Savant (The Luminether Series)

by Richard Denoncourt

  Milo nodded. “Ferals don’t tap into their reserves unless they’re in animal form.”

  “Exactly. Kovax has invented special collars to keep them from being able to phase. To fatten them up for the extraction process.”

  “But what about Savants who pull luminether from within? Like”—he was about to say like me but decided against it—“like sorcerers?”

  “You mean Savants like you?”

  “Well—yeah. We must use up our reserves as well, right? To cast spells?”

  Emmanuel looked at the sick Feral boy and sighed.

  “That’s where everything gets complicated. Sorcerers pull luminether from their environments automatically, as easily as if they were breathing. Unlike magicians or other races, you don’t store luminether so much as you cycle it.

  “Think of the way your lungs breathe air; that’s the way your body’s cells breathe luminether. It’s the real difference between what I do and what you do. We magicians manipulate luminether externally, and that makes us tired if we do it for too long. But sorcerers like you—well, if we’re talking about batteries for a tower, sorcerers are perfect. They are also the ones that will suffer the most from the blightsore. My guess is, Kovax will keep the sorcerer alive using necromancy to maximize output.”

  Milo spoke glumly. “So if the blightsore kills me, he’ll turn me into a zombie to keep drawing blood ether from my body.”

  “Yes,” Emmanuel said. “If you’ve ever wondered what Hell is like, that’s it right there. You and Emma are demigods. The two of you would last a very long time with the blightsore. You, Milo, are the perfect battery for a contraption like this, I’m sorry to say. A near-infinite source of blood ether.”

  Milo frowned upon hearing this. “There’s one thing that I don’t get.”

  His uncle looked at him.

  “If low mages draw blood ether from living things, then what about sorcerers? Do they use a form of low magic, too?”

  “You mean, can sorcerers channel blood ether?”

  “Yeah.” Milo shrugged.

  Emmanuel looked away. His mouth had formed a crooked line of disgust. “A sorcerer who channels blood ether becomes addicted to it. After a time, the sorcerer’s body will only draw blood ether and nothing else. It would make his spells a dozen times more powerful, but he would be a blood ether addict for the rest of his life. He would have to feed off others like a vampire to get it.” He gave Milo a dreadful look. “Don’t ever do it, Milo. The temptation will be strong—once you see how powerful a sorcerer can become using blood ether, you’ll always be curious. But it will corrupt you. It will turn you into a monster.”

  The hologram changed to a young man with light-brown hair and a narrow face, dressed in a suit of sleek metal armor. The hologram had caught him in the middle of throwing a fireball. His mouth was open in a vicious howl and his right arm was extended outward, the fireball about to roll away from his fingertips.

  “There are only a few thousand sorcerers in existence, and most of them will die before puberty due to an inability to control their power. You, Milo, could have died casting that fireball, but you didn’t even get burned.”

  “Why didn’t I?”

  “Because, thanks to your grandparents, you’re a demigod. Certain rules don’t apply.”

  Emmanuel’s voice took on a more serious tone. “With enough time and practice, you could be just as powerful as your grandfather Laramon—maybe more so. And his power was the stuff of legend. I know because he was my teacher at the Academy.”

  Milo threw his hands up in frustration.

  “But why? Can’t I just have my mother back? Can’t Emma and I just…”

  “Listen to me. You can’t go back to the way things were. Your mother is going to win this war or die trying, and she’ll do it out of love for you and your sister. Until it’s over, you and Emma won’t be safe for a moment. If Kovax succeeds in building his Tower of Light and kidnapping you and your sister, then the people of Astros will die painful deaths—like this boy right here.” The hologram changed back to the boy on the bed. “It took three weeks for him to die, and he went insane first. That’s the nasty thing about blightsores. They torture you, drive you mad, make you convulse and foam at the mouth and dream of demons and hellfire, and then they kill you.”

  Milo stared at the boy on the bed and felt a hideous revulsion at the thought of ending up like him. He pictured Emma covered in sores and dying on a hospital bed. The thought made him clench his hands into fists.

  “Why can’t we just destroy these towers—I don’t know, bomb them or something?”

  Emmanuel sighed. “I know what you’re thinking. I had that same idea. But Kovax has the construction sites well-protected using magical barriers. These towers have been constructed to absorb all magical attacks. And besides, once the blightsore goes viral, this war won’t be about fighting or bombing so much as keeping mankind and Godkin alive.”

  “How do you know it’ll go viral?”

  “It already has. The emperor’s scientists are keeping it contained. It’s just a matter of time, now.”

  “So Emma and I have to make a sacrifice. That’s why you brought me here. We have to stop this from happening, and we might die trying.”

  Emmanuel shook his head. “I would never force you to do such a thing. But your life has changed in ways that you haven’t even begun to understand. The moment will come, sooner than you think, when you and Emma will have to fight these men or die running away from them. There will never be peace for either of you or this world—unless we win.”

  Milo looked into his uncle’s eyes, those eyes that were the same shape and color as his father’s. What he saw in them was not hope or courage—it was sadness.

  “You lost someone, too,” Milo said. “This is personal, isn’t it?”

  The skin around Emmanuel’s eyes tightened, but his expression didn’t change.

  “You’re right. I helped your mother and father escape all those years ago, and in doing so, I left my family here on Taradyn, unguarded. I thought they were safe, but my eldest son believed in what Corgos and Kovax were preaching. He left to join their ranks, and when they found out that I was his father, they tortured him until he revealed where our family was hiding.

  “Kovax thought he could get to me, but instead he found my wife, and my son and daughter. They were twins, like you and Emma. The emperor’s men tortured my family to death for information they didn’t even have.”

  He put his glasses back on.

  “What were their names?” Milo said.

  “What?”

  “Their names.”

  Emmanuel frowned. “My wife was Lana, my son Tomas, and my daughter Amina. The oldest one was Max, named after your father. A Sargonaut.”

  “I’m sorry,” Milo said, feeling his face tighten as tears surged inside of him. He held them back and kept his gaze lowered.

  “Don’t be,” his uncle said. “I’m going to give you a choice, Milo. You can stay, or you can go back to the ranch, where I’ll make sure you and Emma are safe until Ascher moves you to a secure spot. If you choose to stay, I’ll teach you how to channel luminether and wield elemental magic. It’ll be a long and painful process, and I must warn you, there’s no guarantee you’ll be good enough when we’re finished.

  “Or”—Emmanuel pressed a button on the remote control. The hologram changed to a miniature version of Ascher’s ranch—“if you want to go back, all you have to do is close your eyes and I’ll make sure you have no memory of this place or this conversation. You’ll wake up in your bed and everything will go back to normal.”

  He continued. “Keep your eyes open until they water if your answer is yes, you’ll stay.”

  Milo opened his eyes wide. “I’ll stay,” he said.

  Emmanuel frowned. “Are you sure?”

  Milo nodded, keeping his eyes open. They were beginning to sting.

  “Don’t do it for me, and don’t do it for your mother. She woul
dn’t approve of me kidnapping you like this, anyhow.”

  “Then,” Milo said, “I’ll do it for Emma. Can I blink now?”

  A delighted smile spread across his uncle’s face.

  “Go ahead—and welcome to the Vault.”

  Chapter 53

  The pain was so terrible that Emma’s body arched and spasmed as she fell through the air. There were moments when she hoped the fall would kill her, just so the pain would stop.

  “Help,” she said, and the saliva in her mouth froze in the icy air. “Help me!”

  All she could see was the whiteness of a landscape covered in snow and the flat grayness of a winter sky. They kept changing places as her body rolled through the air.

  A dark shape materialized in the distance. She tried to find it as she turned and twisted. The shape grew larger by the second. It was shooting toward her, and fast.

  Emma screamed.

  And then she was in someone’s arms. Sevarin hugged her, tight but not too tight—she could tell he was trying not to crush her with his embrace. Emma pressed her face into his neck and held on, and it was at that moment that she felt something strange fluttering against her shoulder blades. It felt like a giant insect was clinging to her back, claws embedded in her skin.

  “I’ve got you, Emma, hold on!”

  Something warm slipped beneath them. Her bottom hit it with a hard thump.

  Vastanon.

  Things began to make sense. She and Sevarin were sitting astride the levathon now, Sevarin in front and facing her. Vastanon had swooped under them and caught them. But what was on Emma’s back? And why was it hurting her?

  The wind rushed at them as Vastanon flew toward the ground. She closed her eyes and pressed her face into Sevarin’s chest, weeping from the pain.

  A crunch as they landed in the snow. Emma was sure she would vomit. Vastanon landed at a running stride to absorb the impact. Gradually, they slowed.

  “Sevarin,” she said, tipping to the side.

  “Emma!” Sevarin pushed himself off Vastanon and caught her before she could fall. “You have something on—on…”

  He held her upright by her armpits. Emma swooned with dizziness. She looked back over her left shoulder and then her right. It looked like a giant seagull had attached itself to her back—a seagull with golden feathers.

  “Oh no”—her voice quivered—“Oh no, what is that?”

  Whatever it was, she could clench it and unclench it, like a hand—or two.

  “Sevarin,” she said, unclenching as hard as she could, squeezing her eyes shut and groaning as she struggled—to—just—get—it—off!

  A feathery fwump sounded as the thing on her back split apart.

  Sevarin stepped back, his mouth hanging open in utter shock. Emma looked down at the ground. Grayed-out sunlight shone behind her, casting her shadow across the snow in the blurred shape of a cross.

  “Golden wings,” Sevarin said.

  Tears rose in Emma’s eyes. Sevarin approached her and placed his hands carefully on her shoulders.

  “They’re beautiful.”

  The tears broke away and slid down Emma’s cheeks—tears of a joy she couldn’t describe.

  Then, as her wings fluttered, causing hot flashes of pain to ripple along her back, she lost consciousness and fell into Sevarin’s arms.

  Chapter 54

  Kovax stood before the wall of glass like a man admiring an exquisite painting. Behind the glass sat his prisoner, Maximus, son of Sargos.

  Or what was left of the poor fool.

  The tree was enormous and straight, held that way by chains that kept it from tilting or drooping. The branches had been propped up using rope to keep the tree looking proud. Kovax wanted the corpse to look dignified. It made his victory over the rebel leader seem more impressive. Maximus had been strong—but Kovax had been stronger.

  “Maximus,” he said in a low hiss.

  A scientist approached Kovax from behind, stopping a few feet away, obviously afraid of the old, bent necromancer, whose face was now covered in so many wrinkles that the skin resembled a hunk of white wood someone had slashed many times with a dagger. Kovax glanced at the man from the corner of one eye. He scowled, deepening the lines.

  “Sir,” the scientist said. He was a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair and a salt-and-pepper beard. The red circles around his eyes told Kovax the man hadn’t slept in days, exactly as Kovax had ordered. “You—you were right,” he said in a shaky voice. “It is possible. The tests all came out positive.”

  “Of course they did.” Kovax closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. “But it’s a one-time opportunity. If your team messes it up…”

  “We won’t, sir. Your theory is foolproof. We should be able to get enough blood ether out of that tree…”

  “It’s not a tree. This”—he indicated the remains of his greatest enemy with a sweep of his right arm—“this is the corpse of Maximus, son of Sargos. You should treat it with some respect.”

  The scientist cast his gaze downward. “S-sorry, sir. Shall I gather the others?”

  “Yes. Let’s begin.”

  Kovax had one of his Berserkers haul the tree out into the courtyard.

  The Berserker was short and stocky, with a long, braided beard that swung across his chest and bulging muscles beneath gray skin that bristled with curly hair. He was cross-eyed, as ugly as they come. Before letting go of the tree—while Kovax was looking away—the Berserker spit on its bark and sneered.

  “Maximus, coward,” he grunted before turning away to stand guard.

  It was late evening and the darkening sky was muddled with gray clouds. Rain fell in sharp sprinkles. From somewhere in the distance came peals of thunder.

  In the center of Castle Leon’s massive courtyard stood a stone tower that rose to the height of a three-story building. It was not a big tower—not nearly as big as the one being built in the Daryllax fields outside the city—but it was big enough to do the job for now.

  “Drag him inside,” Kovax said, shouting to be heard over the wind and rain.

  A crowd of soldiers had gathered to watch the process. The tree must have been heavier than it looked. The Berserker grunted as he dragged it by its chains.

  Kovax waited patiently as thunder roared in the heavens. He was admiring the tower; such a perfect, efficient structure, and the hidden machines turning and rumbling inside were even more impressive. The result of decades of his own research into blood ether extraction. The blood crystals alone were worth a fortune.

  Grunting and drooling, the Berserker pushed the tree into the tower’s belly, a complicated process as he had to bend and crack the roots to get all of it inside. Samara and Kofi, now inside portable tubes that had been loaded onto a wagon, appeared from one of the gates. Soldiers went about positioning the wagon over an X Kovax had seared onto the stone floor.

  “Goodbye, Maximus.” Kovax said as he crossed the courtyard.

  After climbing several sets of wooden stairs built into the side of the tower, he reached the top and could look out over the crowd. It now consisted of a hundred people or more. He felt like a god standing there in the rain with the tower’s machines rumbling beneath his feet.

  Chaotic red energy gathered beneath him as a thick, juicy current of blood ether was sucked out of the tree. Kovax dug a blood crystal out of his robe. It was the size of a baton and would hold over a hundred thousand blood lumins—enough for a hundred Tier IV spells.

  The twin tubes holding his wife and son were the last things he saw before the red light took over.

  The sound was of the planet’s core bursting apart. He knew only pain and light and a shrill keening noise that rocked his skull. This was it. His moment.

  He began the spell he’d been waiting years to cast. A complex chant involving many guttural growls. Time went by. He didn’t know how much. The chant ended and all the light in the heavens blinked out of existence, leaving him in misty darkness. He had never been more ti
red in his life.

  He collapsed, breathing heavily and coughing as the rain entered his throat. With a grunt, he stood up and stretched his arms and legs. In his right hand, the crystal glowed with a pulsing red light. Beads of cold moisture ran down his face as thunder crashed over the city.

  The crystal had been filled. The power of a god in his hand, tied to his own blood so only he could wield it. He walked to the edge of the platform and looked down at his wife and son in their suspension tubes.

  “Stand back,” he shouted.

  Soldiers pushed at the people in the crowd to form a circle. In the center of that circle were Samara and Kofi. He aimed the crystal at them and began the spell.

  “It is finished,” he said when it was over.

  Kovax could barely speak. His voice was raw from all the chanting.

  At the base of the tower, a soldier opened the massive doors.

  “Nothing left of the tree,” he said. “Not a trace.”

  A pair of scientists inspected the tubes holding Samara and Kofi. They set about turning nozzles built into the bases of each one. Luminotic fluid gushed out over the stone floor. Still in a daze, Kovax leaned over the edge of the tower and narrowed his eyes. He kept his gaze on his wife and son’s faces.

  As soon as her tube had been drained, Samara opened her eyes and reached up with one hand, placing it flat against the glass. A moment later, Kofi came awake, blinking and turning as if he’d just woken up out of a bad dream. He reached up and touched his mask.

  There were shouts from the crowd.

  “It’s a miracle,” someone shouted.

  They clapped and cheered and whistled. Kovax sprinted down the stairs.

  Awake.

  His wife and son were awake!

  Chapter 55