Warrior Genius Read online

  Pietro put a hand on Niccolo’s shoulder. “Why did you lie about Furio? You should’ve told us.”

  “Because the practice of keeping your Genius’s gem after its death has always been frowned upon. And in this empire, the only beings more feared than Tulpas are Lost Souls.” Niccolo brushed away Pietro’s hand and climbed back onto his cart.

  Niccolo was right. His whole life, Giacomo had been terrified of Lost Souls. It had started with his mother and father. They had never been violent toward him, but when they lost their Geniuses and their loving gazes had withered into vacant expressions, it had been as painful as a slap across the face. At the time, Giacomo had thought that some evil sickness had taken hold of his parents and sucked the love out of them.

  Niccolo flicked the reins, and the horses whinnied. “I’ll be back by nightfall,” he said as the cart pulled away. The horses trotted down the hill, kicking up a cloud of dust behind them.

  Pietro wagged a disapproving finger at Giacomo and Savino. “When Niccolo gets back, you both owe him an apology.”

  Savino protested. “But, Master Pietro, we thought—”

  “That I was foolish enough to lead you all into Nerezza’s hands again?” Pietro sounded on edge.

  Giacomo and Savino traded guilty looks. “No,” Giacomo said. “Of course not.”

  “Niccolo is a trustworthy man,” Pietro assured them. “He was one of my brightest students, a rare artist who excelled at both painting and sculpture.”

  “You thought you could trust Baldassare too,” Savino reminded him.

  “Baldassare Barrolo hasn’t suffered at the hands of Nerezza. Niccolo has,” Pietro insisted. “A man never forgets that kind of pain.” Their teacher hobbled back toward the house, his head hanging heavier than usual.

  4

  GARRULOUS’S JOURNALS

  With Niccolo gone for the day, Milena and her friends headed back inside to go through the items he’d offered them. Milena was looking forward to a change of clothes, but she was most excited about the trunk of art supplies.

  She chose a brush with a long black handle and bristles that tapered to a fine point. From Milena’s shoulder, Gaia stretched her neck down to inspect it and sang her approval. Milena arced the brush through the air, and an intricate spiral pattern radiated from her Genius’s gem, filling the villa with a viridescent light. Relief washed through Milena now that she and her Genius had reestablished their connection. She couldn’t help but smile.

  The floor creaked, and Milena turned to find Zanobius standing next to her. “It’s stunning,” he said.

  “You must have seen Ugalino create patterns much more complex than this,” Milena said.

  “Yes. But you have a much finer, delicate touch.”

  “Thank you.”

  Savino entered and grabbed a carving tool from the trunk. With a steely look, he aimed the tool’s curved blade at Zanobius. “Everything all right in here?” Nero ruffled his feathers and squawked.

  “We’re fine,” Milena said. “Point that somewhere else, will you?”

  Savino lowered the carving tool, but his glare held firm.

  “I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” Zanobius said, backing out of the room.

  “You don’t have to leave,” Milena said, but Zanobius was already gone. She erased her pattern and turned to Savino. “Why’d you have to go and do that?”

  “Do what?” Savino said, feigning innocence.

  “Make Zanobius feel so unwelcome.”

  “You had second thoughts about his joining our group, same as I did,” Savino argued.

  “I know, but I’ve been observing him. He’s much more intelligent and perceptive than we gave him credit for.”

  “Still, none of us should be alone with him,” Savino said, then relaxed his hardened expression into a soft smile. “I was only looking out for you.”

  “Thanks,” Milena said, appreciating Savino’s intent. “But you don’t need to keep your guard up all the time. Not everyone’s out to get you.” She gently touched Savino’s arm, but he immediately stepped out of reach and began rifling through the trunk.

  “I wonder if there are more carving tools in here,” he muttered.

  “Anyway…” Milena said, her jaw tightening. “Good talking to you.”

  She left the room, and as soon as she turned the corner, she collided with Giacomo, who was crouched over. With yelps of surprise, they fell into shelves full of small glass sculptures. One bobbled and rolled onto the floor, shattering.

  “Sorry!” Milena said.

  Giacomo righted himself, and they both stared down at the glittering shards.

  “Should we tell Niccolo?” Milena asked.

  With a sweep of his foot, Giacomo kicked the broken pieces under the shelf. “I doubt he’ll notice if one tiny sculpture is missing.”

  “What were you looking for, anyway?”

  “A globe. I figured Niccolo must have one hiding here somewhere.”

  “Giacomo…” Milena said, not hiding her disapproval.

  “What? I need to figure out where the next Sacred Tool is hiding. Using a globe in combination with the Wellspring worked last time.”

  “Not exactly,” Milena argued, reminding Giacomo that the looking device he had made to find the Compass had pointed them in the wrong direction. “And now that we’re wanted fugitives, we can’t risk wandering around Zizzola without knowing exactly where we’re headed.”

  “Good point,” Giacomo conceded. “But then how do we get a lead on the other Sacred Tools?”

  Milena pointed to a room across the hall that was cluttered with towers of books. “That looks like a good place to start.”

  But she hadn’t been prepared for the disorder that plagued Niccolo’s library. The books weren’t sorted by subject or author. Treatises on perspective were lumped in with volumes on herbal remedies. Cosmological theories were intermixed with anatomical studies. Before she could even hope to determine what books might be of value, Milena realized that she would have to reorganize.

  Every so often, one of her friends would pass by, showing off their latest find from Niccolo’s trove. Savino appeared in a black leather jacket and brown pants that he’d discovered, prompting Giacomo to run off and search the armoire. He returned a few minutes later in a pristine red tunic, looking thrilled to be rid of his dirty, tattered one.

  Enzio stomped down the hall with a longbow and a quiver of arrows slung across his shoulder, hollering about doing some target practice outside.

  Aaminah ran in, excitedly showing off a lute she’d rescued from a dusty old chest full of musical instruments. It wasn’t long before she had tuned the lute’s strings and was strumming a lively melody. Luna flitted around the villa, yellow shapes cascading from the gem in her crown.

  Finally, just as Milena was beginning to lose hope of finding any useful information, she chanced upon a stack of ten small volumes tucked away on a shelf, hidden behind a clutter of other books. The spine of each volume was embossed with the letters P.G.

  Milena knew those initials. Tingling with anticipation, she opened the first volume and found an inscription:

  I set out on my journey tomorrow, anxious about what lies before me. The lands of Zizzola are full of innumerable mysteries and strange wonders. May these journals stand as my humble attempt to chronicle the unknown and unlock the secrets of our world.

  It was signed:

  Poggio Garrulous

  Milena grabbed the rest of the volumes. “I think I found something!”

  Bleary-eyed, Giacomo looked up from a thick tome about ancient navigation methods. “I hope it’s more enlightening than what I’m reading.”

  Milena laid out the journals on the floor in a neat row. “These are Poggio Garrulous’s journals, written when he explored the world.”

  “Haven’t you already studied his writings? I thought Signor Barrolo had lots of books about him.”

  “I’ve read descriptions of Garrulous’s travels—it’s where I
first heard the Sacred Tools mentioned—but they were always second- or thirdhand accounts. These are the originals!” Milena flipped through the pages, her heartbeat quickening. “Signor Barrolo had tried to obtain the journals, but not even his black-market connections could track them down.”

  “If they’re so valuable, why are they in Niccolo’s library collecting dust?” Giacomo asked.

  “You’ve seen how he keeps this place. I bet he doesn’t even know they’re here.” Milena passed Giacomo the second volume. “This might be the break we need to find the other Sacred Tools. Start reading.”

  After a few minutes Giacomo said, “Uh … Garrulous really liked writing about moss and mushrooms.”

  “It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” Milena said, her eyes fixed on the page. “He really had a talent.”

  Giacomo yawned. “A talent for boring people to death. Where are all the tales of adventure? For a guy who explored the world, Garrulous seems pretty dull.”

  Milena bristled. “I think his mind was quite brilliant.”

  Giacomo shrugged and tossed aside volume two, then picked up a journal farther down the row, cracked it open, and flipped through the pages. Suddenly, his eyes went wide. “Look, it’s the Straightedge!”

  “Let me see.” Milena grabbed the journal out of Giacomo’s hand. Garrulous had drawn the Straightedge and described how it could amplify a Genius’s power a hundred times over. She’d encountered similar claims in other writings about the Sacred Tools.

  She read on, then stopped. “Wait, that can’t be right…”

  “What is it?” Giacomo asked.

  Milena flipped to the first page to check the inscription, then glanced up at Giacomo. “This volume was written when Garrulous traveled through Rachana.”

  Giacomo stared back, dumbfounded. “Rachana?”

  Milena gathered her friends around the table by the crackling fire to show them Garrulous’s journals. She explained her theory that the Creator’s Straightedge might be in Rachana.

  “You must have read it wrong,” Savino said dubiously. “Everyone knows the Creator used the Tools to bring the world into being, starting with Zizzola. Why would one of the Sacred Tools be in enemy territory?”

  “When the world was first created, the three empires didn’t exist,” Pietro said, scratching his tangled beard. “States and borders came much later, when clans began to lay claim to different territories.”

  “That’s right,” Milena said, following her teacher’s logic. “When the Creator finished his work, he could’ve scattered the Sacred Tools around the world, long before there was a Rachana.”

  Giacomo’s doubtful expression matched Savino’s. “Did Garrulous write anything about where it would be found? Did he actually see the Straightedge?”

  Milena deflated. “Not as far as I can tell. I think he was transcribing legends he had heard during his travels.” She looked to Zanobius, who stood leaning against the wall. She was aware that his memory was still hazy, but he might know something. “Ugalino searched for the Sacred Tools for years. Did he ever question whether they might be somewhere besides Zizzola?”

  Zanobius stared into the fire for a moment. “Now that you mention it, I think that’s why he took us to Katunga. He suspected we might find some clues about the Tools there. Sorry, I can’t recall much beyond that.”

  Enzio leaned back in his chair. “But if the Straightedge really is in Rachana, don’t you think the Rachanans would have used it against Zizzola by now?”

  “Not if they haven’t found it,” Milena argued.

  “And there’s the peace treaty,” Aaminah added. “Even if they did have it, they’re not allowed to start a war.”

  “Hasn’t stopped them in the past,” Savino said. “Rachanans can’t keep their word. All they want to do is fight, conquer, and pillage.”

  Aaminah gave him a disapproving look. “But they haven’t done any of that for a long time. Maybe they’ve changed.”

  “People don’t change,” Savino insisted.

  “Some people can,” Zanobius said quietly.

  “I’m sure Savino wasn’t referring to you,” Giacomo said, casting a glare in Savino’s direction. “Your situation is completely different.”

  “Sadly, all great civilizations have been built on blood,” Pietro interjected. “Rachana is no exception. Neither is Zizzola. But I found Samraat Jagesh to be an honorable leader who genuinely wanted to put an end to war between our two empires.”

  “Hold on,” Milena said. “You met the samraat of Rachana? When?”

  “A long time ago. I wasn’t much older than you are now. As the empire’s official court artist, I had the privilege of accompanying Emperor Callisto and his Council to the historic signing of the fifteenth armistice.”

  Milena couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “So you’ve been to the samraat’s palace?”

  “I have.” Pietro cracked a smile. “And it makes Nerezza’s palace look like a hovel.”

  From outside came the sound of a rattling cart and horses neighing.

  “Food’s here!” Giacomo bolted from the room. The group filed out to meet Niccolo, leaving Milena and Pietro alone.

  Milena sighed and stacked the journals. “I don’t know … Maybe Savino and Giacomo are right. These probably won’t lead anywhere.”

  “Ignore the naysayers,” Pietro offered. “Follow your spark of inspiration and see where it leads you.”

  Heartened, Milena picked up the journals. “Thank you, Master Pietro. I will.”

  5

  LAW OF CONTAGION

  That night, Giacomo and his friends crowded around the table while Niccolo prepared dinner. Milena was still off in the library combing through Garrulous’s journals and had yet to join them.

  After what felt like an eternity, Niccolo finally emerged from the kitchen with two platters of food. One held a pile of burned meat, the other a heap of noodles covered in a pungent brown sauce. “I probably should have warned you. I’m not much of a cook.”

  Normally, Giacomo might have been picky, but he was so hungry he devoured his food without a second thought.

  “Now, I only bought enough food to last you all a couple of weeks, maybe three, if you ration,” Niccolo said. “I got a few shifty looks today, so I told folks I was stocking up for winter.”

  “But it’s spring,” Savino pointed out.

  “You think I don’t know it’s spring?” Niccolo said defensively. “Most folks think I’m out of my mind anyway, so they won’t give it a second thought. But if I use the same excuse twice, people will start getting nosy.”

  Niccolo took a seat at the head of the table and nibbled on a piece of bread. Even though living as a Lost Soul had blunted his taste for food, Niccolo’s appetite for wine hadn’t abated. He and Pietro took turns filling each other’s jeweled goblets while Pietro told Niccolo how he had found refuge with one of Nerezza’s Council members, then fallen back into teaching when Savino and Milena came into his life, and now felt anger and guilt at Baldassare’s betrayal.

  “And he’s the one who lied to you about my being dead?” Niccolo asked. “Why?”

  “He probably didn’t want me to try to find you,” Pietro reasoned. “Turned out, he kept me in the dark about a lot of things.”

  “I see … But there’s still one thing I don’t understand. If Nerezza knew where you were hiding all these years, how come she never went after you? She’s hardly a merciful woman.”

  “No, but she is a cunning one.” Pietro brooded, swirling the wine in his goblet. “After eliminating so many Geniuses, she didn’t exactly have any artists left to help her. She used me as an unwitting ally to find and train a new generation, all so she could get her hands on the Sacred Tools.”

  Giacomo waited for Pietro to finish, then asked, “So, Niccolo, how can you afford all this stuff, anyway?”

  “Don’t be rude, Giacomo,” Pietro scolded.

  “I’m just curious.”

  “It’s all right,
Pietro. My family history was bound to come up sooner or later.” Niccolo turned back to the group and grinned. “My last name is Abbate.”

  Giacomo’s jaw hung slack. Everyone in Virenzia knew of the Abbates—generations of wealthy merchants and bankers who had once been generous patrons of the arts. “As in the richest family in the empire?”

  “It was. Until I tarnished the name,” Niccolo said heavily.

  “Because you stood up to Nerezza?”

  “That’s right.” Niccolo downed the rest of his wine and stared into the empty goblet.

  “What happened? Was there a big fight? Did Nerezza attack you herself, or did she send her army? How did you get away and end up here?”

  “Leave it be,” Pietro said, cutting off Giacomo’s flurry of questions. “No use dredging up painful memories when the past can’t be changed.”

  “The future, however, has yet to be shaped,” Niccolo looked across the children’s faces. “Under Pietro’s tutelage, you all could play a crucial part in creating what lies ahead.”

  “If I’m creating it, then I want Zizzola to be free. I want to stop Nerezza from hurting anyone again,” Giacomo said defiantly.

  “It’s a noble goal,” Niccolo said. “How do you plan on achieving it?”

  “Well, we’ve already got the Compass. Next, we find the Straightedge. Mico is too weak to fight Nerezza’s Genius now, but if his power were amplified, I might have a shot at taking her down.”

  “The Straightedge isn’t meant to be a weapon of destruction,” Pietro cautioned. “Its true power is creative. According to legend, the Creator used it to grow crops in drought-stricken lands, hold back flooding rivers, even cure the ill.”

  Aaminah leaned in. “Is that really true?”

  Giacomo guessed Aaminah was thinking of her mother, whom she hadn’t been able to save. In the hands of a great healer like Aaminah, the Straightedge could help so many others.