Savant (The Luminether Series)

by Richard Denoncourt

  The Berserker entered their section of forest, a silhouette against the glowing trees, a shape like a walking tank that pushed aside so much snow it left trenches. His warhammer was a black cross against the glowing background.

  “There you are, kiddies.”

  His beard was filthy, and there were streaks of blood on his face that looked black in this light. His lips opened in a grin of pure, greedy delight. He was looking at Sevarin.

  “Ready,” Milo said. The spiked ball of energy became brighter in his hand.

  He tossed it, and Emma shielded her eyes as the ball slammed into Rocky. But instead of knocking the golem back, it broke apart over his body, showering him with purple light that splashed against his rock skin and seeped into the cracks.

  The Berserker watched the display with a look of dumbfounded curiosity. With a growl, he snapped out of his reverie, lifted his warhammer, and pulled it back to strike.

  By then, Rocky had grown to the size of a Berserker with powerful broad shoulders and a chest like a wooden barrel. He shone with blue and orange light—blue wherever the stones of his tightly packed body were frozen, and orange wherever they were blazing hot. Steam poured upward from his body like curtains being raised.

  The warhammer connected with the golem’s fist.

  BAM! A flash of light. The golem, head bowed, arm extended like a boxer’s, slid back a bit from the impact but was unharmed.

  Basher pulled the hammer back and held it against his chest, a stunned look on his face.

  “I’ll be damned,” he said.

  “RAAAWWWRR!” came the golem’s ear-shattering reply.

  The orphans pulled back from the fight, which had become a boxing match of sorts. Sevarin stood a bit closer, shadowboxing along with the golem’s movements, ignoring Coral’s calls for him to stand back.

  BASH! The Berserker’s fist connected with Rocky’s face, turning his stony head.

  THUMP! Rocky retaliated with a punch to the Berserker’s stomach that left him reeling. There was another, sharper THUMP as the golem executed a heavy-handed uppercut that sent Basher flipping backward into the snow.

  Basher rolled to his right, grabbed the handle of his warhammer, and folded himself into a crouch. He kept his eyes trained on the golem. Rocky stayed back, fists pumping the air, knees bent in a defensive stance.

  Basher flipped a handful of snow into Rocky’s face. The snow had little effect on the golem except to delay him for half of a second. But that half second was all Basher needed to swing the warhammer and catch Rocky square on the side of the head. The golem’s thick arms went limp. He toppled into the snow with a crunch.

  “No!” Lily screamed, and Calista had to hold her back.

  Emma looked over at her friends and caught sight of Barrel pulling something shiny out of his robe.

  “What are you doing?” Emma said.

  He was shivering uncontrollably. “S-Sargonauts and Buh-Buh-Berserkers have a w-w-weakness toward Nausika root extract. It b-b-blinds them.” He held up the flask and showed her the tumbling green liquid inside. His hand shook like he was trying to mix it. “Nausika r-r-root is the main inguh-guh-gredient in Manaris Brew.”

  “Can you throw it?”

  “No.” He held it out to her.

  Emma grabbed the flask and shouted, “Oscar!”

  Oscar swung around to face her. Emma tossed him the bottle. He caught it easily without blinking, despite not having been warned.

  “Throw it at the giant,” she said. “In his eyes!”

  Oscar’s tail swished behind him once, and then he was gone. He sprang to the front line, alongside Sevarin, and tossed the bottle.

  Many things happened in the half-second it took for the potion to fly through the air and smash into the Berserker’s engorged black eyes:

  The warhammer, which had been raised above his head, fell through the air, one second away from smashing Rocky’s skull to bits.

  Oscar danced back into his original spot. Emma and Calista were pushed down into the snow by Sevarin, who fell over them to shield them from danger. His shout was a low moan that sounded like, “Get baaack…”

  Lily had fallen to her knees, one arm stretched toward Rocky. Milo rushed to her side, grabbed her, and yanked her back. They sank into the snow, his body over hers.

  Everyone was safely out of harm’s way.

  Except Barrel.

  Broken shards of glass glittered in the light as the bottle burst apart with a green splash. The warhammer slipped from the Berserker’s grasp and flew, head over tail, toward the orphans.

  Barrel put up his arms, and Emma caught sight of the boy’s fragile, shaking wrists as the sleeves of his cloak slipped down to his elbows.

  She wanted to scream, “No!” and “Get down!” She wanted to leap forward and pull Barrel down into the snow, even if it meant risking her own life, so the warhammer would fly over him and land somewhere else—anywhere else.

  But it was too late.

  The hammer smacked into Barrel, flattening him against the snow. He didn’t have a chance to cry out.

  Sevarin reached out and caught the weapon with one hand before it could roll into the group of orphans. Disgusted, he flung it away as easily as if it were a toothpick.

  Emma heard a voice shrieking and realized it was her own.

  “Barrel, oh God, Barrel!”

  The Berserker pawed at his face.

  “ARRRRGGGGGH!” he roared, bending over and scooping up handfuls of snow with which to rinse his eyes.

  Rocky pushed himself off the ground, pulled back his left arm, and swung in a glorious uppercut that took the Berserker on the chin and sent him flying several feet up into the air. His head smacked into a branch and snapped it clean off. He fell back to the snow with a dull crunch and didn’t get up.

  Emma rushed to Barrel’s side.

  “Barrel! Are you OK?”

  Lily and Calista followed her. The three girls kneeled over Barrel’s limp body. He was so small inside his cloak that it took them a few seconds to uncover him.

  When they saw his face, and the damage that had been done to it, they pulled back in horror.

  “Bastard!” Emma shouted, tears gushing from her eyes. It was the first time she had ever used that word in anger. “Look what you did,” she sobbed. “Look what you did to him!”

  The Caemyri trees darkened the slightest bit, as if in mourning. Emma’s anger fizzled out as a strange gripping sensation took hold of her mind.

  A moment later, her hands exploded with light—

  She was in a dark cavern made of stone where a lake filled with ink-black water made gurgling sounds by her feet. The only light came from a tiny hole somewhere overhead, a hole that let in a blurry shaft of light. She was in a cave deep underground.

  Something scuttled by her feet like a white crab. She looked down and saw a frail hand, so pale it could only belong to a corpse. Then a face emerged from the water—the face of a skeleton.

  “Please,” the face said, and only then did she realize it was Barrel. There were blue circles around his eyes and his teeth chattered in the cold. His bald head was so white it looked like an egg. He was crying. “Please,” he said again, gripping the stony edge. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.”

  Emma fell to a crouch. She wasn’t afraid. She knew that if he let go, she would jump into that dead lake and grab hold of him, and let him float on the backs of her wings, even if it meant she would drown.

  She stretched an arm toward him. Barrel shivered like a soaked puppy.

  “Come on,” she said. “Take my hand.”

  “All—all right.”

  He took her hand and she pulled. He was stuck, but Emma wasn’t going to let that stop her. She had come here for one reason alone, to take back what shouldn’t have been sent here in the first place.

  Death owed her a favor.

  “Hold on.” Her voice came out a soothing whisper. Then, sensing a dark presence drifting above them like a
nightmare vulture demon, she closed her eyes and spoke in a ragged shout. “RELEASE HIM!”

  Barrel slid out of the water and fell against her. She put her arms around him and flapped her wings, pulling them both up toward the light…

  Watching that light engulf his sister’s hands, Milo felt as though a godly presence had swept into the forest.

  “RELEASE HIM!” Emma shouted up at the tree boughs.

  The Caemyri trees dimmed as Emma’s body began to shimmer and glow. Her wings turned a bright gold, like yellow Christmas lights behind a silky curtain.

  Milo felt tears run down his face before he realized he was crying, and then he heard sniffling sounds from the other orphans. They were all crying.

  Except Emmanuel. He had taken off his glasses and was squinting at the display of light and beauty before him. One corner of his lips turned up in a satisfied smile, as if he had expected a miracle to take place tonight.

  As Emma crouched over Barrel’s body, she lifted her wings high above her shoulders, and it was as if the sun had risen inside the forest. Their golden radiance caught in her hair, making each strand seem to shimmer. She tipped her head back. Her hair swept across her shoulders and Milo caught a glimpse of the tip of her nose, the soft swell of her cheeks, as she shouted up at the brilliant canopy of leaves.

  “Baraltimus!” she said in a voice that filled the forest. “Come back to me!”

  Barrel floated up into the air, his body enveloped in luminether mist. He turned like an animal roasting on a spit, and as the light around him intensified, Milo saw that his sister’s wings were growing dimmer. She was drawing energy from her own cells, and she was using it to—no, it couldn’t be…

  He suddenly understood.

  “A resurrection spell.”

  His uncle was standing by his side. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but—but how?”

  “She’s a demigoddess. All she had to do was ask.”

  Milo wanted to bury his face in his hands and weep, for now he understood what true beauty was.

  “You have to protect her,” Emmanuel said. “She’s a gift from the gods.”

  “I will,” Milo said, feeling every ounce of blood in his body warm as he uttered the truest words he’d ever spoken. “With my life if I have to.”

  Baraltimus hovered upright above the snow, his skin suffused with light. Emma stepped back. The Caemyri trees pulsed as Barrel’s cloak slipped off his body, revealing the clothes he wore underneath: a long-sleeved sweater and snow pants tucked into a pair of black rubber boots. The sweater expanded as his chest and arms began to take on mass. At first, Milo thought his friend’s body was swelling from the impact of the hammer, but then he realized that Barrel was actually putting on weight.

  Color flowed into his pale skin, giving it a healthy pink sheen. Silky blond hair sprouted from his scalp and fell rustling around his ears. With his new set of eyebrows, he looked much younger, like a boy in his early teens.

  He drifted down until he was standing in the snow, then inspected his hands, made them into fists, turned them this way and that. They were springy and pink, not bony and white as before. The realization left him stunned. He looked over the faces of his fellow orphans with unblinking blue eyes and a mouth that hung open in dumbfounded wonder.

  “I’m here,” he said.

  With pounding footsteps Rocky came up behind Barrel, his face a mixture of glowing orange and blue stones, his heavy brow lowered over invisible eyes. “Rarrer?” he said in a deep, gravelly voice, apparently trying to pronounce the boy’s name.

  Emma went to hug Barrel. As they embraced, he brushed his hands against her golden feathers.

  “Incredible,” he said, letting his face sink into the warmth of her hair.

  “You look so handsome,” Emma said.

  The orphans marched forward, led by Milo and Sevarin. Many of them were still wiping tears from their eyes.

  “Welcome back,” Sevarin said, hugging Barrel with care, though the boy was no longer as frail as before.

  Milo hugged him, saying, “It’s not over yet, buddy.”

  “Quite pleased to hear it,” Barrel said.

  Coral took Emma’s hands into her own and clasped them tightly together.

  “Thank you,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “Thank you so much.”

  Sevarin and Milo backed away from the group and began their own private conversation.

  “What about him?” Sevarin said, pointing back over his shoulder at the Berserker.

  “I don’t know,” Milo said. “It wouldn’t be right, killing him in cold blood while he’s unconscious.”

  “Ah, you’re too soft.”

  They were joined by Emmanuel. Sevarin looked the man up and down, clearly suspicious.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Emmanuel Banks. Milo’s uncle.”

  “No way! Emmanuel, son of Sargos! Holy crap! You’re a Champion!”

  Emmanuel held out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Sevarin, son of Ife Bapoto and Sarah Lincoln.”

  Sevarin was stunned. He shook Emmanuel’s hand. “You knew my parents?”

  Emmanuel winced a little in Sevarin’s powerful grip. “I’ll tell you about them someday, as long as you don’t break my hand.”

  Sevarin pulled back, grinning like a starstruck child. Their eyes turned toward Basher, who was still unconscious.

  “You know what to do,” Emmanuel said.

  “Take out the trash?” Milo said, lifting his eyebrows “Actually, I think Sevarin should do it. You want to?”

  Sevarin smiled at him. “Hell yeah, I do.”

  Emmanuel adjusted his glasses and nodded. Sevarin rubbed his hands together and jogged over to the unconscious Berserker.

  “What’s he doing?” Emma said, coming up to them with Barrel at her side.

  Barrel chuckled. “He’s just being Sevarin.”

  The orphans watched as Sevarin took hold of Basher’s arm. He dragged the Berserker’s body along the snow-covered ground, leaving a wide mark, and began to spin in a circle, lifting Basher off the ground and swinging him as if he were no more than a sack of laundry. The Berserker’s body crashed into a Caemyri tree, knocking it over with a SMACK loud enough to stun everyone present.

  He kept going. Snow rose in the air as he spun and spun, now a whirlwind of movement, a torrent of strength and speed. Basher went around and around, a gray blur attached to Sevarin’s arm.

  Finally Sevarin let go, and the Berserker shot up past the trees, a gray streak that soon disappeared. Bits of branches rained down on them, along with puffs of powdery whiteness. The orphans watched in stunned silence as Sevarin rose to full height, covered in a light dusting of snow.

  He was grinning and slapping his hands together.

  “And that’s how it’s done.”

  Milo snickered. Emma joined him, followed by Owen, Gunner, Oscar, and Barrel. Soon all of the orphans were laughing, more from relief than amusement.

  “We’re alive,” Coral said. “Thank the gods.”

  “No,” Emmanuel said. “Thank them.” His right hand cut a swath through the air to indicate all of the orphans.

  Sevarin went straight to Milo and offered his hand. Milo took it, and they shook warmly.

  “You saved our lives,” Sevarin said.

  Milo shrugged. “Someday you’ll save mine, I’m sure of it.”

  They grinned at each other, then walked off to join Barrel and Emma and the rest of the orphans, who had gathered around the hulking rock golem to touch the orange and blue stones composing his arms. The golem laughed—a rocky, tumbling sound—as the orphans poked and prodded him.

  Milo stopped Sevarin halfway.

  “I’m sorry about Ascher,” he said. “He’s not going to make it. That woman’s poison…”

  Sevarin looked away, his face tightening with emotion. “He was a soldier. Did what he had to do.” He locked eyes with Milo. “Sorry about your mother. She was one of my he
roes.”

  “Thanks,” Milo said. He looked at the group of orphans and smiled a little as a pleasant thought entered his mind. “She’s still with me, just in a different form.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Milo looked at Emma and gave a slight nod.

  “I see what you mean,” Sevarin said.

  PART V

  A NEW BEGINNING

  Chapter 74

  Night fell over the city of Lethargis.

  The residential sectors had turned off their electric lamps in compliance with an energy-saving mandate. The only lights visible now were torches held by those attempting to see up and down the streets as they walked, and the occasional bonfire on a street corner.

  Not all of the lights were off, however.

  Castle Leon glowed like a galaxy of stars. Kovax had ordered his men to set up lights all over the outer walls. They burned with blinding intensity, calling the entire city’s attention. The emperor’s banners had been unrolled against the outer stone walls, shining bright purple in the glare, making the symbol of the white tower with the flame at its peak especially visible.

  “King Corgos is dead!” Kovax shouted over the city, using a spell to amplify his voice. The people knew something was wrong when the castle lights came on. An alarm had sounded but had since quieted. “King Corgos is dead at the hands of a Feral assassin owing his allegiance to the scientist-magicians of the west. Tonight will be the darkest of nights!”

  People down in the darkened streets glanced at each other, their gaunt faces twisting with anger. The word “Feral” dripped from their mouths like an uttered curse.

  “These beastbloods have plagued us for long enough. I, Kovax Leonaryx, first cousin to the recently murdered king, have assumed the role of Protector of Taradyn. Under my guidance, we will rid ourselves of these vicious, mindless beasts once and for all, and unite the cities of Taradyn into the strongest nation Astros has ever seen!”

  At that moment, a bolt of lightning shattered the silence and made the brightest of natural lights explode over the sky. People fell into crouches and covered their ears.

  It was as if a god had spoken.

  They ran into their houses and came out dragging Feral servants and slaves.