Savant & Feral (Digital Boxed Set): Books 1 and 2 of the Epic Luminether Fantasy Series

by Richard Denoncourt

  “Get in there,” he said through his teeth.

  He created an opening in his mind and allowed the mist to slide in. Blood ether molecules binding to his neurons, reinforcing the networks of his brain. More, more, more. His thoughts raced, a thousand times faster than before, and his memories became as clear and accurate as photographs flashing before his eyes; every memory, including the instructions for every spell he’d ever learned and forgotten.

  Secrets he had never solved, mysteries he’d only partially understood, suddenly became clear. He understood why Kovax was desperate to build more towers. This feeling wouldn’t last. It had to continue somehow.

  When all the energy was gone from the rose, Iolus let himself drop to the floor. The stone was cold against his cheek, reminding him that a part of him was still human—a beautiful, sad thought.

  He pushed himself up, then stood at the edge of the tower and looked down at the courtyard.

  He jumped and fell through darkness until his feet smacked the ground. Blood ether mist trailed after him, warm and tingly against his skin. Everything would be so much easier from now on.

  Something was in the courtyard with him.

  He held up his hands and studied them, carefully bending the fingers and wiggling them. His fingernails had grown, sharp and yellow, like claws. Red veins stood out beneath the pale skin of his wrists. The blood ether had changed his body. He would need more to keep himself alive. He would be addicted to the stuff until the day he died, and only by consuming it on a daily basis would he halt the changes that would otherwise make him look like a freak, a creature out of a child’s nightmare.

  The air in front of him shimmered. Kovax appeared out of a teleportation spell to stand in front of him.

  The low mage was scowling. “Did I say you could use my tower?”

  Iolus gathered fire in his hand and tossed it at the magician. This was his time now; Kovax would only stand in his way.

  But the fireball veered upward at the last second and fizzled out. Kovax retaliated with a spell of his own. The red crystal on his staff pulsed with energy. A dozen glowing coils, fiery orange, began swirling around his arms and hands. With a swipe of his staff, he sent them flying.

  Iolus put up an arm that had gone bright blue with ice. A half-dozen ice spikes shot from his hand, catching some of the coils and knocking them away. He didn’t get them all. Four of the coils made arcs through the air, avoiding his defenses, and attached themselves to his wrists and ankles. They yanked him backward, slamming him against the tower and pinning him in place.

  “You’ve underestimated me, Iolus. I’m not an old has-been. Not anymore.”

  Iolus struggled. The coils were burning his skin. “Let me go, Kovax. Damn it! Let me loose!”

  Kovax snickered. “You channeled blood ether, eh? The new look suits you.”

  “Go to hell!”

  Kovax flipped his staff. Now the blue crystal was glowing. A bolt of lightning split the sky and reached down into the courtyard, hitting Kovax. He glowed as bright as a candle for a few moments before going back to normal. Except his eyes. They were still bright with energy.

  “I could throw you into that tower with a snap of my fingers,” he said, approaching Iolus, eyes crackling. “But we need each other, Sorcerer. So I’m going to make a deal with you.”

  He raised his open right hand and made a fist. All the lights of the castle were swept into his hand as it closed. The entire courtyard went dark. The only light now came from a ball in the low mage’s hand. His eyes glowed like stars.

  He flipped his staff again, and the red crystal began to glow.

  Iolus heard moaning a second later.

  They shuffled forward like sleepwalkers, nearly invisible in the dark. Iolus could smell them. He cringed and shivered as the acrid stench of the undead filled his nose and lungs.

  “Let’s talk about this,” Iolus said, struggling against the coils. “Like men. Comrades.”

  “Bring me the twins,” Kovax said. “And I’ll give you something of which you could only dream until now.”

  The zombies shuffled toward the tower. Iolus could already feel their hungry hands all over him.

  “Wait,” he said. “Call them off. Call them off first!”

  Rotting fingers clutched at his limbs and face. Their eyes were a dull yellow and their mouths smelled like tombs and wormy soil.

  “I’ll give you the city of Theus,” Kovax said. “I’ll make you Archon, so you can do what you wish with that academy that rejected you, those people who have forgotten you. All you have to do in return is bend your knee. Swear fealty to me and do as I ask.”

  “Yes!” Iolus said, squirming as dead hands grabbed at him. “I’ll do it!”

  Kovax hissed. The zombies stepped back, their eyes still on Iolus. They formed a ring around the tower.

  The glowing coils disappeared and Iolus fell to his knees. Kovax stood before him, looking mysterious and deadly in his fluttering black cloak and clutching his staff.

  “Kneel,” he said. “Swear to me that you will do as I command, always.”

  Iolus got on his knees but kept his posture erect. His eyes were yellow now, and they glowed with the blood ether he’d taken from the tower. He had to hold it in, be submissive for now.

  But a plan had already formed in his mind, and it was so much bigger than a city.

  “I’ll get Theus…”

  “You’ll have it. Now, say the words.”

  Iolus closed his eyes and swore the oath.

  Behind his back, his fingers crossed.

  CHAPTER 81

  T hree months went by inside the vault.

  The time-dilation engines had been shut off to preserve energy, and this allowed the orphans to keep up with events happening on the surface. Kovax was now head of the Empire of Leonaryx, which had full control of the two biggest continents on Astros. His towers had wreaked havoc on the realm, and the other nations were arming themselves in case of war.

  The orphans got together often in the Eternal Gardens, swimming in the artificial pond and looking up at the artificial sky, safe from the grueling winter sweeping across the land outside. Each orphan had duties to carry out inside the vault, but none of it was real work. Emmanuel was obviously trying to help them pass the time.

  Most days, the orphans spent their afternoons in the library, watching informational holograms about the different Astrican continents, Ascher always there to lecture and guide them despite his weakened state.

  He was always in a wheelchair now. The poison from the Pestilent woman’s tail, though it had mainly injured his animal shell, had also seeped into his human form’s nervous system, making it difficult for his body to support its own weight and his mind to stay clear for more than a few hours at a time.

  But at least he was alive. The orphans were thankful for that.

  Owen brought up a touchy subject one day in the Gardens.

  “The number of refugees escaping to Ayrtoros went up again,” he informed the others. He lay on his back on the grass, looking up at a colorful toucan perched on a branch. “It’s up to something like seven thousand people crossing the ocean every month.”

  “No kidding,” Milo said. He sat with his bare feet in the water. “I don’t blame them, with Kovax running the empire and all.”

  Emma and Lily were passing a beach ball to each other in the water. Emma’s wings, like those of all Acolytes, didn’t get wet. Whenever she lifted them out of the pond, the water would roll off her glistening feathers like raindrops off wax paper.

  Lily slapped the ball with both palms, sending it arcing toward Emma. They were both wearing bathing suits crafted by machines that synthesized fabric and sewed it into clothing, an invention of his uncle’s for creating uniforms in wartime. Milo, Owen, and Gunner had already designed several different Elki-hunting outfits that had pockets and loops and buttons all over the place.

  “He’s putting Ferals in prison camps now,” Lily said, using a spell to
make the ball hover above her palm. “So they can wait their turns to go into his tower.”

  “Good thing the Forge is actively recruiting again,” Milo said, using his own magic to lift the beach ball out of Lily’s reach. She jumped for it, and finally used another spell to bring it back down. She stuck her tongue out at him.

  “You going to sign up, Banks?” Owen said.

  “Yup. As soon as I graduate.”

  “Damn right I’m gonna sign up,” a voice said.

  Sevarin fell from a tree branch and landed on the grass with a thump. The others looked at him. Barefoot and dressed in shorts and a dirty white T-shirt, he looked like a homeless kid off the street. He grinned at them.

  “I just touched the sky,” he said.

  Owen and Gunner looked at each other and shrugged.

  “What can’t a Sargonaut do, Gunner?”

  “I don’t know, Owen. Can they pilot mecha?”

  “Nope!”

  They slapped palms in a high five.

  Sevarin gave the boys a dirty look. Then he grabbed Owen by the armpits and tossed him into the air.

  “Whoa-ho-ho!” Owen cried as he sailed toward the pond.

  SPLASH!

  “Hey, watch it,” Emma said, shielding herself. “I don’t want to get my hair wet.”

  Lily covered her mouth and giggled.

  “What’s so great about mecha, anyway?” Sevarin said, sitting down next to Milo. They made fists and bumped them together like old friends.

  Gunner answered, readying himself for a dive. “They’re these huge war machines made by engineers in Ayrtoros. They have arms and legs, and a pilot can jack into them and control them from inside, like he’s wearing a suit of armor as big as a five-story house. Only Humankin can use them, though. Godkin have too much luminether in their bodies, or something like that.”

  “Too much in their cells,” Owen said, brushing wet hair off his forehead as he treaded water. “It interferes with the neural link connecting the pilot’s brain to the machine’s mainframe.”

  Gunner dove in, making an enormous splash. Emma’s hair got soaked. As soon as Gunner’s head popped out of the water, Emma grabbed the beach ball and smacked it full against his face.

  “Huh,” Sevarin said. “Only nerds can use it. Gotcha.”

  They all laughed at that—except Owen, who climbed out of the pond and gave a courtly bow.

  THREE MONTHS EARLIER, when the orphans had first entered the vault, Emmanuel gathered them in the dark, empty cafeteria. They ate a cold meal—some crackers with cheese and jam—as Emmanuel and Andres spoke at a nearby table. Not all of the orphans were there. The younger ones had retired to another area of the vault with Coral and Ascher, the latter of whom was placed under heavy medication and ordered to stay in bed.

  At one point, Emmanuel got up to make an announcement.

  “We’re leaving Taradyn,” he said, “and we’re going to Theus, the capital city of Ayrtoros. I can’t force you to come with me, so those of you who wish to stay in the vault with Coral can do so until I can get some of my people to assist you in relocating. Wherever you end up, you’ll be safely under the protection of the Forge.”

  The orphans looked at each other and put down their food. After a moment of silence, Owen got up.

  “I’m ready to go as soon as possible,” he said. “Taradyn can sink to the bottom of the ocean for all I care.”

  Owen had been the first to stand, followed by Gunner, Sevarin, and Milo. That left Barrel, Oscar, Emma, Lily, and Calista. Emma rose soon after her brother with no more than a worried look in her eyes and a nervous twitch of her wings.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to stop them,” she said.

  “Me, too.” Lily jumped to her feet. “You’re the only family I have.”

  Barrel got up with a defiant lift of his chin. He had developed into a pleasant sight—short with pale skin prone to rosy blushes, and ash-blond hair that fell perfectly straight around his neck. His large, blue eyes were incapable of showing anger or malice.

  “If Emma goes,” Barrel said. “I go.”

  Emma held his hand and they smiled at each other. At times, Barrel seemed more her twin than Milo.

  Oscar gave Barrel, Milo, and Sevarin an approving look and rose gracefully to his feet. He was wearing his REAL CARTAGENA soccer jersey, the holes of which Coral had sewn shut with her seemingly magic needle and thread. The look on the Feral boy’s face was one of fierce devotion. One of his eyes was orange, and the other brown.

  Strangely, Oscar was so far incapable of phasing into animal form. His tail looked normal, but only one of his eyes had turned orange. Andres was convinced that his son was missing something; maybe a necessary nutrient or vitamin he hadn’t been able to get back on Earth.

  And yet, Oscar had proven himself the most agile Feral any of them had ever seen. Even Emmanuel could not account for the boy’s speed and reflexes. Then, there was his strange ability to attract animals, like the homeless dogs back in Cartagena.

  “Oscar’s special,” Emmanuel said more than once. “That boy is going to surprise us someday.”

  Oscar’s tail lashed as he grinned at his friends.

  “There is no way I’m staying behind,” he said in his characteristic Latin accent. His English was almost perfect now; he had learned it with stunning rapidity.

  Andres gave his son a hard look. Despite the calm in his eyes, everyone could read the concern on the man’s face.

  He spoke to Oscar in rapid Spanish. Oscar responded, then turned to Milo and said, in a voice that shivered with resentment, “He does not want me to go. He says that I should stay here with the army.” He turned back to his father. “You can’t make me stay, Papa.”

  Andres responded in Spanish, in a worried voice. He tried to put his hand on his son’s shoulder, but Oscar swatted it away and crossed his arms.

  “It’s safe in Theus,” Milo said. “Theusians hate the men who rule Taradyn. And they accept Ferals. You could start a new life. Both of you.”

  Oscar translated. He waved his arms in frustration when his father shook his head.

  “No hero,” Andres said in English. “You are my son. Your mother die because she was different. I not going to see you die the same.”

  Oscar bowed his head and said no more.

  FOR A WHOLE MONTH AFTER THAT, Oscar didn’t leave his room except when he had to. Milo, Owen, Sevarin, Barrel, and Gunner visited him and brought him comic books and toys, but the boy could not be moved. He would either sit there, depressed, or he would pace about the room in a rage, his tail lashing like a whip as he cursed his father, to whom he refused to speak.

  One day, he approached his father in the Eternal Gardens, where the man had gone to relax in the pond. Oscar showed up with a pair of gardening shears used to trim vines and branches.

  Andres sat up against the edge of the pond. Brightly colored fish swam around his chest and arms. The man had not shaved in over a month, and his beard was so long it touched the water’s surface even when he sat up.

  “Oscar,” he said. “What are you doing with those?”

  He watched as his son put the blades around the base of his tail. He was wearing a simple white T-shirt, a pair of brown shorts, and beige sandals with straps that wove up around his calves. He turned so his father could see the shears and how close they were to snipping the tail off at the base.

  “I’m not ashamed of who I am,” Oscar said in Spanish. “But if this tail is going to keep me from living my life and being with my friends, then I don’t want it anymore. I’ll find ways to be like them. I’ll hide the animal inside of me. I’ll hide my face if I have to.”

  Andres rose from the water and approached his son. Oscar backed away but kept the blades in place.

  “Don’t,” his father said. “You are beautiful the way you are, the way your mother made you. She loved you and she would not love what you are doing. Keep the tail. You are not an animal. Go with your friends and be happy, but I wi
ll go with you. I will protect you with my life, wherever you choose to go.”

  Oscar looked his father in the eyes and saw that the man meant what he said. Then Oscar began to cry. He loosed his grip on the gardening shears.

  “I don’t want to leave my friends,” he said.

  Andres brushed water off his arms and chest and got down on one knee before his son. There were tears in his eyes. Oscar dropped the gardening shears. He fell into his father’s open arms and cried into his neck. His father spoke to him in a confident whisper.

  “Your mother’s watching you from Heaven,” he said. “And she thinks you are an angel.”

  AROUND THE SAME time that Oscar and his father made amends, Sevarin received a call over the loudspeakers to visit Ascher.

  Emma offered to go with him. Sevarin resisted.

  “I think I know what this is about,” he told her. “I have to go alone.”

  He jogged through the corridors, following the signs until he found the medical ward, which was really just a short, dead-end hallway with rooms on either side. When he walked into the right one, Ascher asked Coral to leave them alone for a few minutes.

  With a solemn nod, she walked over to Sevarin, hugged him, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She said nothing as she left the room, the door sliding shut after her.

  “Pop,” Sevarin said anxiously, “what’s wrong?”

  Ascher waved him over. Sevarin took a spot by the old man’s bed but didn’t sit in any of the chairs. He hadn’t seen Ascher in over a week, which had been worrying him and the other orphans. Now, observing his worsened condition, Sevarin could only choke back pity and stare.

  Normally a plump, rosy-cheeked man with a beard like packed cotton, Ascher had become a shadow of his former self. His flesh sagged and was pale yellow; bruised eye sockets cupped a pair of dim, red-veined eyes; his beard had lost its fullness and now resembled a clump of spider-silk threads. Most of his hair had fallen out.