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

by Richard Denoncourt

  Milo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. So it wasn’t a kidnapping?

  “…signed, Akkara Liparth,” the Archon finished before lowering the note. “What I have here is a letter found by my wardens during a search of Ms. Liparth’s apartment. This page along with other evidence found at the scene confirm the young woman’s disappearance as a voluntary act.” He shook his head and sighed. “The good news is, she’s probably safe and sound.”

  The Hall of Champions erupted in cheers and applause. Milo and his friends seemed to be the only ones not ecstatic about the news.

  Lily was about the kill the display when Milo grabbed her wrist to stop her.

  “Wait. What’s this?”

  The Archon had kept going, his speech now focused on ways in which he planned to further reduce crime in the city. Beneath him, a line of scrolling text relayed other newsworthy events.

  Milo leaned forward and read out loud, “Famed mathematician claims Fountain of Joy made him ‘less logically inclined’ after it healed his broken back.”

  “Oh no, he’s got that look on his face,” Emma remarked, studying Milo’s vacant expression. “What are you thinking, Milo?”

  He pulled back from the display. “We need to find that mathematician. I have to speak with him.”

  “We need to find out who he is first,” said Gunner.

  “I’m on it,” Lily said, resizing the display to fit in her palm. She tapped on it several times. The others waited, Milo burning with an idea that made him fidget.

  “Thesselonius Abra,” Lily said, looking up at him. “He’s a retired professor from the academy. It says here that he lives at 309 Polaris Lane, in the Flagstaff neighborhood.”

  “I’ll go talk to him,” Milo said, rising from his seat.

  Emma stopped him. “Don’t you want company?”

  Owen and Sevarin rose at once, looking anxious to go with him.

  Gunner shrugged, also getting up. “Maybe if we all skip class, they’ll go easier on us.”

  Milo raised a hand in a halting gesture. “I want to go alone. I’ll take Zander.”

  “Who’s Zander?” Emma asked, rising from her seat.

  “My levathon,” Milo said, to which his friends responded with looks of utter confusion—all except Lily, of course, who grinned. “Okay, fine. You guys can meet him, but let’s make it quick.”

  As they followed him out of the Hall of Champions, Emma turned to Lily and whispered, “How was your big date?”

  CHAPTER 15

  With Ara’s help, Milo found a stable in the Flagstaff neighborhood that charged by the hour. Zander studied the cramped stall and gave Milo a solemn look.

  “It’s okay, boy,” Milo said, petting him. “It’s just for a couple hours at most.”

  A trio of passing children—two boys and a girl in their early teens—pointed at Zander’s missing leg and exchanged a few whispered comments. Milo gave them a dirty look. Eyeing his cadet uniform and his eye patch, they hurried off with a few more whispered remarks he couldn’t hear and didn’t care to know.

  “Ignore them,” he told Zander. “I’ll be right back.”

  Zander snorted and wagged his head in understanding.

  Flagstaff was an upper-class neighborhood with cobblestone streets, neatly trimmed lawns, and cookie-cutter trees lining the sidewalks. It reminded him of his quaint neighborhood in Dearborn, New Jersey, except for the Romanesque statues and stone water fountains decorating the front lawns. He walked up the sidewalk toward number 309. The residence turned out to be an elegant, one-story bungalow with a detached stable large enough for three levathons.

  There were exactly three tethered beneath its slanted roof. Judging by the different harnesses, the man who lived here was entertaining guests. Milo went ahead anyway, hoping the mathematician would recognize Milo and give him a few minutes to explain himself.

  He knocked on the front door and listened as heavy footsteps rose inside, accompanied by a weary sigh.

  “If you’re from the news station, I don’t want to talk to you,” came a man’s deep voice. “I already said everything I wanted to say.”

  “I’m not,” Milo said. “I’m a cadet at the academy. Milo Banks.”

  There was moment of silence. “Milo Banks? The kid from Taradyn?”

  “Yes, sir. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Another moment passed, in which Milo heard hushed voices from inside. There was at least one other man and a woman inside. Finally, the door swept open. Milo found himself looking up at a brown-skinned man almost as tall as his father had been, though much skinnier. He sported a head full of dreadlocks that fell around his shoulders, decorated with gold bands around the tips. He slouched in an exquisite, red silk suit with gold-thread designs woven across its surface, which he wore over a beige dress shirt buttoned all the way up to his neck. Milo didn’t know much about fashion, but it seemed like a strange combination—both austere and gaudy at the same time.

  Stranger still were the man’s facial piercings. He wore a shiny gold loop in his nose, another in his lower lip, and several in both ears.

  “Not what you expected?” the man asked. He must have noticed the way Milo’s good eye had widened at the sight of him.

  Milo shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “I guess I expected you to look more like a typical mathematician.”

  “Oh, is that so? And what, pray tell, does a typical mathematician look like where you’re from?”

  “Old and gray, with a stooped posture, squinty eyes, and thick glasses.” Milo replied. Then he shrugged. “I didn’t mean any offense.”

  “None taken. And I didn’t expect some skinny kid with an eye patch and hair like he just got struck by lightning.”

  Milo’s hands shot up to his scalp. It was a complete mess from having flown all the way here from campus. He smoothed it back down, not sure if the man was messing with him, or if he was seriously annoyed at having been interrupted.

  “I would have called,” Milo said. “I—I guess I should have…”

  “Never mind that,” the man said, eyes darting as he searched the street. “I’m Thesselonius Abra, and you had best come inside before the press sees you.”

  Milo glanced over his shoulder to see what had concerned the man. He saw only a quiet, if slightly empty, neighborhood. No signs of the press anywhere. Either the man was paranoid, or he’d been threatened after going public.

  Milo stepped inside, and the mathematician shut the door. With a wave of his hand, he made a series of magical bolts slide into place.

  “Is that you, Milo?” said a familiar voice.

  Inside the living room, a male and a female professor stood around an Ara, which had been shaped into a sphere and was spinning slowly above the carpet. Strips of colorful, rectangular displays, each one a different news channel, flickered across its surface, the volume turned so low that all Milo could hear was a faint hum of voices.

  He recognized the pair at once. The man standing on one side was Professor D’estracanis, his physics teacher, while the woman standing opposite him was an Acolyte professor Milo had seen around campus but never actually met. Her wings were folded back and looked a bit rough, as if she had just arrived after a long flight and hadn’t taken the time to brush the feathers.

  “Professor D,” Milo said. “What are you doing here?”

  D’estracanis crossed his arms over his chest and gave Milo a stern look.

  “Banks,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be studying for my exam?”

  Milo gave a curt, cadet-like nod. “Already did, sir.”

  “Of course you did.” The man cracked a smile. “And I expect top marks like last time. He’s my best student,” he added, glancing at the woman, who smiled a bit impatiently at them both.

  Thesselonius placed a hand on Milo’s shoulder and led him into the living room.

  “This is Professor Nara Yulyiasta,” he said, motioning toward the Acolyte woman. “She teaches healing magic at the academy.”


  “Great to finally meet you,” Milo said.

  “Same to you, child.”

  She was an older woman with gray-streaked, auburn hair gathered into a tight bun. Dressed in a formal, white suit with no sash or jewelry, she looked as if she had dressed herself with only one purpose in mind—to be as inconspicuous as possible.

  She glanced uncertainly at the men in the room. “We’re risking our jobs being here. Especially with a cadet present.”

  “The Archon can’t fire professors,” Thesselonius said, leading Milo into the living room. “I think we’re all feeling a bit paranoid.”

  “Not directly, but he has other ways.”

  D’estracanis waved a hand dismissively. “He’s too wrapped up in the election and the issue of the kidnapper to concern himself with a group of old farts like us.”

  Milo waited quietly for a chance to explain why he was here. The tension in the air, along with the news stories flickering on the sphere, made him feel certain they would be interested. The broadcasts were all recordings dealing with the Archon and his fountains.

  “Milo,” D’estracanis said, “if you’re here to talk about the fountains, then talk. Something tells me you’re not here to discuss schoolwork.”

  “Not at all, sir,” Milo said. “I came because I have a theory about Mr. Abra’s experience with the Fountain of Joy.”

  Thesselonius cleared his throat. “Before we get into that, I’d like to know, have you used it?” He raised a hand to his own left eye. “To heal this?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  Thesselonius nodded thoughtfully. “Why haven’t you tried? I’m sure you’ve at least considered it.

  “I have. But my uncle told me to stay away from them. I’m sure you all know him. Emmanuel, Savant son of—”

  “Yes, yes,” Yulyiasta said, looking even more concerned than before. “Have you heard from your uncle? Has he reached out to you in the past several weeks?”

  Milo shook his head. “I wish I could say yes.”

  “So do we,” D’estracanis said, stroking his chin. “So do we.”

  “Let’s go downstairs,” Thesselonius said. “I’ll explain to Milo what took place, and then we’ll come to a decision. Who knows? The boy may be able to provide insight.”

  The others nodded uncertainly. Thesselonius grabbed his Araband off a nearby shelf and tapped off the display. He slipped the band around his forehead and led them into the hallway, through a door he unlocked with a quick spell, and then down a flight of stairs to a dark room filled with the musty scent of old books.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Milo froze in place. All he could do was stare in amazement. The walls, ceiling, and floor had been painted black, giving off the illusion of a dark room when in fact it was full of light coming from a multitude of suspended holograms. At first, they looked like weird scribbles made of pure light, but then he understood what they were.

  “Whoa,” Milo said. “This is incredible.”

  The floating scribbles were mathematical equations so complex Milo couldn’t even begin to fathom what they meant, and there were so many of them, in a such a plentiful variety of colors, that it looked as if a rainbow had been sliced into ribbons and scattered all through the air.

  Thesselonius stood at the edge of the collection, hands joined behind his back. He stared at them like a man in a museum studying abstract paintings he wasn’t allowed to touch.

  “Did you make these?” Milo said, entering the room

  Thesselonius let out a depressed sigh. “You’re looking at my life’s work. You probably can’t tell, but it’s unfinished. Like a symphony that just stops a few minutes from the end, its musicians frozen,” he added longingly.

  “What happened?” Milo said.

  Yulyiasta gave an angry flutter of her wings. “It’s not pretty. Good thing you avoided that fountain, child.”

  Thesselonius motioned for Milo to follow him through the holograms. He passed through them harmlessly, without messing them up. They felt like warm breaths against Milo’s skin, and then he was drifting among the lit shapes and figures as if he had entered some sort of weird, cosmic jungle of light suspended in outer space.

  As he swam among those glowing, incomprehensible abstractions, he listed to Thesselonius explain what had happened. The man had fallen off his levathon three days earlier—the result of a faulty harness and a distracted mind—and had broken his back in several places. A few citizens who had witnessed the fall then dragged him to the nearest Fountain of Joy for healing. The fountain fixed his broken bones, but it also made another, unfortunate change.

  It erased virtually all of his mathematical ability.

  Hailed a child prodigy in his youth, a savant among Savants in adolescence, and most recently a genius of unparalleled brilliance by teachers, peers, and news outlets alike, the mathematician woke the next day, walked to the grocery store across town, and found it difficult to balance the amount of money in his bank account after buying eggs and milk.

  “I could see the numbers clearly,” he explained, “and I knew exactly what to do with them. But when I tried to subtract one amount from the other, it was like trying to lift a fallen tree trunk out of my path. Imagine a Sargonaut, who could lift that same trunk with only one hand, waking up the next day to find himself with the strength of an Acolyte, barely capable of rolling it an inch.”

  “A mildly insulting comparison,” Yulyiasta said.

  “I’m sorry, Nara.” He smiled sadly at Milo. “Fortunately, I was left with my gift for bad, overly complex metaphors.”

  Milo left the field of equations to stand next to Thesselonius. The man stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped. His expression was forlorn and full of regret, like that of a man gazing at a picture of a woman he had loved and lost due to his own recklessness.

  Milo felt a miserable swell of pity for the man. He knew what it was like to have mental gifts that shaped his identity and self-respect and even his future. The thought of losing them—his magical abilities, especially—made him feel cold all over.

  “You’re sure it was the fountain?” Milo asked.

  D’estracanis stepped in. “I’m sure it was. Thesselonius here isn’t the only one. My nephew, just four years old, was exceptional with puzzles—you know, the ones you piece together to form pictures. He could do them in his sleep. When he fell out of a carriage and broke his arm, his cheap, idiot of a father—my own brother—took him to a fountain instead of a professional healer. Now, you put puzzle pieces in front of the boy and he just stares at them, like a monkey trying to make sense of a pile of research papers. Who knows what else was lost.”

  “I’m sure both events had the same cause,” Thesselonius said. “In fact, I know with every ounce of logic still left in this worthless mind that my life was ruined the moment they dipped me into that vile blue energy.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Thess,” Professor Yulyiara said. “You could have died, but you lived. And at least you can still walk.”

  “Walk?”

  Thesselonius shouted the word as he lashed out with his right arm and dissolved an entire swath of formulas. Milo stepped back in shock as the once-reserved mathematician threw himself across the room, chopping down formulas like a man destroying tree branches with a machete.

  “Walk. As if my legs mattered.”

  The two professors went to restrain him. They grabbed his arms as Thesselonius collapsed to one knee, breathing heavily. Milo kept his distance.

  “I would sever my legs with a sword,” Thesselonius said, “and feed them to a pack of Elki if it would give me back what I lost. None of you will ever know what it’s like to lose something that meaningful.”

  D’estracanis violently lifted the mathematician to his feet, then shoved him. Dumbfounded, Thesselonius could only stare back at him in silence.

  “You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself, Thess. Because you see that kid right there?” D’estracanis pointed a
t Milo, making him the center of everyone’s attention. “He lost both of his parents. Watched those evil bastards Iolus and Kovax kill them in cold blood. Now he’s blind in one eye. And the rest of us, we’ve lost things that mattered, too.”

  Thesselonius looked away in shame. Yulyiasta quickly positioned herself between the two men, arms raised to keep them away from each other.

  “Control yourselves,” she scolded them. “War is coming to Theus, and we should be setting a better example for our younger generation. Talking to the press, feeling sorry for ourselves, getting defensive—it’s not what the academy or the Forge saw in us.”

  “The Forge?” Milo said, unsure if he’d heard the woman correctly. “You’re all soldiers in the—”

  “Yes,” Yulyiara said. “As are you, child, whether you know it or not. You’ve been a member of the Forge since the day Maximus and Zandra brought you and your sister into this world, and don’t you ever doubt it.”

  THE EVENING SKY held a reddish tint that made Milo think of a bleeding wound.

  He hadn’t realized so much time had gone by while he was at the mathematician’s home. At the stables, Zander gave him an exasperated snort, as if to say, Where were you all this time?

  “Relax,” Milo told him, checking the straps on the harness to make sure he didn’t fall off and break his back like Thesselonius had done. He felt light-headed and strange, as if he had drunk too much nectarwine and wasn’t exactly sure where he was.

  As he readied himself to fly, a raspy voice suddenly spoke up.

  “Take me to the nearest Fountain of Joy,” it said, “and make it fast, you crippled, sorry excuse for a levathon.”

  Zander gave an alarmed snort and bucked. Milo moaned at a sharp pain that had risen in his skull and doubled over, clutching his head.

  Images flashed across his mind—visions in which he saw a large, floating orb that looked like a dark ocean planet suspended in space, and a pair of pale, bony hands reaching toward it, twisting…

  “What are you waiting for?” the voice said. “Go, now.”