When she opened them, both of her eyeballs were completely black, like lumps of coal.
Emma drew back with a sharp gasp.
“Stand aside, Emma,” Lily said, her voice more resonant than before. She sounded as if she’d been possessed by a powerful spirit.
Emma backed up against the closet door and watched Lily step into the center of the room, where she lifted both arms and looked up.
“Gods of old and spirits of new, essence of all good and true—come forth and help me subdue, this golem of orange and blue!”
A ball of energy the size of a basketball appeared between her hands, painting shadows across her body. Its light washed over her skin, coloring it a fiery orange, then bright blue, and then back to orange. The colors switched, back and forth, faster and faster until Lily’s face and body were blinking orange and blue so fast that the colors seemed to merge.
Then she shouted—
“Golem, protect me!”
—and slammed the ball into the floor, where it shattered into thousands of particles of light, half of them orange, the other half blue. The particles shot outward, washed up against Emma, hot and cold against her skin, then swept inward with a high-pitched hum. They collected in the center of the room where, bit by bit, they stacked themselves into a man-shaped creature as large as an infant.
The light faded, leaving a small but muscular golem who looked as though he’d been put together using tightly packed orange and blue stones. The golem had big fists and huge feet—big and huge for his height; he was very small at the moment—and a thumb-shaped head with two depressions where eyes would have been on a man. The golem’s head appeared to split in half as it opened its mouth.
“Rar, rar, rar!”
It beat its chest, looking up at Lily. She bent down to pet the golem. By then, she had come out of her trance and her eyes had gone back to normal.
“Lily?” Emma said.
“Shhh…Come here. Meet Rocky. He’s my baby.”
The golem watched Emma approach. He didn’t have much of a face, but the stones making up his head gave him something resembling a human facial expression. Right now he looked annoyed—possibly angry at having been summoned.
“You can pet him,” Lily said. “The orange stones feel hot and the blue ones feel frozen. It’s a really interesting feeling.”
Emma took a deep breath and reached out to touch the golem. The creature watched with something like apprehension on its rock-face. Emma decided to use her index finger to pat the creature’s head.
THUMP.
“Ouch!” Emma drew back her hand. The golem had punched the knuckle of her thumb.
“Rar-ar-ar-ar!” The golem was now smacking its knee and tipping its head back and forth.
“Sorry,” Lily said. “He’s got a strange sense of humor.”
“Is he laughing?” Emma rubbed her hand and frowned.
They lay on the floor and played with the golem for the next five minutes. Lily encouraged Emma to keep petting Rocky (“He’ll warm up to you, I promise”) though the first few times she reached out to him, he continued to punch her hand. After a while, the punches became softer until Emma was able to stroke the creature’s head for as long as she liked.
“He’s kind of cute,” Emma said, gazing down at him.
The golem was now sitting on the floor with his stubby orange-and-blue legs stretched out before him. Each one was as thick as a human wrist, the feet like fists.
Below them, Coral announced that it was dinnertime.
“Let’s go,” Lily said. She bent over, smiling at the golem, and then made a swirling motion with her right hand.
Rocky let out a sigh of relaxation as a glowing, sparkling mist wrapped itself around his stubby body and pulled him apart stone by stone. It happened in three blinks of an eye, and then he was gone.
Chapter 23
Despite a pounding rainstorm outside the ranch, dinner that night was a magnificent feast.
The tables were full of orphans ranging from small children to lanky teenagers. Milo sat next to Emma, and together they waited for their table to be called, mouths watering the entire time.
“Emma and Milo,” Coral said, looking at them from the front of the room. “You’ve had a long trip, so your table can go first.”
They practically ran to the buffet table. The middle section had been loaded with roasted meats, exotic-looking vegetables grilled with a sweet-smelling spice, yellow potato-like balls that smelled like pancakes, wildly colorful salads with little bowls of sparkling dressings, and other delicacies that Milo didn’t recognize. A platter was uncovered, and he saw with delight that it was a pyramid of stacked hamburgers. There were also wedges of white, yellow, and orange cheese, and baskets full of warm rolls flecked with seeds.
Too hungry to smile or talk, the twins filled their plates and juice cups and went back to their table. The only sound besides the jovial chattering of children was the pattering of rain against the steeple-shaped windows high above them. Thunder gave its low, admonitory roar, but even that wasn’t enough to spoil the mood.
Milo went back up to the buffet table, as he had forgotten to grab a roll. He found himself next to a pretty girl with beaded bracelets and hair the color of tree bark. She gave him a quick smile.
“You’re Emma’s brother, Milo,” she said. “I’m Lily Breezewater. Emma’s roommate.”
The girl was a couple of years older than Milo; probably sixteen or seventeen. She was also a few inches taller, which for some reason made him feel unworthy to be in her presence. And she was beautiful! The more he looked at her shapely face and those pretty green eyes, the more difficult it became to hold his tray steady.
She watched him, waiting for a response. Milo dropped his gaze and examined the food on his tray.
“OK,” Lily said, “Guess I’ll talk to you later.”
His face warmed with embarrassment.
“Later,” he said.
He kept to himself at the table, talking only to Emma and a tall, skinny Asian boy sitting next to him who kept asking Milo to pass the salt and the pepper and the hot sauce, and then the milk jug. There seemed to be no limits to the boy’s stomach, and he went up to the buffet table at least four times. His name was Gun-woo Kim but he went by “Gunner.” He was a Humankin from North Korea, and he hung around another Humankin named Owen Aimsley who was small and scrappy with eyes as quick as coins. Owen had also been born in the human realm—Canada, specifically.
Owen was, according to Gunner, the bravest Humankin in all of Taradyn. He had supposedly killed a tickbear all by himself one day while hunting in the forest. Gunner explained that a tickbear was a giant furry beast resembling the bears Milo was used to from back home, except that tickbears, like turtles, wear protective shells on their backs.
“How did he manage to kill it?” Milo said.
Gunner was about to answer when Owen, who had not appeared to be listening, suddenly broke in.
“Well, you know how tickbears wear those protective shells and have a hard covering over their bellies, right? I was huntin’ one day, just me and Sarry—that’s what I call my bow, I’ll show it to you sometime—when up comes this beast out of the woods, waddling on four legs like a giant turtle but with a furry snout and these long, fur-covered arms and legs. So I’m standing there waiting to see what happens, with my bow slung across my back, and I knew at the time that if I made any sudden movements—I’ve read all the books about Tickbears, by the way—that I’d be takin’ a serious risk. Then again, I knew that if I didn’t hit the weak spot along the creature’s neck, I’d be takin’ another risk—of being the beast’s evening meal, right?”
“This is the best part,” Gunner said, shoveling food into his mouth as he spoke.
Owen got up and pushed his chair back with his legs, giving himself room to act out the scene. The dining room had become his stage. The other orphans were watching now, some of the younger ones not moving at all, their tiny mouths open, full o
f bread and meat.
“Obviously I couldn’t just stand there,” Owen said, “So I took a deep breath, to calm myself, and then I reached back like this and unslung my bow—like this!—and then all of a sudden the tickbear’s barreling toward me, so I do the only thing I can think of…”
“You dived,” said a small boy with a high voice.
“You killed ’em,” said a rosy-cheeked girl who could barely see over the table.
Gunner frowned at them. “Let him finish, will ya? Geez!”
“I got out of his way, obviously.” Owen pushed aside the chair, toppling it, and rolled to his right, almost kicking another orphan’s chair. He rolled across the floor three times, mimicked pulling an arrow out of a quiver, and then got back up again. “I readied my bow, and right as the Tickbear was runnin’ by me—because he missed me the first time—I pulled the arrow back. Time seemed to slow down ’cause I was so fired up, and just as the big hairy critter was about to turn back, I let go of the bow and sent the arrow straight into its neck, releasing a fountain of blood…”
“Ew,” the little girl squeaked.
“Mighty,” the small boy said, pumping a fist in the air.
“—and the Tickbear just fell over dead as a rock. It all happened pretty fast, actually.” Owen cleared his throat, picked up his chair and sat back down at the table.
The dining room exploded with applause and loud hooting. Some of the girls tore off bits of bread and tossed them at Owen, who had gotten up onto his chair to bow before his audience. He was almost as small as Milo and didn’t seem especially strong or quick—but he sure could talk.
Owen introduced himself to Milo with a handshake.
“Owen,” he said.
“Milo Banks.”
“I know who you are,” he said, then winked at Emma. She rolled her eyes.
The applause died down and everyone went back to eating and chatting with their friends. Now and then, thunder crashed against the windows.
“I think we’ll fit in just fine here,” Emma said, drinking from a glass of what appeared to be apple juice. It smelled like lemons, apples, and some kind of spice.
“I think so, too,” Milo said, grabbing a nearby jug and pouring a cup. It was called Nectarberry juice, and as soon as it entered his mouth it turned into a cold, sweet mixture of liquid and vapor that electrified his teeth and sizzled coolly on his tongue.
He was halfway through a second cup when a loud bang filled the room.
“What was that?” Emma said.
Everyone had turned to look at the door. Another bang, closer than the first. It was the sound of a large door being slammed shut against the storm.
Ascher stood up and watched the door. The dining room was silent, and the orphans sat perfectly still. Pellets of rain broke against the glass. The windows were squares of black that flashed a moment before each growl of thunder.
Ascher got up and crossed the room but hadn’t gone far when the double doors burst open, letting in the earthy smells of soil and rain.
A girl screamed. The orphans shifted in their chairs. A few rose, ready to flee, as two men in leather armor, each soaking wet, boots covered in mud, dragged a third man into the room. He was either dead or unconscious and left a wet streak on the floor behind him.
In his immense, bustling way, Ascher ran to the men. The room was so quiet aside from the rain that his booming voice seemed to fill every square inch of it.
“What happened?”
The men took ragged breaths. They carried bucklers and wore studded leather vests glazed with moisture. One of the men had his sword out, and the blade, like his face, gleamed wetly in the light.
“We’re not sure,” said the one with the sword. “We saw a man. It happened fast. We ran after him, following Renzo’s lead”—he indicated the unconscious man, whose eyes were wide open and blank—“and then we saw a burst of white light. I thought it was lightning at first, but it was too close to the ground. The light came from the man. He—he was a powerful magician. The light burned my eyes, and when I opened them again there he was, touching Renzo’s forehead. Then he disappeared—another burst of light—and Renzo just—he just fell over.”
“We have a team on patrol now, do we not?” Ascher said. “We have men outside, am I right? Answer me, man!”
“Poncros and his team are searching the grounds, and Ferragut’s on patrol with his men. All points of entrance are covered.”
“Good.” Ascher turned his attention to the unconscious man and studied his frozen expression. Many of the orphans had gotten up from their seats and were watching from across the room. Milo and Emma stood side by side and gawked.
Ascher reached down and felt the man’s neck for a pulse.
“He’s been stunned, but he’s not hurt.”
The two soldiers watched Ascher like children listening to a ghost story. They kept their hands on the hilts of their swords.
“How did it happen?” one man said. “Was it magic?”
“Of course it was magic,” the other one said. “What else would it be? Nectarwine?”
No one laughed. Ascher slapped the unconscious man’s cheeks.
“Wake, man. Come back.”
The man remained frozen. It was difficult to see with the others standing around him, but Milo managed to catch a glimpse of the unconscious man’s paralyzed face.
“What is that?” Emma said.
Her voice sounded strange. Milo looked at his sister and was shocked to see that her eyes had blanked out as if she too had been hypnotized.
“Emma?” Milo nudged his sister. “Hey. Em. What is it?”
“It’s a message.”
Emma walked forward, drifting across the room like a sleepwalker.
“Emma, wait.”
“Let her go.”
The voice was Sevarin’s. He had come up next to Milo and clamped his hand around Milo’s wrist. Sevarin’s grip was strong, unnaturally so. Milo winced as pain filled his arm.
“OK, OK,” he said, pulling away.
Sevarin looked down at Milo with eyes that spoke of a grave seriousness.
“She’s aware.”
“Aware of what?” Milo said, frowning.
Ascher and the two soldiers went silent as they watched Emma cross the room.
No one spoke, not even Ascher. The soldiers stepped aside to allow Emma, who appeared small and fragile among them, access to the stunned man. Ascher’s face drew tight with worry.
“Emma, sweetheart, what do you see?”
Emma crouched by the man’s side. “He wants to tell us something.”
“Who does?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. It’s inside the man’s head. Inside his—his mind.”
She examined the man’s face. One of the soldiers began to speak, but Ascher shushed him.
Emma touched the man’s forehead, then got up and took a few steps back. The man jerked. His shoulders and his head lifted off the ground, followed by the rest of him down to his waist, until he was sitting up, staring straight ahead, oblivious to the world around him.
Emma jogged back until she was at Milo’s side.
“What just happened?” he said.
Emma shrugged. “There’s something inside his head that wants to come out. I don’t know what, exactly. I just—feel it.”
The soldier, no longer frozen, looked around, distant, still not aware of his surroundings.
“Hear me,” he said in a monotonous voice. “The emperor’s mages cast their vision across the land. Only the beacon crystal of Sargos can hide you. Find it or perish.”
A moment later, the man’s body gave a single, violent jerk, and he blinked.
“What’s wrong?” he said, looking up at Ascher. “What happened?”
Ascher put his hand on the man’s forehead to soothe him.
“It’s OK. You were in a trance.”
Ascher gave the twins a look of utmost seriousness. “Do you remember where you put that crys
tal your father gave you?”
“Why did he call it by that name?” Emma asked before Milo had the chance. He’d been thinking the same thing.
“Apparently, the crystal your father gave you was the one he’d been using for thousands of years. They grow more powerful with age, especially when used by a demigod. Now, I need to know—”
“I remember,” Milo said, stepping forward. The room had gone silent. Everyone was staring at him. “I dropped it near where…” His eyes searched the floor as he remembered. “Near where he died.”
Ascher approached Milo with heavy, bearish steps.
“I’ll search for it tonight,” he said. “In the meantime, get some sleep. You’ve been through a lot.”
“No!” Milo said.
The orphans gasped. He had spoken forcefully, like this was the most important thing he would ever do.
“I’m going with you,” he said. “I know exactly where I left it.”
Chapter 24
In one of Castle Leon’s high, lonely towers, a woman looked down over the crowd gathered below. The afternoon sky was gray and wet-looking, like old plastic pulled out of a deep lake. The window was so narrow that only her head fit through it. The wind thrashed her hair about and made it difficult to see what was going on.
People filled the area beyond the castle’s main gate, so small from this distance that it was as if an army of ants had been locked outside the anthill. They were watching one man.
Alexandra shuddered when she heard his voice. She drew back into the cool darkness of the tower, vaguely noticing the clinking of the chains around her feet and wrists. She tucked her wings, which had been broken, snapped in a dozen different spots as if they were no more than twigs, behind her and used them as a sort of pillow against the wall. The drug being used to stifle her healing abilities made her drowsy.
Even inside her tiny stone cell, she could hear the emperor’s booming voice. She envisioned him speaking to the crowd, motioning above his enormous belly, his lips glistening like the insides of a fish. She pictured the emperor’s cousin, Kovax, moving his hands and chanting to keep in place the swirling ball of light serving as the emperor’s microphone. That magical sphere would carry the emperor’s voice to every corner of Lethargis. Not a single man, woman, or child would escape his words.
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