Savant (The Luminether Series)

by Richard Denoncourt

  Alexandra was hunched over the wheel. “I really wish you kids had told us about this.”

  “Sorry, Mom,” Milo said, turning his attention back to the road stretching away behind the van. “I thought I was imagining things. I didn’t want you to…”

  “You didn’t want us to worry,” his father said, speaking in a gentle voice and looking over his shoulder at Milo and Emma. “You thought we’d be disappointed.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” Alexandra said.

  The twins nodded half-heartedly. They swayed a little as the minivan wove its way dangerously around the other cars. The engine roared as Alexandra took it up to ninety miles per hour.

  “Slow it down, Allie,” Max said.

  “We have to get on the highway. They can’t fly this fast, trust me.”

  “These are Dark Acolyte fighters, my love. It’s been a long time since we…”

  “I know my own brothers and sisters.” She glared at her husband, then turned her attention back to the road.

  “Fine,” he said. “Go south. There’s no way we can ever go back home.”

  The words struck Milo like a punch to the gut. Did his father really just say they would never see their house again? That all the things Milo had ever loved about home—the tree-lined streets of his neighborhood, his bicycle, his computer—were gone for good?

  “Dad, what do you mean?” he said.

  “It’s not safe. They know where we live.”

  Emma spoke in a shrill voice. “But where else can we go?”

  Alexandra was the one who answered. She sounded exhausted. “Honey, now’s not a good time. I can’t drive anymore. I don’t feel well.”

  Max turned to his son. “Milo, look out the back window. See if we’ve lost them.”

  Milo did as his father ordered but saw only the night sky and the dark road. The men chasing them could easily hide in that darkness, so what was the point of searching? Before he could share the news, his sister’s voice filled the car. It was slow and measured, as if she were in a trance.

  “They’re going back to their masters. They have winged horses with eyes like fire—and carriages that fly through the night.”

  Emma’s eyes were distant, turned inward as though surveying some frightening inner landscape.

  “Emma,” Alexandra said. “What do you see?”

  “What, Mom?”

  Her voice had returned to normal. She frowned at her mother’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

  “I don’t believe it,” Max said to his wife. “You think she’s a seer?”

  “I don’t know.” Alexandra’s knuckles were white over the steering wheel. “Honey, I think I’m having a panic attack.”

  “Then you’d better pull over.”

  She slowed the car, brought it to the shoulder, and shoved the gear into park. Then she and Max pushed the doors open, ran around the front of the car, and jumped into their new seats. Max started the engine, then looked back at his children.

  “I hope you kids have your seatbelts on.”

  Chapter 14

  Milo woke up in the backseat of the minivan. Beyond the window, the sky was the faded orange of dusk. The sun would be up in less than an hour.

  He couldn’t remember falling asleep, only gazing out the window at the night clouds and imagining interdimensional rifts opening inside them to reveal a strange, new world of pulsing colors.

  Emma had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, still dressed in her black tights. His mother was asleep in the front seat while his father drove, looking as refreshed as if he had slept all night. Milo wondered if his father even needed to sleep like normal people. Now didn’t seem like the right time to ask.

  They were somewhere in open country. Empty fields rolled away toward the horizon, hills here and there in the distance. The early morning darkness made the world seem empty and strange.

  “Where are we?” Milo said.

  His mother woke up and looked back at him, eyes red and tired-looking. She reached between her feet and came up with a water bottle, which she gave to Milo. The water was warm and tasted like plastic, but he drank it anyway. It slid down his throat like warm silk.

  “Emma,” his father said, looking into the rearview mirror.

  Emma awoke with a sharp intake of breath.

  “Yeah, Daddy?”

  “Good,” he said. “Now that the two of you are awake, we all need to talk. Sort of like our family meetings, OK?”

  Milo and Emma nodded but kept silent. Alexandra began to unwrap labeled sandwiches that looked as if they had been purchased at a gas station. Milo’s was labeled HAM ‘N’ CHEESE DOUBLEDECKER and Emma received a BLT SPECIAL.

  “There’s a place near here where we can lay low for a little while.” Max picked up a map that looked hand-drawn and studied it. The paper and the handwriting reminded Milo of the book his father had shown him. “Once we get there, we’ll try contacting some old friends of mine who can help us out.”

  “I don’t feel so good,” Emma said.

  Alexandra turned in her seat. “What’s the matter?”

  Emma shrugged. “I don’t understand why this is happening.”

  “We were careless,” Max said, “your mother and I. We used our powers by accident. That’s how they find us. They wait for us to slip up and do something impossible for a normal human.”

  “If you’re not human,” Milo said, “then what are you?”

  “Demigods,” his father said, “as are the two of you. My real name is Maximus, son of Sargos, and your mother is Zandra, daughter of Aliara. We were born when the father-gods were still around, over ten thousand years ago.”

  Milo and Emma gave each other wide-eyed looks, too stunned to speak.

  Alexandra stared out the window, her features captured in the glass, a very human expression of sadness on her face.

  “I feel terrible, Max.”

  He put a hand on her knee. “Don’t. You weren’t the only one who slipped. Life on Earth is so different, I almost forgot who we really are.”

  They talked about other things, about Alexandra’s father, Laramon, son of Kenatos, who had been a legendary sorcerer of great power, and of empires and republics torn apart by war, and of how Max and Alexandra had ended up on earth in the first place—they had faked their own deaths and become human citizens in order to protect Milo and Emma.

  They spoke throughout the day, stopping at diners and gas stations to eat meals and use the bathroom. The hours passed quickly as the twins sat in rapt attention. Their father explained how rifts could be opened between the two realms using a beacon crystal or a very powerful spell that only a handful of magicians could cast. Beacon crystals were extremely rare, the fruits of an ancient order of spellcasters that tried to unite the two realms and bring Earthborn humans and Godkin together. That night, when the twins slept, their dreams were hectic and whimsical.

  It was early morning when Milo’s father pulled the car over. The sun sat on the horizon, half-hidden by a stream of orange clouds. The grass rippled as a fierce wind rolled across the plains.

  “Where are we?” Milo said, getting out of the minivan and stretching.

  Emma came out behind him, narrowing her eyes up at the orange sky and brushing hair away from her face. “I could really use a shower,” she said, smoothing her tights.

  Their parents stood farther up the road and were speaking in harsh whispers to each other. After several minutes, they shuffled back to the minivan, shoulders slumped. Milo and Emma were sitting on the grass sloping away from the road.

  “I’ve never seen them fight before,” Emma said.

  Max motioned for the twins to get up. “Let’s go, kids.”

  They followed their parents across the field. The land was wet and their shoes squished in the mud. It was cold outside, and Milo wished he’d brought a jacket.

  They came to a patch of ground that looked different from the rest of the field. The grass was darker, the blades stiffer
against the wind. Milo’s father had them all step back so no one was standing on it.

  “This is our ticket out of here,” he said, crouching to inspect the grass. “You still have that beacon crystal, right Milo?”

  Milo felt his pocket and nodded.

  The wind tousled Max’s hair and made it tremble against his forehead. He didn’t seem to notice how cold it was. In a single, swift motion, he stabbed his flattened hand like a blade into the wet soil. The ground swallowed it up to the elbow. Milo couldn’t believe his father had not broken his fingers.

  He grabbed hold of whatever he was searching for and pulled. The ground shook as something moved beneath the surface—something big. The irregular patch of grass rose at an angle as a large metal door opened out of the ground. Max then used both arms to throw it open, and the movement was so sudden and powerful that the topmost layer of grass slid through the air like a flying carpet, and the door lingered upright for a moment, exposing its dark underbelly, before toppling backward against the grass with a heavy thump.

  The door appeared to be made of steel. It was a foot thick and though Milo had no idea how much it weighed, he knew it would have taken several men—maybe a dozen or more—to open it without the help of machinery. His father had done it alone without so much as a grunt of effort.

  “Don’t strain yourself, honey,” Alexandra said, smiling in that flirtatious way she sometimes had around her husband. Max smiled at her and waved away the comment. Emma and Milo just looked at each other in disbelief.

  Max slapped the dirt off his hands and peered into the hole he had opened up. Alexandra, Milo, and Emma joined him.

  The hole was a rectangular box big enough to fit about four cars parked side by side. There was some kind of vehicle down there that Milo had never seen before. The front sloped down into a narrow tip. There was no engine that he could identify, and the wheels were tall and thin, like wheels on a marathon bicycle. There was no roof, only dirt-covered seats that gave off a rubbery gleam. Milo was stunned when he saw what it was made of.

  Not only was the vehicle shiny and clean—apart from bits of grass and soil that had fallen inside—it also appeared to be made of solid gold.

  “Is that a carriage?” Emma said, her voiced tinged with wonder. “It looks like one of those old-fashioned horse-drawn carriages, like in the movies.”

  “It’s a carriage all right,” Max said, placing his hands on his hips. “Designed to look like the chariots in the Icarian Races.”

  The twins spoke together. “What are the Icarian Races?”

  Alexandra grabbed the backs of their shirts and pulled them away from the hole.

  “You’ll see soon enough,” she said.

  Max got down on his stomach, reached into the hole, and grabbed the edge of the carriage. He pulled upward, wincing but comfortable despite what must have been over a thousand pounds of metal. The carriage rose out of the hole and Max stood, holding it with one arm as though it were no more than a paper sculpture. The metal creaked under its own weight. He set it down on the grass, the wheels squeaking, and let out a breath of relief.

  The golden sides of the carriage shone dark orange in the twilight, the color of regal luxury.

  “Is it really made of gold?” Milo said.

  Max chuckled as he studied the carriage. “Oh boy, not anymore. No, this one is made from something called Hyathean metal. It looks and feels like gold, but it’s a hundred times lighter. You can only find it on Astros.”

  Emma spoke up. “Is that where we’re going?”

  “That’s where we’ll have to go.” Max looked at his wife, who only sighed with concern. “But first we need a levathon.”

  Milo was on the verge of asking what a levathon was but stopped himself. His father kept throwing around so many foreign terms—Icarian, Hyathean, levathon—that Milo’s brain felt overwhelmed. He would get answers soon enough.

  “Let me see that beacon crystal,” Max said, looking down at his son.

  Milo handed his father the crystal and watched as he used it to shoot a beam of green light into the sky. The beam was silent and quick—a flash of green, no more—and left no mark.

  “What are you doing?” Milo said.

  “Opening a portal. I’ll teach you how to do it later.”

  Max brought his hand up to his mouth and pressed the tips of his thumb and index finger to his lips. The whistle began as a low hum and intensified until it became a warbling cry, almost a bird call. As he whistled, the crystal began to glow with the opaque intensity of a neon-green sign.

  Milo joined his parents in searching the sky.

  It was small at first; a tiny white speck that dipped and rose through the air like a kite. As it came closer, Milo thought it resembled a seagull. It had white wings, the span of which was several times wider than the height of the creature itself.

  Emma let out a squeal of delight.

  “It’s a horse,” she said, clasping her hands over her chest. “A flying horse. I don’t believe it!”

  Milo squinted at the distant object. His sister was right; the creature coming toward them at a downward angle was definitely a horse—but it had wings.

  “Pegasus,” Milo said. “Like the horse god in Greek mythology.”

  “They do look alike,” his father said, “but that creature up there is not a horse god, nor did it descend from a horse god. Levathons were created by the father-gods of Astros to be used in battle.”

  The levathon kicked its feet as if running on air, its white mane trembling behind its head and neck. The creature’s muscles were as thick and taut as the muscles of a well-bred racing horse, though not nearly as stocky. Levathons—at least this one—were longer and leaner, probably because they spent more time flying than running. As the creature flew, it left a pale vapor in its wake.

  The sky shook. Milo flinched as a bolt of lightning—blood red and jagged like an infected vein in a sick person’s arm—leaped out of a cloud and struck the levathon with a sickening crack. The bolt disappeared, leaving the sky as silent as before. Milo watched the levathon spiral downward, its body charred and bloodied. It fell with a wet thump.

  Emma shrieked. Alexandra wrapped her arms around her daughter. They both sank to the ground, Emma crying and covering her face.

  “Damn them,” Max said, looking in the direction of the road.

  A group of flying figures hung in the sky, each one a small silhouette against the evening redness; five Dark Acolytes and a carriage pulled by a quartet of levathons. One of the passengers was probably the low mage that had approached Milo in the bathroom at school. He could almost feel the man’s angry glare.

  “Come here,” Max said, motioning for his wife and children to come closer. He pushed against the carriage with one hand until it tipped onto its side. “Get behind this. Use it as cover. Milo, I need you to do something for me.”

  Milo nodded up at his father. “Sure, Dad. Anything.”

  “Use your beacon crystal—I gave it back to you, right? OK—use it to call another carriage. It’s not difficult to do. Just hold it in both hands, close your eyes, and say the name ‘Asceranon,’ three times. He’s the friend we were supposed to meet.”

  Milo nodded and dug the crystal out of his pocket. Then, ominously, his father’s expression changed. His face seemed to tighten and swell with emotion.

  “What’s wrong, Dad?”

  Max put both hands on Milo’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head, and Milo got the distinct feeling that something was coming to an end.

  “I love you, Milo. Maybe someday you’ll give hope to these troubled realms.”

  “Realms? Dad, what are you saying? Are you leaving? You can’t leave!”

  Tears gathered in Milo’s eyes. Alexandra held him back, but he continued to reach for his father. The crystal dropped from his hands without him even realizing it.

  Emma ran to her father. He picked her up and kissed her several times and whispered something in her ear that made her
cry out, “But, why?”

  Max lowered her to the ground. He turned and faced his attackers, who were about to land.

  “Get behind the carriage,” he said. “Both of you. I’ll join you in a bit. Now go!”

  Milo and Emma ran to the carriage and hid behind it. They were not tall enough to look over the topmost edge, but Milo added a few inches to his height by stepping on the undercarriage with his tiptoes. Emma did the same. Their heads peeked over the side.

  “What’s happening?” Emma said.

  Milo gripped the edges. “They’re going to fight.”

  The carriage landed first, followed by the Dark Acolytes. Milo saw that he was right about the men in the carriage; one of them was indeed the low mage he had encountered back at school.

  His parents stood together in the field.

  “The kids,” Max said, gripping Alexandra’s shoulders. “Go back!”

  “But you can’t.” She grabbed a handful of his shirt. “You love me, don’t you? Let me fight with you. Like we used to.”

  “We’ll see each other again. I promise, Allie.” He gathered her into his arms and kissed her on the lips. She drank in the gesture. It was something Milo had never seen them do, not with such desperate passion. “Now go, my love. Take care of the kids. Use the crystal.”

  Alexandra turned away from her husband and ran for the toppled carriage. When she was by Milo and Emma’s side, she put her arms around the twins and pulled them close. Milo struggled to get out of her grasp. He wanted to see; he had to see. Then a terrifying thought seized hold of him.

  The crystal. It wasn’t in his pocket. He had dropped it somewhere.

  The enemy carriage landed, its wheels kicking up dirt as it cut a wide gash into the earth. The levathons resembled the one Milo’s father had called earlier, except these had black fur and eyes that glowed a hellish red. Nearby, the Dark Acolytes had fallen into crouching positions. They folded their wings behind them and stood.

  There were two men in the carriage, Kovax and a short, brown-skinned, muscular man with orange eyes and a furry Mohawk bisecting his otherwise bald head. Gold hoops hung from his ears, and there was no hair anywhere on his body except for the Mohawk and a long, oiled beard that had been twisted into two braids. There were purple lines all over his skin; tattoos, everywhere except on his face and head.