Warrior Genius

by Michael Dante DiMartino

  “Then you’ve made your decision?”

  Giacomo took the memories of Zanobius and his desire to see him again and packed them away in a trunk inside his mind. Perhaps he and Zanobius would reunite one day, but for now Giacomo needed to focus on the greater good. “Yes,” Giacomo said. “I’m not going to abandon the mission.”

  Niccolo smiled and straightened, as if casting off a heavy yoke. “Then I’d like nothing more than to join you.”

  13

  MILENA’S DISCOVERY

  The quest to find the Sacred Tools had come to a standstill, and Milena seemed to be the only one who cared. Following Zanobius’s departure, she had spent the day reading through Garrulous’s journals, eager to find proof that the Straightedge was in Rachana. So far, though, she’d only found descriptions of Rachana’s culture and history.

  Rachana’s heroes are the great and powerful warriors who have served as protectors of all that is noble and sacred to the Rachanan people. These warriors pride themselves on their strength, both of body and of spirit.

  And as fascinating as the information was, nothing she read would likely persuade the others to leave the comfort of Niccolo’s villa and forge into potentially hostile territory. Still, she had a gut feeling that Garrulous’s journals would ultimately prove helpful, so she kept up her research.

  The morning after Zanobius left, she tucked a couple of volumes under her arm and, with Gaia perched on her shoulder, Milena wandered the villa, looking for a quiet, cozy place to read. Pietro was still sleeping upstairs, and his grating snores echoed through the house. Milena went downstairs to the library, but Savino and Enzio had claimed the room. They sat on the floor, hunched over a game board, and Milena recognized the three concentric squares with black and white stones as belonging to the Mill Game. She had played it with her sisters when she still lived back home.

  She moved on to the dining room, where she found Giacomo slumped over the table, head on his arms, fast asleep. Milena wondered what made him so tired—had he lain awake thinking of Zanobius’s attack, as she had? She could ask, but they had barely spoken two words to each other yesterday and she didn’t feel like trying to make conversation now.

  Outside, Aaminah was running through the grass, playing the lute while Luna plunged through the air. As much as Milena admired Aaminah’s carefree spirit, all the noise was too much this early in the day.

  Milena made her way up one hill and down another until all she could hear was the leaves rustling in the breeze. She breathed deeply, taking in the cool, crisp air.

  Finally … quiet.

  With Gaia looping gracefully through the sky, Milena propped herself against one of the monoliths and cracked open volume five of Garrulous’s journals. It began with an account of Rachana’s polytheistic belief system.

  I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that my faith in a single Creator has limited my view of the vastness of the universe. The Rachanans worship ten deities, and each god embodies one of the ten sacred geometry forms. This has led me to conclude that perhaps our beliefs aren’t so different. Rather, they are like two branches growing from the same tree.

  Milena felt the same way Garrulous must have—intrigued, but confused. The idea that the Creator was the only god in the universe had been ingrained in her since childhood, so the notion that there could be multiple gods flipped her worldview upside down.

  As she read on, Milena was particularly taken with Garrulous’s descriptions and drawings of the horse-Geniuses and thought how incredible it would be to see one in person.

  On the backs of their armored, winged horse-Geniuses, the Rachanan warriors soar through the sky, wielding a type of dagger they call a katar and igniting brilliant displays of sacred geometry from the gems in their Geniuses’ armor.

  Milena was absorbed in the journal for what must have been hours, because by the time she looked up, the sun had moved from her left to her right. Gaia flapped her wings, squawking plaintively.

  “Just a few more pages, and then we’ll go,” she said.

  Milena turned to the next entry, and her heart went still. Staring back at her was the image of a skeletal man with hollow eyes, a stick-thin neck, and a distended belly—exactly like the figure Giacomo had described seeing in the Wellspring!

  Milena quickly gathered the other books. She was about to head back to the villa to share her discovery with Giacomo, but he found her first.

  “There you are!” he called out, coming up over the rise with Mico trailing behind him. “Aaminah said she saw you leaving the house this morning, but she didn’t tell me you were way out here.”

  “Giacomo, listen to me, I need to tell you something.”

  “No, I need to say something first,” Giacomo insisted.

  “Whatever it is, it can wait. Look!” She shoved the journal in his face, and as soon as he saw the drawing, Giacomo’s eyes registered shock.

  “That looks like the Lost Soul who attacked me!” Giacomo snatched the journal out of Milena’s hands and began to read aloud. “‘The Rachanans believe that Pretas are ghosts who haunt the place where they died. An experienced guru can usually guide a Preta to its next life, but if a Preta hungers for something vital, such as power, it will cling to this world with every piece of its soul and torment anyone who crosses its path.’”

  “Pretas sound even worse than Lost Souls,” Milena commented.

  Giacomo gazed up from the journal, a haunted look in his eyes. “That means you were right all along. The Straightedge really is in Rachana.”

  “It certainly looks that way.”

  “Milena, I’m so sorry…”

  “It’s all right. I wasn’t totally sure about the Straightedge being in Rachana, either, until I saw this drawing.”

  “No, I mean I’m sorry about not listening to you before,” Giacomo said. “That’s what I came to say. Pietro made you my teacher for a reason, and I didn’t respect that. If I had, maybe Zanobius would still be here.”

  Milena sensed his sincerity and sadness. “Thank you for saying that. And I know it was hard to see Zanobius leave, but in the end, I think it was the best decision for all of us.”

  Giacomo shrugged and gazed down at his feet. “I guess so.”

  Standing there with his slumped shoulders, bowed head, and downcast eyes, Giacomo looked not like a powerful Tulpa, but a lost, scared boy. Still, Milena couldn’t entirely forget how untamed and unpredictable his abilities were. “I have to ask … Do you think what happened to Zanobius could happen to you?”

  Giacomo’s eyes flicked up with a spark of uncertainty, then he stared off into the distance. After a long silence, he turned back to her, his posture straight, his expression full of resolve. “It’s not going to happen to me,” he said confidently. “Now, come on, let’s go tell the others we’re heading to Rachana.”

  But as they turned to walk back together, they heard shrill squawks and a deep hoot coming from the direction of the villa—Nero and Tito were sounding the alarm. Gaia stretched her neck and let out a throaty call, joining their cries, and Mico zigzagged through the air, chirping frantically.

  Giacomo froze. “Something’s wrong.”

  Milena clutched her brush. “Let’s go.”

  They raced back to the villa, and as they crested the hill, Milena gasped. An enormous ship crept across the sky, its sails billowing in the wind, the Zizzolan Empire’s black-and-white flag flapping from the mast. It looked like the warships Milena was used to seeing docked in the Bay of Callisto, only this one had two enormous wings extending from its hull, slowly beating up and down.

  Nerezza had found them.

  14

  ESCAPE

  Giacomo stared aghast at the approaching behemoth, his mind reeling. “Have you ever seen a flying ship before?”

  “Never.” Milena grabbed the back of Giacomo’s tunic and yanked him behind a large stone. “I guess Nerezza is more creative than we give her credit for. But how did she track us down?”

 
Giacomo scanned the sky but didn’t see any sign of Nerezza or her Genius. “I have no idea.”

  A dozen ropes uncoiled from the ship’s deck, and a rush of black-armored soldiers descended, climbing the fifty or so feet down. They hit the ground and encircled the villa. A small team broke off and stormed the house, kicking down the front door.

  Almost immediately after, Giacomo heard shouts coming from behind the house—the soldiers must’ve chased his friends out the back door. He couldn’t see what was happening to them, but bursts of blue, yellow, and orange lit up the sky, so he knew they must be putting up a fight.

  “We have to get closer,” Giacomo whispered.

  Milena pointed to the line of monoliths leading to the house. “We’ll use those as cover.”

  They darted from stone to stone and made their way toward the sounds of the battle, which were intensifying: Geniuses shrieked, music rang out, energy crackled, swords clanged, and gunfire erupted.

  Giacomo reached the final stone and crouched behind it, and heard Milena stop right behind him. From their new vantage point, they now had a clear view of the back of the villa where Savino, Aaminah, and Pietro stood with their backs against a crumbling brick wall.

  Several dozen soldiers with swords drawn were pressing in on them, but the artists wielded their tools and, circling above, their Geniuses rained down attacks on the advancing army. From one of the upper windows, Enzio leaned out and drew his bow. He fired an arrow that pinged off a soldier’s breastplate, then notched another.

  Giacomo held up his drawing pencil, ready to add his power to the mix.

  But just then, with a crack, the back door burst open, and Giacomo’s attention swung from Enzio to Niccolo, who bolted across the grass. He carried the Compass in its leather sheath, which was tucked under his arm. A line of soldiers peeled away from the group to chase after him. Niccolo was quick, and it looked like he might get away, but a few soldiers were still descending from the floating ship. A long-haired soldier swung down on a rope dangling from the hull and dropped into Niccolo’s path. The man wore black armor and carried a long sword, but the scar running down the side of his face made Giacomo realize the man wasn’t an ordinary soldier.

  He was Ozo.

  The mercenary charged and clotheslined Niccolo, sweeping him off his feet. With a grunt, Niccolo slammed to the ground, and Ozo snatched the Compass from his hands.

  “Give it to me!” a booming voice demanded.

  A familiar portly figure strode forward.

  “Oh, great. Signor Barrolo is here too,” Milena muttered.

  Baldassare swiped the Compass from Ozo and unsheathed it, regarding it with a devious smile. Giacomo seethed. Baldassare hadn’t fought and bled to obtain the Compass. He had no right to it.

  Giacomo had started to lurch forward to try to take back the Compass when Milena grabbed his wrist. He was about to protest that they should do something, but when he looked at Milena, her eyes were on the sky.

  A harsh screech assaulted Giacomo’s ears. From the clouds, Nerezza and her grotesque Genius swooped down and circled the villa.

  “She’s only showing her face now?” Giacomo grumbled. “What a coward.”

  “No, she’s a strategist,” Milena said. “She was keeping her distance so Tito wouldn’t sense her before the ship arrived.”

  Victoria flew straight at Pietro’s owl, jaws primed to gnash. Her fangs clamped down on Tito’s wing, and she flung him away like he was a rotten piece of meat. With a thunderous crash, Tito hit the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust. By the house, Pietro collapsed with a cry, clutching his own arm, so strong was their connection.

  “Pietro!” Aaminah cried, and Savino turned toward their fallen teacher.

  The second Savino’s and Aaminah’s attention faltered, the soldiers moved in. Two tackled Savino and wrested his carving tools away; a third knocked Aaminah to the ground and smashed her lute against the wall. Its strings snapped, and with an out-of-tune squeal, the instrument died.

  Ozo grabbed Savino by the collar. “Where’s Zanobius?”

  “In the house,” Savino said through gritted teeth. Giacomo was impressed by his quick thinking.

  The lie worked. Ozo rushed inside, where he would soon find countless places for someone to hide among Niccolo’s antiques.

  Victoria landed with a heavy whoosh, and two burly soldiers helped their leader dismount. The train of Nerezza’s black robe followed her like a long shadow. She stalked toward Niccolo, who was still lying flat on the ground.

  “Niccolo Abbate, I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

  Niccolo’s hand went to his gem. As it glowed, his face flushed with color. Buoyed by the surge of energy, he rose to his feet and yanked off his necklace. The chain dangled from his raised fist. “Return the Compass and let everyone go!”

  A sudden coldness hit Giacomo’s core, and he grabbed Milena’s arm. “No…”

  Milena blanched. “He wouldn’t…”

  Nerezza’s confidence cracked, and she stepped away from Niccolo. “Take the necklace from him!” she ordered.

  The two burly soldiers marched toward Niccolo, who closed his eyes and bowed his head, as if offering a prayer to the Creator.

  “Get down!” Giacomo yelled, pulling Milena with him.

  Niccolo cast his gem at the ground, and it erupted in a blinding purple flash. Victoria screeched and retreated skyward. Without his Genius to channel the energy, wild lengths of light snaked out of Niccolo’s shattered gem and thrashed chaotically, taking out any soldier within fifty feet. One blazing strand lashed Nerezza, toppling her down the hill; another struck Baldassare, causing him to drop the Compass. Within seconds, nearly the entire army had been neutralized—temporarily, at least.

  As the last traces of purple light flickered away, Niccolo swayed. His knees buckled, and he collapsed.

  “I have to help Niccolo!” Giacomo shouted. Scrambling to his feet, he bolted from behind the stone.

  “I’ll get the Compass!” Milena called after him.

  By the time Giacomo reached Niccolo, soldiers were beginning to stagger to their feet. Giacomo dropped to his knees and propped Niccolo’s head on his lap.

  Niccolo groaned, and his eyes fluttered open. “Giacomo … Get out of here…”

  “No, we had a deal. You were supposed to come with us.”

  “I chose … my fate…” Niccolo’s voice grew weak, until it was barely a whisper.

  Giacomo wanted to tell Niccolo that there were other ways to finally do something, better ways to honor his parents’ memory than self-sacrifice. But as Giacomo stared into Niccolo’s half-lidded eyes, the life drained from them, and the lesson was for him alone. Niccolo let out a soft exhale and went limp.

  “Be at peace,” Giacomo said softly. Mico let out a sad trill.

  A gruff voice broke the silence. “Where’s Zanobius?!”

  Giacomo wheeled around to find Ozo marching toward him. Grieving would have to wait. Giacomo jumped up and jabbed his pencil at the air. Ozo dodged Mico’s streak of light and kept coming.

  “Where are you hiding him?!” Ozo demanded.

  Giacomo knew he couldn’t use Savino’s ploy a second time. “Zanobius isn’t here! He’s gone!”

  “You’re lying!” Ozo lunged, swinging his sword. Giacomo felt the blade nick his arm, and he stumbled backward. Mico swerved a little as he looped through the air.

  His heart pounding, Giacomo sprinted for the first place he saw that offered cover: Niccolo’s house.

  He barreled through the front door and down the hall, veering into the labyrinth of antiques. Behind him, Ozo’s boots clomped across the wooden floor, coming fast.

  Giacomo ducked behind a stack of chairs, then wriggled into the narrow space between two armoires. He cupped Mico in his hands and whispered to his Genius to stay quiet.

  The footfalls slowed. Giacomo spied the mercenary through a tiny opening between the stacks of furniture. Ozo came to an abrupt stop only a few fee
t from Giacomo’s hiding place.

  “Come out, Giacomo!” Ozo shouted, hurling aside a chair with so much force that it splintered against the wall. Ozo bored through Niccolo’s collection, and Giacomo winced as more furniture thudded and crashed around him.

  “Tell me where Zanobius is, and this all ends!” Ozo shouted, then pushed over a mirror to look behind it. Glass shattered, and shards skittered across the floor.

  If Giacomo stayed put, it was simply a matter of time before Ozo rooted him out. His only option was to make a break for it and try to regroup with Milena and the others outside.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Giacomo glimpsed a familiar figure slink from the shadows and raise a bow. Enzio took aim at Ozo and let his arrow fly. With a meaty thunk, the arrow lodged in Ozo’s shoulder, between the plates of his armor. The mercenary roared and spun around, stalking toward Enzio.

  Giacomo waited for Ozo to pass, then he thrust out his pencil. Mico hit the armoire with a pulse of light and it toppled, crashing onto Ozo, who let out a muffled yell.

  Giacomo burst from behind the pile of broken furniture. “Enzio, come on!”

  Together, they tore down the hall and bolted out the back door. Giacomo found Pietro sitting against the wall, clutching his arm while Aaminah played a soft tune on her flute, which she kept hidden in her boot for emergencies.

  “Where have you been?” Savino snapped. He stood guard, once again wielding his carving tool, ready to strike if more soldiers came their way. Most were still recovering from Niccolo’s attack.

  “Sorry,” Giacomo said. “Have you seen Milena?”

  “I’m coming!” Milena shouted. She sprinted toward Giacomo, Compass in hand.

  With no time to waste, Giacomo passed the Tool from Milena to Pietro. “We need you to make a portal to the Rachanan palace,” Giacomo urged.

  “Why do you want to go there?” Savino demanded.

  “Because that’s where we’re going to find the Straightedge,” Milena explained. “I found this drawing in Garrulous’s journals—”