Emma screamed at the sight of the enormous insect.
As the remaining Dark Acolyte carried Alexandra back to the carriage, Max tried his best to duck and roll out of the scorpion’s way, barely avoiding its claws and stinger. As he moved, he picked stones off the ground. He threw them at the scorpion’s exoskeleton. Most of the shots missed or were too weak, but a few broke through the insect’s armor. Drone let out sharp, insectile whines whenever that happened.
Emma was a mess, sobbing and crying for Max to keep fighting. Milo held her. They had left the carriage behind and now stood out in the open. Milo knew they should find cover, but he was too afraid to move.
The Dark Acolyte dropped Alexandra into the carriage, and then settled on one side of her. He picked up a blade—this one a normal steel color—and put it to her throat, glaring at Milo and Emma as he did so. Kovax stood in the very front. He looked back at his prize, gave an approving nod, and turned his attention to Milo and Emma, as if the fight with Max and Drone was no longer a concern.
But it was still going.
Max managed to uppercut the scorpion hard enough to send it flipping several times. It landed on its back, its many sharp legs skittering, and tried to right itself again. Max turned to search for his family.
Behind him, a flock of winged fighters dropped from the clouds. Dark Acolytes, at least a dozen of them, flying in formation.
“Grab the children,” the leader shouted up at them. “Take them alive!”
Seeing the attackers, Max tried to run to the carriage, toward Alexandra, who was now unconscious and slumped in the backseat. He had only made it a few steps when his legs gave out. He fell to his hands and knees, his face creased with worry.
“Daddy, no!” Emma shouted. She broke free of Milo’s grip and ran to him.
“Emma, what are you doing?” Milo screamed at her. “Get back here!”
The scorpion had flipped itself over. With a blast of wind, it morphed back into its human shape. Smiling victoriously, Drone sauntered toward one of the daggers that had fallen to the grass. He picked it up, flipped it expertly through the air, and caught it. He readied himself to throw the dagger at Max.
Milo’s body seized. A tingling sensation exploded behind his eyes. He gripped his head and moaned. It felt like that day in the parking lot, when the wind had leaped from his hands to stop Gregory from attacking Jocelyn. Only, this time, it was incredibly intense, and much hotter, like a roaring fire coursing along his veins and muscle fibers, consuming him from the inside out. The sensation was strongest in his hands. Milo looked down and saw why.
His right hand was wrapped in flames, the other in a blurry cone of wind.
“Oh, God…”
He looked up. Emma had almost reached her father. Drone was eyeing her and Max, as if deciding who to kill. The approaching Dark Acolytes were close enough that Milo could see their snarling faces. All of them, about to converge in that one spot.
“Emma,” he shouted. “Watch out!”
His whipped his left hand at her, unleashing the wind spell. It grew instantly, becoming a tornado as big as a man. Emitting a fierce gusting noise, it flew spinning across the grass toward Emma. Milo was so worried it might kill her that he totally forgot about the fire consuming his other hand.
Thankfully, instead of flinging Emma across the field, the tornado enveloped her and carried her out of the way, depositing her at a safe distance before disappearing completely.
Drone had watched the whole thing in a state of surprise. Gathering his wits, he aimed the dagger once more at Max, who was trying to limp away from his attackers.
Milo lifted his right hand. A fireball had grown in his palm, as smooth and bright as a tiny sun. It made a sizzling pfut pfut pfut sound, which Milo barely heard over the noise of his own scream of rage. He threw it with all of his might.
The fireball exploded into a dozen smaller globes, each of which curved intelligently in a different direction. They hit the Dark Acolytes in a series of bursts that lit the sky like a fireworks display. Screams of agony rang across the field.
Emma watched, awestruck, from her position on the grass. Her hands flew to her mouth in terror as the corpses of the Dark Acolytes rained from the sky. Charred and bloodied, each one left a trail of smoke that smelled like burnt meat. Milo thought Emma would vomit. Instead, she got up and stared at Milo in amazement.
“Impossible!” Kovax shouted from the carriage.
He, too, was staring at Milo, only the expression on his face was a mixture of anger and shock. Milo detected a hint of something else also—admiration.
A fighter remained on the field. Milo turned his attention to the tattooed man, who was now approaching him with a dagger gripped in one hand. His creepy, metallic tail swished madly from side to side.
“I’m the one who’s gonna get you,” Drone said.
Feeling his knees go weak, Milo lifted his hands in an attempt to recast a spell, any spell, as long as it got this psycho as far away from him as possible. But his hands were back to normal. The tingling sensation was gone.
He had to summon it. One more time. Or else he and Emma might as well give up.
“Knock him out,” Kovax ordered, “but don’t kill him or the girl.”
Drone nodded, smiling viciously now at Milo. He cracked his knuckles as he approached. Milo clenched his teeth, raised his hands, and willed those mysterious energies to bubble back up inside him, but it was like trying to guess a combination to a lock he’d never even seen…
Come on, come on. Just one more time…
Drone stopped suddenly. His orange eyes flew open, and his jaw dropped. The dagger fell from his limp hand.
Milo took a step back. Had he cast some sort of invisible spell? Had it worked?
Drone fell to his knees, aghast. His head tipped forward. Something long and dark was sticking out of his back—the hilt of a dagger. Someone had thrown it. The blade was planted firmly into his skull. Milo couldn’t believe the man was still alive.
Looking past the Drone’s shoulder, he saw his father lying on the grass, propped up on one elbow. His other arm was still raised from his incredible throw.
At the same time, the two men collapsed. Milo fought the urge to run to his father. Instead, he turned to face Kovax. The old man stared back at him, apparently unsure of his next move.
“You did well, boy,” he said.
Milo made his hands into fists. “Let her go.”
Kovax shook his head. Behind him, the Dark Acolyte watched Milo, his scowl deepening.
“The girl is a Seer,” the winged man said. “The boy, a Sorcerer. Do you believe me now, my lord?”
Kovax nodded. “I am not without honor, Milo Banks. You fought an admirable battle today. Fought and won. But this will be the last time you taste that kind of victory. If you ever want to see your mother again, you will come up to the land of the gods, where you belong. But no matter where you go, I will find you. That’s a promise.”
Milo’s heart pounded. “If you have any honor at all, let her go.”
“Not likely.”
He grabbed the reins and whipped them. The levathons shot forward, forcing Milo to lunge out of the way. He fell to the grass and immediately saw the beacon crystal nearby. When he scrambled toward it, he noticed Emma standing in the distance, looking afraid. He pocketed the crystal and got back to his feet.
With a whinnying roar, the levathons and carriage lifted off the field, ascending toward the clouds. Milo watched them disappear into the night.
When he was sure they were gone, Milo rushed to his father’s side. Along the way, he noticed the corpses of the dark ones breaking apart, resembling scattered coals for a moment before the vile red energy in them dissolved the bodies into nothing.
Emma joined him at Max’s side. They got down on their knees and leaned over their father. His face was the color of ash.
“Kids,” he said, struggling to speak. “You’re still here. Why?”
“I’m sorry,” Milo said, choking back sobs. “They took Mom.”
“I should have told—the truth sooner. I should have—prepared you…”
Milo shook his head. His own tears spilled onto his father’s cheeks. “It’s not your fault.”
“Just tell us what to do,” Emma said, crying now. “Tell us how to help you.”
“You can’t.” Max lifted an arm, wincing from the effort. He stroked Emma’s cheek with one finger. Then Milo realized he was wiping away her tears.
“That blade…” Max said. “Poison. You ever see metal—like that again—you run. Understand? Don’t… Don’t let them…”
“I’m calling for help,” Milo said, pulling out the beacon crystal.
Max didn’t seem to acknowledge it. He gave Milo a smile that was both proud and terribly sad. “A sorcerer,” he said, and then he motioned as if to tap Milo’s forehead. “A talented one. I always had a feeling…”
His arm dropped. His chest convulsed. Foam appeared at the corner of his mouth. “Get back,” he told them. “Go…”
Milo grabbed Emma and pulled her away. Max’s body shook violently, and then it was as if the entire field was shaking. Milo wasn’t sure if the earthquake was happening all around them, or if it was coming from his own pounding heart.
Then it stopped, and his father lay still again. His eyes slid shut.
“Remember,” he said weakly. “Asceranon. Call… Three times…”
Milo reached for the crystal in his pocket. He froze at the sudden light that had begun to radiate from his father’s skin. Cracks of pure white, as if the light was growing from inside him and was tearing his flesh apart trying to get out.
It became so bright that Milo had to look away. A fierce wind rolled over him, laced with a tingling electric current, and when he opened his eyes again, his father was gone.
Something else had taken his place.
Milo gaped at the sight of it. In the spot where his father had lain, a glowing green stem had begun to unravel from the earth. It trembled in the breeze. Then it swayed, and swayed even faster, until it was twisting like a tiny green man trying to work his way out of a hole.
“Get back,” Milo said. “Something’s happening.”
The stem thickened, straightening itself as it rose and expanded outward. It went from green to brown as a coat of scaly bark grew in splotches across its surface.
“What’s happening to him?” Emma asked.
Milo could only watch in silent amazement. Branches made snapping noises as they shot out of the trunk. Bushels of leaves unfurled with gentle sighs, forming a canopy over their heads. The leaves made a pleasant sound as the wind whispered through them. The roots were thick and gnarled at the base, as if the tree had been here for thousands of years. A glittering, ethereal mist rained down on Milo and Emma as they approached it and ran their fingers across its surface.
“He left it,” Emma said, “so we could remember exactly where he died. So we can visit him.”
Milo gripped Emma’s arm in fright. He yanked her back.
“Ow! Milo, what’s wrong?”
“He’ll use it as bait,” he said. “Kovax. He’ll wait until we come back here, to see Dad. We have to get far away from this place.”
“The crystal,” Emma said.
“Let’s do it.”
He held it between them. “Put your hands on it, and then I’ll put mine over yours. We’ll close our eyes and chant the name Dad told us, see if that works. Okay?”
She gazed back at the tree. “But what about—”
“Emma, listen to me. We can’t come back here ever again. There’s only one place we can go now, and that’s wherever they took Mom. This crystal—Dad said we could use it to call for help.”
“And then what? How can we save Mom when we’re just kids? They’ll kill her, and then they’ll kill us.”
Milo shook his head. “No. They don’t want us dead. At least not right away.”
“How do you know?”
“I can tell from the way Kovax was talking to me, from the way he was looking at me. Besides, he didn’t kill us just now, right? He didn’t want to risk it.”
“Milo, what was that thing you threw at them? That fireball and the tornado that pushed me out of the way. Was that—you?”
“Yes, I-I think, but I didn’t do it on purpose. Don’t you see? We’re not just kids anymore. We’re special. In the car, Mom and Dad said you were a Seer. Kovax and that Acolyte soldier confirmed it. They weren’t just impressed. They were…”
“Afraid,” Emma finished for him.
“Exactly.” He looked up at the sky. “We have to go to Astros. There’s no other choice.”
Light brightened inside the crystal’s core. Milo hadn’t even noticed himself charging it.
“Here goes nothing,” Emma said, resting her hand over it.
Milo covered her hand with his own. Then he closed his eyes, and, together, they began to chant.
“Asceranon, Asceranon, Asceranon…”
CHAPTER 18
Heat exploded from their hands.
The twins yanked them back. The crystal fell and landed on the grass. A beam of green light shot from its core and pierced the clouds overhead.
Then Milo and Emma sat, watching that beam, waiting.
And they waited some more.
IT FELT like hours before anything changed.
Huddled for warmth, Milo and Emma watched the sky darken into a depressing night. The clouds had shifted enough to allow a crescent moon to dimly light the field. All that was left of the battle’s remains was the toppled carriage. He pictured his dad lifting it with one hand, and then remembered the way his dad had convulsed before dying.
A cold wind made him shiver. Sitting there in silence, he let his thoughts drift to places even darker than the night. “Maybe he’s not alive anymore. Mom and Dad’s friend. Maybe he died fighting Kovax’s men.”
Emma hugged herself for warmth. “Milo, please don’t say that.”
“Sorry.” He shrugged. “Why do you think it’s taking so long?”
“Who knows? It’s been so many years since Mom and Dad came here.”
They fell back into a shared silence. Emma rubbed her leggings for warmth. Milo plucked out handfuls of grass, and then tossed the blades to the wind, imagining they were fire.
A shape appeared against the stars. Emma saw it first.
“There,” she said, pointing. “Look!”
They jumped to their feet and studied the sky.
“If it looks anything like Kovax and his men…” Milo warned. “Or if its black, like those horses…”
“I know. Run.”
They squinted at the figure as it angled downward, toward the beam. The shapes of wings became visible. Levathons, and more than one, pulling what appeared to be a large carriage. It was too dark to see the color of their coats in the distance, but Milo felt hopeful.
The beacon crystal blinked and went out. He went to search for it in the dark, but stopped when Emma grabbed his arm.
“They’re white,” she said. “Just like the one from before. The one Dad summoned.”
The creatures were close enough now that Milo could see his sister was right. There were four of them in a single line—levathons as white as the one that had been struck by that bolt. Inside the carriage was a speck of yellow light, a lantern of some sort.
“Hey,” Milo shouted, waving his hands. “Down here!”
Emma joined him. “This way! This way!”
The carriage landed nearby with a heavy thump. It passed by quickly, but Milo made out a few details by the lantern’s light. He saw a heavyset man gripping the reins. He had a mane of white, wavy hair and a matching beard that rippled over his barrel chest.
“Whoa, now!” he bellowed.
He turned the levathons in a wide arc, facing the twins and stopping a few yards away. The creatures swung their heads and neighed. There was something familiar about the driver.
“Sure looks like him.”
The driver stood up in the carriage and studied his surroundings. Satisfied, he opened the door, hiked his robe over his feet, and climbed down with a grunt. Milo heard sucking sounds as he walked.
“Ah, the mud,” the man muttered. “The wretched mud. I always seem to land in it.”
When he was several feet away, he stopped, crossed his arms over his chest, and peered down at the twins. He was enormous, taller than their father had been by at least a few inches. His hair and beard poured past his shoulders in wavy tresses. Dressed in a plush, woolly robe, he looked as if he had just gotten out of bed.
“What are you kids doing here all alone?” He looked confused, as if he’d been expecting someone else. “The green light that shot into the sky, that summoned me…”
“That was us,” Milo said. “My dad—he told me to call for help. We used a name—Asceranon.”
The man’s eyes shot all the way open before narrowing in suspicion. His beard quivered as he stuttered out a response. “What… Where… Exactly who is your father?”
“Maxwell Banks,” Milo said. “Wait, no… His name is—was—Maximus.”
“Maximus,” the man said, bending forward to get a better look at the twins. “Maximus, son of Sargos? Of course. Of course! That was his crystal. My, my, it’s been ages. Direct me to him. I must speak to him at once.” He glanced at the toppled carriage.
“You can’t,” Emma said, glancing back at the tree that had been her father. “He died fighting a bunch of men who came in on black levathons. They took my mother away. A magician named Kovax put her in his carriage and—and he kidnapped her. My dad tried to help, but the blades they were using poisoned him.” She sniffled and wiped away tears. “They’re both gone.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, little one. But—did you say Kovax Leonaryx killed your father? Maximus, son of Sargos?”
Milo filled in the blanks. “His men used a smoking blade. It was black. They said it was made from something called Tiberian steel, and it was dipped in some kind of blood. Kovax called it a demigod killer.”
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