Savant (The Luminether Series)

by Richard Denoncourt

  A wriggling tube of red energy wormed its way out of the blood crystal. It glistened, resembling someone’s intestines—uncoiled, stretched, and lit from within by fire. It was bright enough to splash reddish light against the mountainside. With a horrible sizzling sound, it dove into the patch of dirt.

  It dropped from the crystal with a horrifying, animalistic squeal and wriggled through the packed soil like a parasite digging into a body.

  “You didn’t—bury him deep—did you?” Kovax said, panting. The dwarf magician was nothing more than an oddly shaped skull resting atop a pile of bones now.

  Iolus clapped. “Ladies and gentleman,” he said, looking around at nothing, “it seems we have company.”

  A tremor ran through the ledge, maybe through the entire mountain itself. Tiny rocks danced on the ground. Kovax and his soldiers stepped back.

  Dirt particles were swept away in all directions, leaving a blackened corpse that lay on its side like someone asleep in bed. One foot was bare. On the other was a torn, ruined boot. His pants and shirt had been reduced to burnt rags. His face resembled a mask someone had patched together using black strips of cloth. He’d been roasted alive.

  Basher’s gray face blanched. Coscoros frowned at the corpse and kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. Leticia’s stinger hovered in front of her waist, pointed forward like a knife ready to stab and slash. A small marble of green poison swelled at its tip.

  “What’s his name?” Kovax said.

  Iolus rubbed his hands together. “Farranos.”

  Kovax gathered his cloak about his frail body. He spoke in a low, grating rasp.

  “Farranos, wake up!”

  The corpse rolled to its left, got on its hands and knees, and then, with a sound like a deck of cards being shuffled, pushed itself up into a bent, standing position, arms dangling from its bloody shoulders.

  Farranos opened his eyes and looked at Kovax.

  “Mmmmwoooooorr,” he moaned, eyes so white against the blackened skin of his face. His jaw clicked into place and he moaned once more, sounding more human this time. “Mmmwhyyyy?” And then he screamed through his cracked lips. “WHYYYYYYY?”

  “Be still,” Kovax said, lifting a hand and pointing at the zombie. “You’ll do as I say, Risen One. I am the one who summoned you.”

  Basher and Coscoros took several steps back in fear. Iolus grinned at them, his eyebrows bent into a V.

  “Everyone calm down,” Kovax said. “It’s under my command.”

  “A Risen One,” Leticia said. “They can’t be killed by a blade or—or poison.”

  Basher sat against the mountainside and stared down at the ground, looking like he wanted to vomit. Coscoros sheathed his sword and stepped back into the shadows, almost tripping over the bones of the dwarf magician.

  “Ugh,” he said in disgust.

  Iolus studied the Risen One with a look of pride.

  “End it,” he said, and looked at Kovax.

  Kovax gave a single nod. “Turn around and face the forest,” he told Farranos, hugging himself as a result of the temperature, which had dropped suddenly—a side effect of low magic. It made everything around the spell cold.

  “This isn’t right,” Leticia said. “This is illegal.”

  “Not when I make the laws in this country,” Kovax said. “Now keep quiet.”

  Iolus chuckled. “Well said, Necromancer.”

  The sorcerer approached Leticia and examined her as if she were a cockroach backed up against a wall, a bug he was about to squash with his boot. He snickered as he slid his gaze up and down the length of her body.

  “You look familiar,” he said. “I remember that tail. Deadly, isn’t it?”

  “My name is Leticia. We used to be—we were in love, once.”

  He squinted at her. “Oh, right,” he said. “You.”

  She withered beneath his gaze, no longer able to meet his eyes. Instead, she watched the Risen One’s burnt legs as it began to move toward the edge. Dark red tendons were visible behind his knees where the skin had been burned clean off.

  Kovax issued the last command the Risen One would ever hear.

  “Jump, Farranos.”

  The Risen One’s feet slapped the ground, a light thump-thump-thump followed by silence as the man once called Farranos fell through the cold forest air. All was silent until they heard the shush-thump of his body crashing through leaves before smacking into the ground.

  “Is it gone yet?” Basher said. He had covered his eyes with both hands and was now peeking through his fingers.

  “It’s gone,” Leticia said. She released all the air in her lungs and looked ready to faint. Strands of hair had fallen across her face. She didn’t bother to brush them away.

  Iolus gave Kovax an approving nod. He had crossed his arms over his chest and was grinning like a madman.

  “You’ve had your fun,” Kovax said, glaring at the sorcerer. His voice had changed—it was lower now, raspier, as if flakes had fallen away from the inner lining of his throat and he was struggling to speak without choking on them. He turned to his men. “The rest of you should start thinking about the journey ahead. You are to accompany Iolus on his search for Milo and Emma Banks and you are to bring them back to me alive. If I receive anything less, I’ll kill you and summon you back from the dead to be my slaves for the rest of my long life. Understood?”

  Iolus, still grinning, was studying their faces.

  “I understand,” Leticia said.

  “Understood,” Coscoros and Basher said at the same time. Basher’s face had paled again.

  Iolus stepped into the center of the group. “I assume I’ll be paid handsomely for this. And that I’ll have complete control over the operation, as well as any resources I might require.”

  Kovax locked eyes with the sorcerer. “You know I killed Maximus.”

  Iolus spat on the ground. “And I’ll never forgive you for that. Maximus and Zandra were mine.”

  For the first time that night, Kovax allowed a broad smile to sweep across his face.

  “Well, sorcerer. Should you bring these two children to me unharmed, I’ll give you the revenge you’ve always wanted.”

  Iolus lifted his chin and peered suspiciously at the low mage.

  “How so?”

  “Zandra Banks is alive and well. I’m keeping her prisoner for the moment. Bring me Milo and Emma, and I’ll give you the woman you have so hated—and desired—for decades. You’ll be free to do with her as you wish. That’s a promise.”

  Kovax reached into his cloak and brought out a white feather. He held it between two bony fingers, twirling it as if to spread its perfume through the air.

  Iolus snatched the feather away and studied it. He pressed it to his nose and took a deep, shuddering breath.

  “You’re not lying,” he said. “You have her here, in Lethargis?”

  “I even broke her wings for you.”

  Iolus spun around and made eye contact with the others. Anticipation had puffed up his skeletal frame and thickened his raspy voice, making him appear to be ten years younger than before.

  The old Iolus was back.

  “We meet in the castle courtyard in two hours. Don’t be late.”

  He turned on his heels with a flourish and walked toward the shack, humming a joyful tune. On his way inside, he kicked the door shut with a single swipe of his leg.

  As soon as they were alone, Kovax faced his soldiers. His voice came out low and secretive.

  “Do not cross Iolus. He’s more powerful than any Savant you’ve ever seen, including me. He’s also a child in many ways, which makes him even more dangerous.”

  Coscoros and Leticia gave small, sullen nods to show they understood. Basher grunted and stroked the handle of his warhammer.

  “I’ll teleport myself out of here,” Kovax said. “The rest of you meet at the castle gates in two hours, not a minute late. And remember what I said about failure. Remember Farranos.”

  Chapter 41r />
  That night, Emma dreamed.

  She tossed and turned and kicked the covers off her bed, covered in cold sweat. The dreams were of the repetitive, feverish sort; small bombs of color and sound that went off inside her head, rattling her throughout the night.

  In one of them, a tall man stepped out of a wall of fire and walked straight toward her, grinning, his head tilted forward so she could barely see his eyes beneath his V-shaped brows. The flames curled in the air and let off black smoke that got in her nose and choked her. The man was coming closer. Emma coughed and her eyes burned, but she couldn’t shut them. She could see everything despite the way the heat made the world seem to ripple.

  His hair was red and scraggly, and moist somehow, as if the fire had gotten it wet. He was skinny; Emma wondered if he was sick. He walked with a limp. His hair fell across his forehead in shreds.

  He tipped back his head and peered down the length of his nose at her, and Emma knew at once that the man wanted to kill her. And then he started to laugh—but it was deep down inside in his chest, the body-shaking sort of laughter that makes your face swell and deepen in color.

  He stepped toward her, angular limbs moving out of sync, teeth visible between his crooked lips. He reached up and wiped his cheek and left a dark smudge. His eyes widened with hunger.

  “Emma Banks,” he said, lips flirting upward into a disgusting smile. “I’ve been looking for you, and now here you are. Would you like some Ranch dressing?”

  Then he burst into laughter. Behind him, an explosion rocked the world. Fire boiled up into the sky and black smoke was everywhere. It crept into Emma’s nose and throat and filled her lungs, and she was screaming and shaking her head, no no no, but she couldn’t look away from the man, couldn’t even blink.

  “Get it?” He screamed at her, clutching his gut. “Ranch dressing!”

  When Emma awoke there was imaginary smoke still in her lungs. Sweat covered every inch of her body, and her sheets were a twisted mess by her feet. Lily was snoring beneath her quilt in the other bed.

  Emma told herself it was just a dream, but those words weren’t enough to calm a sense of impending danger. She knew in her gut that the ranch was no longer safe, that she and Milo were about to be on the run again. She pulled the covers over her head as panic seized her.

  It was just a dream, she kept telling herself.

  Just a stupid, scary nightmare.

  PART IV

  WINTER

  Chapter 42

  The seasons in Astros are much like those on Earth, mainly because Astros and Earth—though independent of each other—are really the same planet. They were both made of the same materials, long ago, before the gods separated them into different planes of existence.

  And so the warm summer in which Milo and Emma first made their appearance in Astros eventually turned into a cold, snowy winter that left the countryside a pure, unbroken white.

  Six months had passed since the death of Maximus, and those were long months for Alexandra. She spent half of her time remembering the little things about her husband that she had always taken for granted—how he would sometimes break toilet handles and doorknobs by accident, and how he could lift her with one arm over his shoulder and lay her down on the bed like a bundle of silk, and how at times, with his body resting over hers, she could allow herself to feel as helpless as a child.

  She stayed up most nights and cried. She told herself a warrior would never cry, but then she would remind herself that she was an Acolyte, and a woman—that she had been strong all these years and was therefore allowed a few sobs into her pillow.

  The bedroom was decent. Kovax had upgraded her surroundings to keep her happy and healthy for Iolus when he got back. It had been magically sealed, however, and there were glowing, magical eyes in every corner of the room. They made a low humming sound that never let her forget they were watching. Whenever she needed to use the bathroom, two of the glowing eyes would detach themselves from the corners and float alongside her, aware of her every movement.

  Those were long, boring, and painful months in which the absence of her family was like a gaping hole in her chest. She ate and slept and kept healthy for one reason alone—because at some point the opportunity to escape would come.

  The months flew by for Milo and Emma, if only because they were unaware of the hundreds of soldiers combing the villages and cities of the Taradyn coast. Word had gotten back to the twins that Alexandra was safe and was being kept in comfortable quarters. It was enough to ease their minds for the time being, though they spent a lot of time worrying about her.

  They were fortunate enough to be ignorant of the progress their enemies were making, for in the past six months a name had been uncovered, one that would lead Iolus to his prize.

  That name was “Asceranon.”

  At the ranch, the previous six months had been full of nothing but homework, chores, and exams. Ascher informed the twins that they would have to work extra hard in order to catch up to the other orphans in their age group, who were at least a year ahead of them in schoolwork. It was hard, but the twins welcomed the challenge, especially now that it was winter and they could no longer play outside without freezing their bottoms off.

  Milo finally found the close friends he’d been yearning for in Owen, Gunner, Barrel, and Oscar. Most nights, he’d spend an hour or two in their various bedrooms, or in the attic, talking about Elki hunting and gossiping about the lives of the Champions. Owen and Gunner treated Milo with a detached sort of respect, since he was the son of two Champions himself. One of their favorite things to talk about was Milo’s parents, and that was just fine with him. They would ask all sorts of questions.

  “What was it like living with Maximus and Zandra?”

  “What did they like to eat?”

  “When did you find out your father had superhuman strength?”

  “Did they go out with other parents or keep to themselves?”

  Milo would sit back and answer their questions one by one, never growing bored or tired, even after answering the same question a dozen times.

  He became friendly with Oscar, though he and the Colombian boy didn’t have as much in common as he had hoped. Oscar spent little time with the other orphans, as his father did not allow him to attend classes. Not only were the classes in English, which would have intimidated him, but none of the teachers were Ferals and therefore couldn’t do much to speed along Oscar’s maturation. He had a tail, yes, but his eyes hadn’t changed color yet, and he still found it impossible to phase into even the simplest animals, regardless of the blood he drank from certain birds and critters.

  That was one unsettling thing Milo learned during his time at the ranch: A Feral could only phase into an animal form (called a “shell” by most Ferals) after drinking that animal’s blood while it was still alive. And even then it took hundreds of hours of practice to master a new form.

  Oscar’s father, Andres, had decided to earn his keep at the ranch by tending to a spread of beautiful gardens he’d planted over the summer. When the snows came, he switched over to wood gathering and levathon maintenance.

  Oscar was always by his father’s side, often playing with a soccer ball Coral had sewn for him. Sometimes Sevarin joined in. He and Oscar got along well due to a mutual love of sports.

  At exactly six o’clock in the morning, Coral rang the iron bell that hung behind the ranch’s main building. At least once a week, the bell’s booming DEN! DEN! DEN! caused Milo to jerk awake so violently that he would end up rolling right off his bed and slamming against the floorboards, still wrapped in one or more of his blankets.

  But not today. On this particular morning, Milo was sitting cross-legged on his bed, already awake at the sounding of the bell. He was staring out his window at the spread of snow stretching all the way to the mountains. It was the six-month anniversary of his father’s death. He wondered if he should say something. Would the other orphans care?

  He knew the beacon crys
tal would keep him and Emma safe—at least for now—but he couldn’t stop thinking about his mother. Even if Kovax and his cousin Corgos were keeping her in a comfortable place, she must have been going crazy without her family. And surely Kovax and his men were doing more than just sitting around waiting for the twins to come to them. He often tried not to think about it.

  Fortunately, Milo had found one very good way to occupy his mind over the past few months. He’d been spending more and more time in Barrel’s room, learning the secrets of levitation. And why not? He had decided enough was enough—he was ready to start learning magic, and if Ascher couldn’t teach him, he’d just have to find another way.

  He had approached Barrel about the subject a few weeks earlier.

  “Can you teach me a spell?” he had asked upon entering the boy’s room. Barrel had been dressed in his pajamas and looked frailer than ever.

  “It’s rather late, isn’t it, Milo?”

  “Can I come in, just for a second?”

  Barrel waved him in. “I suppose.”

  “I know you know more about magic than you let on. Like that levitation spell you cast in the attic. And I’m sure you’ve read hundreds of books about it. You’ve got to know something about the application of all that knowledge, even if you can’t do much spellcasting yourself.”

  Barrel frowned. “Who says I can’t do it myself? I just haven’t spent the necessary amount of time practicing it. I chose chemistry instead—it’s easier on my body, which, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, cannot withstand large amounts of physical exertion. It’s this luminether poisoning, a rare genetic condition.”

  “I know,” Milo said. “I’ve heard about it.”

  “Of course. The gossip at this ranch…”

  Milo looked down at the floor. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

  “I know, Milo. I rather like you, you know. You remind me of myself back when I first began to study magic. There were so many possibilities. I felt like a child in a candy store.”