Kovax pointed the red crystal tip of his staff at the men and chanted a spell. The crystal began to glow bright red with stolen life energy. The men screamed as currents of blood ether seeped out of them in pink, smoky tendrils.
Kovax closed his eyes and beckoned further. A minute later, when the men were no more than dried-out skeletons and the crystal on his staff blazed with fiery red light, he began to chant an even darker, spell.
It took several minutes to cast. The essence of it poured from the blood crystal like misty, glowing red snakes, burrowing holes into the graves and seeping inside.
The ground trembled as his servants awoke.
“Rise,” Kovax said. “Your master summons you.”
The trembling grew more intense; he could feel it in his teeth and bones. His men pulled out swords, dropped into defensive positions, and looked around at their darkened surroundings.
Muffled moans rose from the earth. Kovax watched with a familiar fascination.
“Get back toward the gate,” he told his men.
They backed away, eyes searching the cemetery, torches picking out the sweat on their foreheads. Something was drumming upward, shaking the ground in anger.
A hand shot up from the earth, black from the dirt stuck to the bone. The few bits of remaining flesh were torn and rotten.
Metal flashed as the men raised their swords. The ground stopped vibrating. Silence fell around them.
The skeletal hand closed into a fist and opened again, as if testing the air. It disappeared as the dead man pulled it back into the grave.
The ground opened with a loud ripping sound as the dead men began to dig an opening. Kovax watched, trying to ignore the pain in his bones. He was out of practice and imagined his face was whiter and more cracked than before, the lines around his eyes deeper. His voice would sound raspy and cracked from now on, a side effect of the process.
“Damn it.”
What would Samara think if she saw him like this? And Kofi, his son? What if Kovax woke them only to have them stare at him with blank, uncertain eyes, unable to recognize the withered creature before them as the man they had once called husband and father?
He couldn’t bear the thought. He turned and screamed at his men.
“What the hell are you waiting for? Help them up!”
His soldiers went to the fissures in the earth, where skeletal hands had begun to shoot up like a rampant growth of vile, black weeds. One of the soldiers grabbed a hand, only to have it yank him into the pit.
He screamed. Kovax smiled.
The man’s screams were accompanied by something else: the tearing of his limbs being ripped off his body.
The screaming stopped. Two legs, freshly severed and still wearing pants and boots, flew up from the nearest pit and landed with a thump at Kovax’s feet.
The soldiers backed away from the pits. Kovax stepped forward, staff upright beside him, and spoke as loudly as his frail body would allow.
“I am Kovax Leonaryx. Many of you recognize my name, because I was your executioner.” A pause as he let his words sink in. “I’m here to give you some good news and bad news, as the Earthborns like to say.”
Moans rose from the pits.
“No,” a man shouted. “Not him! Not him!”
Kovax lifted his left arm. The sleeve of his cloak slid back, revealing a ghastly hand, pale-orange in the torchlight. The skin had turned white. He could hear his men murmuring.
A few blood transfusions would lighten the effect. Hopefully.
“Quiet!” Kovax shouted, and the cemetery fell silent. “I will share the bad news first. You have been summoned back to life in order to complete several tasks. Our emperor, Corgos Leonaryx, has need of construction crews to build towers all over Taradyn. The towers are of a special magical nature and will require raw luminether crystals, which are too toxic to be mined by living men. That is where you come in. Of course, once the towers have been completed, I will release you from your bond and you may again be at peace.”
He paused and waited.
“Tell us the good news,” a woman said.
“Please, tell us,” a man said.
“The good news is that once the towers have been completed, one hundred of you will be selected according to how well you have performed. Those whom I select will be brought back to life—and I mean a real, healthy life, as you had before your deaths. And I will give you back your freedom so you can rejoin what is left of your families.”
The undead hissed in protest.
“Impossible!” said a high-pitched, raspy voice that could have been male or female. “You can’t bring us back. You lie to us!”
“Not so,” Kovax said. “With the energy from these towers, I will be able to give you back your souls and much more. Those who do not believe me can stay in these holes forever, fully aware of the opportunity you have lost.”
“No, please, let us go! Help us!”
“Quiet,” Kovax said. The voices silenced at once. “I have summoned you, and therefore I am your master. Those who are not happy with the new order and attempt to break free of my influence will face a punishment worse than the one that killed you: the anthills of the Razira Plains, where your bones will be dissolved by lava ants over the course of many painful months.”
Quiet whimpers came from the graves. Many of Kovax’s soldiers made religious gestures, imagining what it would be like to have those tiny, orange ants pick at their skin with acid-soaked teeth until they were no more than bleeding piles of human tissue screaming for release.
When the whimpers quieted, Kovax turned to his men and swept his staff through the air.
“Bring out the rope ladders—and do it quick!”
CHAPTER 49
I n warm weather, classes at the ranch were often held in the whitewashed gazebo out in the gardens. Milo and his friends would sit on the grass, soaking in the pleasant garden fragrances and cooling off in the shade cast by the surrounding trees. Ascher or his wife, or one of the other three instructors, would stand inside the gazebo and use a chalkboard to lead them through lessons as birds sang and scampered among the leaves.
As it was winter, their classes now took place inside, in one of the three rooms off the library. The rooms were small, comfortable, and well lit, with windows showing the snowy landscape beyond.
Milo found himself steeped in thought today. He was thinking about the different continents of Astros, and what it would take to get the orphans safely off Taradyn. He yearned to see Ayrtoros, especially its capital city, Theus, home mostly to Savants. Maybe in Theus he could learn spellcasting.
Lily sat next to him at the long table Milo and Emma shared with the others in their age group. Though she was older than the twins, their classes on Sundays focused on the nature of luminether particles—something in which Lily was an expert. Her job was to assist the teacher, which got her out of certain unpleasant chores, like cleaning mold off the walls of the bathhouse.
The class was called “The Physics of Luminether” and was taught by a ruddy-faced, short but muscular man named Harrikin Gukarris who rode in by levathon one day a week to teach the four-hour seminar. Ascher paid the man well, for it was illegal to teach any sort of class not registered with the Royal Council of Education.
“Now remember,” Professor Gukarris was saying as he strutted around the room, scratching his coarse, copper-colored beard. Tendons stood out on his reddish neck. “When we study luminether on the subatomic level, we have to take into account that sometimes things become very strange. We’ll be studying the quantum mechanics of luminether particles in the next level of this course, which will begin in two weeks”—he added, in a cynical voice—“if this ranch or you kids are still around.”
Milo and Lily gave each other worried looks.
Lily mouthed the words “I’m scared.”
“Me too,” Milo mouthed back.
THAT NIGHT, in Barrel’s room, Milo passed his first exam in levitation.
A m
ug of Bara-cola hovered a few inches off the tabletop, wavering a bit as he struggled to improvise a story about a pet dog and cat who run away from their master’s house one snowy day. “A very difficult task,” Barrel had explained, “levitating while thinking about something else.” To learn levitation quickly, Milo would have to find ways to make his practice sessions more challenging. Barrel called it “deep practice.”
“Whoa,” Milo said, staring at the rising mug.
“You’re doing it. Now, see if you can drink it without spilling.”
It took Milo ten minutes to bring the mug to his lips and tilt it at just the right angle necessary to pour it into his mouth. His hands rested on the table. They twitched now and then with the desire to reach up and speed the process along.
He managed to drink all of it down with minimum spillage. Once, he almost tipped it too far, but caught it at just the right moment.
He was so exhausted afterward that he dropped like a sack of potatoes into his bed, asleep as soon he hit his pillow.
THE NEXT DAY, the orphans spent breakfast and free time in heated gossip sessions.
It seemed everyone was talking about the magician stalking the ranch, and the man with the long, rust-colored hair terrorizing the villages of the coast. A rumor that everyone would have to leave the ranch over the next few weeks had stirred everybody up. Milo even saw a few girls crying in the library.
Ascher held a meeting after lunch in which he confirmed everybody’s worst fear: the orphanage would indeed be relocating—this time to a city, where it would be easier to blend in.
“Forget going to a city,” Sevarin said, “we need to get off Taradyn.” Sticks and Lano nodded their agreement. Sevarin stood with his muscular brown arms crossed against his chest, wearing a black tank top and sweatpants, looking like he wanted to beat the paste out of someone.
Ascher gave them a deadline of three days. At the end of the week, they would take their possessions—limited to two large sacks for each orphan and a small carry-on bag—and get into carriages that would take them inland to one of the smaller cities. Ascher kept the city’s name secret in case word got back to the enemy.
He did his best to console them.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, clasping his hands together and wagging them. “I know this ranch is the only home many of you have ever known. I call it home, myself. But we all know the risk of being orphans in Taradyn, and with that risk comes necessary sacrifice.” He paused. His next words came out with obvious difficulty. “Sometimes hiding is the only way.”
The orphans saw how he wrung his hands together, and the way Coral kept one hand on his arm as he spoke, and many of them exchanged worried looks. They had never seen Ascher in such a pitiful state.
He turned and lumbered out of the room. The broad wooden doors slammed shut behind him.
The orphans bowed their heads in silence. Coral cleared her throat and spoke, and it was obvious from her strained, high-pitched tone that she was trying hard to lighten the mood.
“Children, please listen. I have some good news. We’ll be digging out the old ice skates—you remember them from last year—and this afternoon I’m going to take you all out ice skating on the pond. Won’t that be fun?”
There was light, scattered applause, but most of the orphans were too confused or scared to clap. Then Milo heard a voice he hadn’t expected to hear.
“Please,” Emma cried out, lifting her right arm. “Listen!”
The murmuring died away. Milo was baffled by the fact that his sister—who had once suffered from the worst case of stage fright in history—could now address everyone like it was no big deal.
“We’re leaving soon,” she said, “and this is our last opportunity to have some fun together before we go. To be together now, while we still can.”
Many of the orphans had begun to nod.
“I know you’re scared. We’re all scared. We’re all going to miss this ranch, but we’re here now, so let’s put on some skates and go outside and try to have some fun together. We deserve it!”
When Milo saw the tears glinting in her eyes and her difficulty speaking, he picked up his hands and began to clap. Soon, the whole group was clapping and cheering as one.
Lily and Calista rushed forward to hug Emma, who was trying hard to stifle her tears.
Coral lifted her arms and shouted, “To the pond!”
CHAPTER 50
T here had been a storm earlier that week, and it took six of Ascher’s men—and Sevarin—a little over an hour to shovel all the snow off the frozen pond.
Calista was showing two younger girls how to twirl like figure skaters. Her tail curled like a ribbon as she spun along the ice. Oscar, Owen, and Gunner had chosen not to skate, based on Owen’s assurance that Elki hunters would never be caught dead twirling around on a pond like a bunch of girls. Instead, they started a snowball war near a grove of trees. Milo considered joining, but the process of lacing and tying up his skates had been so rigorous that he dreaded the thought of taking them off. Emma had practically forced him into the skates before he could resist.
She came up to him at one point and smiled.
“Do you want me to show you a few of the basics?”
“What for?” he said. He bent backward, flailed both arms, and went “whoa, whoa, whoa!” before righting himself. “Huh. What were you saying?”
“You sure you don’t want some tips?”
“Nah, I’m good. I cast a spell of uprightness on myself, so I’ll be okay.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“No, just kidding.”
They shared a laugh. Milo noticed Emma’s relief; even one of his stupid jokes had been enough to ease her tension. He considered dropping another stinker about a figure skater, a penguin, and a drunken Eskimo that he had heard from Owen, but decided not to overdo it.
Emma twirled away with her eyes closed, arms thrown up in the air. Seeing his sister in such a good mood helped him to relax. He had spent the entire morning fretting about how he was going to fit his book collection into two sacks.
He was about to skate over to where Owen, Gunner, and Oscar were tackling each other in the snow—skates be damned—when someone came up behind him and cleared his throat.
Milo turned. His shoulders tensed when he saw Sevarin.
“Milo, what’s up?”
“Not much,” Milo said. “You?”
He shrugged. “Just wanted to say something. You know, it feels like the right time, that’s all.”
Milo narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t about my sister, is it?”
Sevarin crossed his arms and frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“No reason. Spill it.”
Sevarin let his arms drop to his sides, and his chest seemed to swell. Milo thought the taller boy would tackle him right there on the ice. He tensed and waited.
Instead, Sevarin leaned back a bit and smiled. “I was gonna say congratulations.”
“For what?”
“Baraltimus told me you learned how to levitate stuff.” He shrugged and glanced down at the ice for a moment before looking back at Milo. “I don’t know much about Savant spells and stuff like that, but I’ve heard it’s pretty hard to—you know.”
“Levitate stuff?”
“Yeah. It ain’t easy.”
Milo was feeling a little shaky on his skates. Was Sevarin actually complimenting him? Things were getting stranger and stranger.
“I’m sure it’s not easy to lift a school bus, either,” Milo said. “Owen told me you could do that—if you wanted.”
“Actually, it’s not all that hard for a Sargonaut. Just comes with the territory, I guess.”
“Yeah.” Milo looked down and scratched a line into the ice with the tip of his skate.
“So, anyway—I was just hoping you wouldn’t get mad.”
Milo looked up at him suddenly. “Mad about what?”
“About me and your sister. We like each other.”
<
br /> Milo gave an amused snort. “Yeah, that’s funny.”
“It’s no joke. Got me?”
“No,” Milo said, suddenly anticipating a fight. His pulse quickened. “It’s not okay. You better stay away from her.”
Sevarin balled his hands into fists. “And you better give me a good reason why I should.”
“Because she’s my sister and—and I said so.”
Sevarin skated up to Milo until he was close enough to breathe on him.
“I wasn’t asking your permission.”
“Actually,” Milo said, not taking his eyes off Sevarin’s even though his voice was trembling, “that’s exactly what you were doing. And my answer is no.”
Milo could see the fury clouding Sevarin’s eyes.
“I could pick you up with one hand”—he pressed his fist to Milo’s chest—“and throw you over those mountains.”
“Go ahead,” Milo said. “If you hurt me”—the words came out so easily they scared him—“Emma will never talk to you again. And if you make me angry enough, I might just throw one of those fireballs in your direction. You’re not immune to that, are you?”
Sevarin pulled back just enough to show the ripple in his confidence. He let out an amused scoff.
“I don’t hate you, Banks. I just think you’re damn annoying.”
He turned and skated away, hunched forward like a hockey player.
Milo released the air from his lungs and, for an uneasy moment, almost let the urine out of his bladder, as well. He’d done a lot of research on Sargonauts, and though it was true that their skin was vulnerable to the elements (but impenetrable when it came to blades and bullets), it was also true that they were strong enough to throw a person across great distances. Had Sevarin been his enemy, Milo would certainly be flying over the mountains right now.
The thought made him angry. “I’m done,” he said, kicking the sharp tip of his skate into the ice.
Savant & Feral (Digital Boxed Set): Books 1 and 2 of the Epic Luminether Fantasy Series Page 29