Savant (The Luminether Series)

by Richard Denoncourt

  “I know that. I never said you had anything to do with—with…”

  Oh no, the tears. She couldn’t let herself cry in front of him, not again.

  Sevarin crossed his arms. “With what?”

  “With my pain.”

  Sevarin sighed and began to walk toward her at a brisk pace. For a moment, she thought he was going to hit her.

  She backed away. He grabbed her by the shoulders—hard, but not as hard as he could have done, being a Sargonaut and all—and pulled her close. She practically fell against his face. A moment later, their lips were mashing together.

  It was the strangest sensation she’d ever felt. She had never imagined her first kiss would be with a boy like Sevarin—someone with the strength to lift a car over his head, in a distant world where horses flew and magic burned from people’s hands.

  And yet it wasn’t all that great. She squirmed to get away from him.

  “Sevarin!”

  The look on his face was one of wide-eyed confusion, like he’d just woken up from a weird dream.

  “Wow,” he said.

  Emma wiped her lips with the back of one hand. She slapped Sevarin’s shoulder, which felt like a block of wood.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “You know what.”

  “Hey, babe, you wanted me to do it. I could tell.”

  “Get out of here, Sevarin, before I scream.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  She clenched her hands into fists. Then, eyes closed, she opened her mouth and took a deep breath.

  “OK, OK, wait!”

  Sevarin put his arms up to shield himself. Emma felt a little proud of herself for having made a Sargonaut cringe with fear.

  “Go away, Sevarin.”

  He gave her a sideways look. “See? You don’t care at all.”

  “I’ll scream.”

  He lifted his hands and swished them apart in the air. “Fine.”

  She watched him walk toward the barn doors. He was wearing a gray tank top, basketball shorts, and Grecian sandals that crossed all the way up his calves to his knees. He looked so American that she actually felt a stirring of nostalgia.

  She almost asked him to wait, then thought better of it and crossed her arms instead. She stood that way, wanting to call out to him and feeling ashamed at the sudden emotion, until the doors closed with a slam, leaving her by herself.

  The levathons looked at her above the stable doors.

  “Don’t you just want to fly away sometimes?” she asked them.

  They gave her puzzled stares, shook their heads, and snorted through flared nostrils. She could see their wings fluttering above the walls and felt sorry for them. It didn’t seem right to keep such beautiful winged creatures cooped up like that.

  Something small and sharp fluttered into the barn. It perched atop the wall of a stable and stared down at her.

  A hawk. The creature flapped its wings and dove right at her. Emma gasped and threw her arms up. There was a gust of wind as the hawk transformed into a fully clothed girl, then landed with a soft thump.

  Calista, black-and-copper hair tumbling down her shoulders, rose into a standing position. Her orange eyes smoldered.

  “Emma,” she said.

  Emma spoke in a breathless gasp. “Calista.”

  “I see you and Sevarin have gotten pretty close.”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  Calista slunk toward her, shoulders low, body slightly bent like she was going to jump on her. “Oh, really? So I didn’t just see the two of you smooching in the barn? Gods, what a cliché. The Acolyte and the Sargonaut. You featherbrains think you’re so hot.”

  Emma frantically shook her head. “You’re prettier than I am. I’m sure he likes you more.”

  “Ha!” Calista’s tail whipped around her waist, targeting Emma like a snake ready to strike. “Well, he never took me to the barn to smooch.”

  “I told you. It’s not like that. I came to see the levies and he—he was just here.”

  Calista crossed her arms and pouted. She turned away so Emma couldn’t see her face.

  “Then what is it like?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You and Sevarin. Before you showed up, he used to like me, you know.”

  Emma took a step forward, but only one. Something told her it was a bad idea to get too close to a Feral in a bad mood.

  “I’m sure he still likes you, Calista. He’s just—confused. Angry. Maybe he’s afraid to like anyone, including himself.”

  Calista shrugged. Emma could sense the girl was on the verge of tears.

  “It’s OK,” Emma said, taking another step toward her. “Everyone here is your friend.”

  “What do you know?” Calista turned on her, and Emma could see the girl was not crying at all—not even close. There was a hard, angry look on her face. “You’ve only been here for three weeks. You don’t even know what it’s like. You have no idea what my people have to go through. The emperor persecutes and enslaves Ferals all over Taradyn. And on Valestaryn it’s even worse.”

  “Valestaryn?”

  “The land of the Ferals.” She let her arms drop to her sides. Her hands bunched into fists. “He sends in his Berserkers and low mages and burns down any villages and cities accused of housing rebels. He makes my people wear magical collars that keep us from being able to phase into animal forms. Pretty soon, he’ll start using his Towers of Light and Dusk to slaughter us all and make himself as powerful as a god.”

  Emma looked down at the dirt floor, then back up at Calista’s burning eyes. “Maybe we can help?”

  “Who, you and Milo? Pssht! You’re like twelve years old. How could you possibly make a difference?”

  Now it was Emma’s turn to be angry. “That’s just great. With that attitude, I’m sure the emperor won’t stand a chance.”

  Calista leaped at her. Emma fell back a step, convinced the girl was going to lash out and claw her face.

  “Take it back!”

  Emma cowered and shielded her face. “Stop it, stop it!”

  But Calista didn’t scratch or even hit her. Instead she backed away, looking around herself in a panic.

  “Did you hear that?”

  Emma could only stare in wide-eyed alarm. “N-no?”

  “Shhh!”

  Emma shut her mouth and listened. She could hear nothing except the levathons snorting and the wind tumbling outside the barn.

  “It’s Milo,” Calista said. “I think he’s in trouble.”

  She ran toward the barn doors. Emma followed, though she was not nearly as fast. Calista shot forward with the speed of an arrow, still in human form.

  “Show off,” Emma said.

  Outside the barn, the sunlight was dimming. A few hours from now it would be dark. Emma looked toward the forest and saw a small figure sprinting up the hill toward the ranch. It was Milo all right, running as if his life were in danger.

  Emma cupped her hands around her mouth. “Milo!”

  He changed course toward the barn, eyes wide.

  “Emma.” He was gasping for breath. “You won’t believe what just happened. The man Coral saw, he has a son—a Feral son named Oscar!”

  Calista appeared by his side. Milo saw her and almost fell back in shock.

  “Whoa! Don’t scare me like that.”

  “What did you see?” Calista said, scanning the field with her keen orange eyes.

  “A boy named Oscar. He’s Latin American. He’s a Feral!”

  “Calm down, Milo.” Emma placed a hand on his shoulder. “What are you talking about?”

  Milo explained what had happened. Calista listened, glancing now and then at the forest beyond the field.

  “Oscar,” Emma said. “And he’s here with his father?”

  “That’s what he said. I don’t know. He had a thick accent. We have to tell Ascher. I think he needs help.”

  “An Earthborn Feral,” Calist
a said.

  Emma and Milo spoke together. “A what?”

  “A boy from Earth. He probably has no idea what’s going on. His father must have brought him here somehow.”

  “We have to tell Ascher,” Milo said.

  Calista shook her head. “Bad idea. If Ascher finds out, he’ll send a rescue party. The boy and his father are scared. Otherwise they would have come to the ranch for help. Maybe we should find him ourselves. Since I’m a Feral, he’ll trust me.”

  Milo looked at Emma. “I don’t know. What do you think, sis?”

  “She might be right. We don’t want to scare him off. If he’s from Earth, he probably has no idea what happens to Ferals here.”

  Milo nodded and looked at Calista. “How do we find him? I mean, we can’t just search the forest. That’ll take forever, and if he doesn’t want to be found…”

  “I got it,” Calista said, and winked at him. “My senses are sharper than you can imagine, Savant.”

  “Good,” Milo said. “Let’s get it done before dinner so we don’t raise any suspicions.”

  Emma and Calista nodded and followed him down the hill. Calista leaned close to Emma and spoke in a whisper.

  “Lily was right. He is kind of cute.”

  Emma rolled her eyes.

  Chapter 38

  Oscar sat watching his father sift through the bushes for berries.

  His stomach rumbled. It was getting late and he was looking forward to curling up on a bed of leaves and calling it a night. It was funny—sleeping in the forest felt more natural to him than any bed on which he’d ever spent the night.

  “A moment longer,” his father said in Spanish. There were bits of twigs and leaves stuck to his black beard. He no longer bothered to pick them out. He resembled one of those grizzly street bums—a gamín—that roamed the streets back home, begging for money.

  Back in Cartagena, Oscar’s father had sold mangoes, strawberries, and bananas on the side of the street. He had been saving money for years, and Oscar remembered the first day—it was on his eighth birthday—that his father had brought home his brand-new taxi.

  “Wow,” Oscar had said. “Papa, it’s so shiny.”

  His father had shooed away the street dogs that kept approaching his son. In the last year, Oscar had become a canine magnet. Cartagena was full of homeless dogs, and they drifted toward Oscar as if he had pinned strips of bacon to his clothes—but they never bit him, only looked at him in helpless surrender.

  “It’s going to change our lives,” his father had said, opening the door of the taxi for Oscar to be the first one in. He had to shut it immediately to keep a stray dog from leaping in after his son.

  The taxi changed their lives all right, but not nearly as much as the tail that began to grow on Oscar’s body six years later. At first, Oscar thought it had something to do with the dogs that kept following him in packs down the street and waiting for him outside of school. Maybe he’d caught some sort of weird infection from them? He hid the tail as much as he could, but the day came when all the duct tape in the world couldn’t help him.

  “Here we go,” his father said, bending over to pick up a small sack he’d been using to hold the berries.

  Oscar’s hand shot forward and grabbed for it. His father sat and watched him eat. Oscar ate about half of the berries and offered the rest to his father. The man shook his head and motioned for Oscar to finish.

  “I spoke to that boy,” Oscar said between mouthfuls.

  His father’s eyes widened. For a moment he looked like he wanted to scold his son for being reckless. Then his expression went back to its normal, fatigued state.

  “I didn’t mean to,” Oscar said. “I saw him in the forest.”

  “What was he doing here? Looking for us?”

  Oscar shook his head and burped. “Two of the girls played a trick on him. I couldn’t understand what they were saying. Papa, one of the girls had a tail.”

  His father nodded and kept his eyes on the ground.

  “I told you,” he said. “Some people here have tails. Others have wings and some even use magic.”

  “And some are strong enough to lift your taxi.”

  “That’s right. I’m glad you spoke to that boy. I figured out what that ranch is. They keep orphans there. Children from Earth who have the blood of the gods in them. Like you.”

  Oscar wiped his hands against his shirt and sat back. “Can you tell me the story again?”

  “Sure, son.” His father sat back against a tree. “Your mother Sofia was a beautiful woman—a singer who could make men fall in love with her instantly, as well as a wise woman who knew much about the different religions and philosophies of the world. She was a sabio, what people on this realm call a ‘Savant.’ She could put her hands on a person’s face and take away their stress and worries and sometimes even their pain. Men and women came from all over Colombia to see her. When she died, hundreds attended her funeral. They thought she had been sent by God to help our city.”

  He paused and looked away. His face had swelled with emotion, and Oscar thought for a moment that his father might cry. He’d only seen him cry once, at the funeral.

  Oscar already knew the story of his mother’s death. One of her customers, a man named Pedro San Martinez, had gone to see Sofia at her little outdoor shop, which also sold flowers. Oscar remembered the heavy scents of those flowers on humid days, and how his mother had always smelled like a garden when she came home.

  He remembered how those flowers had spilled everywhere, a mess of bright colors like paint being splashed, on the day his mother was shot. She had fallen backward off her stool, a blood stain over her heart where the man, Pedro San Martinez, had sent his bullet, convinced that Sofia was a witch sent not by God but by the Devil. Oscar remembered the crowd that had gathered on the sidewalk afterward, and the shouts as the men in the crowd beat Pedro San Martinez to death.

  Oscar had been six years old.

  “She told me all about Astros,” his father said. “She gave me the crystal that helped us get here. I kept it hidden and almost forgot about it until the day you started growing that tail. Then I knew we were in trouble.”

  Another flood of memories. Only a month ago, the men in the green uniforms had come to Oscar’s house in Torices, the neighborhood in which he and his father had lived since his mother’s death. The men had come with guns. One of Oscar’s neighbors—a loud, chatty woman named Diana Morillo Florez—had overheard Oscar and his father discussing his tail. She had been crawling on all fours outside his bedroom window, in the narrow space between their shacks, in search of a few coins her son had dropped on his way home from the store.

  That was how she explained it when Oscar’s father heard her rummaging and went to investigate.

  “Oh, hello Andres. It’s just me,” she had said, getting up and brushing dirt off her hands. As she explained, she kept her eyes on Oscar, who stood by the door with his hands behind his back and his eyes pointing down. Oscar had sensed the woman’s curiosity, the burning importance of her newfound knowledge. The women of his neighborhood lived for a good piece of gossip.

  “She didn’t hear anything,” his father assured him later.

  The next day, men from their neighborhood came with guns to see if Diana’s gossip was true. Many had begun to believe that Oscar’s mother had in fact been a witch. If that was the case, it was possible Oscar was some sort of demon. They would know as soon as they saw his tail.

  Oscar and his father managed to escape in their taxi, easily blending in with the other taxis filling the streets. His father used the beacon crystal that night on the beach. The men from Astros came down in their carriage, pulled by four black levathons, and Oscar remembered how the levathons’ eyes had glowed bright red, and how the men in the carriage had worn armor and carried swords. The men had chased him and his father up the beach, and when they caught up to Oscar, they pushed him down into the sand and hit him.

  Watching the hilt of that s
word crash down over his eyes was the last thing he remembered before waking up in the forest.

  “When we arrived on Astros, I escaped,” his father said, “carrying you on my shoulder. I ran from those men like I’d never run before. It was during a terrible rainstorm. Otherwise, we might not be here at all. We were very lucky.”

  Oscar listened in silence. The sugar from the berries was making him sleepy. He was tired from spending the day swinging from one tree branch to the next.

  He had discovered over the past month that he possessed a supernatural agility unlike anything he’d ever seen in a human being, except on the superhero films he and his father would sometimes watch at the Castellana mall back home. For weeks, he had rushed through the forest like an animal, breathless and wide-eyed and alive in a way he’d never been but had always dreamed. At last, he had the skills he would need to become a famous soccer player.

  No—he’d never get to play in the World Cup. He was pretty sure players with tails were automatically exempt. Maybe they had something like it here on Astros—a Feral version of professional soccer (in his mind, he called it futbol). It was the first thing he planned on asking the fat man with the white beard that owned the ranch up the hill.

  He asked his father, “Did you believe Mami when she told you about Astros?”

  “I certainly did. I’ve always had faith. I only wish she had lived long enough to speak with you about it. She could have prepared you.”

  “Prepared me for what?”

  “For this.” He motioned at the surrounding trees. “Your new home.”

  “Papa, when will I be able to turn into an animal like that girl did?”

  His father stood up and motioned for Oscar to do the same. “Maybe they’ll teach you at the ranch.”

  “We’re going?” Oscar sprang to his feet.

  His father nodded. “Now we have to. Maybe they can lead us there.”

  He pointed at something beyond the trees. Oscar followed his father’s gaze and saw the boy from before, Milo, making his way across the field, followed by a blonde girl and the dark-haired one with the tail.

  Oscar fell back a step, eyes wide. “What if they take us to the men with the swords?”