Savant (The Luminether Series)

by Richard Denoncourt

  He glanced over at the orphans and noticed something strange. They were looking at him—staring at him, actually—but not at his face.

  “Uh oh,” Milo said, following their gazes.

  Sevarin fell to his knees in the grip of a powerful spell of laughter. He was laughing so hard he was barely making a sound. Some of the orphans were snickering, though they didn’t seem nearly as amused as Sevarin.

  Emma was looking at Milo’s legs, completely stunned.

  An enormous wet spot had darkened Milo’s brown linen pants, which explained why he no longer needed to use the bathroom.

  Ascher came up behind him and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s OK,” he said. “It happens to everyone their first time.”

  Sevarin lay on his back on the grass, clutching his stomach and howling with laughter.

  “Ah ha ha ha ha! He pissed himself! I’ll never forget this! Never!”

  A feeling of giddy elation shivered up Milo’s chest and soon overwhelmed him. Thank the gods Lily wasn’t here to see this. He doubled over his knees, almost choking on his own laughter.

  “I peed myself!” he shouted, clutching his heaving belly. “Ha ha ha ha ha!”

  The other orphans joined in and soon everyone was cheering.

  Chapter 36

  THUNK!

  The stone left Milo’s hand and smacked into a tree a dozen feet away. He’d been throwing them for an hour now, trying as hard as he could to recreate the feeling of launching that fireball. He had been in Astros for three weeks and still hadn’t learned a single spell, not even a simple one, like making light glow from his palm. There was something missing—something he wasn’t getting from his books.

  He reached down to the pile of stones on the grass and picked one off the top. Closing one eye, he got into the proper stance and let go, imagining it was a sizzling fireball. It hit the tree with an even louder thunk than before. He threw the rest of the stones—thunk thunk thunk—one after the other, until he was out of breath and pink in the face.

  “Milo?”

  A girl’s voice, and not Emma’s. A tremor of embarrassment ran down his back. He didn’t like it when people snuck up on him. He turned, half-expecting to see a whole group of orphans frowning at him and wondering why he’d been trying to stone the poor tree to death.

  “Hi, Lily.”

  She stood watching him through an expression of worry. “Is everything OK?”

  “Yeah,” he said and shrugged. “I was just practicing.”

  “Oh. For a moment I thought you were letting out a little steam. If that’s the case, I can leave you alone.”

  “Not necessary. I’m fine.”

  Lily’s shoulders sank a little in relief. Just then, a cool breeze scented with moss blew through the forest and rustled the fine strands of her hair. Spots of sunlight ran across her body as she walked beneath the canopy of leaves toward him. Her eyes matched the green of the grass, and her lips were so red against it all, like fresh strawberries. Milo’s heart raced. He was so dizzy he thought he might fall.

  “What’s the matter?” she said.

  He could smell the pond in the distance, and hear birds twittering in the trees. His senses had been magnified—and it felt great.

  “Nothing’s the matter,” he said, giving her a drunken smile. “I’m glad you came by.”

  There was something strange in the air. The colors of the forest were brilliant, even those that lay in the shade. The countryside was drenched in sunlight so bright it hurt his eyes, and the ranch sat on its sloping hill like a fat king on an earthen throne.

  And Lily! She wore a woven, multicolored skirt and a sleeveless yellow top that showed off the many temporary tattoos she’d drawn all over her arms. The designs were intricate and exotic. Her skin was the color of caramel and appeared to have a golden tint in contrast to the bright yellow of her shirt. She wore a matching yellow headband that held back long sweeps of hair.

  “Milo, I have to be honest about something.”

  “Go ahead.” He felt as if he’d just drunk a gallon of Bara-cola.

  “I cast a truth spell on you.”

  “Roger that,” he said, smacking his lips. He wanted to eat something—ice cream, maybe, or a chocolate cookie with frosting all over it. “That explains why everything—feels so different.”

  “Different?” She crossed her arms. “How?”

  He held up his hands, fingers splayed all the way apart. He couldn’t believe how interesting they were—the tendons, bones and skin. They were like two incredible machines attached to his arms.

  “Everything,” he said. “It feels so good.”

  Lily brought her hand up to her mouth but couldn’t hide her laughter. A high-pitched giggle came out of her.

  “What’s so funny?” Milo said, rubbing his hands against his cheeks. They felt smooth and perfect. “Does this mean I can only tell the truth?”

  “Hopefully. Assuming the spell actually worked.”

  “And what if I don’t feel comfortable telling you the truth?”

  She snapped two fingers together. “I could make it stop.”

  “Just like that?” Milo gaped at her in wonder.

  “Just like that.”

  “I’m jealous.” He looked back at the tree he’d been pelting with rocks. “I wish I could cast spells.”

  “Milo,” she said, and the seriousness in her voice made him whip his head back to face her. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

  He wanted to smile. It was as if he’d been waiting years to finally spill the beans on everything he felt. And nothing could stop him.

  “I think you’re beautiful,” he said. “And you’re almost sixteen, which is kind of cool. And you’re so—so...”

  “OK, OK.” She held out a hand to slow him down. “But do you like me?”

  “Sure I like you. I like studying with you. I like how much you know about magic. And—and…”

  She took another step toward him. He could have reached out and touched her shoulder if he had been so inclined. But all he wanted to do was continue telling her how great she was. It seemed natural for a total dork like him to want to shower a girl as pretty as Lily with compliments.

  “Milo,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Do you want me to be your girlfriend?”

  He paused, but only for a second. “Well—yeah.”

  A rustling sound came from above. Milo looked up and saw something black and small jump from one tree limb to another. The creature leaped down, and as it fell, a violent burst made the branches tremble and forced Milo back a step.

  The creature had been a black cat, but he only saw the cat for a split second before it phased. Calista landed on her feet behind Lily with barely a sound, long strands of hair still dancing around her face from the wind released by her transformation.

  Milo wasn’t sure how she kept her clothes on during and after phasing—he remembered her mentioning a spell of some sort back in the bathhouse—but somehow she did it, and now here she was, dressed in white sandals, pink shorts and a white, sleeveless top, as if she’d been in human form all along. Her eyes were a dangerous shade of orange, and her tail swung behind her legs. Her pale, heart-shaped face, normally very pretty, was now a scowling mask of rage directed at Milo.

  “See?” Lily said, turning to face Calista. “I told you he liked me.”

  Calista looked ready to spit on Milo. “You just cost me five sorols, you nerd!”

  “Hey,” Lily said. “Just because he’s a Savant doesn’t mean he’s a nerd. Not all of us are.”

  “Well, he is.”

  “Come on, Calista. Be nice.”

  Calista crossed her arms and glared at Milo. She was as beautiful and exotic as Lily, but in a fiery, colorful way that made him think of a wild animal. Milo hated to admit it, but the girl frightened him.

  He stood there, stunned, unable to speak. The spell had worn off and he felt his stomach clench as he remembered what he had said to Lily.r />
  I think you’re beautiful!

  “Hey, you guys were playing a trick…” he began, but Calista interrupted him.

  “Huh!” She stuck her tongue out at him, then turned and broke into a sprint toward the ranch. The grass around her feet bent away in all directions as another violent burst of wind flew off her body. A blast sounded, and then Calista was flying through the air.

  She had turned into a hawk.

  “Show off,” Lily said. “Oh well, at least I won the bet.”

  “I can’t believe you did that,” Milo said, trying to keep his voice from rising into a whine.

  “Why? Wouldn’t you cast truth spells on people if you could? You would probably cast one on me if you knew how.”

  He crossed his arms. “And why would I do that?”

  “Because,” Lily said, “girls are mysterious. All boys wish they knew what went on in our heads.”

  He shrugged and looked away. “Whatever.”

  “I apologize,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back and drawing a line across the grass with her big toe. “I just wanted to see if the rumors were true.”

  “What rumors?”

  “Well, only what Emma told me, really. That you liked me.”

  “Yeah? And how does Emma know anything about who I like?”

  “So you don’t like girls?”

  “You’re arrogant,” Milo said, certain he would regret all of this later. But he didn’t care right now. He was just so—annoyed. “Just because I don’t like you doesn’t mean I don’t like girls.”

  “So you don’t like me?”

  He lifted his chin a little and narrowed his eyes. “Nope.”

  Lily reached down and picked up a clump of dirt and grass. She threw it at him, catching him in the chest.

  “Hey!”

  “Truth spells don’t lie,” she said, turning away.

  Milo could only watch in stunned silence as Lily took off running across the field. A bubble of shimmering air seemed to form around her, bending and warping the sun’s light. Then she was gone. She had cast an invisibility spell—or had it been teleportation? Why wasn’t he learning spells like that?

  Milo let out an exasperated grunt and searched the ground for more stones he could throw. His face warmed with embarrassment as his own words came back to haunt him.

  You’re so exotic looking! I like studying with you!

  “Gods,” he said. “I am such a dork.”

  Something thudded against the ground next to his right sandal. One of the stones he’d thrown earlier.

  He turned, half-expecting to see Lily grinning at him. Go ahead, he wanted to say. Keep playing your tricks. You think I’m the one who likes you, but really it’s the other way around. That’s why you won’t leave me alone.

  Yeah, that would get her good.

  Instead, a brown-skinned boy stared back him.

  He was standing by the tree Milo had been pelting with stones. Milo backed away, tripping on the stone the boy had thrown back at him. He fell hard against the earth.

  The boy looked alarmed. He said a word that sounded like “Kwee-dow!” and approached, either to help Milo or to kick him while he was down.

  “Get away!”

  The boy stopped and pulled back. He was a bit taller than Milo, and scrappier, like someone who did a lot of running around, an athlete maybe, and he had straight black hair that swept across his forehead and down around his ears. He wore a yellow, dirt-covered soccer jersey with the words REAL CARTAGENA printed above a soccer ball and three triangular, multicolored flags.

  Milo didn’t recognize the design, but he had heard of Cartagena before. There was a Cartagena somewhere in South America and another one in Spain. The boy was clearly Hispanic—that much Milo gathered from the light brown color of his skin, the thick eyelashes, and the deep brown—almost black—of his hair.

  And the kid had a tail.

  “A Feral,” Milo said in a whisper, staring at the brown, short-haired tail swinging behind the boy’s tattered shorts. His entire body and all of his clothes down to his sneakers were covered in dirt and twigs. There were fresh scrapes on both of his knees.

  “Hello,” the boy said. “I sorry I scare you.”

  Milo picked himself off the ground and slapped the dirt off his hands, his breathing becoming more steady as he relaxed. He felt ridiculous at having overreacted. From a standing position, he could see that the boy was only an inch or two taller. He was probably a year or two older as well.

  The boy watched Milo rise. He backed away a step.

  “It’s OK,” Milo said. “I was just surprised. I think you’re more scared than I am.”

  The boy only stared.

  “What’s your name?” Milo said.

  “O-Oscar,” he said, appearing to relax. “Oscar Andres Cabrero Reza.”

  “Oscar, my name’s Milo. Where are you from?”

  The boy pointed at the words on his shirt.

  “Colombia,” he said. “From Cartagena city. Where are you from, May—Maylo?”

  “Mi-lo. I’m from New Jersey. A town called Dearborn.”

  The boy smiled. “Ah,” he said. “Gringo.”

  Milo relaxed even more. All the tension from before had left his body, and he began to entertain the idea that he and this boy might become friends. There was something about his frightened eagerness that put Milo at ease. Of course, he would have to tell Ascher about this meeting first.

  “Oscar, you should come inside the ranch. You look like you could use a bath and some clean clothes.”

  The boy looked past Milo at the ranch beyond the trees. “I can’t,” he said. “My father. He no trust in you people. He say that you are people who hate our people.” He reached down and gripped his tail and lifted it to show Milo what he meant. “Salvajes,” he said.

  Milo shook his head. “No, not savages. Ferals. But it’s OK. We have a Feral at the ranch. Her name’s Calista. We don’t discriminate like that, trust me.”

  The boy seemed suspicious of the eagerness in Milo’s voice. He was about to speak when another voice—this one deep and feminine—boomed across the field. It was Coral, shouting from an open window as usual.

  “Kids, start getting ready for dinner!”

  Oscar drew back in fear. “I no should be talking with you.”

  “Wait,” Milo said, holding up his right hand to calm the boy. By then, Oscar had already turned away. He leaped up and grabbed a tree branch, and Milo watched in fascination as he easily pulled himself up. He vanished into the treetops with a rustling noise, dropping a cascade of severed leaves. Milo could see flashes of his yellow shirt as he skipped from one branch to the next and eventually disappeared.

  Chapter 37

  The day was cool and windy as Emma made her way down the hill toward the barns.

  She found herself taking light, springy steps. Lately she’d been dreaming about levathons gliding across the sky, and she, Emma, using her own beautiful white wings to keep up. In her dreams, the levathons were jealous of her wingspan, which was the same as her mother’s.

  Gods, she wanted so badly to fly.

  The barn doors opened with a creak, and the warm, earthy smells of hay and beast filled her nose and lungs.

  Someone was inside. Her heart did a double pound. She almost turned and ran, and then she saw that it was only Sevarin, sitting against the back wall, his head hanging in despair.

  Sevarin didn’t notice her at first. He sat with his legs bent, forearms hanging over his knees. One hand gripped a blue milk jug that she suspected was not full of milk at all. She took a step toward him, then another, then a few more until she was standing before him. The smell coming from the bottle was strong and sweet.

  “Sev?”

  He peered up at her, and then he moved to get up.

  “Wait,” she said. “Don’t go.”

  He grumbled something, took a swig from the jug and belched. She crinkled her nose at him.

  “Go away, E
mma.”

  “You can talk to me, you know. I don’t hate you.”

  “What makes you think I care? You can hate me all you want, oh winged goddess with no wings.”

  She sat on the dirt floor across from him. The country smells of hay and levathon droppings, and the nectarwine on his breath, were almost overpowering. She coughed a few times and cleared her throat before speaking.

  “Is this about what happened to you in Baltimore? When you were a kid?”

  “Eh, what do you know?” He frowned at her and then looked away. “No one understands me here. No one cares.”

  “Cares about what?”

  “About anything besides their stupid books and magic spells. Life isn’t only about luminether and wings.”

  “There’s magic inside you, too, though,” Emma said, wincing because the words sounded so corny. “I mean, isn’t that what gives you your strength? The luminether in your muscles and bones?”

  When he looked at her again, Emma saw a wall before his eyes. This was going nowhere. And why did she care so much, anyway? Let him cry like a big baby.

  He guzzled down the remaining nectarwine and threw the jug aside. It crashed into a wooden pillar and broke into pieces. Emma flinched. She tried to control her breathing so Sevarin wouldn’t see how nervous she had become. After all, he was drunk and stronger than thirty men combined. What if he tried something on her?

  “You should go easy on that stuff,” she said.

  “What for? Do you know how much it takes to get a Sargonaut drunk? I’d have to drink a tubful of this crap to feel anything.” He stood up and staggered, arms waving as he tried to regain his balance.

  “Doesn’t take much, apparently,” Emma said.

  “Ha ha.” Sevarin made for the barn doors. “Go do your homework, kid.”

  Emma sprang to her feet and followed him with hasty steps.

  “Grow up, Sevarin.”

  He spun around and glared at her. “No, you grow up. I’m sorry about your father and your mother getting kidnapped and all, but I wasn’t the one who made it happen.”