Savant (The Luminether Series)

by Richard Denoncourt

  “Wait,” the smaller boy said. His voice came out high-pitched and warbled from the interference. “She has to catch her bus. If she’s not on it, they’ll come looking for her and you’ll get in trouble. So just let her go!”

  The bigger boy spoke. He kept his eyes on the girl, who looked ready to cry.

  “The crystal. Toss it over, or I’ll find your twin sister and I’ll hit her, too. I’ll hit her so hard you’ll feel it.”

  “It’s in my pocket,” the smaller boy said, grunting out every other word. He was clearly in some pain. “I can’t reach it like this.”

  One of the lanky boys reached into the smaller one’s pocket. He found what he was looking for and held it up.

  Querrigan, who had been watching the scene in silence, spoke up suddenly in a shrill voice.

  “A beacon crystal!”

  The sightstone broke apart in a powdery explosion of light. Coscoros managed to wrap himself in his wings just in time. Basher stood his ground. His body could handle the impact with no problem, though he couldn’t help getting some of the shards in his eyes. This sent him into a fit of coughing and eye-rubbing.

  The scorpion was fine; its shell had absorbed the explosion.

  “What was that?” Coscoros said.

  The forest had gone dark except for the flickering light of the standing torch. Coscoros plucked it out of the ground and used it to examine his surroundings. The scorpion made a clicking sound with its claws.

  Querrigan lay crumpled up a few feet away. The hood of his cloak had been blown back, revealing the side of his pale, hairless head.

  Coscoros reached down and turned the head. The Knight-Captain’s face had been scraped off by the blast, and only one eye remained. It blinked once as the man let out a gasp and died.

  “What does it mean?” Basher said.

  Coscoros spoke in a grave voice. “Somehow, that boy got his hands on a beacon crystal. I think we’re looking at a truly unique situation here.”

  “So we should notify the emperor, right? We should go back up to…”

  “No.” Coscoros turned to him, looking oddly excited. “We go to Kovax first. He’ll know what to do. In the meantime, we search hospital records all over the city for any mention of twins born between eleven and sixteen years ago. A boy and a girl.”

  A look of utter confusion spread across Basher’s face. “You want me to search the records?”

  Coscoros punched him in the arm. It had little impact on the giant, who didn’t even blink. “Of course not, idiot! You’re a walking mountain. No”—he brought his hand up to his chin and paced as he spoke—“I’ll get some of our Humankin agents to do it. Then I’ll speak to Kovax personally. He’ll want to hear about this.”

  Coscoros bent down to fish Querrigan’s beacon crystal out of his robes, the one calibrated to protect them from sightstones. It was also their only way in and out of this realm. Without it, they’d be stuck. He wondered if the boy knew what his own crystal was capable of.

  “Uh-huh.” Basher scratched his chin. “So what should I do?”

  Coscoros looked down at the dead Knight-Captain, whose body had begun to disintegrate into pulsing, red-black magical waste, like scattered coals. A side effect of dying in the human realm. No body to send back home. “Get rid of any evidence we were here.”

  “Uh-huh, and then what?”

  “You and the insect, hide in the hills and wait for my orders.”

  Coscoros extended his wings, flapped them once, and shot up past the trees. Basher caught a glimpse of the man as he cut across the sky, a black, angular shape like an oversized bat.

  “Figures,” Basher said, picking up his warhammer and smashing a nearby tree to splinters.

  Chapter 9

  Milo knew better than to go into his father’s study without permission.

  But he couldn’t resist. His burning curiosity urged him along like a whispering voice over his shoulder. If no one would give him answers, maybe he’d find some on his own.

  The desk lamp had been left on, but his father wasn’t inside. Milo walked around the room, lightly touching small statues and figurines that looked as if they’d been made from emerald and gold.

  Where did his father go every month?

  He approached the broad wooden desk by the window and saw a book spread open on its surface, so big it seemed to cover the table’s entire midsection. The front and back covers were bound in red leather and looked old and worn. Its yellowed pages were as thin as tissue paper and gave off a musty smell, as if the book had spent the past century in a cellar.

  The text was handwritten and the pages were covered in drawings; sketches of tall men and women with angel’s wings, the different stages of a man turning into a bird and taking flight, a woman turning into a cheetah and sprinting across a field. There were also drawings of men in radiant armor holding swords as big as surfboards.

  “Whoa,” Milo said, his eyes widening. He became aware that a man was standing by the door.

  His father cleared his throat. Milo jumped.

  “Looking for something?”

  “Dad. Just looking for you.”

  “Well, I guess you found me.” Max walked into the room with long, hurried strides. “What do you need, my boy?”

  “I had some questions.”

  His father closed the book, sat at his desk, and joined his hands on the leathery cover. He looked relaxed and slightly ridiculous in his pajama suit, which was blue with purple buttons running down the front.

  “That’s the thing I remember most about you as a child, Milo. So many questions. One time I took you to the natural sciences museum in the city when you were nine years old. You remember that? You asked so many questions that a man next to us said you had a future as a scientist. You turned to him and said, ‘Do scientists get to travel around the world?’ I laughed. Like father, like son, right?”

  Milo and his father shared a smile. Then his father pulled an antique-looking chair from the corner and motioned for Milo to take a seat next to him.

  “What did you want to know?”

  Milo had come to ask about the beacon crystal, but after seeing the drawings inside the book, he forgot about the crystal altogether.

  “What’s the deal with this book? Did you draw the pictures?”

  “I did draw them. This is a journal of my travels. You see, I’m what you might call a mythologist in addition to being a salesman. My job requires that I travel across the country—and sometimes the world—and keep track of all the supernatural stories I hear. It’s more of a hobby, really. How about hearing one before bed?”

  Milo nodded and pulled the chair closer to the desk. His father opened the book to the middle, revealing the drawings Milo had seen earlier. Then he rotated the book so Milo could get a better look.

  He flipped the pages slowly so they could study each pencil-drawn figure. There appeared to be four categories of heroes, and his father had used colored pencils on several.

  The first sketch was of a beautiful, human-looking woman with wings as white as summer clouds. She looked like an angel. Her hair was a soft brown color, and there were several drawings of her leaping, flying, and landing, and a few others in which she held foggy orbs of bluish light in her hands. She wasn’t the only one in her category. There were also drawings of men and children with wings soaring through the air.

  Beneath them was the word “ACOLYTES.”

  The next drawing depicted a man in a long cloak holding a fireball in one hand. He had the narrowed, pensive eyes of someone who knew all of nature’s secrets. A woman stood next to him, wearing a gold circlet around her forehead and a long, flowing dress that reached down to her sandals. She held a staff with a blue crystal on the tip. From that crystal, bolts of electricity sprayed out in every direction.

  Beneath the man and the woman was the word “SAVANTS.”

  Then there was a man with broad shoulders wearing heavy plate armor the color of ivory and wielding a gigantic, rid
ged sword. He had pulled the sword back to slice something in front of him. His helmet, which was long and sharp, hid most of his face, but Milo could see the white of his clenched teeth. There was no way a normal man could carry a sword that big.

  There was a woman by his side; a woman with long, muscular legs wearing a simple tunic. Her hair had been pulled back into a tight braid, and her eyes were narrow and fierce above a broad nose. The woman looked to be as strong as the man or stronger. In one drawing she was crouched beneath a huge boulder. She held it up with little difficulty, even though the boulder was as big as a car folded in half.

  Beneath the man and the woman was the word “SARGONAUTS.”

  Then there came a series of drawings portraying a woman with a tail shapeshifting into different animal forms: an owl, a wolf, a cheetah, and a dolphin. In each drawing, the woman, in human and animal forms, had bright orange eyes.

  She was accompanied by a man in some of the drawings. The man was just as agile as his female counterpart, and he had a furry red tail, whereas hers was black and short-haired. Like a comic-book superhero the man was shown scampering up the sides of buildings, leaping off the edges, and landing catlike on the ground.

  Beneath him was the word “FERALS.”

  “Who are they?” Milo said in a voice barely above a whisper.

  “People,” his father said, “like you and me, except they have different ancestors. I guess you could say they’re from a different world than ours.”

  “A different planet?”

  His father closed one eye and thought about it. “Not exactly. They aren’t aliens, but they’re not from our world, either. Imagine another world that exists alongside this one. Another realm overlapping ours, so to speak—and you can travel from one realm to the other by creating rifts in the fabric of reality. Does that make sense?”

  “Tell me everything,” Milo said.

  “It’s almost bedtime, kiddo.”

  “Come on, Dad. If you don’t tell me, I’ll never get to sleep!”

  “Well, in that case”—his father turned to an earlier page—“let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”

  Chapter 10

  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, but some believe they helped shaped the Earth as we know it.

  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 planet. Millions of these god-like beings were killed, leaving only the five strongest ones. Much of humanity was wiped out.

  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. But fortunately for us, he wasn’t powerful enough to overcome his four siblings, who had decided to join against him.

  After a battle that lasted a thousand years, the other four gods defeated Xelios and banished him to a dark place called Tenadron, where he will remain for the rest of eternity, powerless and asleep. 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. There are those who think Xelios is still buried, but awake and waiting for his day of rebirth.

  As for the drawings I showed you, the four gods—Aliara, Kenatos, Valcyona, and Sargos—had spawned races they used as warriors during the Cataclysm. They designed their children, known as “Godkin,” using humans as the basic model, but because of their pride they couldn’t resist putting a little of themselves into the mold.

  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 are lovers of beauty and peace and want only to help those around them. They detest conflict of any sort and are known for their poetry and art, and their beautiful singing voices and eloquent speeches.

  They also have wings, as you can see in this picture—great, white wings capable of lifting them into the air and carrying them across great distances. Some Acolytes are born with wings tinted red, orange, or blue, and sometimes green and brown, if they live in the forest.

  Kenatos, god of knowledge and the elements, created a race of thinkers capable of manipulating the five elements—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 are more concerned with knowledge than goodness, and are therefore always tempted by low magic, which is said to be the most powerful because it steals 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 have devoted their lives to magic are known as “magicians” or “sorcerers” and enjoy a high social standing among their people. Necromancers are despised and feared.

  Valcyona, goddess of nature and the hunt, cherished the animal above all else. She was a wild, passionate, and sensual god 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 be 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,” can drink the blood of any animal and from then on take that animal’s form at will. In addition to being shapeshifters, all Ferals have 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. And they can see perfectly well in the dark.

  Finally, there was Sargos, god of war and order. Sargos delighted in watching humans form governments and start wars and revolutions. He created a race of fighters called “Sargonauts” that possess superhuman strength. They can punch through stone and lift an object as heavy as a school bus with only their bare hands. They are also excellent athletes and can hold their breath underwater for hours and run without stopping for days. Sargonauts are the guardians of order and justice and have made excellent soldiers and governors in the past. In times of peace, when there is little need for weapons and fighting, Sargonauts are renowned for their sportsmanship and love of debates.

  Aside from Sargonauts, Acolytes, Ferals, and Savants, there are also Humankin, and they make up about half of the realm’s population. Humankin are like us, with no special powers—but they have the blood of the gods in their veins. They live much longer than ordinary humans and are quicker and stronger in every respect.

  And then, of course, there was Xelios, god of chaos. Little is known about him except that he loved to watch things be destroyed. During the Cataclysm, he created races of monstrous creatures that he used in battle. You can see them here, in this picture—enormous one-eyed giants called Orglots, dragonlike 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 blackwinged “Dark Acolytes” with larger wings and faster flight—and a thirst for blood. Ferals became “Pestilents” able to transform into giant insects with shells resistant to magic. Savants became “low mages” capable of raising the dead and creating diseases and plagues. And finally, his version of the Sargonaut was not a noble and duty-bound soldier but the half-mad “Berserker” that lives only to destroy everything in its path using giant weapons called warhammers and deathmaces.

  You’re probably wondering where these gods are today, or what happened to their children. The story is an unfortunate one. Over ten thousand human-years ago, the gods mysteriously disappeared: first Valcyona, then Kenatos, Aliara, and Sargos. Some say the gods grew bored with their children and disillusioned with humans. Others believe 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.

  “It’s just a story,” Max said, sitting back in his chair. “A good one, though, right?”

  Milo had been sitting in rapt attention, staring at the pictures his father had drawn on the yellowed pages, imagining these creatures leaping off the page and taking flight before his eyes.

  “Milo?” Max snapped his fingers before his son’s face. “Earth to Milo. Where’d you go, kiddo?”

  Milo blinked a few times as, dizzily, his mind placed its feet back on the ground.