“I remember when everyone rode levathons to class,” Emmanuel said wistfully.
The driver shook his head. “Fewer levathons means less crap all over the place, and more business for me.”
“That,” Emmanuel said with a nod, “is a very good point. I certainly don’t miss shoveling levvie shit.”
He paid the driver’s bloated fee, muttering a complaint that they hadn’t stopped for that much time back at the fountain. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, professor,” the driver muttered, counting the bills before finally launching away through the misty air.
When they were on solid ground again, the orphans activated their umbrellas—the rain was barely a sprinkle now, but it was still freezing—and gazed up in wonder at Starpoint Station. A train coasted overhead with a sound like wind passing through a large tube. It slowed to a stop and allowed a group of people—mostly cadets in uniform—to get off at a glass-walled platform inside the tower. Elevators made of glass floated them down the sides of the tower to ground level.
Emmanuel led the orphans through a broad entrance in the station’s base. Throngs of cadets hung around outside, reviewing schedules and chattering. Even more lounged inside, huddled together as they waited out the rain.
Many noticed the orphans as they walked in. They caught sight of Emma’s golden wings and stared in amazement. Either they recognized her or simply didn’t see too many golden wings around campus. Back in the shuttle, Emmanuel had warned Emma that it was taboo in this city to dye one’s wings yellow or gold. Those colors held religious significance, and rumor had it that Aliara’s wings—whenever she had taken Acolyte form—had been the color of a wheat field under the midday sun.
Those colors could also be dangerous. There existed a fundamentalist sect of the Aliaric church known as Speakers of the Winged Prophet that took the taboo to insane levels. They followed Aliara’s Reckoning literally, word for word. The document, which was a diary supposedly kept by the goddess whenever she took human form, promised that a prophet would someday be born among them. This holy figure would be a woman with golden wings who would strike down all followers of Xelios with a blast of light from her feathers, thus saving the world from corruption. The Speakers were a violent group and believed that any Acolyte, especially a female, who dyed her feathers gold was immediately guilty of blasphemy against the goddess and deserved to die.
Luckily, the sect was outlawed in every country in Ayrtoros.
Emmanuel had also warned Emma—who had the Sight and was able to watch events as they took place across great distances—to keep her sight-casting gift a secret. She didn’t need religious fanatics making her life more difficult because of her demigod gifts.
The topic was a sensitive one for her. When Owen suggested that Emma dye her wings a different color, she snapped at him and said he should wear a dress and lipstick, see how that suited him. Owen apologized, but Milo thought the idea was a good one, especially if it would keep Emma safe from those religious nuts.
He studied the glassy trickles of rainwater running down the sides of the elevator as it carried them swiftly up to the boarding level.
“I can’t wait to see this place on a sunny day,” he said.
“Me too,” Lily said, staring through the glass with one hand resting on the crystal head of her staff. She had been holstering the weapon in a leather sleeve that hung from her belt, but soon she would have to stash it somewhere. Cadets were not allowed to carry weapons of any sort around campus.
“This place is so epic,” Gunner said as they exited the elevator and stood waiting on the crowded platform. “We’re gonna have so much fun.”
“Don’t forget, this is a military school,” Emma reminded him.
Gunner shrugged, looking down at the tracks. “How bad could it be after all we’ve been through? Piece of cake.”
“I hope the classes aren’t all about math,” Owen said, his back to the other orphans as he studied a diagram on the wall that showed different train stops around campus. “I want to get into a Mecha as soon as possible, blast my lasers into some Elki hide.”
“You’ll have to wait at least two years for that,” Barrel said. “Only after the second year can one apply to the specialty schools. Obviously, you would have to pass extensive examinations in math, physics, and engineering.” He cracked a playful smile at Owen. “Only twenty-four courses and forty-eight exams stand between you and blasting Elki hide. But I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
“Forty-eight exams?” Owen slumped against the wall with a dreadful moan. “I’m done for.”
“Same here,” Gunner said, dropping his head into his hands with a whimper.
“You boys will get there,” Lily assured them. “What I’m wondering is, how soon do we start classes?”
“Immediately,” Emmanuel said, checking his watch and leaning over the tracks to check for an oncoming train. “No time to waste.”
Andres nudged his son. “Did you hear him? You will to start class soon. My boy, I’m so proud.”
“Uh huh,” Oscar said glumly, sliding his hands into his pockets and relocating to stand next to Sevarin.
Andres tried—and failed miserably—to hide a hurt look. He stood awkwardly by himself for a few moments before joining Emmanuel near the edge of the platform. They started a conversation about how the tracks had been built, Andres occasionally throwing meek glances at his son.
“What’s going on between them?” Emma whispered to Milo.
He’d been wondering the same thing. “Maybe it’s because everyone’s an orphan except him.”
Emma looked shocked. “Are you kidding? Doesn’t he realize how lucky he is to still have a parent? Someone should give him a good smack if he feels that way.”
“I agree.”
Owen, obviously bored, resorted to his usual habit of asking inane questions to break the silence.
“If we’re starting class soon, does that mean we automatically skip the entrance exams?”
“Hope so,” Sevarin said, shadowboxing and flexing his muscles. “I wasn’t made for paper-and-pencil tests.”
“You were made for battle, right Sev?” Emma said with a playful smile.
“You got it, babe. Hey! Are you being sarcastic?”
She patted his right biceps. “They might be small now, but I’m sure there’s a gym around here.”
“Whatever, goldenwings.”
She gave him a sour look. “Hey, why don’t you come up with your own nickname? Or are you just going to copy Garig all the time?”
“I’ll punch Garig in the face so hard, he’ll land in a different time zone.”
“He’ll land in the human realm,” Emma added cheerfully. She and Sevarin high-fived.
Shaking his head at them, Barrel pulled a tube of coffee out of his backpack, obviously quite bored. He gave it a shake and uncorked it, releasing a fragrant wisp of steam.
“How many of those do you have?” Lily asked him. “You drink one like every five seconds, you addict.”
“It keeps the mind sharp, Breezy. Maybe you should try one, or five.” He drank half the contents with a loud slurp and smacked his lips. “I’ll need maximal mental acuity if I’m going to be a professor—”
“You get to be a teacher?” Oscar interrupted, his tail swishing from side to side. When his eyes widened like that, it made the coloring look even stranger. One orange, one brown—a mystery Milo and his friends, and even Emmanuel, had yet to figure out. All they knew was that it had something to do with Oscar’s ability to connect empathically with animals.
“Not yet,” Barrel explained. “But allow me a year to impress everyone and we’ll see.”
Lily rolled her eyes at Barrel’s cockiness, probably the tenth time she had done so today.
Finally, a rush of air and light flooded the platform as a train shot toward them. Sleek and silvery, it had no need for wheels as it coasted along a magnetic field instead.
The interior reminded Milo of the subway trains in N
ew York City. Two rows of seats faced inward, bolted to the walls with an aisle in the middle and metal poles one could use for stability when standing and walking. He chose to stand by the window and get a better look at the campus. His friends did the same.
Andres took a seat by a window near the front, like he was trying to give Oscar space. Emmanuel joined him with a relaxed sigh, and together they studied the posters across from them in silence.
They weren’t alone. In the back of the compartment, a group of cadets lounged as if they owned the place. There were five of them, three guys and two girls.
Milo recognized all three of the guys.
“Oh, great,” he said, turning his back to them. “It’s that guy from the parade.”
“Garig?” Emma said, standing on her toes to look over his shoulder. “Awesome. As if I didn’t have enough annoying boys in my life.”
“Keep pushin’ me, yellowfeathers,” Sevarin said.
“Very original,” Emma said through a smirk.
Milo ignored them and threw another covert glance at Garig. The orange-haired cadet sat with his arms propped over the seats on either side of him, basically taking up all three spots. This forced his two female friends to stand in the aisle, which they didn’t seem to mind.
The girls looked dazzling in blue-and-gold uniforms with decorated sashes, leather belts, and primly tied leather boots. Their hair had been pulled back into buns as tight and glossy as freshly washed plums.
“Sargonauts,” Sevarin said.
Milo swallowed a pang of anxiety. But how bad could it be? The worst that could happen was Garig would act like an idiot to call attention to himself, and maybe Sevarin would make a scene that would end with Emmanuel restoring order.
The train stopped to pick up more cadets. Soon, a crowd stood between the orphans and the adults at the front of the train car, blocking Emmanuel and Andres from view. The crowd was a good thing; hopefully, it would also keep Garig and his friends apart from the orphans.
Or not.
“Hey, goldenwings! Look who it is!”
Garig pushed himself out of his seat, his movements wide and bearish as if to compensate for his being several inches shorter than most guys his age. His lips were bent in a playful half-smile that filled Milo with resentment. The cadets who happened to be standing between them inched closer to the windows. Either they recognized Garig and knew his ways, or they could smell a brawl coming.
“Remember me?” Garig asked Emma.
She avoided looking at him, pretending to be more interested in one of the overhead posters.
“Goldenwings,” he pleaded mockingly, spreading his arms as if he felt betrayed by her cold attitude. “How could you forget me? I’m your date for this weekend, remember?”
Garig turned to his friends, and they all shared a chuckle—except for the girls, who watched Emma with the disgust one normally reserved for a cockroach.
Suddenly, the male cadets stopped laughing. Their eyes widened in eager anticipation. What was going on now?
Milo turned and saw what had happened. Sevarin had risen from his seat.
“You’d have better luck asking me out, carrottop. I might actually take you out, too. Know what I mean?”
“Carrot-what?” Garig said, smirking condescendingly at Sevarin. Then he looked at Emma. “Don’t tell me darkie over here is your boyfriend.” Garig reached up to grab a strap as the train swung around a curve. The windows along one side brightened as the mountain wall vanished and there was only open space on both sides. They were going over a bridge. “He looks better suited to clean this train than ride it into campus,” Garig added.
Darkie? Had he really said that?
Milo went immediately to block Sevarin’s path. Sevarin never took his eyes off Garig, which meant—hopefully—that he was learning to control his impulses.
“You did not just say that to me,” Sevarin shouted. “If it wasn’t my first day here—”
“Then what?” Garig said. “I’d like to see you lay a hand on me.” He turned to his friends and said, “He’s no match for a Dreadnought student. It would be like me hitting a girl.”
His friends chuckled. The two girls looked at each other, unimpressed, and rolled their eyes, then began a hushed conversation about something else.
The train jolted. Milo stepped aside to grab hold of a strap—which was a mistake. Sevarin shot forward like an enraged bull suddenly freed from its pen.
Garig’s reaction happened in the blink of an eye. He met Sevarin halfway and landed a punch to his chest that sent him flying backward. Sevarin landed against Milo, Owen, Gunner, and Oscar, nearly knocking all four of them down.
Emmanuel and Andres pushed through the crowd to see what was happening. Andres threw himself forward, standing between the two groups and fluttering his hands in a peacekeeping gesture.
“Stop this,” he said. “No fight here.”
“No fight here?” Garig said. “Are you on the right train, foreigner?” He cracked the knuckles of the hand he has used to punch Sevarin. “This is Theus Academy. Fighting is what defines us.”
“Fine by me,” Sevarin said.
He raised his fists, shoulders pumping like a boxer’s, and made his way forward again.
“Stop it,” Emma shouted.
Barrel held her back as Sevarin threw a punch at Garig. Garig easily deflected it. What happened next took Milo completely by surprise.
He had expected Garig to land another blow against Sevarin. Instead, the shorter, stockier boy swung around his opponent with impressive agility. He pinched a spot on Sevarin’s neck and used his other hand, which had taken on a rigid, shovel-like appearance, to jab him in the armpit.
Sevarin stood rigid, stiff as board—completely paralyzed.
“What—the—hell,” he managed to groan.
Emmanuel pushed through the crowd and walked calmly over to the pair of fighters. Everyone watched except Sevarin, who was unable to turn his head even an inch.
“That’s Emmanuel, Savant son of Sargos,” whispered one of Garig’s buddies, drawing looks of fascination from the two girls.
Emmanuel extended his left arm, pointed his hand at Garig, and made a flicking motion with all five fingers. The spell sent Garig flying backward to slam against the metal door between their compartment and the next. The impact left the door bent, only its hinges touching the frame.
Sevarin came out of his paralyzed state with a wobble and a shake of his head. He rubbed his armpit, wincing. Garig pushed himself up, unhurt but astounded at what had just happened.
“S-sir,” he stuttered. “I didn’t realize who you—”
“Shut up,” Emmanuel said calmly, as though he had seen this sort of thing many times before. “I would have expected better from Dreadnought cadets like yourselves.”
Garig and Sevarin exchanged hateful glares. Sevarin was smart enough to keep quiet this time as he rejoined his friends. He was panting softly, which Milo had never seen him do.
“Garig Lakain, son of Hamlon,” Emmanuel said, “you’ve broken a rule today that outlaws brawling on campus. That’s four rank slashes against your fraternity.”
“How do you know my name?” Garig asked him, stunned.
“You look just like your father, who wouldn’t be Arc of the Council today were it not for my personal recommendation decades ago. I see his abilities as a father pale in comparison to his prowess as a politician. That’s unfortunate.”
Garig’s face went pink with rage. He turned back to his friends and plopped down into his original seat. This time, instead of taking up three spots, he barely took up one.
“Let’s keep it civil in here,” Emmanuel announced to everyone before heading back toward the front.
Sevarin blocked the magician’s path. A daring move, Milo thought, considering how angry his uncle had been a moment ago.
“How did he do that?” Sevarin demanded. “I couldn’t move a freaking muscle.”
“It’s an ancient Sarg
onaut fighting technique known as Tir’sun,” Emmanuel said, crossing his arms and cocking an eyebrow in a haughty gesture. “Would you like to learn it?”
“Yeah, definitely!”
“Then I have bad news,” he said acidly. “You never will. Not with a temper like yours. It takes discipline and restraint, and so far, I haven’t seen you exercise either of those qualities.”
Sevarin looked down in shame, nodding slightly. He went to stand by Emma. She gave him a reassuring pat on the arm and said, “Thanks for defending me. Sorry I teased you earlier.”
He shook off her arm. “It’s fine,” he said glumly.
The next stop was theirs. Emmanuel was the first off the train, though not because he was in a hurry. Everyone else simply waited for him to get off first, a sign of respect. As the orphans filed out, Milo saw that Garig and his friends had remained in place. The girls had taken seats on either side of Garig and were rubbing his shoulders, reassuring him with soft whispers.
Milo remembered that Garig’s father was Arc of the Council, a prestigious role that every Archon made it a priority to fill immediately upon taking office—usually with a crony of some sort. Among cadets, this gave Garig a level of social status second only to that of the Archon’s son, Kellan.
Milo didn’t care about political status. His father had been a demigod hero, commander of armies, figure of legend, not some fat politician the history books would forget in a century or two.
The thought boosted his confidence—actually shot it through the roof. So much so that he hung back after everyone else had gotten off the train. He made eye contact with Garig and held it for a tense moment before doing something utterly crazy.
He extended his right arm toward the group of students, making a cage with his fingers.
Fireball.
“That girl with the golden feathers,” Milo said.
“What about her?” Garig said defensively.
“She’s my sister. You better stay away from her, or this will happen.”
He channeled luminether, binding his favorite spell over his right hand—a sensation like slipping into a warm glove. Flames erupted. His hand became a hot, crackling ball of flames that splashed light over the faces of everyone present. The girls’ eyes widened. Garig’s eyes narrowed.
Savant & Feral (Digital Boxed Set): Books 1 and 2 of the Epic Luminether Fantasy Series Page 54