The next day, the orphans spent breakfast and free time in heated gossip sessions.
It seemed everyone was talking about the magician that had been 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: that 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. He was standing 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 a series of 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 was wringing 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 for some 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 along with her words.
“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 the difficulty she was having continuing, he lifted 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 47
There 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 OK.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“No, just kidding.”
They shared a laugh. Milo noticed the relief on Emma’s face—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 in suspicion. “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 in his life.
“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.”
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 OK. 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.”
&
nbsp; “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 and not a fellow orphan, 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.
He was about to turn toward the ranch so he could take off his stupid, girly skates when a column of air next to him began to shimmer. For a tense moment, Milo thought he’d encountered a heat vortex spell. They were rare but deadly, and hot enough to melt a person’s flesh right off his bones.
Instead, Lily Breezewater rippled into view. She skated forward as if everything was perfectly normal—as if she hadn’t just stepped out of an invisibility spell, which was a Tier IV spell, among the most difficult to maintain for more than a few seconds.
“You have to stop doing that,” Milo said.
He stopped when he saw the look on her face. It was the sort of awestruck look a girl might give a boy upon finding out that he was actually a prince.
“I don’t believe it,” she said. “The rumors are true. You cast a fireball spell.”
Milo tried acting like it was no big deal. “You didn’t hear about that?”
She nodded, blinking her pretty green eyes. “But I didn’t believe it. I thought maybe—I don’t know, that maybe Kovax had cast the spell and you had simply reflected it, or that maybe that magician stalking the ranch—wait, no, that’s not right, only a sorcerer could—oh, wow, that means you really are a sorcerer. At such an early age—Milo you don’t know how exciting that is. I’m so jealous. I mean, magicians can cast some interesting spells, but”—she brought her fists up to her chest and rattled them—“when it comes to raw, luminether-fueled magical power, sorcery is the real deal. Oh, you have to show me a spell. Can you light a fire in your palm? Can you form a ball of ice out of the surrounding moisture? Show me, pleeeaaase!”
Milo’s mouth had gone dry. How could he possibly tell her the truth—that he didn’t know any spells whatsoever? He might have learned a thing or two about levitation, but lifting small objects was a Tier II spell, nothing even close to what Lily knew how to do.
“What’s the matter?” she said.
He was rubbing the back of his head and frowning. Stupid, stupid habit.
“It’s just that—well…”
“You don’t know any spells?”
He looked away and shook his head.
Lily didn’t seem to care. She skated forward, close enough that Milo could have reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes opened wide and he could see the green-flecked brown of her corneas, like early spring grass. It was a little awkward, being this close to her, since she was a couple of inches taller than him.
“Do you want me to show you a spell?” Lily said. “It’s a really easy one.”
Milo’s heart did a somersault. “Sure, yeah.”
“Give me your hands. Without the gloves.”
He pulled off his gloves and let them fall to the ice. Then he lifted his hands until they were between his chest and hers, and it was strange how warm her skin felt when she took his hands into her own.
Lily bowed her head and closed her eyes. “Concentrate on the lines of your palms, and repeat after me.”
“OK,” he said. Then, for whatever reason, he added: “Lily.”
“Great,” she said. Tightening her grip on his hands but leaving them open so Milo could see his palms, she began to chant. “Oh, elegant strings that tremble in time…”
He repeated, “Oh, elegant strings that tremble in time…”
“Creating this fabric so bright and sublime…”
When he repeated the second line, the skin of his palms warmed the slightest bit.
Lily continued. “Dance to the song of my spiritual might…and give me the power to bear this bright light.”
Nothing.
“Again,” she said. “Again.”
Together this time, they chanted.
“Oh, elegant strings that tremble in time, creating this fabric so bright and sublime, dance to the song of my spiritual might, and give me the power to bear this bright light.”
Milo’s palms burst into a display of radiant white light. Glowing cracks had opened on his skin, and yet he felt no pain or discomfort—only a pleasant tingling sensation. This was what it felt like to hold pure light in your hands.
Lily let go, and Milo saw that her palms had also filled with light. As he watched, the light spread over her skin and then his, covering their hands like glowing white paint.
“It’s like a flashlight,” Lily said. “Your hands, I mean.”
She squinted down at the light, and Milo could sense her mind working. The light gathered into a single white marble at the tip of her index finger. She traced a word into the air. The light remained, forming letters.
MILO, she wrote.
He did the same and wrote LILY.
“That poem,” Milo said as he watched the letters fade like moisture lifting off glass, “did you write it?”
She joined her hands behind her back and grinned. “Uh huh.”
“It’s nice,” he said. “Perfect.”
Lily bit her lower lip. Her eyebrows rose in the middle and Milo could see alarm growing in her eyes. Had he scared her somehow? Was it something he’d said?
“What’s the matter?”
“I can’t,” she said.
“Can’t what?”
Her lower lip trembled. “It’s not you, Milo. It’s just that, where we’re going, we might not…”
“It’s OK,” he said, reaching for her hand, to comfort her, because that was the right thing to do—right?
She twisted away from him. “No, it’s not.”
With that, she turned and sped away across the ice, leaving Milo speechless. The light in his hands began to fade. He recited the poem once more in his mind…
(“Oh, elegant strings that tremble in time, creating this fabric so bright and sublime, dance to the song of my spiritual might, and give me the power to bear this bright light.”)
…and was disappointed to see the light intensify for only a single moment before disappearing.
Someone was watching him.
He sensed it the way one senses an oncoming migraine. It began as a dull throb all over his body and intensified until all four of his limbs felt cold and loose. There had to be some sort of magic at work, and it wasn’t one of Lily’s tricks. Whoever it was, this person wanted Milo to know he was being watched.
When the beacon crystal began to grow hot in his pocket, he knew something wasn’t right.
He looked to his left, where the forest spread out toward the mountains. One look was all it took to confirm his fears—a man in dark clothing was watching him from the trees, and the man had black holes in his face instead of eyes.
A voice entered his mind and spoke to him, and Milo listened. It sounded familiar, like his father’s voice.
He followed it across the pond and into the darkening forest.
Chapter 48
Alexandra awoke in a mess of sheets to the terrifying sight of five colored orbs hovering above her face. Resembling giant Halloween eyeballs from a joke shop, they washed he
r with their mechanical glare. Sometimes she would wake to find them eyeing her body, trying to catch a glimpse of her in a vulnerable state. She had tried to swat one away once. The shock left her fingers tingling for days.
The dream slipped from memory and she could only lie there, on top of her broken wings, blinking at the orbs with a layer of cold sweat drying on her face. The drug they used to keep her healing abilities at bay left her feeling drowsy most of the time. She’d been sleeping a lot these days.
The food they gave her was nutritious but bland. Bread and oats in the morning, along with a few slices of fruit, then a sandwich and soup for lunch, accompanied by a tall glass of sour beetling juice meant to keep her skin and hair lustrous. Sometimes they gave her habbardon meat for dinner, but not often—a good thing since habbardons were muscular beasts and their meat was stringy and tough. It was a whole lot better than what they had been feeding her in the tower, though. Iolus had sent orders to keep her healthy. He wanted her to be plump, even said he was going to roast her alive and eat her when he got back. It was a thought she tried to keep out of her mind.
On this particular morning, at exactly 6:30, a guard named Jeffrey came in with her tray of breakfast. He was accompanied by two other guards who stood by the door as usual, holding heavy-looking crossbows loaded with energized steel bolts. Jeffrey was the only one she knew by name because he was the friendliest.
“G’morning, my lady,” he said, looking her up and down, more to inspect her health than to admire her body. The man’s hair fell in chestnut curls around his pink face. He resembled a little boy, and he was in love with her.
His greeting brought chuckles from the other two guards.
“My layyyy-dee,” one of the guards said, prancing about in a little dance and flapping his hands.
The words angered Alexandra so much that she felt a sensation of prickly warmth wash over her face. She was not an impulsive woman, but today had to be the day—she had to act now.
“Jeffrey,” she said. “How are you, my love?”
Jeffrey’s mouth opened in shock. The guard by the door, the one who had done the little dance, frowned and said, “Hey, wait a minute…”
Savant (The Luminether Series) Page 27