“Where’d you get so much wisdom?”
Pietro wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose and took a seat on the bench. “I’ve been at this a long time.” His cloudy eyes stared straight at Giacomo, though Giacomo knew he couldn’t see him.
What would it be like to be able to draw and paint anything you can see and then have that sense taken away? He hoped he’d never have to find out.
“Do you know you’ve already been my teacher for a while?” Giacomo said.
“And how’s that?”
“I spent a lot of time in the old cultural center, copying parts of your fresco.”
“It’s still there?” Pietro said, sounding surprised. “Baldassare never told me … I always assumed Nerezza had destroyed it.”
“You must’ve been pretty young if Emperor Callisto hired you to paint it.”
“I was twenty when he held a competition for it,” Pietro said. “The best design would get the commission. Guess who I had to compete against to win it?”
Giacomo had no idea. “Who?”
“Nerezza.”
That was the last name Giacomo had expected to hear. “Emperor Callisto picked you over his own daughter?”
“He had a habit of not giving her what she thought she deserved.”
“So … you knew her?”
“Painted next to her in the same classes growing up. Our Geniuses were inseparable.” His voice got quieter. “For a while…”
Giacomo had a hard time imagining Tito hanging out with the Supreme Creator’s grotesque Genius. “Was Nerezza always as awful as she is now?”
“No, not always…” Pietro stroked his beard, lost in thought.
“Can I ask … When did you lose your sight?”
Pietro sat silently for a moment before answering. “About fifteen years ago.”
“How did it happen?”
Pietro let out a long, heavy exhale when he was interrupted by the soft patter of footsteps coming down the stairs. He leaned against his cane and pushed himself up. “Sounds like Fabiana is here with breakfast.”
“But you were just about to tell me—”
“That’s enough about my past for now,” he said, abruptly ending the discussion.
As Pietro had predicted, Fabiana arrived with a platter piled with breads, fruit, and meat. “Good morning!” she sang warmly. “Sustenance for your morning lessons!”
“Thank you, signora,” Giacomo said, impressed by her cheerfulness. Being the only one keeping the villa running must have been exhausting, but she didn’t show it.
“It is my pleasure.” She placed the food on the table and headed back upstairs.
Pietro took a heaping handful of meat and tossed it into the darkness, where it landed with a squish. An orange beam lit up and scanned around, finding the food. Tito’s head emerged from an alcove and scooped up the meal with his gnarled beak, swallowing it all at once. Then he tucked his head under his wing and went back to sleep.
Giacomo and Mico ate their fill, while Pietro gnawed on a piece of bread. It wasn’t long before Savino and Milena made their way downstairs.
“Today we’ll be studying the dyad,” Pietro informed them. “It is the second sacred geometry shape and embodies the idea of twoness.”
Savino groaned. “This is simple stuff, Pietro. Can’t you go over it with Giacomo when we’re not around?”
“It never hurts to refine your basics,” Milena said.
Savino groaned again. “I’ll be over here if you need me.” He grabbed a hunk of clay and began forming it into a human figure, his Genius watching intently.
Giacomo waited impatiently as Pietro uncorked a bottle of wine. After the headway he’d made yesterday, Giacomo was eager to discover what incredible new skill he’d unlock after his next sacred geometry lesson.
The wine glugged as Pietro filled his glass. “The circle is the most important shape, for out of it, all other shapes are created. But with the dyad, things start to get interesting. Tell me, Giacomo, if the circle represents the number one, what shape represents the number two?”
Pietro’s inquiry hung in the air. Giacomo glanced at Milena, hoping she would enlighten him with the answer, but she stayed silent.
“It’s a real question,” Pietro said, growing impatient.
Giacomo’s hands started to sweat. Why couldn’t Pietro have asked him about the number three? That one was easy. A triangle. Four? A square. Five? A pentagon. All the other numbers had shapes with the same number of sides. He racked his brain, trying to imagine a two-sided shape. He drew a blank. He glanced at Mico, hoping his Genius would give him a clue, but it was preoccupied with sucking a grape dry.
“It’s a line,” Savino called out without looking up from his sculpture. “Obviously.”
“A line?” Giacomo repeated. “A line’s not a shape, Master Pietro. That was a trick question.”
“You think I’m trying to deceive you?” Pietro sounded offended.
Giacomo sheepishly scratched the back of his head. “No … I just … Never mind.”
He thought the questioning was over, but then Pietro asked, “So how do we construct a line from a circle?”
Savino said, “First you draw a—”
Pietro cut him off. “Let Giacomo answer.”
Giacomo shrugged. “I don’t know.” He drew a circle in his sketchbook, but couldn’t figure out how to make a straight line from a curved one.
“Look at it another way,” Pietro said. “If you wanted to make a copy of yourself, how would you do that?”
Giacomo thought about it for a second, then flipped the pages until he found one of his self-portraits. That was a copy of himself, wasn’t it? And how had he drawn it? “With a mirror!” he blurted out.
Pietro smiled. “Very good. Milena and Savino, why don’t you demonstrate.”
They walked into the center of the room and stood several feet apart, their Geniuses on their shoulders. Using her brush, Milena traced the shape of a circle in space. The gem on Gaia’s crown lit up, then projected a large, green, shimmering disc into the center of the room, its outline thin and smooth.
“To make a line from a circle, we must first create its mirror image,” Pietro said. Savino waved his brush and his Genius projected a blue circle into the air. Like Savino’s sculpture, the style of his lines was thick and rough. “Now what?” Pietro asked Giacomo.
“Connect their center points?” Giacomo said, unsure.
“Yes,” Pietro confirmed. “But you’re getting ahead of yourself. First, the circles must overlap.”
Savino and Milena dragged their brushes through the air; their Geniuses mimicked their movements. As the circles came together, the differing styles clashed, erupting in sparks of energy. When the edge of each circle touched the other’s center point, Milena’s and Savino’s styles unified. Giacomo sketched their overlapping circles, which created an almond shape in the middle.
“Meet the mandorla,” Pietro said. “It is the medium of creation, from which the line, and all geometric forms, are born. Believe it or not, this shape is the basic building block for the entire universe.”
Giacomo had a hard time wrapping his head around what Pietro was telling him. “So that eye-shaped thing in the middle can make a ten-sided shape or a twenty-sided shape?” he asked.
“The possibilities are infinite.” Pietro took a sip of wine.
“Okay, but how?”
“One shape at a time,” Pietro cautioned. “First, we need to create a line.”
Milena took Pietro’s cue and waved her brush. A shining green horizontal line connected the center point of her circle with Savino’s.
“The line symbolizes energy, force, and tension,” Pietro said. “Tension is at the root of all creation. You can’t have black without white or a creature without a creator. How is it possible to know light, without darkness? For any being to grow, it must confront its opposite.”
“Is that why Milena’s and Savino’s different styles evened out
when they came together?” Giacomo asked.
“Yes. The mandorla symbolizes a merger of opposing forces. It shows us it’s possible to create harmony out of conflict, to overcome differences, and to find oneness.” Pietro nodded to Milena and Savino. They waved their brushes, separating their two circles. Once apart, the glowing shapes returned to their original styles before fading away.
Pietro raised his wineglass as if giving a toast. “Master the mandorla and you are on your way to mastering your Genius.” He swallowed the rest of the wine in one gulp.
Creation out of conflict? It was an interesting idea, but Giacomo wasn’t entirely sure what it meant. He was more excited to try creating his first mandorla.
“Milena, why don’t you help Giacomo practice,” Pietro said. “Savino, you’re with me.”
“Have fun with sewer-boy.” Savino snickered, elbowing Milena. He followed Pietro into another section of the studio.
“You like that nickname?” Milena asked.
“No, of course not.”
“Then why do you let him keep calling you that?”
Giacomo walked to the worktable. “I don’t know. I’d rather not start something with him.”
Milena shrugged. “If that works for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It sounds like you’d rather let Savino walk all over you than stand up to him.”
Giacomo took a piece of charcoal, then dragged the easel into the center of the room. “I’m not afraid of Savino.”
“Then don’t act like you are. He likes to pretend he’s tough, but deep down, he’s actually pretty nice.”
“Yeah? How deep down?”
Milena cracked a smile. “Let’s get to work.”
Giacomo stood in front of the easel, to Milena’s left. “Don’t be too hard on me. A lot of what Pietro said kind of went over my head.”
“I’m not cutting you any slack, Signor I-just-got-my-Genius-and-I-can-already-do-sacred-geometry. You’ll figure it out.”
Giacomo stared at the blank page. “If you were trying to help me feel confident, you failed.” He ran his hand down the paper, smoothing it out. “Okay, ready.”
Milena crossed her arms and tapped her toe. “Who’s failing now?” she muttered.
“What? I have charcoal, I have paper, I’m ready.”
“So you don’t need your Genius? Wow, you’re more gifted than I thought.”
Mico! Of course! Giacomo wanted to slap himself for being so foolish. Mico was right where he’d been all morning, gorging himself from the breakfast platter. Giacomo whistled. Mico raised his head, stared at Giacomo, then went back to eating.
“Oh come on, don’t do this to me.” Giacomo stomped over, picked up Mico, and placed him atop the easel. “Sit.”
“Geniuses don’t like to be ordered around, it’s much better if you—”
“Can we just start?” Giacomo said, embarrassed by his inability to control his Genius.
“Fine. I’ll go first.” Milena raised her brush. She swung her arm in a graceful loop and Gaia projected a green circle in the air. “Now you.”
Giacomo pictured the circle in his mind like Pietro had taught him, then drew it on the paper. Mico’s gem glowed, projecting a wobbly red line that eventually took the shape of a translucent circle. If Giacomo had to describe his style, he would say it reminded him of a wet, floppy noodle. Which was really no style at all.
As Giacomo dragged his hand to the right, Mico turned his head and the red circle stabilized, moving closer to Milena’s green ring.
“Brace yourself,” Milena cautioned.
Giacomo tensed. “Why? What’s going to happen?”
As the two circles intersected, their energies clashed and strands of white light sparked. Milena’s circle grew larger, but Giacomo’s shrank. It vibrated, then shattered into a million specks of light.
“Why’d you do that?” Giacomo demanded.
“I didn’t do anything. You were holding back. Draw like you mean it.”
“So you’re the teacher now?”
Milena pointed her brush at him. “Pietro wanted me to help you. That’s what I’m trying to do.”
Giacomo sighed. “Sorry. I know. Let’s try again.”
On his second attempt, Giacomo’s circle stayed together for longer, but Milena’s still overpowered his. He drew circle after circle, while Mico projected them over and over. But no matter what he tried, his energy shape broke apart every time Milena’s circle came in contact with it. And every time, Giacomo groaned in frustration.
Finally, Milena said, “You’re too tense. Try to relax.”
“I am relaxed!” he yelled, throwing his piece of charcoal onto the floor. It broke into shards.
Milena shook her head, turning away. “If you’re not going to take this seriously, I’m not going to help you.”
Giacomo took a breath and unclenched his hand, which had been balled into a tight fist. “No, wait. I know what to do.” He grabbed a new piece of charcoal off the worktable. “One more time.”
Milena returned and raised her brush. As Gaia projected her circle, Giacomo closed his eyes. The blindfold trick had helped him yesterday. There was no reason it couldn’t work again.
Without looking, he drew the circle on the paper as he pictured it in his mind’s eye.
“Good, much better,” Milena said.
He kept his eyes closed. As Milena’s circle moved closer to his, the low hum grew louder. The sound spiked into a high-pitched buzz, then dropped into a hum again.
“You got it!” Milena sounded impressed.
He opened his eyes. His red circle and Milena’s green one overlapped, creating the mandorla. With a flick of her brush, Milena connected the two center points with a glowing green line. Mico chirped with excitement.
But Giacomo’s breakthrough was short-lived. First came an earsplitting screech. Then the almond shape in the mandorla glowed bright white.
Milena took a step back, looking uneasy. “Uh … I’ve never seen that happen before.”
Inside the glimmering mandorla, a storm of color brewed and sounds wailed. Wind like tiny needles shot out and lashed Giacomo’s face. Milena cried out, feeling it too.
Giacomo flung the charcoal across the room, but his circle didn’t vanish. “Mico, make it disappear!”
His Genius’s wings fluttered frantically as it tried to fly away, but its ray of light was stuck to the mandorla, like clothing caught on a nail.
A tremendous boom rocked the room. Stones dislodged from the wall. The floor cracked and split.
The sensations felt familiar: swirling colors, deafening sounds, freezing cold air, foul scents that burned his nostrils. It’s just like the other night!
If that was true, maybe he could stop it the same way. He closed his eyes and called on the Creator.
Please, make it stop. I didn’t mean for this to happen.
He opened his eyes, but the storm still raged. Through the swirling haze, Giacomo spotted something in the eye of the mandorla. It looked like an upside-down V. Its golden outline smeared and blended into the swirling colors around it.
“Do you see that?” he shouted.
“See what?” Milena hollered back.
Pietro and Savino ran in, shielding their faces. “Sever the link!” Pietro yelled.
“Our circles won’t come apart!” Milena frantically waved her brush while her Genius squawked in distress.
It only took a second for the room to turn from numbingly cold to blazing hot. It was like they’d been thrown into a blacksmith’s forge.
When Giacomo looked back at the mandorla, the mysterious shape had transformed into a whip of fiery golden light. It lashed out, straight for him. He dove and the yellow flames arced over his head, singeing his hair. As the whip retracted, it swung back toward Milena. Giacomo watched in horror as the blaze engulfed her left arm. She screamed. Her brush incinerated.
Savino dashed over and pulled her away.
Giacomo wiped the sweat from his eyes. His insides boiled. What have I done?
Pietro hollered, “Tito, to me!” and his massive Genius lumbered into the room. Running his hand across the table, Pietro found a brush, then waved it toward the mandorla. Tito opened his beak, releasing a piercing screech. A beam of orange light shot out of his crown’s square gem and into the heart of the mandorla.
To Giacomo’s relief, the almond shape narrowed. The whipping winds gradually died down, the deafening sounds silenced, and the temperature dropped to normal.
The mandorla sealed shut, like a wound closing. Milena’s and Giacomo’s circles split apart, then exploded, the force of the blast hurling everyone to the ground.
Giacomo dragged himself to his feet and held a hand to his head. He put his other hand against the wall to steady himself, trying not to faint.
Savino knelt next to Milena. She leaned against him, cradling her injured arm. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Giacomo staggered over. “Milena, are you all right?”
“Of course she’s not!” Savino’s face burned with anger. “You could’ve killed her!”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Savino, take her upstairs to Aaminah,” Pietro urged. “Now!”
“I’m … I’m fine,” Milena said as Savino helped her up. Giacomo caught a glimpse of her injury. Deep slashes ran the length of her forearm. Her skin blistered purple.
What did I do to her? Giacomo thought in a panic.
Savino hurried Milena up the stairs, their Geniuses close behind. Giacomo kept his gaze on the floor, which was scarred with fissures and littered with broken stones. He waited for the well-deserved lecture Pietro was about to give him.
Once the cellar door slammed shut, Pietro asked, “Do you realize what you just did?”
A lump welled in his throat. Giacomo’s voice trembled. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. It was an accident. What’s wrong with me? Why does this keep happening?”
“What do you mean? Giacomo, have you experienced something like that before?”
Rebel Genius Page 7
