Rioting dominated the night as Feralkin were slaughtered in the streets.
A boy with a tail was cut down where he stood, and his blood pooled amid the cobblestones. He hissed and screamed and was slashed again and again until he was silent.
An old woman with orange eyes—her tail had been cut off in her youth by an overbearing father—was sent running up a dark street, screaming and clutching a small child, by two men with metal pipes. They howled at her. When they overtook her, they beat her with the pipes until she was unresponsive. They beat the child as well, just in case it too was a beastblood.
In a small square surrounded by trees and cobblestone streets, a group of Feralkin had been huddled together. They stood in the center, looking around in bewilderment. Only minutes earlier they had been asleep in their beds. Now, men with torches and lengths of rope, wearing tattered clothes and feeling the anger that comes from eating only one meal a day (on good days) surrounded the hill, baring black, decaying teeth. The Feralkin fingered their collars, unable to phase into the animal forms that might have saved them. They cried out for mercy that never came.
They screamed as the men hung them from the trees.
Chapter 75
Coscoros could feel their screams, even without his wings.
He rose to a standing position inside the castle’s white-walled hospital. The smudges of ash had been cleaned off his body, leaving him bare chested, his skin as pale as marble. His face was a mask of pain and hatred.
His wings, hanging in useless shreds behind his shoulders, twitched as nurses in facemasks clipped them off. They would leave the roots, in case he decided to fit himself with prosthetics. The wings would never grow back, however—the fire had seen to that.
The wooden double doors at the opposite end of the room burst open. Leticia walked in, half of her face covered by a large white bandage. Her tail made a scraping sound as she dragged it across the polished floor.
“Let’s see it,” Coscoros said, narrowing his red-veined eyes.
Leticia peeled away the bandage. It lifted with a sticky sound and let off a sour smell.
“The bear?”
She nodded. “Can you heal it?”
He inspected the three slash marks running diagonally across her face and over the bridge of her nose. One of the bear’s claws had ripped out her right eye. The eyelid was swollen shut.
“I can make the scars small and clean, but there’s nothing I can do for the eye.”
Her good eye filled with tears. “My face.”
“You’re still beautiful.”
The nurses attending to Coscoros’s wings glanced up at Leticia to see if it was true. When they saw her face, they shuddered and looked away.
Coscoros reached out and touched her chin. He tipped her head back to inspect the damage. She blinked, her good eye round and orange and dangerous, framed by a set of spidery lashes. He pulled her close and embraced her.
And as Leticia lay shivering against him, he put his mouth to the wounds and kissed them. Orange light burned where his lips touched, stitching the wounds and sealing them. Finally, he kissed her lips, deeply, as if they were in love. And yet the whole time he thought about Milo Banks, and what it would be like to drink the boy’s blood until he was no more than a floppy corpse.
The hatred Coscoros felt for the boy was a living thing inside of him, with teeth like jagged sea glass and a body that shone like an organ torn from a human chest. It lay curled up and asleep, a dirty parasitic leech that wanted to feed off all the good in the world.
As he looked at Leticia’s ruined face, that evil thing inside of him opened its eyes and took a deep breath, awake now and hungry for the blood of children.
Chapter 76
Basher pulled himself out of the pond.
He gasped and heaved, cursing the gods for his bad luck. If there was one thing that could kill a Berserker easily, it was deep water. He would have sunk like a rock had it not been for the floating chunks of ice he’d broken in the first place, upon impact.
The night sky was clear and filled with stars. He flipped onto his back and coughed the last bits of water out of his lungs. Staring up at the cosmos, he saw only a dull flatness, as if someone had poked tiny holes into a black sheet, making visible a dead light beyond. He hated everything about the night sky. It made him feel so small.
He searched until he found Asceranon. The man was still in grizzly bear form, lying there in the snow. In his weakened state, it would be impossible to phase back.
“Fresh meat,” Basher said, standing over him. The bear’s belly rose and fell as it tried to breathe despite the poison overwhelming its nervous system. Basher could see the oozing holes where Leticia’s stinger had pierced its skin.
The bear lifted its head to look at Basher, then let it flop back into the snow. A rhythmic rasping sound came from its throat.
Hrrrrrk Hrrrrrk Hrrrrrk….
It was laughing.
Basher reached for his warhammer, then realized it was gone. Oh well. At least he had his fists. They would do just fine.
He put one massive leg over the bear, sat on its ribs, and began to pound the creature’s skull into mush. Dirty rotten Feral.
Asceranon roared pitifully. It was easy, like cracking an egg against a frying pan. Basher would do the same to that Sargonaut boy—the brown-skinned one with the arrogant face and pouty lips. He would bash his face in and feast on him until he was nothing but bones, and then he would howl up at the sky like one of his Elki brothers, dizzy from the ecstasy of blood.
It was only a matter of time.
Chapter 77
And finally there was Iolus.
He held the glowing rose up to his nose and smelled it. Yes, it even smelled like Zandra, that pure mountain scent he had never been able to forget; the smell of the only woman who had ever been able to capture him. He felt dizzy and let his head fall back with delight. The rose was bigger than any he’d ever seen, about the size of a Berserker’s fist.
His laughter made a sharp pain shoot up from his belly. The Acolyte doctors had healed his wound. He would live, but just living wasn’t good enough anymore.
He was standing in the castle’s courtyard, where the glow from the overhanging spotlamps flooded every corner. Kovax’s Tower of Light, version 3, loomed over him, empty and silent, hinting at its potential for incredible power. And it wasn’t even the biggest one. Version 6, the latest unfinished one, was taller than a Theusian skyscraper.
He looked up at its darkened peak and grinned.
Kovax would want the rose, but Iolus deserved to have it. After all, he had killed the woman, not Kovax. All he had to do now was figure out how to use this tower.
Cold wind rustled his dirty, tangled hair. He still hadn’t wiped the blood and dirt off his body. A gust of foul-smelling air hit his face when he opened the door to the tower’s belly. It was pitch black inside. The smell of death made him think of a prison cell in the castle’s dungeons.
He tossed the rose inside and watched it land on a pile of human bones, its red-and-green glow washing the walls with color. A rib cage and the bulbous tip of a thigh bone made eerie shadowy shapes. He saw the skull of a small boy and knew at once what Kovax had done to his own son. He respected that about the low mage. It was the sign of a man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.
Iolus shut the door and took the winding stairs two at a time until he reached the top of the tower. He planted his feet firmly in place and concentrated all of his mental powers on drawing blood ether from the rose, hoping the mechanism inside the tower would catch once the energy passed through it. That was how these towers worked, wasn’t it? The machines had to be triggered. He was no magician, but surely a sorcerer as powerful as he could…
Five minutes went by.
Maybe if he just pulled…
Twenty minutes went by.
“Curse the gods!” he screamed up at the sky, stomping his feet and punching the empty air in front of him.
He clenched his teeth together so hard he thought they might shatter.
The wind had died down. He could hear rioting in the city streets and the cries of Feral men, women, and children being hunted down. Normally the sound gave him pleasure, but not tonight. He had to jumpstart this tower somehow.
He levitated Aikon until the sword hung horizontally in front of him. Pain was what he needed; raw physical pain, and open wounds to draw in the current. A handy trick for every sorcerer to master.
And yes, he would be drawing blood ether; a vile energy so powerful it could destroy him. But to hell with that! He hadn’t become the legendary Iolus Magnus by being careful.
He narrowed his eyes and moved Aikon around his body in a sawing motion. The blade cut into his arms and legs, flashing around him so fast he could barely see it.
Blood dripped down his body, soaking his clothes. He screamed and laughed as the pain filled him. As he had hoped, the lenses of his mind clicked together, and he could see clearly what needed to be done. He drew and drew, and felt the energy from the rose filter through the metal grate in the stone platform. Soon, Alexandra’s soul would be his, and oh the things he would do with it.
“Get in there,” he said through his teeth.
He created an opening inside his mind and allowed the mist to slide in. Blood ether molecules binding to his neurons, reinforcing the networks of his brain. More, more, more. His thoughts raced, a thousand times faster than before, and his memories became as clear and accurate as photographs flashing before his eyes; every memory, including the instructions for every spell he’d ever learned and forgotten.
Secrets he had never solved, mysteries he’d only partially understood, suddenly became clear. He understood why Kovax was desperate to build more towers. This feeling wouldn’t last. It had to continue somehow.
When all the energy was gone from the rose, Iolus let himself drop to the floor. The stone was cold against his cheek, reminding him that a part of him was still human—a beautiful, sad thought.
He pushed himself up, then stood at the edge of the tower and looked down at the courtyard.
He jumped and fell through darkness until his feet smacked the ground. Blood ether mist trailed after him, warm and tingly against his skin. Everything would be so much easier from now on.
And then he noticed something.
He held up his hands and studied them, carefully bending the fingers and wiggling them. The skin had turned red and his fingernails had transformed into claws. The blood ether had changed his body. He would need more to keep himself alive. He would be addicted to the stuff until the day he died.
But it didn’t matter. He felt great!
The air in front of him shimmered. Kovax appeared out of a teleportation spell.
At first Iolus didn’t recognize him. He looked bent and withered, like an old crone. His face was white, and the whites of his eyes were red around pupils as black as the dark corners of a dungeon. A definite case of blood ether poisoning.
The low mage was scowling. “Did I say you could use my tower?”
Iolus gathered fire in his hand and tossed it at the magician. This was his time now; Kovax would only stand in his way.
But the fireball veered upward at the last second and fizzled out. Kovax retaliated with a spell of his own. The red crystal on his staff pulsed with energy. A dozen glowing coils, fiery orange in color, began swirling around his arms and hands like miniature flying saucers. With a swipe of his staff he sent them flying.
Iolus put up an arm that had gone bright blue with ice. A half-dozen ice spikes shot from his hand, catching some of the coils and knocking them away. He didn’t get them all. Four of the coils made arcs through the air, avoiding his defenses, and attached themselves to his wrists and ankles. They yanked him backward, slamming him against the tower and pinning him in place.
“You’ve underestimated me, Iolus. I’m not an old has-been. Not anymore.”
Iolus struggled. The coils were burning his skin. “Let me go, Kovax. Damn it! Let me loose!”
Kovax snickered. “You channeled blood ether, eh? The red skin suits you.”
“Go to hell!”
Kovax flipped his staff. Now the blue crystal was glowing. A bolt of lightning split the sky and reached down into the courtyard, hitting Kovax. He glowed as bright as a candle for a few moments before going back to normal. Except his eyes. They were still bright with energy.
“I could throw you into that tower with a snap of my fingers,” he said, approaching Iolus, eyes crackling. “But we need each other, sorcerer. So I’m going to make a deal with you.”
He raised his open right hand and made a fist. All the lights of the castle were swept into his hand as it closed. The entire courtyard went dark. The only light now came from a ball in the low mage’s hand. His eyes glowed like stars.
He flipped his staff again, and the red crystal began to glow.
Iolus heard moaning a second later.
They shuffled forward like sleepwalkers, nearly invisible in the dark. Iolus could smell them. He cringed and shivered as the acrid stench of the undead filled his nose and lungs.
“Let’s talk about this,” Iolus said, struggling against the coils. “Like men. Comrades.”
“Bring me the twins,” Kovax said. “And I’ll give you something of which you could only dream until now.”
The zombies shuffled toward the tower. Iolus could already feel their hungry hands all over him.
“Wait,” he said. “Call them off. Call them off first!”
Rotting fingers clutched at his limbs and face. Their eyes were a dull yellow and their mouths smelled like tombs and wormy soil.
“I’ll give you the city of Theus,” Kovax said. “I’ll make you Archon, so you can do what you wish with that academy that rejected you, those people who have forgotten you. All you have to do in return is bend your knee. Swear fealty to me and do as I ask.”
“Yes!” Iolus said, squirming as dead hands grabbed at him. “I’ll do it!”
Kovax made a hissing sound. The zombies stepped back, their eyes on Iolus the whole time. They formed a ring around the tower.
The glowing coils disappeared and Iolus fell to his knees. Kovax stood before him, looking mysterious and deadly in his fluttering black cloak and clutching his staff.
“Kneel,” he said. “Swear to me that you will do as I command, always.”
Iolus got on his knees but kept his posture erect. His eyes were yellow now, and they glowed with blood ether he’d taken from the tower. He had to hold it in, be submissive for now.
But a plan had already formed in his mind.
“I’ll get Theus…”
“You’ll have it. Now, say the words.”
Iolus closed his eyes and swore the oath.
Behind his back, his red fingers crossed.
Chapter 78
Three months went by inside the vault.
The time-dilation engines had been shut off to preserve energy, and this allowed the orphans to keep up with events happening on the surface. Kovax was now head of the Empire of Leonaryx, which had full control of the two biggest continents in Astros. His towers had wreaked havoc on the realm and the other nations were arming themselves in case of war.
The orphans got together often in the Eternal Gardens, swimming in the artificial pond and looking up at the artificial sky, safe from the grueling winter sweeping across the land outside. Each orphan had duties to carry out inside the vault, but none of it was real work. Emmanuel was obviously trying to help them pass the time. Sometimes the orphans gathered in the library and watched informational holograms about the different Astrican continents. There was so much to learn. And still, the days dragged their feet.
“The number of refugees fleeing to Ayrtoros increased again,” Owen said one day. He lay on his back on the grass, looking up at a colorful toucan perched on a branch. “It’s up to something like seven thousand people crossing the ocean every month.”
“No
kidding,” Milo said. He sat with his bare feet in the water. “I don’t blame them, with Kovax running the empire and all.”
Emma and Lily were passing a beach ball to each other in the water. Emma’s wings, like those of all Acolytes, couldn’t get wet. Whenever she lifted them out of the pond, the water would roll off her glistening feathers like raindrops off wax paper.
Lily slapped the ball with both palms, sending it arcing toward Emma. They were both wearing bright orange bathing suits crafted by one of the automatons in charge of synthesizing fibers to create clothing. Milo, Owen, and Gunner had already crafted several different Elki-hunting outfits that had pockets and loops and buttons all over the place.
“He’s putting Ferals in prison camps now,” Lily said, using a spell to make the ball hover above her palm. “So they can wait their turns to go into his tower.”
“Good thing the Forge is actively recruiting again,” Milo said, using his own magic to lift the beach ball out of Lily’s reach. She jumped for it, and finally used another spell to bring it back down. She stuck her tongue out at him.
“You going to sign up, Banks?” Owen said.
“Yup. As soon as I graduate.”
“Damn right I’m gonna sign up,” a voice said.
Sevarin fell from a tree branch and landed on the grass with a thump. The others looked at him. Barefoot and dressed in shorts and a dirty white T-shirt, he looked like a homeless kid off the street. He grinned at them.
“I just touched the sky,” he said.
Owen and Gunner looked at each other and shrugged.
“What can’t a Sargonaut do, Gunner?”
“I don’t know, Owen. Can they pilot mecha?”
“Nope!”
They slapped palms in a high five.
Sevarin gave the boys a dirty look. Then he grabbed Owen by the armpits and tossed him into the air.
“Whoa-ho-ho!” Owen cried as he sailed toward the pond.
SPLASH!
“Hey, watch it,” Emma said, shielding herself. “I don’t want to get my hair wet.”
Savant (The Luminether Series) Page 41
