Savant (The Luminether Series)

by Richard Denoncourt

  “Used to be? What do you mean?” Milo said.

  Ascher gave him a hard look and a nod. “Look down, boy. What do you see?”

  They were flying over the city now. Milo and Emma peered over the side of the carriage and examined the roads and buildings. Something was very wrong, and the twins felt a plummeting sensation in their stomachs.

  “It’s empty,” Milo said.

  “All of it,” Emma said. “There isn’t a single thing moving down there.”

  Ascher made a hmmph sound. “You have good eyes. Both of you.”

  Milo felt they were being shown this city for a reason. He thought of all the shabby carriages and grimy levathons he’d seen on the highway, the drivers obviously very poor. All was not well with Astros. He tried to remember what his father had told him about racial tension and the gods disappearing. This was all so new to him, however, that he didn’t have the faintest idea what could be wrong.

  He knew one thing, though: the city beneath the carriage had fallen into ruin, and there was no construction anywhere, no sign that it was being rebuilt.

  Ascher’s voice was gruff. “There’s a war raging in Astros, a war between those who support the Leonaryx Empire and the rebels who want to dissolve it. The city below us is called Formania, and it was once the capital of Taradyn, as well as one of the greatest cities in our history. During the war, the emperor and his low-mage cousin unleashed a plague that ate away at the stone, making it brittle and useless. Now Formania is home to scavengers and bandits, mostly—people who don’t mind breathing air laced with death.”

  Milo examined the destroyed aqueducts and crumbling buildings. Massive chunks of stone lay in the streets. Entire sections of the city had been reduced to rubble with not a single edifice upright.

  “Why don’t they come back,” Emma said, “and replace the stone?”

  Ascher gave a sad sigh. “Maybe someday. But our people and our economy aren’t strong enough for such an undertaking. Our emperor only cares about defeating the High Republic of Theus and amassing more territory.”

  A gust of wind shook the carriage. Ascher jerked the steering rod and made a shushing sound to calm the levathons. The creatures righted themselves, wings resuming their steady beat.

  As the carriage took them closer to the heart of Formania, Milo was able to get a better look at what Ascher had called “the pride of Astros.” The amphitheater was mostly intact, though the countless tiers of empty, broken seats and the infestation of weeds overrunning the arena made it look ancient and abandoned.

  “Why are we here?” Milo said.

  Emma looked away from the ruins. “I don’t like this place. It’s—sad.”

  “I like it even less,” Ascher said. “We’re here to pick someone up. Hopefully this won’t take long.”

  Chapter 17

  The carriage landed in the amphitheater’s arena in much the same way a plane lands on an airstrip. The levathons touched ground and ran, fanning their wings to reduce momentum until they came to a steady trot.

  At the far end of the arena, a gathering of white birds pecked at the ground. They looked bigger than the birds Milo knew from back home. A few took flight, shooting up into the air with a quickness that seemed extraordinary considered how long and lanky their bodies were. Their mouths sparked.

  “What is that?” Milo said, narrowing his eyes at the creatures.

  “We call them Firetongues,” Ascher said. “Take a good look, you’ll see why.”

  Milo and Emma squinted against the sunlight pouring into the amphitheater. It was not so easy to see the fire darting from their tongues, but after a few moments it was clear what was happening. The birds were spitting fire at the ground.

  “Why are they doing that?” Emma said.

  Ascher smiled at her. “See all the beetles and insects on the ground by your feet?”

  “Uh huh,” the twins said, studying the ground and its diverse collection of wildlife.

  “Well, humans aren’t the only creatures that like barbecue.”

  Ascher went back to the carriage. Milo heard a rustling noise and looked back to see him lift a small, golden telescope from a bag located somewhere inside. He put the telescope to one eye, closed the other, and began inspecting the seats.

  “Hmmph. He’s probably passed out again,” Ascher said.

  Milo looked at Emma. “Did you hear that? He said passed out. I wonder what’s going on.”

  “Maybe it’s one of his kids.” They were both speaking in whispers now.

  “Yeah, but why would he be passed out? That’s what happens when you drink too much alcohol. And you heard Ascher. This city is full of bandits.”

  A sharp ffft sound cut through the air, startling the twins. A moment later, one of the birds fell to the ground with an arrow sticking through its throat. The rest of the birds took flight with a great flapping of wings, flames sparking at the tips of their beaks.

  Milo stood before his sister to protect her.

  “It’s OK,” Ascher said. “He won’t hurt you.”

  The twins looked around to see who had shot the arrow. The bird had been flying near the center of the field, and if the bowman had taken his shot from the stands, which seemed to be the case since there was no one else in the arena, he would have been aiming at little more than a speck in the distance—and to have gotten it in the throat, no less…

  A cocky, boyish voice called out from the stands.

  “You brought fresh targets. I hope they can run faster than these birds can fly.”

  Milo looked to his right. There he was, a distant figure dressed in white with brown skin, standing tall and proud, like he owned the place.

  Ascher cupped his hands around his mouth. “Boy, get down here!”

  The boy laughed. He held a bow that was almost as tall as he was. With a series of quick movements, he slung the boy across his back, squatted, and sprang forward. Milo was stunned by the sight of it. The boy’s legs had catapulted him way up, sending him sailing through the air with his knees raised and his arms outstretched, like a skateboarder doing a massive jump.

  “Whoooooooo-hoo!”

  At the peak of his jump, the boy seemed to hang in the air for a moment, a small, dark silhouette against the sky, reminding Milo of his father saving Holly Gerald, and then he began to fall, somersaulting and twisting like a diver. The arc of his flight was more than impressive—it was not humanly possible.

  He landed in the center of the gathering of birds, which had collected as if in mourning around the dead one, his sandals heavily slapping the ground. The birds screeched in terror and burst upward once more, dropping feathers all over the grinning boy.

  He was closer now and easier to see. Brown skinned with a shaved head, his musculature gave him the appearance of a seasoned athlete, someone who spent most of his time running, jumping, and swimming.

  The twins watched with fascination as the Sargonaut boy unslung the bow and twirled it like a baton with one hand. When he walked toward them, it was with the confidence of someone who owned the land at his feet.

  “Think you can just stay out all night,” Ascher said in a gruff but quiet voice, like he was worried about being overheard. “Mind my words, Sevarin—if you don’t start following the rules, I’ll have you tied to a levathon and dragged across the mountain tops.”

  The boy—Sevarin—looked to be about fifteen or sixteen years old and was a full head taller than Milo. He wore a white tunic with dirt stains all over it and trousers that ended at the knees. The straps of his sandals crisscrossed up his calves, and his feet were black with dirt. He wore a thin, golden circlet around his forehead that gleamed in the sun. His outfit looked strange, even for this place. It almost looked like a uniform.

  “Who are they?” he said, nodding at the twins without looking at them. His accent was familiar. Milo found himself getting annoyed. He saw that Emma was also frowning.

  “I’ll explain later,” Ascher said. He pointed back over his shoulde
r at the carriage. “Now get in.”

  The boy ignored Ascher. Instead, he looked down at Milo and uttered a single word:

  “Sevarin.”

  Milo shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He made unsteady eye contact with the taller boy, who reminded him of certain bullies from school.

  “Milo,” he said meekly.

  Sevarin nodded once and looked at Emma. Interest lit upon his face. He smiled.

  “And who’s the chick? Girlfriend?”

  Emma blushed and avoided Sevarin’s gaze. An angry feeling lit up inside Milo as Sevarin looked Emma up and down with sinister eyes.

  “Her name is Emma,” Milo said, “and she’s my sister.”

  Sevarin smirked. “I see who got the looks in the family.”

  One of the levathons whinnied and stomped its hooves. Ascher gave a gruff sigh and went to the carriage.

  Sevarin pulled an arrow from his quiver and inspected it as one would a precious artifact. His face was smooth and unblemished, with high cheekbones and large, brown eyes. His lips were thick and looked prone to pouting.

  “So, Emma, is your brother always this uptight?”

  “My brother,” Emma said, lifting her chin, “shot a fireball from the palm of his hand and killed two Dark Acolytes and a Pestilent.”

  Sevarin nodded. “Yeah, I know. It’s been all over the papers. Next to the picture of me arm-wrestling Sargos.”

  “I’m serious,” Emma said, making fists.

  Sevarin slid the arrow back into the quiver. Milo was no longer listening to the conversation. He was staring down at his palms, remembering the soothing heat that had formed there, the explosion of light and fire that had soared out of him.

  “You’re lying,” Sevarin said.

  “Am not. And you know it, animal-killer.” Emma was casting fireballs of her own now.

  “What?” Sevarin said. “You’ve never eaten a hamburger? Buffalo wings? We had the best spicy wings back in Baltimore…”

  “I don’t care! Milo, tell him you cast that fireball.” Her voice faltered. “Tell him how you tried to save Dad.”

  Milo looked once more at his hands, then let them drop to his sides. He was feeling dizzy. His father’s words hummed in his skull.

  Maybe someday you’ll give hope to these troubled realms.

  “Hey, Pop,” Sevarin shouted, keeping his eyes on Milo. “One of your kids says he cast a fireball spell that killed two Dark Acolytes and a Pestilent.” He chuckled. “These human kids and their imaginations.”

  Ascher had been watering the levathons for the trip back. When he heard Sevarin’s words, he dropped the bowl and looked at the twins. “I wouldn’t make up stories like that, kids. You’re in enough danger as it is.”

  Emma stomped her foot. “But it’s true. I’m not making it up. Milo, say something!”

  Milo looked at their faces. The dizziness had faded. Ascher, Emma, and Sevarin were all looking at him as if he’d done something wrong.

  “What?” he said, turning his palms up as if to prove they held nothing, including magical forces. He was still not sure if the fireball had been his doing, or if his father, or some other person, had been protecting him. After all, what did he know about magic?

  “Is it true?” Ascher said, bumbling over to him.

  Milo turned his face away.

  “Milo,” Emma said in a harsh whisper. “Tell him.”

  “I don’t know,” Milo said. “I mean—maybe—I’m not really…”

  “That explains the smell,” Ascher said, his eyes widening as though he’d been struck by a fascinating idea. “The bodies were gone when I landed the carriage, but the smell was still in the air. I’ve smelled it before.”

  “Smelled what, Pop?” Sevarin said.

  Ascher crouched until his face was almost level with Milo’s. He was a big guy. He studied Milo with fascination.

  “Burning feathers.”

  Milo stared back in confusion. He too had smelled it, though at the time too many questions and fears had been zipping through his mind for him to be thinking about smells.

  “A fireball,” Ascher said, his eyes becoming distant for a moment as he scratched his beard. “How old are you, Milo?”

  “I’m thirteen—well, not anymore. Our birthday was more than a month ago. Emma and I are fourteen now.”

  “Well, happy birthday.” Ascher’s voice and his face were grim. He stood up straight and gave Sevarin a hard look. “Sev, I’m making you responsible for the safety of these children whenever I’m not around. Do you understand?”

  A dramatic sigh. “Pop, you can’t be serious. I have stuff to do. My friends…”

  “I’ve never been more serious in my life. All of you back in the carriage. It’s time to go.”

  Chapter 18

  The carriage cut across the sky, parting a small cloud and making it curl into itself.

  Milo gazed at fields of grass and sprawling forests that reminded him of all the natural, peaceful places he’d ever been in. The seacoast was on his right side, the sand sparkling white like crushed glass. He had never seen anything like it except in pictures of tropical islands.

  A village appeared in the distance, the buildings and churches clustered tightly together. As they flew over it, Milo saw strange symbols above the steeples; nothing from any religion he’d ever studied in school.

  West of the village, a sprawling forest extended all the way to the mountains, which ran in a jagged column as far north as he could see. The carriage headed that way, north along the range, away from the village and into a wilder region that looked untouched by human hands. The trip took several hours, and all they had to eat were nuts and shard-like bread crackers that Ascher gave them from small bags. It was the most enthralling ride Milo had ever experienced, despite the fact that his mom and dad were constantly on his mind.

  “Here we are,” Ascher said as he pulled up on the steering rod and the levathons tilted downward. “Home sweet home.”

  That was when Milo saw it; a sprawling ranch with a squat central building shaped like a plus sign. Around it were farm buildings, a forest, and a small pond. A line of smoke drifted up from one of the ranch’s three chimneys.

  They landed. The ride was a bumpy one. It felt good to be on solid ground again. Ascher brought the carriage to a stop in front of a huge red barn.

  “This is it,” he said. “Sevarin. Hey, Sev.”

  Sevarin had fallen asleep in the front seat, clutching the bow to his chest. Ascher brought him awake with a poke to the ribs.

  “Wha—!”

  “You went against my wishes and stayed out last night. For that, you get to clean this carriage until I can see my reflection in the metal. Then I want you to clean out the stables and feed the levies.”

  “But Pop!”

  Ascher ignored him and stepped out of the carriage. It rose slightly as the man’s great weight lifted off the axles. Milo and Emma followed. Once on solid ground, they had to massage their bellies to fend off nausea.

  “It’s the air,” Ascher said, inspecting the levathons. “It’s thinner here than it is in your world. Also, the two of you need to eat something besides crackers.”

  The twins nodded.

  “Home, sweetest of homes,” Sevarin sang as they walked toward the ranch. He plucked the string of his bow like a harp.

  Sunlight fell across the surrounding fields and trees, brightening them. The breeze made a quiet rustling sound, and the snick snick of someone chopping wood nearby rose like the soft ticking of the world turning one lazy degree at a time. Milo felt comfortable here, and yet he missed Dearborn, New Jersey. He missed the comfort of being in a place he understood.

  They climbed stairs onto an immense porch that wrapped around three sides of the building’s face. Sevarin walked ahead of the twins, and when they were all at the door, he turned to block their path. The calm look from before had flown off his face, leaving a harsh expression of warning. Ascher went through the screen door,
unaware that the children had stayed behind.

  “The only reason we’re letting you two stay here,” Sevarin said, “is because you’re both Godkin. But I just want you to know, if you bring any trouble to this house, I’ll be the first to throw you out. And trust me, I can throw things pretty far.”

  Emma raised her chin in defiance. “I’ll give you my trust when you earn it.”

  She pushed past Sevarin and went through the door. Sevarin watched her go, eyes wide with shock and the slightest bit of admiration. Then he looked at Milo.

  “Is she always like that?”

  “She’s strong-willed,” Milo said, and walked in after his sister.

  The inside of the house smelled faintly like overturned earth, like a garden someone had just seeded. There was also a sweet, piney smell that reminded Milo of Christmas trees.

  He inspected his surroundings. The living room was enormous. The walls shone in the rays of sunlight streaming through the arched windows, and the furniture was plush and inviting.

  There were plants everywhere that reached up to the glowing windows to drink in the light, and there stood, in each of the room’s four corners, a statue carved from radiant green stone—an Acolyte, a Sargonaut, a Feral, and a Savant.

  There was another room next to this one, a room filled with light and color. The twins could see it through a pair of sliding glass doors.

  “Wow,” Milo said.

  Emma followed his gaze. “What’s in there?”

  “Go ahead,” Ascher said, inclining his head toward it. “Take a look.”

  They opened a sliding door and stepped into a large, open courtyard with a red-tiled floor surrounded by exotic plants and trees. A light breeze swirled at their feet, trapped by the low brick walls. The flowers were so bright and numerous that it looked as if colorful paints had been splashed everywhere. Even more colorful were the birds darting from one tree to the next and filling the air with their lighthearted chirps.

  The smells and colors weren’t even the best part. In the shade beneath a leafy canopy of a tree growing beyond the wall, a levathon stood with its wings pulled in above its spine. There were buckets and hoses around it, and it was obvious someone had just given the creature a wash.