.”
She snapped her fingers a few times near Gregory’s face, and then yanked the crystal from his hands. A violent jolt went through the boy’s body. He blinked a few times at Milo.
“Banks,” he said. “You tell her that rock is mine.”
“No way,” Milo said. “It was a gift from my dad.”
Mrs. Owlidge frowned. “I’m not giving this rock back to anybody until one of you proves ownership. I’ll call your parents if I have to.”
“That’s fine with me,” Milo said, relaxing a bit. “I’ll give you his number. My dad’s name is Max.”
Gregory’s face turned pink with rage. He seemed to grow bigger as he glared at Milo.
“Both of you get in…” Mrs. Owlidge stopped. She gazed into the crystal, her mouth opening slightly in amazement.
Fortunately, the light in the crystal had leaked out by then. Mrs. Owlidge shook her head, as if to clear it of a strange thought, then looked suspiciously at Milo.
A girl’s voice shot up from the walkway.
Savant & Feral (Digital Boxed Set): Books 1 and 2 of the Epic Luminether Fantasy Series Page 6
