The Circus Infinitus - Genesis Infinitus

by Ethan Somerville

  The Circus Infinitus Presents:

  Genesis Infinitus

  Copyright 2011/2012

  Ethan Somerville

  Chapter 1

  The Flight of Icarus

  A small boy, about ten years old, watched acrobats dancing high above his head on thin wires stretched across the Milan town square. They worked without nets, jumping up on their toes, performing great leaps and somersaults, and then flipping over so they could walk on their hands. The lad knew, should one make the slightest mistake, he or she would plummet to their death many feet below, onto hard flagstones. But the child couldn’t hide his delight at their antics. He wished he was up there with them. He wished he was receiving those gasps of awe and adoration.

  Then someone grabbed his arm. The boy had been so entranced that he actually cried out in shock. But when he turned he saw only his father, an older gentleman with a salt-and-pepper beard, dressed in an expensive red velvet tunic. “What d’you think you’re doing, Guillermo?” his father demanded. “Don’t you know there are thieves in the crowds who’ll steal your purse while you’re so entertained?”

  Guillermo patted his belt. “But I still have my money, father.”

  “Then you’re lucky. Come on – your new master has finally arrived.” Still keeping a tight grip on his son, he ushered the boy through the seething throngs who had come for the fair. Guillermo caught glimpses of puppet shows, jugglers and clowns, and a man balancing on impossibly tall stilts. He wanted a better look, but his father propelled him on. He had only brought Guillermo here for one purpose.

  Guillermo had just turned ten and was ready to be apprenticed. He was an extremely bright, if naïve young fellow, and his father, a well-placed public official with a gift of the gab and a very large purse, had managed to get Guillermo an interview with one of Italy’s most famous artists. Of course that didn’t guarantee Guillermo a place, but his father was confident. After all, the lad wasn’t just intelligent, but extremely comely as well. It was a well known fact that the artist had a fondness for handsome lads.

  Guillermo was quite small for his age, and slightly built, but he had flawless skin, bright blue eyes and long wavy brown hair the colour of honey. Had he not been clad in hose and a belted tunic like his father’s, he would have been mistaken for a girl. His mother, when she had been alive, had spoiled him and turned him into a dreamer who liked making weird contraptions. Now his father had decided the time had come for Guillermo to undergo a more practical education.

  They found the master waiting for them where he’d agreed, at a bench beside a large marquee selling ale. The artist looked as though he’d rather be back in his workshop, but his companion, a muscular teenage boy with an amazing shock of blonde curls, was looking around at the fairground in delight. The artist whispered something to him, and he ran off, quickly disappearing into the crowds. When Guillermo approached with his father, the artist rose to his feet to greet them. He was very tall and well built, with a strong jaw and long graying hair that flowed over his broad shoulders. Although in his forties, his eyes sparkled with the curiosity of youth. “Ah, you must be Luigi Abbaco!” he declared in a booming voice. When Abbaco extended a hand in greeting, the man almost crushed his knuckles in a vicelike grip. “Pleased to meet you! And this must be the boy I’ve heard so much about!” He bent to look Guillermo in the eye.

  “Guillermo, I’d like you to meet Leonardo da Vinci.”

  “Er – pleased to meet you,” Guillermo felt quite overwhelmed, but managed a bow like he’d been taught.

  “He’s a bit of a mouse, isn’t he?” Leonardo addressed Abbaco.

  “His mother did mollycoddle him somewhat. But I assure you he’s extremely clever. He can speak Latin, Greek and French, and even knows some English. He can write fluently in all languages and is very well read. I’ve been teaching him since he was three. He’s also quite an artist.”

  “An artist, eh? What sort of art are you interested in?”

  “I … er, like to draw animals. And design things. Machines. Er – I actually made a pulley system for my mother when she could no longer walk, and she used it to move things around her room. I also have a model for this flying machine-“

  “He’s quite a sculptor too,” Abbaco quickly interrupted, suddenly red with embarrassment. He had forgotten that particular flight of fancy.

  “A flying machine?” Leonardo exclaimed, suddenly as excited as a small child. “I simply must hear more about this!”

  Thus Guillermo Abbaco became apprenticed to the great Leonardo da Vinci, joining his current assistant Salai. Guillermo made a refreshing change from the headstrong Salai, who often shirked his duties in favour of drinking, gambling and spending Leonardo’s hard-earned money. Guillermo threw himself into his new chores with enthusiasm and diligence, even though his stamina wasn’t always up to it. As Luigi Abbaco had promised, the boy learned quickly, soaking up knowledge like a sponge.

  But Salai soon became jealous of the younger boy’s intelligence, often cuffing him across the back of the head when the artist wasn’t looking. He also made sure Guillermo realised that Salai was still Leonardo’s favourite by prancing around the workshop combing his golden curls until they shone, wearing the finest clothes he owned, and parading around like he owned the place. Leonardo responded by repeatedly using Salai as his model, and images of the youth’s Grecian good looks and angelic curls filled his sketchbooks and adorned the walls. Then, invariably, Salai would overstep himself and disappear with a stash of coins Leonardo thought he’d managed to hide from him, not returning until several days later, usually drunk with yet another pair of shoes to add to his growing collection.

  During these times it was Guillermo that Leonardo turned to. They would discuss science rather than art, for although Guillermo could reproduce objects faithfully, his images resembled diagrams rather direct expressions of the soul. Even Salai was a better painter. However the multi-talented Leonardo could see that Guillermo would be a far better draughtsman or engineer, and began to steer him in that direction.

  Guillermo’s first project was to redesign, then actually build his flying machine. Although Leonardo was impressed with the boy’s drawing, he could tell the device wouldn’t be viable. “You’ve designed the wings to flap like a bird’s, which is all well and good for a bird or a model, but not for a man to control.”

  “Why is that, sir?” Guillermo asked, still not confident enough around to master to address him by his first name, like Salai always did.

  “For a man to be able to flap his arms as strongly as a bird, he would need muscles like a bird, and a big enough breastbone to attach them to.”

  “How big?” Guillermo gasped.

  “If the wings were in proportion to the average male body, the breastbone would need to protrude six feet from his body. Let me show you.” Leonardo fetched the notebook containing his detailed studies of birds and their wings and showed the boy the proportions he had worked out. “For a manned craft it will be better to use a fixed-wing design instead, enabling the wings to tilt rather than flap, and a rudder that is able to move from side to side for steerage.” He showed Guillermo a rough drawing he’d made of one such device.

  “So it would be more a glider than an actual flying machine?”

  “Yes. But a working glider would still be an impressive feat of engineering. I am confident that you can do it. The span of the wings in your design is in proportion to an average person’s body weight, and already contains a good aerodynamic structure.”

  Guillermo set to work, merging his own design with Leonardo’s, and over the next few months he concentrated diligently on his own glider, fa
shioning a foldable frame from light wood. Then he purchased some expensive silk, and much to Salai’s horror, he painted feathers on it, then cut it to fit the wooden wings. “Such a waste,” the older youth scoffed. “That silk would have made a beautiful shirt!”

  “Probably five beautiful shirts, actually,” Guillermo told him without looking up from his work. “There’s quite a lot of it.”

  Salai could only gape in horror.

  Guillermo finished his flying machine six months later, and Leonardo was eager for him to test it out. He actually wanted Salai to try it, since he was bigger and stronger than Guillermo, but the younger boy had calibrated the device to his own size and weight. “I would have needed a bigger frame, and enough silk for six beautiful shirts!” he added, much to Salai’s disappointment.

  “Are you sure you can handle it?” Salai grumbled.

  “I’m about to find out!”

  The three of them traveled out of Milan one bright, sunny day with a slight breeze, and headed for a hilltop from which the machine could be launched. For all his confident talk, Guillermo was extremely scared. He might have gone over his calculations a hundred times, but he couldn’t control the weather. The slight breeze was actually quite blustery on the top of the hill they had chosen. It overlooked a vineyard that seemed much too far away for Guillermo’s liking. He couldn’t back out now. Leonardo was counting on him, and he certainly didn’t want Salai to call him a coward. So he strapped himself into a leather harness also of his own design, and walked to the edge of the hill.

  “Good luck, boy!” Leonardo called. What you are about to do has never been attempted outside of legend.”

  “Yes, try not to get yourself killed. Otherwise I’ll have to clean the privy by myself again.”

  Guillermo gave a tight smile and then extended the wooden wings, locking them into their full extension. The wind buffeted him even more strongly. He crept to the very edge of the hill, where it fell steeply away beneath him. For a while he poised, his thundering heart in his mouth.

  “Get on with it!” Salai shouted. “We haven’t got all day!”

  “Salai!” Leonardo reproved, but Guillermo made up his mind. He took a deep breath and then backed away from the edge so he could take a run up. He leapt into the air – and immediately fell towards the vineyard. The lush green vines looked so soft – he wondered if they would break his fall. He wanted to close his eyes, but terror had frozen him. He was convinced he was plummeting to his death. Indeed he could hear both Leonardo and Salai shouting in horror from the hilltop.

  But then, scarcely a few yards from the tops of the vines, the wind caught Guillermo and sent him rocketing along, parallel with the ground. He couldn’t believe his senses! He was flying! He was really flying!

  He began to rise as his silken wings filled with air. The vines dropped away, along with his terror. He came out of his frozen stupor and adjusted the wings and rudder, sending himself soaring from the vineyard towards the distant road. Fear drained into curiosity, elation, and finally joy. The wind combed through his hair now seemed like the touch of God Himself. Truly, this was what Heaven felt like. As Guillermo climbed higher into the sky he decided that if he fell now, he wouldn’t care.

  Guillermo flew over the road, startling a farmer and his horse and cart. The animal immediately bolted, overturning the wagon and sending a cargo of melons scattering all over the road. The farmer ended up in a ditch, gaping at the sky. Guillermo whooped, and fancied he heard Salai shrieking and clapping from the distant hilltop.

  The wind carried him even higher. A chill entered the air and the silk rippled and buffeted. Concern began to temper Guillermo’s joy as he realised he was flying too high. He adjusted his wings so he could begin a descent, but the wind was too strong. There was an ominous creaking noise and he heard cloth tearing. The silk was very strong, but couldn’t take this kind of punishment.

  Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a rip in his right wing that widened as he watched. He began to dip to the right, then fall. He struggled to hold his craft steady as the ground rushed up. Must stay in control, he thought. If I flip over I’ll surely die! But as he headed back across the vineyard towards the hilltop, he fell faster and faster. Then his feet brushed against the tops of the plants and suddenly he somersaulted. Cloth tore and wood splintered. Guillermo plunged into the vines, which weren’t soft and spongy at all. Sharp branches tore at his clothes and exposed flash. Something cracked him across the temple, and he saw stars, momentarily losing consciousness. He was only dimly aware of hitting the ground with a heavy thud, for the next thing he knew, Leonardo and Salai were at his side, trying to rouse him. He blinked and focused on Leonardo’s face.

  “Thank God you’re alive!” Leonardo gasped, and kissed him on both cheeks. Even Salai looked relieved to see him awake.

  “You stupid kid. What the Hell were you thinking?” he asked, even more gruffly than usual.

  Leonardo helped Guillermo to sit up. He felt groggy and his head ached. He has scratches all over his body. But nothing appeared to be broken or too badly damaged. “I … I have never felt so alive!’ he gasped. “It was … like being one with the Divine.”

  “My sweet Icarus!” Leonardo gasped, and kissed him again. “We must rebuild the glider so I can try it! We must start right away!”

  “Icarus…” Guillermo looked up at the wreckage lodged in the broken vines above. “I think I did fly too high. That’s why I crashed!”

  “I can hear someone coming!” Salai exclaimed. “And he does not sound happy!”

  “It’s probably that farmer I scared!” Guillermo replied.

  “We’d better get out of here! This is private property!” Leonardo scooped the slight Guillermo up into his arms, and they took off through the vineyard.

  From that day on Guillermo’s new nick-name stuck. Even Salai started calling him Icarus, and Guillermo liked the sound of it. But he didn’t think it matched his last name, so he Latinised Abbaco to Abbacus. But the new glider that Leonardo wanted had to be put aside for other projects that he and Salai, as students, were required to help with. Then they left Milan altogether, traveling to Venice. Icarus turned his mind to Leonardo’s other mechanical projects, leaving the more artistic chores to Salai.

  One afternoon, not long after Icarus’ fifteenth birthday, Leonardo came to a decision and took the boy aside. Although still small and slender, the boy was growing into a beautiful youth. Not tall and strong like Salai, but far more elf-like, with long wavy hair that shimmered like spun gold. He liked fine clothes, although not quite as much as Salai. He was far too respectful of Leonardo to steal from him.

  But he couldn’t help wonder why Leonardo wanted to talk to him privately. He knew Salai sometimes shared his bed. Was it his turn now? He was as excited as he was afraid, because he loved Leonardo, but wasn’t sure about his own stamina. Leonardo stood larger than life, and it was said that in his youth, he had bent a horseshoe into a pretzel. Such a man had the power to split a waif like him in half.

  “Icarus, I have something for you, that I’ve been meaning to give you for a while,” Leonardo told him, in a voice scarcely above a whisper. Icarus wondered why they were being so quiet. They had the whole workshop to themselves. “I think you’re old enough now.”

  Icarus gulped. “O-of course, Leonardo.” Unable to still his pounding heart, he shook off his jacket and started pulling the belt from his tunic, not realising that the artist had gone to his bed and pulled out a large metal trunk from underneath. He unhooked a large keyring from his waist and started fumbling with the lock. By the time he looked up, Icarus was already half-naked.

  “What are you doing, boy?” he exclaimed in surprise. “Did you think…” He tailed off. Icarus’ beet red expression gave him his answer. Icarus turned away as he got up, reaching for his tunic.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, feeling like a fool. Why would Leonardo be interested in a skinny creature like him when he had a veritable Greek go
d like Salai?

  But then Leonardo caught him by his shoulders and turned him around to look him in the eye. “I didn’t bring you here for that, Icarus. I have something far more important to share with you. Although I think you are very pretty, I feel you are still too small.”

  Icarus squared his narrow shoulders. “I’m fifteen now,” he proclaimed.

  Leonardo laughed. “I know that. I meant too small, as in size.”

  Icarus scowled. He didn’t like being slight. He yanked his tunic closed, still embarrassed. “I’m getting bigger all the time,” he declared. “I’m over five feet tall now!”

  Leonardo ruffled his hair. It was so fine and soft, not like Salai’s bushy curls. He did think Icarus was lovely, but he had always been more interested in the lad’s mind. It was as quick as his own, possibly even quicker. “Come – sit with me. I must show this book to you before the others get back.” He guided Icarus over to the bed, where he had laid out a large leather-bound notebook, filled with a familiar drawing-style and backward script.

  Icarus sat down, still brooding over his size – or rather lack thereof. But he tried to pay attention. “I haven’t seen this book before.”

  “That’s because I’ve been keeping it secret. It encompasses two whole years of my life – two years I spent … traveling.” He picked the book up and laid it on Icarus’s lap. “From 1476 to 1478, when I was a young man.”

  Icarus had a phenomenal talent for languages, and could read Leonardo’s left-handed script as quickly as any other. But he couldn’t make heads or tails out of the language in this tome. “What tongue is this? I have never seen it before! Is it some Eastern tongue?”

  “No. It comes from another world. It is the language of Magick.”

  Icarus stared at Leonardo, convinced he was joking. But there was no smile on Leo’s face. “Magick? You can’t be serious! You always said there was no such thing!”