Shimmering triangles, circles, and rectangles illuminated his friends and their Geniuses, uncovering their sacred proportions.
“Look!” Aaminah said, pointing at Giacomo’s chest. He gazed down, amazed to discover a six-pointed star and hexagon with a multitude of crisscrossing lines, identical to Zanobius’s pattern. There was no doubt now that he and Zanobius had been created the same way.
With the world aglow, Giacomo understood the Compass’s true power. It unveiled the Creator’s blueprint, which lay hidden to the ordinary eye. Virenzia’s buildings, the trees, his friends, and he and Zanobius all shared similar forms. We’re all built from the same pattern, he realized. We’re all connected. It was like the entire city was one big cipher and the Compass had cracked its mystery wide open.
A feeling of peace overcame Giacomo as he realized the whole universe was contained within every single thing, and all those things were woven into the fabric of the universe. I’m not separate from the others after all.
Then all of creation began to crumble.
A dozen of Nerezza’s soldiers barreled out of the palace doors, armor clanging, swords and spears aglow with the same light-filled patterns that clung to their bodies.
Ugalino raised his staff, its diamond blazing. He thrust it down, driving it onto a white line between the stones. A wave of energy rippled across the piazza and up the palace stairs. The stones beneath the left flank of soldiers erupted, sending the men flying into the air. They crashed in a pile at the bottom of the steps. The remaining ones continued their charge.
With Ugalino distracted, Ozo emerged from the shadows. He drew his sword to his ear like a scorpion’s stinging tail and advanced.
“Zanobius, look out!” Giacomo yelled.
The Tulpa turned and sidestepped, narrowly dodging Ozo’s jabbing blade, then countered with a double punch from his two left hands, slugging Ozo in the chest and stomach. Zanobius glanced at Giacomo with a start. His confused stare took in the pattern on Giacomo’s chest.
Ozo launched a second attack, driving Zanobius toward the edge of the piazza.
Meanwhile, Ugalino’s staff struck more tendrils of light, sending another burst across the square, toppling the remaining soldiers. Another wave surged up the stairs and detonated the columns of the Supreme Creator’s palace. The glowing geometric patterns shattered and the massive marble pillars crumbled in a shower of black dust.
“Can’t say I’m sorry to see Nerezza get what she deserves,” Savino said.
“You think he’s going to quit with the palace?” Milena said, her voice shaking. “The whole city is in danger. Everyone’s life is at risk.”
“But how are we going to stop Ugalino if we can’t get past his Genius?” Aaminah pointed to the huge, silver-feathered mass guarding the piazza.
“Well, we can’t sit here waiting,” Milena said. “One hit from Ugalino and this pillar will come crashing down on us. We have to do something.”
“I think we found our opening.” Savino pointed to the sky, where a second large Genius sped toward the palace, shedding feathers as it flew. When Giacomo saw the hunched figure on its back, relief swelled through him.
“Pietro!” he exclaimed.
“Tito must have sensed our Geniuses were back,” Aaminah cheered.
High above, the master artist swiped his brush. A burst of orange light shot from Tito’s crown and hit Ugalino’s Genius. Silver feathers exploded everywhere. Ciro screeched and took to the sky, clearing a path to Ugalino.
Savino led the charge as Nero, Gaia, and Luna flew in a V-formation over their heads. Giacomo was about to follow, but stopped himself. His sketchbook had burned to ashes back at the mountain. Without it, he was powerless.
He watched helplessly as Ugalino sent a surge that rattled the stones, erupting under Aaminah, Savino, and Milena. They flew up and came crashing back down. Giacomo sprinted for Aaminah and pulled her to her feet. Milena and Savino picked themselves up and together they retreated. At the back of the piazza, they all found refuge behind the side of a building.
As Giacomo caught his breath, he realized they’d ended up outside the old cultural center that housed Pietro’s fresco.
Milena cradled her left arm. In the fall, her shirt had torn and the cotton bandage had come loose. She unwrapped it, revealing her Wellspring scar.
Duke Oberto’s disfigured face flashed into Giacomo’s mind, followed by the image of the malformed Tulpas. He began to formulate a plan …
“I think I might know a way to stop Ugalino,” Giacomo said. “But we need to get him away from the Compass.”
“Even if we could get him out of the piazza, those glowing lines are everywhere,” Savino said. “There’s nowhere in Virenzia he’ll be weak.”
“Not Virenzia. The Wellspring.”
“Giacomo, no,” Aaminah protested.
“I think the reason I’ve been able to tap into it is because I’m a Tulpa,” Giacomo reasoned. “It also explains why Milena’s injury was bad, but mine weren’t. I don’t think humans can survive in it. That’s why the duke looked so beat-up. He tried to make his Tulpas using the Wellspring, but he couldn’t stay in long enough to perfect one.”
Milena rubbed her scarred arm. “But what about that Tulpa creature that disappeared from the obscura? You could get absorbed back into the Wellspring too.”
“Not before Ugalino.”
“Are you sure this’ll work?” Savino asked.
“I don’t know,” Giacomo admitted. “But I think it’s the best chance we’ve got. I’ll create a mandorla and trap Ugalino in the Wellspring with me.”
“There’s one problem,” Aaminah said. “You don’t have your sketchbook.”
Savino reached into his satchel. “Here, use mine.” He handed Giacomo a bound leather book. “Just try not to get it destroyed.”
“Thanks,” Giacomo said.
“You’ll need this too.” Milena tossed him a pencil. Its lead was worn dull, but it would do the trick.
“Mico and I will wait in there.” Giacomo nodded his head toward the cultural center. “I’ll open the Wellspring while you three lure Ugalino inside. I’ll trap him long enough for you to take back the Compass.”
“Wait,” Milena said. “You need two people to create the mandorla. I can help you.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Giacomo said. “If you get hurt again…” A horrible image of Milena burning alive appeared in his mind. “Stay out here. I think I know a way to create it on my own.” Pietro had helped him open the Wellspring once, and Giacomo had an idea of how the old master could help him again.
In the piazza, Ugalino sent another wave of light across the stones. A building on the far side collapsed in a heap of rubble and dust.
“Are we doing this?” Savino said impatiently.
Milena nodded, then locked eyes with Giacomo. “Ugalino’s more dangerous than any statue or invisible creature. Be careful.”
“You too,” Giacomo said.
Aaminah hugged him. “I don’t care if you’re a Tulpa,” she said. “I really don’t.”
Giacomo embraced her. “You always know the perfect thing to say.”
The ground shook as another building crumbled. “Let’s go,” Savino urged.
The four looked out toward the half-destroyed piazza. In the sky, Tito relentlessly pursued Ugalino’s Genius, blasting it with bursts of orange light. With each hit Ciro took, Ugalino recoiled in pain. He propelled tendrils of light up at Tito, driving him away from Ciro. On the other side of the square, Ozo and Zanobius were still in the throes of battle.
Savino held his pencil at the ready, Nero on his shoulder. “Milena and Aaminah, attack from the right. I’ll flank him from the left. Try to drive him back toward the building.” He patted Giacomo on the shoulder. “Good luck.”
Giacomo nodded. As the others headed for Ugalino, he ducked through the wooden doors and entered the abandoned building. Like everything outside, its walls and columns were lit up with geometric s
hapes.
Through the walls, he heard the distant crackle of the Compass’s energy, followed by an explosion of stone. Then came the scratchy, low note of Aaminah’s viol. He pictured Ugalino reeling from dizziness as Milena and Savino forced him closer. Giacomo focused his attention on Pietro’s fresco.
Thanks to the Compass’s web of light, its compositional structure was aglow. Lines crisscrossed, circles and triangles overlapped. Giacomo had always admired Pietro’s work, but this was like looking through human skin, to the muscles and bones, to get a clear picture of how a person was built.
At the center of the fresco, Giacomo found what he was looking for—a large, illuminated circle that overlaid seven dancing figures, their outstretched arms connecting in a ring. It would serve as one half of the mandorla. All Giacomo needed to do was draw the other half. Simple, right?
“Ready, Mico?” Giacomo’s Genius chirped emphatically and hovered next to his head.
Giacomo opened the sketchbook and held the pencil an inch above the blank page, hand trembling. If this doesn’t work … Giacomo shook off the doubt and closed his eyes, focusing his imagination on the image of a circle.
He moved the pencil, arcing his hand over the page. When he opened his eyes again, Mico was projecting a circle on the wall, next to the one from Pietro’s fresco.
“A little to the left,” Giacomo instructed, and Mico shifted slightly, moving the red circle so it overlapped Pietro’s. “Keep it steady until Ugalino’s in here.” Mico chirped determinedly.
Another series of explosions rocked the building. The sounds of the battle had moved closer, which meant their plan was working.
With a sharp crack, the doors shattered in a burst of light and Ugalino stumbled into the room.
“He’s in!” Savino shouted in the distance.
“Now, Mico!” Giacomo said.
Mico turned slightly and the edge of the red circle touched the center point of Pietro’s. The almond shape of the mandorla flared and a swirling torrent of color cascaded into the room, followed by a rush of hot air.
In his periphery, Giacomo saw Ugalino raise his staff. A wave slammed into him and Mico, throwing them across the room. The sketchbook and pencil flew out of Giacomo’s hands and skidded across the floor. The red circle vanished from the wall, along with the opening to the Wellspring.
Ugalino sent another attack, destroying the sketchbook. “No!” Giacomo reached feebly toward the pile of ashes.
Ugalino strode toward Giacomo and loomed over him. “An impressive attempt, especially for a Tulpa.”
Giacomo stumbled to his feet, his head spinning. Mico’s wings fluttered erratically as he rose off the floor.
“All these years, I believed I was the only one with the vision and courage to bring a Tulpa to life,” Ugalino said. “Your creator has my respect.”
“I have two. Both my parents created me.”
“Yet they never told you what you truly are … How cruel.” Ugalino raised his staff and the diamond started to glow.
Without the sketchbook and pencil, Giacomo’s only hope of survival was to keep Ugalino talking. “Cruel? They created me with love and never tried to hold me back. All you’ve done is use Zanobius for your own selfish reasons. Are you ever planning to let him be free? Or are you going to keep him a mindless slave for the rest of his life?”
“My Tulpa is a work of art. And like any masterpiece, it can take many years of struggle and revision before it reaches its true potential.” His harsh expression softened. “I’m sure your parents would agree.”
“My parents are dead!”
Ugalino gave a heavy nod. “I’m sorry to hear that, I truly am. No Tulpa should have to navigate this hostile world without its creator.”
“Thanks to you, I have.”
“Me?” Ugalino looked offended. “I didn’t know your parents, so whatever harm came to them was not my doing. I can only assume Nerezza had a hand in their deaths?”
“Yes. But if you had never created your Tulpa, Nerezza wouldn’t have had any reason to start killing Geniuses.”
“I see your reasoning, but it’s misguided. Rarely is the world so black-and-white. Nerezza was already well on her way to becoming a tyrant. My Tulpa was merely the excuse she needed to assert total power over her subjects.”
Giacomo’s eyes locked on the pencil lying on the floor—maybe he still had a shot at opening the Wellspring.
“Now excuse me,” Ugalino said. “There’s a Supreme Creator I need to overthrow.” But as he backed toward the exit, Ugalino doubled over as if struck by an invisible force. From somewhere outside, his Genius’s distant cry could be heard. It was the opening Giacomo needed.
He let out a short, soft whistle. Mico snatched up the pencil with his claws and dropped it in Giacomo’s hand. He raised the pencil toward Ugalino. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Ugalino straightened, the diamond on his staff aglow. “Your parents gave you a lot of courage, but not a lot of smarts.” He thrust his staff forward and the world slowed.
I am part of the universe, and the universe is within me, Giacomo told himself.
Holding the image of a circle in his mind’s eye, he swiped the pencil in a perfect arc. Mico projected a bright red circle on the wall, re-forming the mandorla. Its almond eye glowed, then powerful waves of color poured into the room, swallowing Ugalino’s attack. Giacomo braced himself as the Wellspring consumed them both.
21
BATTLE IN THE PIAZZA
Even though the sky was dark, the glow that emanated from everyone and everything helped Zanobius see his attacker clear as day. The bloodied swordsman charged, spinning his body and whipping his blade. More than once, the steel cut Zanobius’s skin, but the wounds were shallow and healed quickly.
“You remember me yet?” The swordsman hacked straight down. Zanobius jumped left. The blade whipped by.
The man seemed intent on killing him, that much was obvious. But there was something else—a haunted look in his eyes—that suggested his conflict with Zanobius might have deeper roots.
“Ozo Mori’s my name!” the swordsman roared as he jabbed. “That ring a bell?”
It didn’t. It dawned on Zanobius that he must have personally wronged the man in some way.
Zanobius lunged and reached with his front right arm to grab Ozo’s blade, forgetting that his hand was missing. Thankfully, he still had three good fists. He swiped with his two left arms, punching Ozo in his shoulder and flank, sending him stumbling to the side.
Zanobius realized the rumble from the falling buildings had ceased. He spotted three of the children rushing across the piazza, toward the spinning Compass. With his master nowhere in sight, it was now his job to guard it.
As Ozo circled and arced his blade, Zanobius ducked and countered with a punch to the gut. Ozo staggered, dropping to one knee. Zanobius ran toward the Compass. Behind him, he heard pounding feet and crunching stones. Zanobius swung around in time to see Ozo leap off a fallen pillar, his blade coming down fast. Zanobius rolled right as the sword sparked against stone.
He grabbed three broken chunks of debris and heaved them. Ozo batted the first two away with his blade, but the third hit him hard in the shoulder and sent him sprawling.
The children now surrounded the radiant half sphere that encased the Compass. As the boy and older girl waved their brushes, the girl called Aaminah played a haunting tune that sounded familiar, though Zanobius couldn’t place where he’d heard it before. Their three Geniuses hit the sphere with beams of blue, green, and yellow light.
Ozo was upon him again, this time slashing low, forcing Zanobius to leap over the blade. As he came back down, Ozo jabbed, slicing deep into his back left calf. Zanobius’s leg buckled. Gray ooze sizzled as it dripped on a bright line between his feet.
A screech rang out across the piazza and a ragged-looking Ciro dove at the children. Behind him, the old man’s gray-feathered Genius was in close pursuit, firing orange spirals of light from i
ts crown.
Ozo’s sword cut Zanobius again, this time across his front left ankle. His two left legs barely held his weight now. He limped away, trying to put some distance between him and Ozo to give his wounds time to heal. But Ozo kept coming. The second Zanobius avoided one sword strike, another would come at him from a different direction.
I’m in danger. Help me. Ugalino’s voice pierced his mind, distracting him long enough for Ozo to run his blade through his left shoulder.
Enraged, Zanobius screamed and dove at Ozo, tackling him into a pile of debris. He rose up, pulled the sword from his shoulder, and then flung it away. Using his one good left arm, he picked Ozo off his feet, and with his remaining right hand, pummeled his face. Teeth flew out of Ozo’s mouth, followed by a spray of blood. The man went limp. Zanobius tossed him into the rubble.
In the center of the square, the kids were regrouping, making another go at the Compass. The boy named Giacomo wasn’t with them. Zanobius looked around for his master. Toward the back of the piazza, streams of light and color flickered like flames through the boarded-up windows of an abandoned building. Was Ugalino in danger because of Giacomo? He wondered about the boy, who had a pattern similar to his on his body. Could it mean the boy was also a Tulpa?
Deciding to save his master instead of the Compass, Zanobius limped across the piazza. He moved as swiftly as he could, but Ozo’s attacks had severely weakened him.
He had made it halfway to the building when a dust-covered Ozo stumbled in front of him, his mouth twisted into a bloody, toothless grimace. The man was resilient, Zanobius had to admit.
“You might not remember my wife and my daughter,” Ozo growled. “But the whole world’s going to remember me as the man who brought down the Monster.”
Wife and daughter? Zanobius searched his memory, but had no recollection of them.
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