Rebel Genius

by Michael Dante DiMartino

  Step into the fear.

  Giacomo held his circle steady and moved closer. Swirls of color cascaded inside the Wellspring. Periodically, an orange or blue burst pelted Giacomo in the face. He pressed forward.

  “Are you all right?” Pietro hollered above the howling wind.

  “I’m okay!” Giacomo put his face as close to the mandorla as he could withstand and stared into the Wellspring. The glow dissipated slightly, the temperature evened out, and the colors vanished. He started to make out an image—a magnified, bird’s-eye view of Virenzia, with the Piazza Nerezza at its center, similar to the view he’d seen looking down from the hill.

  “It’s working!” Giacomo exclaimed. “Savino, you’re up! Turn the globe.”

  Without hesitation, Savino spun it. Virenzia vanished and the landscape blurred past Giacomo’s vision.

  “Not so fast!” he shouted.

  Savino slowed the rotation and the image came into focus. Giacomo was now looking over the rolling hills of the countryside. “It’s amazing. Like I’m flying over Zizzola.”

  “Do you see the Compass?” Savino asked.

  “Not yet.”

  They kept at it for nearly an hour, with Savino tilting and rotating the globe as Giacomo scanned the magnified landscape. The problem was, he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for. Would the Compass just be floating in the air? He swept over the peaks of Rapallicci in the north, all the way down to the chain of islands off Mardovino’s southern tip. After searching across the whole empire, Giacomo was beginning to fear his idea was a failure.

  But as he circled back through central Zizzola, something caught his eye—a glow from behind a rushing waterfall.

  “I think I see it!” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Where?” Baldassare demanded. “We need to know exactly where!”

  Instinctively, Giacomo reached into the mandorla. It felt like sticking his hand in a fire. He steeled himself and fought past the discomfort. His view zoomed down, past an ancient-looking tree, through a waterfall, and into a cave. A glowing shape hovered above the floor. It looked like two pyramids stuck together at their bases. Inside it floated the Creator’s Compass—the same one he’d seen in Baldassare’s book.

  He reached out again, his fingers grazing the sacred geometry shape. A burning pain shot up his arm. He screamed and jumped away from the mandorla, falling to the ground.

  “Tito, shut it!” Pietro commanded. The orange ray faded. The mandorla split apart and the Wellspring vanished.

  Aaminah hurried to Giacomo’s side. “Are you all right? Let me see.” Giacomo kept his eyes shut tight, afraid to look at his injury. “It’s … it’s not that bad.” She sounded surprised.

  Giacomo checked his arm. The sleeve of his nightclothes had been burned away and his skin was swollen and red. But compared to what had happened to Milena, he’d come away relatively unscathed.

  “Maybe it’s because Pietro was keeping things under control,” Aaminah speculated.

  Baldassare came up behind him and yanked him to his feet. “So did you get a good look? Do you know where it is?”

  “I think so,” Giacomo said. He pointed to an area on the globe in central Zizzola. “It was around here, near a tree that had a twisted trunk and bare branches. And there was a river that led to a waterfall. The Compass was hidden in a cave behind the falls.”

  “Ring any bells?” Pietro asked Baldassare.

  He stroked his mustache. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Can you draw what you saw?” Milena asked.

  “Sure. I think so.”

  They went to Baldassare’s study, where Giacomo sketched the location of the Compass. Milena sat next to him, bouncing her knee anxiously. While they waited, Enzio shuffled downstairs, hair askew, looking particularly disgruntled.

  “You woke me up with all that racket outside,” he said. “What’s going on?”

  “Giacomo and his Genius may have located the Creator’s Compass,” Aaminah said. “Isn’t that incredible?”

  Enzio shrugged. “If you say so.” He slumped into a chair.

  Giacomo completed the drawing and handed his sketchbook to Milena.

  She jumped up. “I’ve seen a place like that in one of these books!” Milena rushed to the shelves, scanned the spines, and pulled out a thick tome. She frantically flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for. “This is it!” She held open an illustration of a tree, river, and waterfall that looked remarkably similar to the ones Giacomo had sketched. His heartbeat quickened.

  “It’s called the Cave of Alessio,” Milena said, then read from the book: “‘In the fifth century, age of the tetrad, Alessio the Archer saved the Zizzolan Empire from the invading Rachanan barbarians, but was mortally wounded in the battle. He was laid to rest outside the cave. A few days later, a stalk sprouted from his burial site, eventually growing into a tree that still stands, three thousand years later.’”

  “If that place is so legendary, how come nobody ever noticed a giant compass lying around?” Enzio asked. Giacomo was surprised he was showing any interest, but he had raised a good point.

  “It is curious…” Pietro mused. “I suspect it’s somehow hidden in plain sight. Perhaps Giacomo’s ability to harness the Wellspring has allowed him to see what’s invisible to the ordinary eye.”

  “The Cave of Alessio is here,” Baldassare said, pointing to a spot in the middle of the map spread out on his desk. “It’s just south of Terra della Morte, nearly seven hundred miles from Virenzia, as the Genius flies.”

  Savino nodded as he looked over the map. “The best route would be to cross the Calbrini Range, then head west. I bet I could get us there in a month.”

  “You’ll have plenty of time to plan the journey,” Pietro said. “You’re not leaving quite yet.”

  “Why not?” Baldassare said. “Every hour that passes gives Ugalino a chance to find the Compass before us.”

  “The plan was to locate all three Tools, then send out a search party,” Pietro argued.

  Baldassare’s cheeks burned red. He looked at Giacomo and the others. “If you’ll excuse us, Pietro and I need to speak privately.”

  Pietro grimaced and crossed his arms.

  The group filed out and Savino closed the door behind them.

  Enzio slunk back to his room, while Giacomo waited in the hall with the others. Through the doors, he heard Baldassare’s and Pietro’s muffled voices yelling at each other, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  Savino paced. “They have to let us go.”

  “We’re not ready,” Milena said. “We need time to prepare, gather supplies.”

  “We’ve been preparing ever since Signor Barrolo brought us here,” Savino argued.

  “It would be nice to let our Geniuses get out and really spread their wings,” Aaminah said. “Luna hates being inside all the time.” Her Genius whistled in agreement.

  “I’m with them,” Giacomo said to Milena. “I think we should get the Compass first, then regroup to find the other Tools.”

  “Who says you’re even coming?” Savino said.

  “Why wouldn’t I? I’m the one who found the Compass.”

  “You just started your lessons. You’re not ready.”

  “Why do you have such a problem with me?”

  Savino stepped close. “Look, you might have some special Wellspring power, but I’ve been working my butt off for years. Milena and Aaminah too. We earned this.”

  “And I haven’t?”

  “You’ve been hiding out in the sewers, like a coward.”

  “I was surviving! I’d like to see how long you’d last down there.”

  “Longer than you, I bet!” Savino jabbed him in the shoulder. “You’re not coming. End of discussion.”

  Giacomo knocked Savino’s hand away. “You don’t get to tell me what to do!”

  The doors to the study swung open, putting an end to their shouting match. Pietro came out first,
his cane clacking on the floor. By the scowl on his face, it looked like he’d lost the argument.

  “You’ll leave in two days’ time” was all Pietro said as he passed them, on his way to the cellar.

  Baldassare emerged a moment later, a satisfied look on his face. “In the meantime, get some rest. You four will need all your energy for this journey.”

  Savino shot Giacomo a dirty look. “He’s going too?”

  “Of course,” Baldassare answered.

  Giacomo smirked, making sure Savino saw it.

  “Why?” Savino whined. “Giacomo hasn’t even finished his training. He just got his Genius!”

  “You sound like Pietro. Giacomo’s going. And I won’t hear any more about it.” As Baldassare headed back upstairs, Savino stomped away in a huff.

  Milena looked at Giacomo sternly. “You really think you’re ready for this?”

  “Absolutely.” Giacomo’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Because I have no idea what I’m doing.

  With a feeble wave good night, Giacomo retreated to his room.

  8

  THE CHASM

  By the next morning, everyone was in preparation mode. Baldassare told them to travel with only what they could carry on their backs. For Giacomo, that meant a change of clothes, a waterskin, a bedroll, his sketchbook, and pencils. When he asked Baldassare about food and cooking supplies, he replied with a curt “It’s being taken care of.” He wouldn’t provide any other details, but Giacomo couldn’t imagine he’d send four children across the Supreme Creator’s realm alone.

  When they all gathered in the studio, Pietro confirmed as much, but he was also uninformed about Baldassare’s plan.

  “My instructions were to prepare you to release the Compass. So that’s what I’m going to do.” He still sounded bitter about losing the argument with Baldassare.

  “What’s there to know? Nero and I can handle it,” Savino bragged.

  Pietro whacked Savino’s foot with his cane. “This isn’t a joke!”

  Savino jumped back. “Okay, okay…”

  Pietro proceeded. “The Compass is locked inside one of the most impenetrable shapes of sacred geometry—the octahedron.”

  Giacomo glanced at Pietro. So that double pyramid does have a name.

  “How do we open it?” Milena asked.

  “The ancient texts say that only the Creator’s living force can break the shield.”

  “A Genius!” Milena said. “In the creation myth, the Genius is called a ‘living force.’”

  “Precisely,” Pietro said, then addressed only Milena, Savino, and Aaminah. “Ugalino will be able to release the Compass with his Genius alone. Luna, Nero, and Gaia are young and their gems are still quite small. However, by combining their powers, you should create enough energy to crack the octahedron. Then you must pry it open, like a knife opening an oyster’s shell.”

  “Mico can help too,” Giacomo offered.

  “The three of them will be able to handle it,” Pietro said firmly.

  Giacomo shrank back. “If you only need three Geniuses, why am I even going?”

  “Good question,” Savino muttered.

  “I told Baldassare the same thing,” Pietro said. “You’re not ready.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “But then he reminded me there is a grim reality we must face. Should one of you … fail to arrive at the destination—”

  “You mean die,” Savino said.

  “Yes. Should that happen, you will still have three Geniuses.”

  “So I’m only valuable if one of them gets killed?” Giacomo couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “It’s not like that,” Aaminah assured him.

  Pietro felt for a chair and took a seat. “You four are likely the last generation in Zizzola to have Geniuses. If I had it my way, none of you would go. But I can’t keep you hidden in my studio forever. I’ve been here too long as it is. It’s time for Geniuses to be out in the world again. Is it dangerous? Absolutely. But anything worth doing requires risk.”

  Giacomo realized he’d been thinking selfishly. This mission was bigger than him, bigger than all of them. He should be proud to take on the responsibility of helping his fellow students.

  “Let’s do this for the next generation of artists,” Giacomo said. “For everyone in Zizzola.”

  Milena and Aaminah smiled. With a curt nod, Savino agreed.

  * * *

  The evening of their departure arrived. The night sky looked the same as the hundreds that had come before, but to Giacomo it felt different, like the air pressed a little heavier against his skin. Following Baldassare’s instructions, Giacomo headed to the courtyard at midnight, when the group would set off under cover of darkness.

  With Mico on his shoulder, Giacomo walked out of the villa and found thirteen scruffy, armored men and women waiting. These were their escorts?

  They didn’t look like soldiers, exactly. Their armor was made up of a hodgepodge of metal shoulder, forearm, and leg plates, tattered leather jerkins that had seen more than a few battles, and skirts and sleeves of chain mail. A few of them wore helmets of various shapes, some visored, others open-faced with angled neck protectors. They were armed with a mix of crossbows, swords, and polearms.

  Baldassare spoke to a dark-skinned, muscular man who Giacomo assumed was the leader of the group. The tip of his left ear had been shorn off, along with the hair above it. A nasty scar started from the bald spot, ran across his jutting cheekbone, and ended at the corner of his mouth. What hair remained hung in tangles past his right shoulder. He stood in a wide stance. In his meaty hands, he held the thick hilt of his sword, its long blade pointed down, piercing the ground by his feet.

  Giacomo shuffled closer so he could hear what they were talking about.

  “You still think we might run into that monster out there?” the man asked.

  Baldassare nodded. “Ugalino and his Tulpa are on the move. Is that going to be a problem?”

  “Not at all,” the man replied.

  Giacomo walked over to Milena, Savino, and Aaminah, who each carried a canvas bag packed full of supplies. They all wore cloaks over their regular clothes, and Milena had traded her long dress for a pair of brown breeches and tall leather boots.

  Aaminah was clad in instruments. A smaller version of her viol was strapped across her back and her flute was tucked into her belt. She slipped a handheld harp into her satchel and closed the flap over it.

  “So I guess this is Baldassare’s plan to keep us safe?” Giacomo commented.

  “Mercenaries,” Savino said, disgusted. “I can’t believe Signor Barrolo is putting our lives in their hands.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with mercenaries?” Giacomo asked. “They look pretty tough.”

  “They’re just hired muscle,” Savino complained. “They’re not going to care about this mission, only about getting paid.”

  Baldassare shook the brutish man’s hand and headed toward the children, smiling.

  Savino fastened a hatchet to his belt, next to his sculpting tools. “You really think we can trust these guys?” he asked Baldassare point-blank. “The second we leave the villa, they might turn us over to the Supreme Creator.”

  Baldassare dismissed the notion. “Mercenaries are only loyal to one thing—money. And I’m paying them a small fortune, far more than Ozo Mori could ever hope to collect from the Supreme Creator.

  “Ozo Mori?” Savino said. “Sounds like a Rachanan name.”

  Baldassare nodded. “He has a few in his ranks as well.”

  “You’re sending us off with the enemy?” Savino said accusingly.

  “Rachana and Zizzola haven’t been at war for a long time,” Milena reminded him.

  “Still, I don’t like it,” Savino muttered.

  “Now, I’ve instructed Ozo to stay off the main roads and avoid villages and cities,” Baldassare explained. “We can’t risk anyone
spotting your Geniuses. But it means you’ll be roughing it for a while.”

  “Dirt between my toes … sounds perfect to me,” Aaminah said.

  Giacomo realized he’d lost track of Mico. He spotted his Genius buzzing around Ozo’s head, chirping curiously. Ozo spit at Mico, who darted back to Giacomo’s side. Giacomo wanted to yell at the man, but took one look at his massive sword and kept his mouth shut.

  “Ozo isn’t exactly an art lover,” Baldassare admitted, “but he’s worked for me before and always comes through.”

  Enzio emerged from the villa, carrying a heavy-looking trunk. He dropped it at Ozo’s feet and went back inside, without even acknowledging the fact that Giacomo and the others were leaving.

  Baldassare led Giacomo and his companions over to Ozo, who was busy opening the trunk of money. Countless gold and silver coins were piled to the brim. It was more impronta than Giacomo had ever seen in his life. The rest of the mercenaries gathered around, ogling the loot.

  “This is the first half of the money, which I’m giving to Ozo to distribute,” Baldassare told the soldiers-for-hire. “You can all claim the rest once you return—with the children and the Compass.”

  Ozo nodded. “Fair enough.” He sized up the group of children. Giacomo tensed as Ozo’s severe stare landed on him. Up close, he noticed how the man’s scar pulled the left side of his mouth into a permanent frown.

  “I have three rules,” Ozo said in a deep, gravelly voice. “Follow me. Stay close. And do everything I say.” He walked down the line of mercenaries. “Now meet the men and women I’ve entrusted with your safety.”

  Ozo slapped the shoulder of the first man, a towering mass of flesh and hair. He held a long wooden crossbow across his right shoulder. A thick silver ring hung from his nose. “This is my second in command. You can call him the Bull.”

  The Bull flared his nostrils and snorted his hello.

  To his right was a second crossbowman with intense bulging eyes. “This is Accosius.” Standing next to him were two archers, each carrying a bundle of arrows tied at their waist. One was a tall woman with an eye patch, the other a man, short and stocky. “Next up—Malocchio and Baby Cannoli,” Ozo said, before moving down the line.