“What’re you jabbering about?” Dominy asked.
Pandor turned to Matham, clasping his hand. “Sergian has scheduled your Retreat.”
Six days later, Dominy and Genna, arm in arm, skipped up the stone stairs of Templar Gallery. When they reached the top step, they doubled over laughing and gasping for air, their joy overwhelming them. Thoughts of Matham’s loss, his upcoming Retreat and their upcoming chemistry competition were distant memories.
The sun’s rays slanted through the equidistant marble columns and lit the foyer. Genna grabbed his hand and a surge of warmth pulsed through him. Something was different about her. Perhaps the change was simply the way the light shadowed her face. Maybe it was an afterglow from her Games victory in the Fine Arts championships and her promotion to become a Second. Genna won with skill, but now they had good fortune—it was the rare day when their quadtimes coincided. Such a perfect day—he wouldn’t trade places with anyone, not even a guardian.
The swirling rose-and-white marble slabs absorbed some of the sun’s energy. Dominy slipped off his sandals, the coolness of the stone on his feet contrasted with his warmed palm. He loved the marble, for the precision-cut rock represented the trueness and the permanence of the building’s design, its austereness matching its function. “Sometimes I think just setting foot in this building is too much for me. I’m surrounded by genius.”
“The artists?” she asked.
“Well, there is one of those.” He smiled at her. The Templar Gallery housed the greatest works of Aspirian artists and the selection process for entry was simple: only winners of the Fine Arts Games were chosen. “But I was thinking of Templar. Her open-air building overwhelms me, inspires me to strive for perfection. I have to believe it’s attainable, that an Aspirian with proper training and inspiration can create like Templar.”
“You need to get out more—too much time in the basement.” She brushed the back of her hand against his warm cheek. “A little sun, and look at you.”
He pressed her hand harder against his face and kissed her smooth skin. “I don’t think it’s from the sun.”
She jerked backward.
“What? What’d I do?”
Genna rubbed her hand and laughed. “Oh, not that—I liked that.” She pointed at him. “But what’s wrong with your neck?”
Dominy fondled the medallion, rubbed his skin and shook his head. He loved Genna’s dimpled cheeks after she had first slipped it around his neck. He hadn’t planned to say anything.
“Is that a rash? You have a skin rash. Why didn’t you say something before?”
He shrugged coyly.
“I used the wrong metal, didn’t I?”
Dominy smiled. He didn’t care. He’d never take it off. He took her sweet hand and rubbed the back of it against his lips. “I’m sensitive to all sorts of things.”
“C’mon, partner, before Sergian shuts the gallery down. I’ll show you how to experience art.” She swung her arm around his waist and led him down a corridor, stopping along the way to observe and comment. “During an early generation, this hexaptych won. Check out the pyramid structure.” She pointed at an artwork comprised of six paneled paintings. The bottom three pieces were representations of students’ day-to-day life. The adjacent two, stacked on top, portrayed the transformation of those same students into masters. The final piece, completing the pyramid, represented the transcendence of the masters to guardians.
They darted through the exhibits, examining each. She led him across the corridor and through a wide-arched entryway to the recent gallery additions.
They held hands and together experienced her artwork exhibited in Templar for the first time. She did not blush or smile but only displayed an air of satisfaction. They stood in silence as if the other gallery patrons didn’t exist. He straightened his back fully, his chin up at a slight angle, his eyes adjusting to the light, his palms facing the remarkable creation as if he was preparing to receive its message or waiting for it to burst forth from the wall. The aura of the piece enraptured him, immersing his senses in the inspiration of the work. Yes, he was inspired. He remembered what Petrece had said in orientation: Even your fellow Firsts, they’ll all shape your understanding of Divinity.
Of course he’d seen the piece many times, but he didn’t know it yet, not completely. Each time he looked, he perceived something new—in the artwork and in himself. “It’s logically sound in terms of its geometry, proportion, and perspective.” He edged closer, talking to himself. “But the meaning is deeper than logical precision. The rising perspective fixes your gaze skyward, and note where the illumination falls, on all that is good. And that which is not is hidden by shadow.” He drew closer still and thought he recognized Everlen—not a physical resemblance but his essence. No. Is it Every-Aspirian? That also wasn’t quite right. He looked again and smiled at her. He understood—it was the potential of Every-Aspirian.
He was transformed somehow, his mind no longer considering the past or the future. He lost track of how long they stood there: seconds, minutes, or even hours.
He turned to her. “You’re a bright light.” He swept her onto a viewing stair to peer straight into her eyes.
He pulled her closer to himself. Or maybe she was pulling him. Their breathing fell into rhythm. Their lips came together at the same time, neither one hesitating or rushing.
She jerked backward as if someone had grabbed her robe-belt and yanked. A voice, low in pitch, jolted him like a shock wave: “Genna, Genna, a moment with you.”
Genna’s gaze shot through Dominy as if he didn’t exist. She rose to her toes and stared over his shoulder, distantly, in the direction of the voice. A chill slid down his body. Her haunted face, contrasting with the glow of a moment before, startled him. He whirled around.
Sergian stood motionless in the shadows, arms folded.
Genna shuffled away, her head bowed. She lurched toward Sergian, her hand skidding along the textured walls, stabilizing herself as though her brain and body were at odds. She looked toward the exit, shook her head and wobbled closer to her artwork, as if the piece offered protection from Sergian.
Sergian glanced around and shook his head. What a repulsive gallery. He couldn’t understand how some of these archaic pieces could be considered great art. Lightheaded, he leaned against a column in an alcove and steadied himself. He had spotted the students from afar, in the filtered light, embracing—a lovers’ embrace. His hunch was right.
As she approached, he pondered his good luck. Matham leaving Aspiria. So quickly, too. Matham hadn’t even started the Retreat. Just the thought of the Retreat—an experiment in isolation—was too much for Matham. Sergian shivered and the guilt dissipated. Matham would have left sooner or later. No one could control that outcome. It was his destiny. Perhaps if Matham had arrived several years later, in a yellow robe, to the new Aspiria, the reformed Aspiria, the outcome would have been different. But no one could doubt the dangerous ramifications of the equation: student loses in championship finals, student leaves Aspiria—of his own volition. In the end, that was a good outcome, good for Sergian and good for Aspiria.
“Genna. Alone.” Sergian flapped his hand, dismissing Dominy as he dashed after her. The student, confused, lurched backward and forward. “Alone!” The wonder boy finally scurried away, peering over his shoulder every few steps.
Sergian stooped over Genna and she huddled in the corner of an alcove out of the sun’s glare. “I’m sure you’re aware, by now, of the situation involving Matham—”
“Matham?”
Sergian raised his head and sighted Dominy propped against the wall, waiting under that, that artwork, the season’s winner. “You haven’t heard?” He paused. Of course she hadn’t. “Matham has decided to leave.”
Her mouth gaped.
“Yes, unfortunately it’s true.” He raised his shoulders to his neck. “No one will understand why.”
“No!” She stood dazed, her silver eyes flitting side to side.
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“Some things can’t be explained.” Sergian moved closer. “Let me get right to the point. I’ve chosen you.”
“What?” she whispered as if awakening from a nightmare. “No!”
He pressed his fist against the marble column, welcoming the resistance. “Excuse me?”
“Master, pardon me, Master. It’s, just, I can’t believe about Matham.”
“Unfortunate.” He forced his face to soften. “We don’t wish anyone else to leave.”
“But what about my master?”
Rohan? “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.”
“But—”
“You’ll meet me at an appointed time. Of course, this needs to be approved through protocol, by the council and your current master.” He smiled. “This will take time to make official. Not a word until then.”
She was silent.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
He tilted his head and stared at her through bangs of clotted hair.
“Yes. Master.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Dominy inhaled the medley of chemical odors. The massive teaching laboratory smelled like Talia’s private lab. Surely, she was pleased with the venue. But why wasn’t the Chemical Elements championship staged at the Aspirian Games Complex?
He, along with the other semifinalists, stood in a large circle in the spacious building. The nervous students each faced an oversized notepad on a waist-high easel, preprogrammed with the same problems. Student spectators lined the perimeter walls of the lab.
The start was moments away. Where’s Genna? She was probably at the opposite side of the building, but his view was blocked by a large chamber furnace and some recirculating coolers. After the run-in with Sergian at Templar Gallery, he had searched everywhere for her. No signs. He had messaged her. No response. He kissed the medallion hanging around his neck.
A group of masters, including judges and an announcer, crossed a trestle to a viewing platform high above the lab floor amongst the ventilation piping. Everlen also watched the competition from up high.
Dominy boldly ascended in the old man’s direction. I’ll dedicate my performance today to you. The guardian had 0.65 actuarial years to live. Then the realization struck him: he was still a long way from becoming even a Third. I must win.
The announcer cleared her throat. “In Chemical Elements, you’ve all demonstrated your abilities in the prelims. You should be proud of your accomplishments. Aspiria is. Let’s get started.”
Dominy eyed Everlen one more time, breathed deeply and adjusted his notepad to the ideal angle.
“Begin.”
Dominy clicked off answer after answer to the easy early-round questions: “Argon, standard atomic weight to two digits?” 39.55. “Zinc, number of electrons per shell?” 2, 8, 18, 2. “Uranium…” He entered the thought-zone, his mind a crystal of pure focus.
A momentary break brought him out of his trance. He looked around, fewer players remained.
“Nickel, melting point?” 1,728 degrees. “Iodine, boiling point?” 457 degrees. “Aluminum, density of solid?” 2.7 grams per cubic centimeter. “Boron…”
At the next break, Dominy surveyed the laboratory. He stood alone and he hadn’t missed a problem. Did I win! He thrust his fist toward Everlen. Strange. There was no applause and this was a Games final. He spotted another student still standing on the periphery.
Up on the trestle, the judges were joined by Sergian and the entire council. Talia was also there. Sergian, microphone in hand, stepped to the trestle railing. “Yes, stop. You’re all winners.”
Groans echoed through the lab.
Dominy stared up at Sergian, glaring at the Puppet master. All winners?
Rohan joined Sergian to make an announcement. “Competitors, this year, as you can judge by your surroundings, we’ve instituted changes to this particular competition. Think of it as a potential template for future competitions. And now, I present to you our head of council.”
Sergian raised his mic. “Thank you, Rohan. This year, with the remaining competitors having answered every question, we’ll consider you, technically, all winners…”
About half of the masters applauded the announcement.
More than one champion? The entire council here? What’s going on?
“However, with Aspiria’s renewed focus on tradables, I will now act as a special judge to send the right message and select a winner in this particular field of chemistry, applied chemistry…”
Applied chemistry? And Sergian’s a judge?
“Will the remaining four competitors please step forward?”
The one he’d seen from a distance was Pandor. Ugh. And there, Vernan. I’m just an engineer, I’m only good at application, Vernan had said. Dominy winked at his friend. “It’s your time.”
Pandor wrinkled his nose at Vernan and shook his head. “Traitor.”
Coming out from behind a three-meter chemical vat was the last competitor, Genna. Dominy blew her a kiss.
A commotion erupted on the trestle. Everlen pointed down and argued with Sergian. The two men entered a lift and descended to the laboratory floor and joined the four students in the middle of the lab.
Genna’s face was a blank slate. Dominy caught her eye and shrugged. She mouthed, “You weren’t told?”
Told what? Dominy’s throat squeezed tight. He turned to Pandor, whose doughy face also appeared calm.
Everlen lurched in between Sergian and the four students, thrusting his arms out like a parent protecting its children. The guardian pointed at the youngsters. “They’re near masters of theory but newborns in application. It’s one thing to have masters doing application, but students?”
Sergian’s face contorted into a monstrous smile. “Guardian, remember, the truth knows no age.” Sergian turned to a Provisioner and whispered. “Get him out of here.”
“No!” Dominy grasped Everlen’s grizzled hand and ascended to him. “Guardian, may I have a word with you?” Saliva dripped from the corner of Everlen’s mouth. Dominy peered into the great man’s eyes, but they were like empty vessels. “Do you know who I am?”
The Provisioner stepped in, aggressively separated them and led Everlen away.
Dominy’s chest clenched, tears stung his eyes.
“Let’s proceed.” Sergian smirked. “The competitors will combine elements into common compounds. We’ll start with basic compounds and increase the complexity with each round. You should have no trouble completing any of them in the allowable time. However, if you fail to make the cut-off time, you’re eliminated. Assuming you all succeed, after ten rounds, I will select the winner based on two criteria: the efficiency and the creativity of your solutions.”
Focus. Dominy closed his eyes, imagined the periodic table, and recited the elements in rapid fire to himself from memory, first by atomic number: hydrogen, helium, lithium … and then by chemical properties: lithium, sodium, potassium… His heart rate eased and his confidence snapped back.
The competitors each claimed a station around a large lab table holding supplies of all the elements—whether solid, liquid, or gas—except the unstable or rare ones. There would be no aspirium on that table. The players arranged their own basic equipment for the early rounds. The laboratory’s more sophisticated equipment would be implemented later. Dominy set his up for easiest access: test tubes, flasks, beakers, splash goggles, and funnels to the left; gas burners in the middle; balance and thermometer to the right. He stowed the washbasin and everything else on a shelf below.
“Ready. Start.” Sergian sparked a flame and doused it with a liquid. “Water.”
Maybe this applied chemistry competition was a farce. Water was two parts hydrogen, one part oxygen. The quickest way would be to combine the two gases as they came out of their respective hoses and light the mixture on fire. “Ridiculous,” Dominy muttered.
“Yeah,” Pandor whispered, “but don’t freeze under pressure.”
; “They said water, not ice,” Genna whispered without raising her head.
Dominy sparked his flint. The igniting mixture cracked popping sounds throughout the lab. “Done.” He displayed the drops of water to the judges.
Vernan finished. “Traitor!” A chorus of Thirds yelled.
Genna and Pandor followed right behind as the laboratory erupted in more popping sounds.
“Pandor! Pandor!”
Sergian clapped. “Well done, now suit up, competitors, round two. Everyone else, stand back.” The judges and council members stepped well away.
A girl watching the action shielded her eyes. “Not phosphorus, I hope.”
“Or potassium or rubidium, for the sake of this building,” Pandor whispered under his breath.
The four players donned head-to-toe fire suits. Dominy adjusted his flash goggles to the correct tightness.
“Ready.” Sergian raised his hand. “One moment, please. I have an unfortunate announcement to make. It has come to my attention that recently one of our beloved students has taken himself out…”
No. Dominy lifted his fire hood.
“He has left Aspiria. On his own accord.”
Who?
“As head of council I would like to dedicate this championship to his memory.”
His?
“In memory of Matham.”
Dominy threw down his hood. “No! Impossible.”
“I’m afraid it’s the truth. Let’s close our eyes for a moment and contemplate the dearly departed.” Sergian popped his head up, his cheeks puffed and a big smile followed. “Now, on a pleasant note, I have decided to take on another young student. She in fact is one of our finalists today!” The head of council raised Genna’s hand.
Dominy staggered and his body trembled. White dots of light radiated behind his eyelids.
“Let’s resume.” Sergian hefted a potato and, with a mischievous grin, sprinkled it with something from a canister. After pretending to chomp into it, he licked his lips. “Salt. Go.”
Aspiria Rising Page 13
