The swordsman let out a howl from deep in his gut and charged, light shimmering off his blade.
22
UGALINO’S OFFER
Swirling colors blinded Giacomo. He crouched down, shielding Mico from the whipping winds. Out of the chaos, a white orb glowed like a beacon. An expanding sphere of light pushed the colors and the burning heat away.
Ugalino stepped out of the storm, staff held at arm’s length. The diamond projected a protective shell that expanded around him.
Ugalino gazed in reverence at the maelstrom of color beating against his shield. “Incredible … To be surrounded by the source of all creative energy.”
Giacomo trembled, realizing Ugalino wasn’t going to perish inside the Wellspring. He was going to thrive in it.
“A Tulpa with a Genius and the power to summon the Wellspring…” Ugalino mused, moving closer. “You are a rare artist, indeed.”
Giacomo took a step back and clutched his pencil. His arm shot up. Mico hovered, ready to strike.
Ugalino stopped. “That won’t be necessary. I’d hoped we would speak. That’s why I left the portal open.”
“You … you wanted me to follow you back here? Why?”
“Because we shouldn’t be fighting over the Sacred Tools. We should be working together.”
That was the last thing Giacomo had expected him to say. “Work with you? Why would I do that?”
“Contrary to what Pietro and Baldassare may have told you, I am not your enemy. Nerezza is. After I created Zanobius, she made it her life’s mission to destroy him. Once she discovers that you’re a Tulpa, she’ll kill you too.”
He’s probably right, Giacomo thought.
“With my vision, and your ability to harness the Wellspring, we could end Nerezza’s reign. In the right artist’s hands, the Compass and the rest of the Creator’s Tools could be used to bring a renaissance to the Zizzolan Empire.”
“It seems like all you want to do is destroy Virenzia and everyone in it.”
“Great change often comes with a few sacrifices.”
“How does that make you any different from Nerezza? You both use your Geniuses and your power to control people.”
“I’m nothing like her,” Ugalino snapped. “I would allow artists and their Geniuses to finally come out of hiding and create once again. Become my apprentice, Giacomo, and we will usher in a new era together.”
“I already have a teacher.”
“Pietro? He’s a washed-up coward who won’t allow true artists to flourish.”
Giacomo gripped his pencil tighter. “You don’t even know him!”
“I do. He was my teacher too.”
A sudden coldness hit his heart. Ugalino was Pietro’s apprentice?
“When I approached him with the idea of creating a Tulpa, I explained how I wanted to create a being that was perfectly proportioned, with unmatched strength. Someone who wouldn’t be tied to the past or the future. The ideal man. And what was Pietro’s reaction? He forbade me to create one. This, from an artist who was supposedly enlightened. So I pursued it on my own. When Pietro found out, he banished me from his studio. What do you think he’s going to say when he discovers you’re a Tulpa?”
“He’ll … he’ll understand. He’ll still teach me…” Giacomo’s voice trailed off. Was that really true? Pietro had never been that fond of Giacomo to begin with. Once he found out what Giacomo really was, he’d probably banish him from his studio too. Or worse.
“And Baldassare Barrolo may have harbored you in his villa, but no member of the Council of Ten can be trusted.”
“Pietro’s lived there for years. My other friends too. Nerezza didn’t have a clue.”
“Don’t be so naïve,” Ugalino said. “Haven’t you wondered why the Supreme Creator of Zizzola, a woman with unlimited resources, didn’t send out her own search party to find the Compass?”
Giacomo thought about it for a second. “She had no idea where to look,” he responded.
“No. It was because Baldassare was working on her behalf. He tricked you and your friends into doing all the hard work, while he and Nerezza sat back and waited for you to return.”
“That’s not true!” Giacomo shouted.
“Wake up! They used you and your Genius!”
The whole point of running away from the orphanage was so he wouldn’t have to serve the woman responsible for his parents’ deaths. But if what Ugalino said was true, he’d been doing the Supreme Creator’s bidding this whole time, without even realizing it. He began to feel dizzy. How could I have been so stupid?
The Wellspring’s relentless pounding cracked Ugalino’s protective shell. The air began to warm. Ugalino’s eyes flashed fear. He raised his staff, then slammed it back down. The diamond pulsed with light and the barrier held. But judging by the nervous look on his face, Ugalino seemed concerned the Wellspring’s power might overtake his.
“Guide us out of here, Giacomo. And let us begin our work together.”
Back at the mountain, Ugalino could have closed the portal and left Giacomo stranded, but he hadn’t. If he helped Ugalino defeat Nerezza, then he and his friends wouldn’t have to live in hiding anymore. All those paintings Baldassare had locked away would be seen again. Against his better judgment, Giacomo found himself seriously considering Ugalino’s offer.
“If I help you, how do I know you’re not going to wipe my memory too? I won’t be your slave.”
The shell shook and cracked again. More color and heat streamed in. Beads of sweat ran down Ugalino’s forehead. “I didn’t create you, Giacomo. You’re free to choose your path. But please, choose quickly.”
A long seam split across the top of the sphere.
What had Pietro told him in his first lesson, when he was blindfolded? Change your perception of reality. He’d believed all the terrible things Pietro and Baldassare had told him about Ugalino and his Tulpa, but why? He needed to look at the situation from a different perspective to know the truth.
But it wasn’t as if Ugalino was being completely honest with him either. The man was desperate now and would probably say anything if it meant he would survive. Giacomo had been told so many conflicting things, he didn’t know who to trust. Even his parents had kept his true nature from him. But they must have been inspired by Ugalino and his Tulpa. Is that why they refused to attack Ugalino when Nerezza asked? Is that a good enough reason to let him go now?
Although Ugalino’s intentions in creating Zanobius were far from pure, he’d had the courage and insight to create a living, thinking Tulpa. If he’d stopped when Pietro ordered him to, maybe Giacomo’s parents would never have created a son. In a weird way, Giacomo had Ugalino to thank for being alive. And he’s the only one with the knowledge to create Tulpas. He could help bring my parents back.
Giacomo shook off the thought. Was he really going through with this? Ugalino was a murderer. How many people like Duke Oberto and Enzio had been killed in his quest to find the Compass? How many more would be sacrificed in the search for the Straightedge and the Pencil?
“I’m the only one who understands what you are, Giacomo,” Ugalino said. “Now that your friends know you’re a Tulpa, they’ll always treat you differently. You’ll always be an outsider to them.”
Giacomo had gotten a glimpse of what it was like to have friends that he cared about. But that bond had been bent, possibly beyond repair. The only thing Giacomo knew for sure at that moment was that he would never be human like them.
The Wellspring’s storm intensified and Ugalino’s shell buckled. The swirl of colors seeped in. He gripped his staff tighter. The diamond pulsated—bright, then dim, its light growing faint.
“Giacomo, please…” Ugalino held his hand out in a gesture of kindness, but also desperation. “Help me show artists a way to greatness again.”
Slowly, Giacomo raised his arm and reached out. The wind screamed. The heat seared. All he had to do was take Ugalino’s hand in his. Lead him out of the maelstrom.
Giacomo’s hand stopped short. “I’m sorry,” he said, stepping back. “But the only greatness you seem to care about is your own. I can’t let you hurt Zanobius—or anyone else—any longer.”
What remained of the dome broke away and the Wellspring overtook Ugalino. His mouth opened, but his screams were lost among the Wellspring’s deafening howls. The edges of his body blended into the surging colors, like oil paints smeared across a palette. Then Ugalino was gone, erased from existence.
Giacomo closed his eyes. The pelting winds died down. The heat dissipated. When he opened them again, he found himself staring at Pietro’s fresco. Like Ugalino, the glowing sacred geometry lines had vanished. He looked down at his chest. The Tulpa pattern had disappeared too. A feeling of hope swelled inside him. Savino, Milena, and Aaminah must have taken the Compass back.
“Mico, come on!” Giacomo bolted out of the room, his Genius trailing him. He couldn’t wait to tell Zanobius the good news—he was free.
23
THE CREATOR’S COMPASS
Ozo’s blade came straight for Zanobius’s eyes. He sidestepped and clamped his hands around the swordsman’s throat. Ozo made a sharp choking sound as he was hoisted off his feet; his sword dropped with a clatter. He grasped at Zanobius’s hands, trying to pry them loose. The vein in Ozo’s neck throbbed slower … slower … weakening with each heartbeat.
But in his eyes, the hatred still burned. Even with his life moments from ending, the swordsman never showed a trace of fear.
His master’s voice returned. Zanobius. Zanobius!
He wanted to shout back that he was coming, once Ozo was out of the way. But he was already too late.
Remember me, his master’s voice said. Zanobius waited for more, but heard only silence.
Then an excruciating pain ripped through his head, like his skull had split open.
Through blurred vision, Zanobius spotted Ugalino’s Genius above the piazza, frantically whipping its wings and spiraling straight up into the sky. Ciro let out one last rattly shriek before plummeting to the earth.
One of the girls yelled “Watch out!” and the children dove away as Ciro crashed into the glowing dome and vanished in a blaze of crackling energy. The strings of light that shimmered across the humans and buildings retracted into the illuminated half sphere, which then faded away, unveiling the spinning Compass. It slowed and toppled, landing with a clang.
Tiles flew back onto Zanobius’s memory mosaic. An image of Ozo came into view, but in it he was younger, his hair shorter, his scar missing. He stood in the doorway of a weathered farmhouse, wielding an ax. Fields of wheat shimmered in the golden light.
A woman stood behind him, just inside the house. She pulled a young girl with braids close to her. Tears streamed down the girl’s face.
Ugalino stood by Zanobius’s side. Kill them all, he ordered.
His memory jumped forward. Zanobius dropped the woman’s lifeless body with a thud. The daughter lay unmoving against the wall, under a broken window, shards of glass sparkling in her brown hair. The ax was on the ground, its blade shorn from its handle. Slumped in the doorway was Ozo, bleeding from a deep gash down his cheek.
Why had Ugalino forced him to do that? What could Ozo and his family have possibly done to deserve such a brutal punishment?
A new agony lodged in Zanobius’s chest. His master had built him to endure physical suffering, no matter how extreme, but he wasn’t equipped to handle the mental anguish that came with the knowledge of what he’d done.
He released Ozo and the swordsman collapsed, gasping. Zanobius clutched his head and dropped to his knees, howling and writhing as more images flooded his memory.
A man’s bloated body floated down a river.
Legs lay motionless, sticking out from under a toppled horse cart.
A man in a red robe with burned skin lay in a heap on a marble floor, his tongue hanging from his mouth. He was someone important. A duke, Zanobius recalled.
So many victims … All dead by Zanobius’s hands. No wonder people had been calling him a monster and an abomination all his life. He was a scourge to the people of Zizzola, a horrible creature that should be shackled in chains and locked away in the deepest, dankest dungeon. If someone didn’t put him there, he’d do it himself.
Other memories flowed. Zanobius saw himself speaking against Ugalino, trying to stand up for himself, fighting for his independence. Over and over. But every time, the diamond on Ugalino’s staff glowed, the patterns on Zanobius burned bright, then … Nothing.
His blackouts weren’t random. Ugalino had caused them in order to control Zanobius. The moment he showed a hint of free thought, Ugalino wiped it away. Zanobius had tried to rebel. He’d tried to stop the cycle of violence, but Ugalino’s mental leash had been unbreakable.
Until now. The only reason his memories were flooding back was because his master was dead.
To his shock, his eyes filled with water. A drop fell to the ground, splashing in a small circle, darkening the stone. At first, he thought it was rain, but the sky was clear. Then another drop fell, followed by a third, until dark dots sprinkled the ground like a constellation of stars. Was he sad because his master was gone, or was he crying for all those lives he had destroyed?
Straining, Ozo pushed himself to his knees and crawled to his sword. He gripped its hilt. In one motion, he swung his arms, rising up and lifting the blade high.
Zanobius dropped his head and awaited his punishment, hoping his death would bring some peace to Ozo and to the rest of Zizzola. Now that Ugalino was gone, there would be no one who could revive him. Let the mercenary be celebrated as a hero alongside the great protectors of the realm. The Supreme Creator would proclaim him Ozo Mori, the Tulpa Slayer.
But before Ozo could bring the blade down, red light shot across the piazza, blowing up at Ozo’s feet, sending him into the rubble.
Through the clearing dust, Zanobius saw Giacomo and his Genius racing toward him, a pencil in the boy’s raised right hand. Fine, Zanobius thought. Let it be the boy who ends me.
But Giacomo didn’t strike again. Instead, he kneeled next to Zanobius.
“Ugalino is gone,” the boy told him. “I’m sorry.”
“I … I remember. Everything.” Zanobius wiped the tears from his eyes. “Why did you stop him?” he said, pointing to Ozo, who groaned weakly.
“Because he was about to kill you.”
“You should have let him.”
“No,” Giacomo said. “You and I are the only two Tulpas in the world. We need to help each other now.”
So it was true—he and the boy shared similar origins. Zanobius’s life had been plagued by the fact that he was different, a freak. But Giacomo’s existence suddenly made him feel less alone. Ugalino’s life may have been over, but that didn’t mean Zanobius’s had to end too. His path was now his choice.
Another memory returned—a boy with black hair, lying lifeless in his arms.
“Enzio,” Zanobius muttered. “He’s still alive. I promised I’d go back for him.”
“He’s okay?” Giacomo said, looking relieved.
Zanobius nodded and rose to his feet. “He’s probably still in the Cave of Alessio. We can use the Compass to get back to him.” Saving Enzio wouldn’t make up for all the terrible things he’d done, but he wasn’t going to let another innocent life perish if he could help it.
“We’ll save him together,” Giacomo said. “Come on.”
“What do we do about Ozo?” Zanobius asked, pointing to the now unconscious man covered in dust and rocks.
“We get as far away from him as possible before he comes to,” Giacomo said.
They hurried over to the other three children, who eyed Zanobius watchfully. Savino clutched the Compass and raised his pencil. The Genius on his shoulder let out a harsh screech.
“Don’t.” Giacomo put himself between Zanobius and Savino.
With a whoosh, the gray-feathered Genius landed near them, carrying th
e old man. Zanobius remembered him as Ugalino’s former teacher.
“Master Pietro,” Milena said, “we have the Compass, but the Tulpa’s here.”
“He’s not going to hurt you,” Giacomo assured them.
“Everyone, away from the Tulpa,” Pietro said.
The children stepped back, but Giacomo remained by Zanobius’s side. “Ugalino doesn’t control him anymore. He’s not dangerous.”
“How could you possibly know that?” Pietro said in a dismissive tone.
“Because I’m a Tulpa too.”
Pietro’s already pale face turned a few shades whiter. “But … how?”
“It’s true,” Milena said. “Our Geniuses couldn’t free the Compass, but Giacomo could.”
“Still … that doesn’t mean…”
“I’ll explain later,” Giacomo said. “But right now, Enzio’s in trouble. We can use the Compass to get to him.”
Pietro dismounted his Genius. “Where is he?”
“At the Cave of Alessio,” Zanobius said. “When I left him, he was still alive, but that was two days ago.”
“How do we know you’re not leading us into a trap?” Savino said.
“He’s not,” Giacomo answered, before Zanobius could.
“How can you be sure?” Milena asked.
“I just am, all right?” Giacomo grabbed one of the Compass’s legs. “Give it to me, Savino. You don’t have to come, but I’m going to help Enzio.”
Savino pulled on the Compass’s other leg. “We need to take it back to the villa.”
The two boys glared at each other, waiting to see who would make the first move. But Zanobius didn’t have time for their standoff. He reached between them and snatched the Compass out of both their hands.
“Enzio needs our help,” Zanobius growled. Savino took a step back, pencil raised.
The clomping of boots interrupted them. Two groups of soldiers, each nearly fifty in rank, swarmed from the sides of the palace. Zanobius feared any further delay would cost Enzio his life, along with their own.
“Give me the Compass,” Giacomo whispered, his eyes on the approaching soldiers.
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