Illuminate

by Tracy Clark

  Saoirse sagged against me. “I don’t know the answers. I just wanted him off my back.”

  “You handled him like a teacher to a schoolchild,” I told her. “I like how you surprise me sometimes.”

  “My mother had better get home soon,” she said, pursing her bow lips. “She’ll put them all in their places.”

  Cruelly, I yearned to scoff. Ultana had been put in her place by her own hand. “And what place is that?” I asked.

  Saoirse didn’t look at me. Her eyes fixed resolutely out the window. “In the ground, if they continue to turn on us.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Giovanni

  “Where did they come from?” I asked Mami Tulke as we walked through what I now saw was a community, a kind of utopian Scintilla enclave, which she named Rancho Estrella. Star Ranch.

  We passed a communal garden where they grew their own food, including papayas for sale to local markets. They had stables for goats, pens for chickens, hens, and roosters, and a kitchen where each person served on rotation. As artisans, they made money selling pottery, tiles, paintings, and even managed a thriving pisco vineyard.

  “They’ve come to me from everywhere,” she said. “Washing up from all over the world like silver flecks in a stream.”

  “How do they know to come here?”

  “Most feel a magnetic pull to the energy of this place. I believe that was true for Cora’s mother. Her search for spirals led her to the El Molle petroglyphs at Valle de Encanto, but soon she found her way to my doorstep. Then there are those,” she said, leaning against a shaded wall in a bent way that made me consider her advanced age, “who find us by other means—an underground system of word of mouth. The internet has helped that way, but I fear it might be a danger to us as well. If the Arrazi find us hiding here, they will be able to wipe out the remaining Scintilla in one swoop.”

  “How do you hide when you aren’t sure who your enemies are?”

  “I’m sure one enemy is someone somehow involved with the most powerful religion on earth,” she said. “But even they aren’t the true enemy.”

  The surety in her statement made me stop observing the various Scintilla around me and the curious stares I was getting as some strolled past. “Who is the true enemy? And if you know, why is Cora traipsing around Italy by herself at this very moment?”

  Mami Tulke had a way of smiling that made me feel the very unfamiliar sensation of ignorance or stupidity. “The true enemy is everywhere, Giovanni. Not just in Italy. The Scintilla’s true enemy is fear.”

  I shook my head. “They want to kill us because they fear us?”

  “Of course. Fear would make us a pest, a bug they believe they must squash. Fear is this world’s most destructive force; it erodes our connection to one another. Where humans might learn from those who are different, instead they turn their faces away as if we aren’t all mirrors.”

  “Mirrors? But Scintilla are obviously vastly different, or they wouldn’t be afraid of us.”

  “Every person, no matter how different, reflects ourselves back onto us. Both sides should ask themselves who they want to be when they look into the face of the other.”

  “I don’t want to look into the face of the other, I want—” Before the words “to kill them” could come out of my mouth, I saw two Scintilla—a couple—pointing excitedly at me. With their hands clasped, they approached us. Their expressions were friendly, open, as were their silver auras. The young woman was a bit unsure of me. Her aura hooked into her companion’s for reassurance.

  Mami Tulke introduced me to Will, an American—a Texan, which I understood to be a whole different breed of American—and his wife, Maya. They were a study in contrasts—his gleaming, freckled skin next to the sheen of her black skin—but the same in the only way that counted, the sparks that surrounded their bodies. It lit my own aura with the effervescent thrill of being around people like me. Maya smiled as my aura betrayed my longing to connect with them. It was an embarrassing show. Instantly, I was a boy of ten.

  Will shook my hand heartily, and Maya did the same. “Welcome to paradise, newcomer,” he said with a genuine smile.

  “It’s great to have you here. A relief. Enough time goes by without new arrivals and we get to thinking we’re going extinct.” Maya said. Her accent was American-Southern, as well, but different from Will’s. Hers was like dark rum cake or peaches soaked in syrup, which she confirmed by stating that she was from Arkansas. Maya had found herself in South America researching the spirals first in Nazca in Peru, and then in Tiwanaku in Bolivia. She and Will met there on the hills of a mysterious civilization, which I had to admit reminded me of the story of Newgrange.

  When I inquired about Maya’s research into spirals, she launched into her theory that spirals all around the world were connected and were intended as a clear message about celestial beings coming to earth to help mankind. I could see that Will wasn’t entirely on board with her ideas by the way he raised his eyebrow at me at certain points.

  “This place certainly gets its share of E.T. fanatics,” he said, causing her to suck in her cheeks and scowl at him.

  To ease Mami Tulke’s burden of standing in the afternoon heat, we moved to a patio area outside the communal eating and meeting building and sat together at a wooden picnic bench to talk more.

  Maya was animated when she talked, her hands undulating and moving as much as her silver aura did. “Spirals are especially important everywhere on earth. In plants, weather, and our own bodies. The spiral is the world’s oldest known symbol, used by peoples all over the world at a time when they had no way to communicate with one another. From the outer reaches of the universe to our own planet, the spiral is everywhere. They are clues, and we need to find out what they’re telling us because I believe, as many here believe,” Maya said with a quick shushing glance at her man, “that the spirals have everything to do with the Scintilla.”

  “And what do you all believe about the Arrazi? Do you believe the spirals have anything to do with them?” I asked. I appreciated how Will’s eyes narrowed in disgust at the mention of their name.

  “I don’t see how,” he said. “Altogether different creatures, my friend. Those parasites are our polar opposite.”

  “Everything has an opposite, hon,” Maya said with a temperate tone. “I don’t think we can say either way. Wouldn’t it be arrogant to assume the signals were just for us? They could be a message to the whole of humanity, of which we are all a part.”

  Will cocked his head at her in a way that told me they’d had this particular discussion many times over and it was at a friendly stalemate.

  When Maya offered to take a wilting Mami Tulke back to her house, I wasted no time in telling him how severe the situation had become for Scintilla everywhere. “They are hunting us.” I held up my hand when Will gave a look like what I’d said was obvious. “Like animals, methodically, and at the direction of someone else. It is their sole purpose to eradicate us all. There will not be another Scintilla left on this earth if they succeed.”

  It didn’t seem possible for someone so fair to pale even further, but the color drained from Will’s face. “You’re sure?”

  “Without a doubt.”

  I told him of Ultana Lennon and her secret society, Xepa, and of her dogged aim to find and kill us all. “She’s dead, but according to an Arrazi who seems to be sympathetic to the Scintilla,” I said, begrudgingly thankful for Finn’s help, “she corralled many an Arrazi to do her work. I had no idea of your existence until Mami Tulke brought me to the ranch. They seemingly know nothing of you all hiding here.”

  “We’re not just hiding. This is our home now. This is a community. They can’t find out about us. Dozens of people will have no place to go.” Will’s voice was desperate, his eyes round with fear.

  “They will find us,” I said. “They already kidnapped Mami Tulke. That’s where she’s been. She was lucky to escape.”

  “Shit.”

  “Xepa ha
d power, bestowed by someone with even more power. We’re trying to find out exactly who. Whoever it is wants us all dead. They know Mami Tulke lives in the Elqui Valley. I’d say it’s a matter of certainty that the days of peace here are numbered. Everyone should prepare.”

  Will stood abruptly. “Excuse me. I want to think about this. Please, don’t say anything to anyone else just yet. I don’t want the place to erupt in panic. I don’t want Maya to panic.”

  “I’m—I’m sorry, Will,” I said, standing and clasping his shoulder. “I know I don’t bring good news. But I’d rather we all be prepared than hide our heads in the sand, hoping they won’t find us. The war is coming, and if we want to survive, the Scintilla will have to do battle.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cora

  The floor of the Sistine Chapel was elaborately tiled, and I couldn’t help but notice the many spirals and triangles placed within the layout of the tiles.

  Piero Salamone studied me as he spoke. “I’m quite intrigued by you, Cora. Not many people your age have such an ardent interest in the specifics of Michelangelo’s work. You already seem to be aware that he had a fascination with Dante. Do you mind if I ask what fuels your interest?”

  “I’m intrigued by the hidden messages in art,” I said, knowing it was both an answer and a question. I was hoping Piero would elaborate on any hidden messages the Vatican might have. “I mean,” I said, suddenly squirming under his scrutinizing eyes, “that all artists probably have their own agendas and ways of making their personal opinions known.” I pointed to Minos, the donkey-eared god of the underworld sporting the face of one of the artist’s critics. Minos was also depicted with a snake biting his penis. Piero had told me the history of that figure in the painting. “Michelangelo definitely had a rebellious agenda there.”

  “Indeed he did,” Piero said, laughing. “You must have very strong beliefs about hidden messages to tattoo them on your body. If you don’t mind me asking, why did you choose to permanently mark yourself with the three circles? Did you mean them to be the Borromean Rings? Or is it Michelangelo’s tre giri? What is your take on its meaning, then?”

  “It’s very personal to me,” I said, resisting the urge to cover the mark with my hand and wishing I’d stopped to buy makeup. “I believe as he did, that contemplating the three circles—”

  “Raises one’s thoughts to heaven,” interrupted a baritone voice behind me. I spun around. I didn’t know enough about Catholicism to say if the man was a cardinal, or bishop, or a freaking Red Knight of the High Church of Whatever, but he wore a red robe and looked like he stepped right out of history. His aura wasn’t the white I’d come to fear, nor did I feel Arrazi energy from him. He had a fair amount of dark purple in his aura, which I’d learned could mean a sense of superiority, but it was tinged with black as if the edges of his aura had been burned. I’d seen black before, which could indicate illness or anger that’s been held in. It could also signal dark intention and lies. I wasn’t experienced enough yet to know for sure, but I knew enough to be guarded.

  His white hair was closely cropped around the ears beneath his cap. As he stepped forward, my gaze fell to the folds of his red garment. It reminded me of something. My mind raced to place it.

  He greeted Piero warmly. “Buongiorno, Professore Salamone. And who is this young lady?”

  Piero’s aura jiggled with aqua-colored nervousness. The robed man was obviously important. “This is Cora Sandoval, Your Eminence. I’m pleased to introduce you to Cardinal Báthory. Cora is a young art student on holiday before school begins.”

  “And a searcher of truth,” I interjected, trying to smile but feeling my cheeks freeze up. When both men snapped curious eyes at me I added with an awkward, weak laugh, “In that…I believe great truths are often revealed in the art of great masters.”

  “If your search for truth has brought you to the house of the Lord, you are on the right path. Pilgrims the world over come to Vatican City because they feel in their hearts that the truth is here.” Cardinal Báthory delivered this in such a high-handed tone I wanted to argue just for the sake of challenging him. People and their “truths.” Seemed to me that “truth” was the most subjective word on the planet.

  “Exactly why I’m here.” It took everything I had not to scowl at the cardinal. I wondered why such an official had approached us, of all people, especially among so many other sightseers milling around, and desperately hoped the man was specifically drawn to speak to Piero Salamone and not drawn to me by extrasensory means.

  “Perhaps you gentlemen can help me with something,” I said, smiling at the two men as amiably as I could but fearing I’d already attracted the wrong kind of attention. The world was a maze of tripwires, and I was barreling through them all. “I read online that some years ago you had an outrageous theft. The hand of St. Peter was stolen. Why do you suppose someone would do such a shocking thing?”

  The cardinal looked affronted. “Is logic to be applied to the actions of fanatical lunatics? There can be no reason, just as there was no reason for a raving man to hack away at Michelangelo’s La Pieta years ago and desecrate a priceless masterpiece.”

  “I mean,” I pressed, “of all the things to steal, why take the hand of St. Peter?” I ventured further out on a precarious ledge. Anger and desperation compelled me to ask. His aura might say more than his answer. I delivered one of my two most pressing questions. “I read somewhere on the internet that something might have been hidden in St. Peter’s hand.”

  There was a flash of consternation in the cardinal’s eyes, and his aura turned the muddy red of anger. “The internet is hardly a source of reliable information.”

  His answer reminded me of my father’s when I’d been searching for information on silver auras. “Which is why I’m asking you. As you said, the truth is here.”

  “I’d never seen that mentioned in the investigations of the theft,” the cardinal answered with a puff of black curling around his lips, exposing his lie. I damn near smirked. “Child, what St. Peter holds in his hands are the very keys to the Kingdom of Heaven bestowed upon him by Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. It’s likely the thief was simply after the notoriety.”

  “But there is no notoriety if the identity of the thief remains unknown.”

  The corners of his lips turned up in a smile like a puppeteer pulled strings on each side of his mouth. His eyes computed as he assessed me. “You presume that the Vatican doesn’t know the identity of the thief.”

  My heart jammed somewhere around my belly button. “Really?” I asked in a near-whisper, trying to look impressed rather than scared. “You know who stole it?”

  Cardinal Báthory lowered his chin and gave another of his impressively joyless smiles, but he didn’t confirm or deny. He absentmindedly spun a ring on his right hand. The movement forced the sudden recognition from me. Someone dressed just like this man had given Ultana Lennon her ring. I’d seen the flash of thick red fabric in the vision when she and I struggled in the tomb and her memories flew into my mind. At the time, I had erroneously mistaken the red fabric for a skirt. “My dear,” he said, “one must never underestimate the reach of the holy church.”

  “I don’t.” I breathed, forcing myself not to back away when I spotted the triangular symbol on the ring as he spun it over the hill of his fat finger and back under again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Finn

  I left Saoirse with lightness of relief followed by heavy doom that rattled my chest like a bird flinging itself against its bloody cage. She hadn’t vilified me for killing my uncle while protecting the Scintilla, but there was something unsettling about the spite in her eyes and her harsh words after she scolded that man. I dreaded the moment when Saoirse and Lorcan realized their mother was never coming home. If her body was ever found, the dagger wound would be obvious. Lorcan would assume I’d killed his mother, being as he’d caught me with the bloody—literally—thing at Newgrange.

  I felt like a
dry piece of shite. I knew the truth about what happened to Ultana, and Saoirse was in the dark. But having them blame Cora, or even cut me from their circle, wasn’t an option. I kissed her cheek in my own secretive apology and left for home, hoping that if, as Ultana had said, there was no one above her in Xepa, then God willing, her agenda would wither on the vine and fade to nothing.

  All that had gone down at Newgrange and at the tomb where Ultana died had me thinking hard about what Saoirse revealed when we first met: that Newgrange was a base for the supernatural races. My uncle tried to sacrifice the three Scintilla there for a reason. Were the chambers within the megalithic monuments always used to kill Scintilla? More than ever, I longed to know the unknowable history of that place.

  I stood shirtless in front of the mirror and stared at my own tattoo—an exact replica of the triple spiral, but made of stars. Was the true meaning of the symbol lost forever? Bollocks. I refused to believe that. Cora believed there would be a message in the stone. She almost died trying to retrieve it.

  Online, there was much about spirals in ancient art, especially in Ireland and the rest of the U.K, also in South America. I looked for anything to tie the spirals to religion, to either support or refute Ultana’s claims. Truthfully, I’d do anything to disprove it and get Cora out of her obstinate solo trip. Even dead, I didn’t trust that Ultana wouldn’t play Cora into the hands of danger.

  A webpage directed me to one of Ireland’s finest national treasures, the Book of Kells, an ancient manuscript housed in the library at Trinity College. Spirals and triskelions were used liberally in the artwork in the book, most notably and extensively on the Chi Rho page translated to “This is how Christ came to be born.” The oldest western depiction of the Virgin Mary was also in the Book of Kells. I stared long and hard at her tunic in the drawing, which was adorned with dozens of dots in triplicate, triangular patterns, which looked to my bleary eyes like the form of the triple spiral.