Warrior Genius by Michael Dante DiMartino
“You can explain later!” Enzio interrupted. “I’ll go wherever, as long as it’s not back home with my father.” He nodded toward Baldassare, who had retreated to a safe distance and was shouting at soldiers. From behind the hill, Victoria rose up, wings heaving. Nerezza sat on her Genius’s neck, her torn cloak flapping in the wind. On her order, the army began advancing. A line of handgunners dropped to their knees, leveled their weapons, and lit the fuses on the guns’ barrels.
Anticipating the attack, Milena and Giacomo quickly drew up sacred geometry shields before the guns flashed and boomed. The metal balls ricocheted off the shields, then fell harmlessly away. The handgunners reloaded as the next wave of soldiers advanced.
“Rachana it is!” Pietro hollered. “Now, help me up.” Savino and Giacomo hoisted their teacher to his feet. Tito staggered over to them, his wing drooping at his side.
Pietro concentrated for a moment, like he was drawing up a deeply buried memory, then he opened the Compass and spun it. The portal swelled, burning brightly. Savino, Giacomo, and Enzio provided cover while Milena and Aaminah helped Pietro through. Their Geniuses followed.
“You two go!” Enzio shouted, firing off another arrow. “I’m right behind you!”
Savino and Nero disappeared into the brightness, Giacomo and Mico on their heels. As the light enveloped him, Giacomo turned back to check on Enzio, horrified to discover Ozo heading their way.
“Enzio, look out!” Giacomo shouted, but his warning came too late. The last thing Giacomo saw before the current of light swept him away was Ozo knocking Enzio to the ground and barreling toward the portal.
Luminous waves surrounded Giacomo, carrying him through space. A few seconds later he was launched out the other side of the portal, where his fall was broken by something soft. Mico poked his head out of the sand and chirped with annoyance.
Giacomo staggered to his feet and snatched the Compass away from Pietro, holding its legs to the circle of light. “I have to close it right now!”
“What about Enzio?” Milena asked, looking worried.
“He’s not going to make it,” Giacomo said sadly, then he offered Enzio a silent apology and spun the Compass. But before the portal vanished, Ozo dove out of the light and somersaulted past Giacomo. He rolled to his feet, sword at the ready, Enzio’s broken arrow still lodged in his left shoulder.
“I know you’re hiding Zanobius! Where is he?”
“I already told you, I don’t know!” Giacomo shouted.
Ozo moved toward Giacomo, but Savino slashed his carving tool, and Nero projected a lattice of blue that coiled around the mercenary, stopping him in his tracks.
“Let me out of here!” Ozo demanded. He struck his sword against the light, but the steel shaft bounced back, spitting sparks.
With the mercenary detained, Giacomo and his friends turned their attention to Enzio’s predicament.
“What’s going to happen to him?” Aaminah said, her voice full of concern.
“Enzio will be all right,” Giacomo said, trying to ease the guilt gnawing at his gut. “Baldassare wouldn’t let any harm come to him … right?”
“Except Enzio knows where we were going,” Savino pointed out. “What if he tells Nerezza?”
Giacomo shook his head. “No … he wouldn’t.”
“How can you be sure?” Milena asked.
I can’t …
“Because he hates his father and Nerezza as much as we do,” Giacomo insisted. “The best way we can all help Enzio now is to see this mission through.”
“I agree,” Pietro said. “And let’s always remember the sacrifice Niccolo made to save us all. He was a hero.” After a moment of silence, Pietro spoke again. “Now, tell me, how does the palace look? Still as magnificent as I remember?”
Giacomo scanned his surroundings, finding nothing but rolling dunes dotted with scrubby trees. He plodded through the sand and up a slope. “Uh … I don’t see a palace.”
“That’s not a good sign…” Pietro muttered.
Giacomo’s heart sank. It was midday, and the sun was scorching. He was about to resign himself to being stranded in the middle of a desert when he reached the top of the dune and stared down at an impressive fortress, its massive stone walls in the shape of a ten-pointed star. And at its center stood a spectacular white stone palace with dozens of spires and archways. Atop the main structure sat an enormous dome that reflected the sun in a blazing golden glow.
“We made it…” Giacomo said in awe. “We’re in Rachana.”
15
THE HOLDOUT
From atop her Genius, Nerezza stared down at Niccolo’s lifeless body. Years ago, after Niccolo’s failed assassination attempt against her, Nerezza had driven the Abbate family to ruin as punishment. Niccolo had somehow eluded her all this time, but no longer. With a flick of her brush, she cast a violet beam at the shattered hull of Niccolo’s gem. She drew it toward her, grasping it from the light. Once she returned to the palace, she would add it to her collection, where it rightfully belonged.
“We searched the villa,” Minister Strozzi announced. “There was no sign of where Giacomo might be headed.”
Nerezza had watched Ozo follow the boy into the portal. He will know where I can find Giacomo. But Ozo was one swordsman against five artists and their Geniuses. The likelihood of his getting a message to her seemed near impossible.
“What about Zanobius?” Nerezza asked. She hadn’t seen him at all during the battle.
“There’s no sign of him, either, I’m afraid,” Strozzi said.
Where could he have gone? Nerezza wondered, shaken by the thought of the Tulpa wreaking havoc somewhere in her empire at that very moment.
“Shall we bury the body?” Minister Strozzi asked, glancing down at Niccolo’s corpse.
“No,” Nerezza said. “Leave it be. Victoria is getting hungry.”
Strozzi’s wrinkled brow hinted at his revulsion. “Yes, Your Eminence.” He ordered his soldiers back to the ship, which hovered between two rolling hills.
Nerezza turned her attention to Barrolo’s son, who struggled to escape the grip of two of her mightiest soldiers, Luca and Luigi. She had plucked the twins from an orphanage at the age of ten after witnessing them carrying a tree trunk a hundred yards like it was nothing. Barrolo stood alongside them, whining that they should release his boy.
“Where did Giacomo go?” Nerezza demanded.
Enzio met her with a defiant stare. “I don’t know.”
“Did he and his friends discover the location of the other Sacred Tools?”
“If they did, they didn’t tell me.” Enzio’s chin jutted out, and his eyes darted away, exactly like Barrolo’s did when he was lying. Like father, like son.
Nerezza edged closer. “Tell me where they went, or I’ll let Victoria pick you apart.”
The great bird bared her fangs and growled. The boy’s eyes flashed fear, but he didn’t break.
“If you think I know something, then you’re not going to feed me to your Genius,” he challenged.
Barrolo pleaded with Enzio. “Son, tell the Supreme Creator where Giacomo went and we can return home. If not for me, for your mother.”
Mention of his mother seemed to hit a nerve with the boy. Enzio looked down sadly, then after a moment, his expression hardened again. “I’m not going back home.”
Baldassare served Enzio a sharp smack across his cheek. “You will learn respect!”
Enzio spat in his father’s face. “Make me.”
Barrolo’s face turned red. Nerezza noted that the son seemed stronger than the father. Perhaps some time in the company of her Minister of Security would change that.
“Lock him up belowdecks,” Nerezza ordered.
Luca and Luigi picked up the thrashing Enzio and carried him to the ship.
“You don’t need Enzio, Your Eminence,” Barrolo argued. “Just give me some time. My black market connections led us to Niccolo. It won’t be long before they help us find Giac
“Your son knows something, and I aim to discover what,” Nerezza said. “He belongs to me now.”
“No!” Barrolo blustered. “You … you can’t!”
“Keep talking and you’ll be walking back to Virenzia!”
Barrolo immediately fell silent, his face twisted into an angry scowl. He whipped around and stormed up the gangplank.
Once the injured had been tended to and everyone was aboard, Nerezza ordered the ship back to Virenzia. Its great mechanical wings heaved, pushing the groaning beast skyward. As Nerezza led her army back home, she told herself this was only a temporary setback, one that she would remedy in due course.
And though Enzio had proved more rebellious than Nerezza had anticipated, it was only a matter of time before he told her what she wanted to know. Everyone had a breaking point.
16
SAMRAAT AJEET
At the sight of the Rachanan fortress, Giacomo suddenly felt vulnerable in this desert with no cover. He scanned the cloudless sky, expecting warriors on horse-Geniuses to swoop down at any moment and surround the group. Thankfully, none appeared.
“We can’t just walk up to the samraat’s front gate, knock, and expect to be welcomed inside.” Savino clutched his carving tool as Nero’s projection continued to spiral around Ozo.
“But Pietro’s been a guest at the palace before,” Milena said.
“Last time, I was there by invitation,” Pietro said, shaking his head. “Simply by stepping on Rachanan soil, we’ve already violated the peace treaty, but hopefully I can persuade Samraat Jagesh to hear us out.”
“You want to get into that fortress so badly? I’ll get you in,” Ozo offered.
“And why would you help us?” Giacomo asked.
Ozo looked across the empty landscape. “Because I’m not interested in sticking around in this dust bowl. I want you to send me back to Zizzola.” His eyes went to the Compass.
“So you can keep hunting Zanobius?” Giacomo said angrily. “No way.”
Milena grabbed Giacomo’s arm and pulled him aside. “This might be our best chance at getting past those gates,” she said in a hushed voice. “Since Ozo’s from Rachana, the guards might listen to him. The longer he’s with us, the more of a danger he is to you.”
Giacomo considered Milena’s idea. Zizzola was a big place. If Giacomo lied about the direction in which Zanobius had been headed, the chances of Ozo tracking him down were slim. Giacomo glared at the mercenary through his shimmering prison. “Let him go, Savino. I think we have a deal.”
With Ozo now free, the group trudged down the dunes until they came to a wide street paved with flagstones in repeating hexagonal patterns. To Giacomo’s left, the sun glimmered off the surface of a river leading to a distant city. The group turned right, following the road until it ended at the fortress’s towering arched entrance. The bronze doors barring their entry were covered with panels that depicted warriors amid battle, flying on horse-Geniuses. The outer wall was constructed with gigantic blocks of stones that interlocked like pieces of a puzzle. High above, a dozen warriors in gold helmets and armor patrolled the battlements.
One of the warriors stopped and looked down. She shouted something in Rachanan, and a moment later, archers appeared on the wall, aiming arrows down at them.
“She’s ordering us to stop or they’ll shoot,” Ozo translated.
The group halted, and Pietro stepped to Ozo’s side. “Please inform the Rachanans that Pietro Vasari has arrived and humbly asks to speak with His Excellency Samraat Jagesh and—”
Ozo cut him off. “I’ll do the talking, old man.”
For the next five minutes, Ozo and the woman in charge argued back and forth. More than once, Ozo threw up his arms in frustration and muttered, “She’s impossible!” Giacomo began to worry that trusting Ozo to talk their way in might have been a terrible mistake.
Finally, the woman motioned for two of her fellow warriors to follow her and they disappeared from their post.
“What did she tell you?” Giacomo asked. “Are we going to get to talk with Samraat Jagesh?”
“Not likely…” Ozo said. “According to her, Samraat Jagesh died two years ago.”
Pietro sighed heavily. “That doesn’t bode well.”
A metallic groan rang out, and the gates slowly swung open, revealing the female warrior and her counterparts. Behind them, a line of silver-armored warriors were mounted on horseback, but there was still no sign of any horse-Geniuses. Instead of swords, the warriors all clutched oversized daggers with horizontal hilts, called katars, according to Milena.
The woman uttered something to Ozo, who in turn translated: “Her name is Lavanthi, granddaughter of the late Samraat Jagesh. Her father, Samraat Ajeet, is willing to meet with you.”
On the other side of the fortress’s gate, Giacomo discovered an environment worlds apart from the barren landscape outside. Here, there were lush gardens with countless varieties of colorful flowers, perfectly manicured bushes, and trees with singing birds. Impressive stone fountains flanked long reflecting pools, where frogs croaked on lotus flowers. In the center of the fortress, raised high on a platform, was the samraat’s palace, shimmering like a mirage. Giacomo couldn’t wait to draw it—assuming he would be around long enough to do so.
Ozo stuck out his arm, stopping Giacomo. “I held up my end of the deal. Now send me back to Zizzola.”
But before Giacomo could take the Compass off his back, Lavanthi barked another order.
“She’s demanding we all turn over our weapons,” Ozo explained.
The artists grudgingly surrendered their pencils, carving tools, and brushes. Aaminah gave her flute to one of the gold-clad men, who tossed it into a sack with the other items. Lavanthi glared at Ozo and pointed at his sword. Ozo argued back. Giacomo guessed he was trying to explain that he wouldn’t be staying, but the warriors didn’t seem to care. While two men pinned Ozo’s arms behind him, Lavanthi unstrapped his sword belt, disarming him. Next, Lavanthi reached for the sheathed Compass slung across Giacomo’s back. To her eye, its handle must have looked like the hilt of a sword.
Giacomo backed away. “Ozo, tell her this isn’t what she thinks. It’s not dangerous.”
Lavanthi raised her katar, pointing it at Giacomo’s chest. He didn’t need a translator to understand she was serious. Without further argument, he handed over the Compass.
Giacomo shrugged at Ozo. “Sorry, I guess your trip is going to be delayed.”
Ozo glared back, jaw clenched.
Lavanthi whistled sharply, and from behind a tall row of hedges, three winged horses in protective armor lazily trotted out. Their gems were embedded in the crowns of their faceplates, but the creatures didn’t at all resemble the majestic, powerful horse-Geniuses of legend. These Geniuses were emaciated, their heads slung low, their featherless wings drooping like sails on a windless day.
Aaminah gasped and grabbed Giacomo’s arm. “What’s wrong with them?”
Mico let out a wary trill. Giacomo shivered as a haunting thought fixed in his mind. “They look like Lost Souls…”
Lavanthi and her fellow warriors mounted their frail horse-Geniuses and escorted Giacomo and his friends down the central path between two long reflecting pools and up the palace steps. Once they reached the top, Lavanthi dismounted and hollered at the group.
“Your Geniuses have to wait outside,” Ozo informed them.
Until Giacomo knew what was afflicting the horse-Geniuses, he wasn’t eager to let Mico and the bird-Geniuses out of his sight. “She already took our tools,” he complained. “Our Geniuses won’t harm anyone.”
But arguing was pointless. If they wanted to speak with the samraat, they had to follow Lavanthi’s orders. Mico and the other Geniuses fluttered up to the eaves. Tito stayed on the ground, still nursing his wing.
As the group headed toward the palace doors, Giacomo pulled Ozo aside, keeping his voice low. “By the way, would you mind not mentioning that I’m a
“Sure. But the minute you do, you better send me back to Zizzola.” Ozo clomped away.
Lavanthi led everyone through the immense palace halls and Giacomo marveled at the intricate sacred geometry mosaics that adorned the floor, the walls, and the arched ceilings. They passed by bronze-clad warriors holding spears and stepped into a huge chamber that was even more opulent than the rest of the palace. Torches mounted on columns cast everything with a warm glow. On a dais in the center of the room, an older man with dark skin and a short white beard sat on a golden throne covered in jewels and topped with a canopy. Giacomo assumed this was the man they had come to meet: Samraat Ajeet.
He wore long red robes embroidered with silvery spiral patterns. Atop his head sat a dome-shaped headpiece that tapered to a point. On the walls hung dozens of large-scale portraits of regally posed men and women in similar garments. Each one stared at the viewer with the same severe expression as the man currently settled on the throne. Giacomo wondered if having a sour temperament was a requirement for becoming a samraat.
Lavanthi dropped to one knee and bowed her head to the samraat. Then she rose and spoke to him, periodically gesturing at the new arrivals.
As he listened, Samraat Ajeet regarded Giacomo and his friends with a scrutinizing gaze. The look—full of malice—was one Giacomo had recognized on the faces of other adults who abused their authority: his cruel caretakers at the orphanage, the nasty soldiers who patrolled the streets of Virenzia, and, most prominently, Nerezza herself.
Giacomo met Ajeet’s gaze with a spiteful look of his own. He wanted the samraat to know he wasn’t intimidated by him. Ajeet refused to look away, even once his daughter had finished bringing him up-to-date.
Giacomo broke first when he sensed someone else watching him. He turned his attention to a young, slender man standing off to the side. A few sprigs of hair sprouted from the man’s chin, and his lip showed the faint beginnings of a mustache. In stark contrast to his lavish surroundings, he wore an unadorned pale yellow robe and head wrap. His dark brown eyes fixed on Giacomo, studying him intently. But unlike Ajeet’s harsh expression, the young man’s gaze was full of curiosity, as if he recognized Giacomo and was trying to place where they’d met. Giacomo was confident they had never crossed paths.