Warrior Genius

  Zanobius leaped onto Ciro’s back, and they soared over the mountain, leaving behind Virenzia and a trail of death and destruction. They flew into the clouds, and mist enveloped them. When it cleared, Zanobius found himself back in the forest, the memories of the soldiers he had killed fresh in his mind. Ugalino’s warning came back to him.

  You will never forget the lives you have taken! Your soul will never be at peace!

  His master had been right. Zanobius had been foolish to think he could hide from his past. If he couldn’t find serenity among the peaceful Blemmyes in a sacred place like the forest, he never would.

  When Zanobius returned to the Blemmyes’ cave, Ch’Leeno greeted him with a warm smile. Zanobius couldn’t find it in himself to return it.

  “Did you enjoy your walk?” Ch’Leeno asked.

  “I think the Great Mother gave me one of those visions you were talking about.”

  “And what do you think she was trying to tell you?”

  “I can’t change what I’ve done,” Zanobius said. “But I can try to make amends for the past. I’ve decided to move on.”

  Ch’Leeno’s giant eyes widened with surprise. He translated Zanobius’s words for the other Blemmyes, who responded with a chorus of disappointed groans.

  “Thank you for letting me stay with you,” Zanobius said. “But I realized I need to help my friends.”

  “You’re going to return to them?” Ch’Leeno asked.

  “No. I’m heading to Virenzia.”

  Ch’Leeno regarded Zanobius with concern. “And you think you’ll find peace there?”

  “Probably not,” Zanobius said. “But I will find Supreme Creator Nerezza.”

  20

  THE WARRIORS OF RACHANA

  Wearing boots, pants, and a loose-fitting blue tunic, Milena left her room, ready to face Lavanthi and her evaluation under the blazing afternoon sun. In a matter of minutes Milena was already sweating through her new clothes.

  She found Aaminah in the gazebo strumming an instrument that had a pear-shaped body and a long, tapering neck. It looked similar to a lute, but it made a more piercing sound. Luna produced strings of light that danced through the air.

  “You picked that up fast,” Milena commented.

  “It’s called a tambur,” Aaminah said, her fingers tripping over the four strings before quickly gaining purchase again. “I’m still getting the hang of it.”

  Savino arrived shortly after, and with their Geniuses in tow, the three headed out. They found Lavanthi waiting in the center of a grassy, oblong training field, her legs splayed wide, her arms behind her back. She studied their approach with a critical gaze, as if the evaluation had already begun. Ozo stood next to her, and a line of six bronze-clad warriors were stationed behind them.

  With Savino and Aaminah flanking her, Milena stepped directly in front of Lavanthi, blinking the sweat out of her eyes, refusing to show any hint of weakness.

  Using Ozo as her translator, Lavanthi explained that the mark of a true warrior was being strong in both body and mind. “You will be pushed to your physical and mental limits during this evaluation,” Ozo said, channeling Lavanthi’s words.

  Lavanthi narrowed her eyes and pointed at Gaia, who stood on Milena’s shoulder.

  “For these tests, you won’t need your Geniuses,” Ozo explained, and Aaminah gasped.

  Savino threw up his arms. “Are you kidding me?”

  “How is she supposed to evaluate our mastery of our Geniuses if we can’t use them?” Milena said, trying to keep her anger in check.

  After a brief exchange with Lavanthi, Ozo replied that sacred geometry attacks are ineffective against a Preta. Milena, Savino, and Aaminah needed to demonstrate they could handle the physical and mental rigors of the mission without relying on their Geniuses’ power.

  Milena traded defeated looks with Savino and Aaminah, then eased her Genius off her shoulder. With a flourish of her wings, Gaia soared skyward, Nero and Luna right behind her.

  * * *

  The following days became a relentless routine of sleeping, eating, and trials. Milena rose early each morning and scarfed down her breakfast. Then she, Savino, and Aaminah dragged their weary bodies to the field, where Lavanthi and her warriors presented them with that day’s challenge.

  They suffered through short- and long-distance footraces (where Savino demonstrated his speed and stamina), scaled walls (which Savino excelled at again), dueled with wooden swords (Savino and Milena held their own against their warrior opponents, while Aaminah was quickly disarmed), and archery (Milena’s precision and patience helped her land bull’s-eyes, while Savino’s and Aaminah’s arrows flew wildly off target).

  During each challenge, Lavanthi proved to be as tough and demanding as Milena had anticipated. If Milena fell behind in a footrace, Lavanthi barked at her until she sped up; if she held a sword incorrectly, Lavanthi twisted her fingers into the proper grip. Milena bristled every time Lavanthi corrected her, but she sucked up her pride and didn’t argue. Aaminah, however, let her frustration get the best of her. After each dressing-down, Aaminah kicked the dirt and pouted, or stormed off the field, or fought back tears. Lavanthi lectured her for being such a child, which only stoked Aaminah’s defiance.

  On the fourth day, Milena was eating breakfast in the gazebo, steeling herself for the day ahead, when Aaminah shuffled over, still wearing her nightclothes.

  “Why aren’t you dressed yet?” Milena asked. “We need to go soon.”

  With an exasperated harrumph, Aaminah took a seat. “I’m not going back on that field.”

  “I know it’s been hard, but—”

  “I tried to do my best, I really did, but that woman is horrible! And I know I’m not as strong as you and Savino, but she doesn’t need to keep yelling at me about it! I can’t stand to spend one more minute with her. I feel sorry for her daughter.”

  Milena sat next to Aaminah and put her arm around her, giving her shoulder a little squeeze. “I hated the physical trials too, but Lavanthi promised we’d start the mental tests this morning. I bet you’ll do great at those.”

  Aaminah crossed her arms and slumped forward onto the table. “No, you’re the smart one, remember? And Savino’s the strong one. I’m just the overly sensitive one, which isn’t much help in a fight.”

  “But you’re much better at other things than we are.” Milena pointed to the tambur lying on the table. “I mean, I doubt I could teach myself to play a completely new instrument so quickly. And I’d never trust Savino to heal one of my injuries.”

  Aaminah cracked a smile. “He’d probably only make it worse.”

  “Exactly!”

  They shared a chuckle, and Milena was glad to have helped put a smile back on Aaminah’s face. “I think today’s challenge is about resilience,” Milena said. “And I don’t know anyone with a stronger spirit than you. You’ve been through so much, but nothing has ever broken you.” Milena stood up and held out her hand. “So will you come?”

  Aaminah took Milena’s hand. “All right,” she said, then added, “but if Lavanthi says one more mean thing, I’m leaving.”

  “And I’ll be right behind you,” Milena assured her.

  Aaminah left to quickly change, and Giacomo walked up, grabbing a few slices of bread from the table without making eye contact. His avoidance bothered Milena. Ever since he’d started spending his days with Yaday, Giacomo had become distant and cagey.

  “How are your lessons going with Yaday?” she asked.

  “They’re fine.” Giacomo stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth as if to end the conversation.

  “That’s it? Fine? What are you learning? Did he teach you about the pentad yet?”

  “Uh … a little…”

  “So you’re able to construct a pentagon?”

  “Not exactly,” Giacomo admitted.

  “Then what have you two been doing every day?”

  “Yaday’s been teaching me to meditate,” Giacomo said hurriedly, then
turned from her. “I have to go, I’m late. See you later.”

  “Wait!” Milena called, but Giacomo was already speeding out of the courtyard. Why is he acting so strange and secretive? she wondered. His behavior reminded Milena of when he had been coming up with the reckless plan to fix Zanobius’s arm. What was he keeping from her this time? Milena hoped Giacomo wasn’t getting himself in over his head again.

  She gazed down at her half-finished meal. Suddenly, the food seemed unappetizing. She pushed her plate away.

  * * *

  Lavanthi paced in front of her fellow warriors while Ozo translated.

  “These men and women can perform feats of great physical strength. But without inner strength, they would all be overpowered in battle.”

  Milena stood at attention between Savino and Aaminah, praying that they would get through the final days of evaluation together. Gray clouds blanketed the sky, offering a cool breeze. It was a relief after the unceasing heat.

  “Each of you close your eyes and look within,” Ozo said, relaying Lavanthi’s instructions. “Visualize the most important person in the world to you and make a mental portrait of them.”

  “Why are we doing this, exactly?” Savino said.

  Lavanthi explained that if you are looking death in the face, physical strength alone won’t be enough to save you. But if you have a motivation to live, you’ll do whatever is needed to survive, no matter how dire the situation.

  Milena shut her eyes and took a breath, trying to determine who motivated her the most.

  Images flashed through her mind. To her shock, she first pictured her mother—a weasel-faced nightmare of a woman. Why in the world was she thinking of her? Reflecting more deeply, Milena realized that despite her and her parents’ mutual disdain, she still harbored a childish longing to return home one day and reunite with her family. But would the promise of such an unlikely reunion be enough to help her endure anything? Doubtful.

  Giacomo appeared next. Despite his enormous talent for getting under her skin, Milena was devoted to helping him. Enduring Lavanthi’s evaluation was a testament to that. But she’d known him for only a short time. Was their bond strong enough to stave off death?

  Then she saw Aaminah’s sweet face—she thought of her as a little sister and would do anything for her. She brought to mind Savino—she had known him the longest of her friends, which made their connection that much stronger. And though he was exasperating at times, Milena knew his surly exterior was only a mask to hide his kindness and loyalty. Savino didn’t want anyone to think he had a softer side for fear they would take advantage of it.

  Next, she pictured Gaia, soaring through the sky. When Milena was a little girl, her father had done everything in his power to drive away Milena’s Genius in the hope that their bond would be severed. But Gaia had returned to Milena again and again until her father finally gave up.

  All of them had motivated Milena to keep going when life became difficult, but the deeper she looked, one individual eclipsed the others—Pietro.

  From the moment she had stepped into his dark studio in the cellar of Baldassare’s villa, Milena had felt welcomed by him. Though he could be gruff and surly at times, he only ever had her best interests at heart. He was the kind of man she wished her father could have been—protective, loyal, and kindhearted.

  Pietro had always been there for Milena, and now that he was getting older, she wanted to be there for him. She needed to be, especially since Baldassare was out of the picture.

  If death was coming for her, Milena was confident the thought of Pietro would inspire her to fight on, no matter how hopeless things seemed.

  Milena felt a warmth come over her, and when she opened her eyes, the sun was peeking through the clouds. She glanced over at Aaminah and smiled, then gave Savino a firm nod, wondering whom they had envisioned.

  “Let those images burn into your minds,” Lavanthi said through Ozo. “They just might save your lives one day.”

  21

  THE PIRATES OF PAOLINI

  After making his way out of the Sfumato Forest, Zanobius headed east across a desolate, rocky expanse. He ignored the sharp stones that sliced the bottoms of his feet and focused instead on a plan that would get him within striking distance of Nerezza.

  Marching directly into Virenzia was out of the question. Soldiers would swarm him before he made it anywhere near the Supreme Creator’s palace, and Zanobius had made a pledge to himself not to harm anyone except Nerezza.

  He considered sneaking into the city through the subterranean aqueducts, but because of the recent battle in the piazza, Zanobius had to assume that any potential entryway would be locked down.

  An oaky smell filled Zanobius’s nostrils, and he froze. Down the hill, he noticed a small village, where chimneys puffed smoke. He looked down at his bare body, his only clothing a skirt of dingy fabric. Now that he was near civilization again, it wouldn’t be long before he was spotted. Ugalino never would have let him wander out in the open for this long without covering up. The village would have supplies—he’d just have to quickly get in and out.

  Zanobius waited long after darkness fell, then crept down the hill and through a field of snoring cows. He only hoped the townspeople slept as soundly. He prowled from house to house, peering in windows until he finally found what he was looking for in a storage shed: a long, hooded cloak. He plucked the garment off a rusty nail and draped it over himself, ignoring that it was damp and hemmed with mud.

  From somewhere inside the cloak, Zanobius heard the crinkling of parchment. Curious, he felt around until he found an inner pocket. When he unfurled the roll, his own image stared back at him from the page. The notice called for his capture—alive. The reward was 10,000 gold impronta.

  Panicked, Zanobius shoved the parchment back into his cloak. He quickly checked his surroundings to make sure he hadn’t been spotted. Then he pulled the hood low over his face and slunk away.

  But as Zanobius walked farther from the village and the initial fear settled, the wanted notice inspired him to rethink his plan. This whole time, he had been approaching his problem from the wrong angle. Maybe he shouldn’t hide his arrival, but make a show of it. If Nerezza wanted Zanobius alive, it was likely because she wanted to destroy him herself. He needed to use that fact to his advantage.

  Zanobius had his ticket into Virenzia, and now all he needed was someone eager to collect the reward. And he knew exactly the place to find them.

  * * *

  Ships both large and small clogged the port of Paolini.

  A few months after they fled Virenzia, Ugalino had brought Zanobius here, seeking safe passage out of the empire. In a musty old tavern, they had found the captain of a merchant vessel who was willing to overlook their status as fugitives, for the right price. Once Ugalino had stuffed the captain’s pockets with gold impronta, he and Zanobius hunkered down in the ship’s cargo hold and set sail for Katunga. Zanobius hoped to find that same captain again, but if not him, the place would be teeming with plenty of other money-hungry humans.

  Zanobius made his way into town, where the pungent stench of fish and salty air filled his nostrils. The port was populated by the dregs of society: chain mail–clad mercenaries, pirates with long, tangled beards and toothless snarls, and an assortment of ruffians wearing tattered leather long coats and wielding all manner of bladed weapons. Zanobius moved past a row of ramshackle buildings, where his wanted notice hung in every window. At the end of the street, he spotted the tavern he was looking for.

  Zanobius pulled his hood down a little lower and entered. He shouldered through the crowd, making his way to the back of the room. A couple of men, noticing his immense size, cast sidelong glances his way, but most were too distracted by their drinks and rowdy revelry to give him a second look.

  From a shadowy alcove, Zanobius observed the faces of the ribald patrons, keeping watch for the captain of the merchant ship who had helped him and Ugalino all those years ago. Over clamorous hoots an
d hollers, Zanobius overheard someone emphatically insist he had witnessed statues come to life. Zanobius homed in on the voice. It belonged to an old, gray-haired man who held court with two younger men—one scrawny, the other broad-shouldered.

  “They were twice as tall as anyone in here!” the old man declared, gesturing around the room.

  “You’re full of it,” the broad-shouldered man said, then took a swig of ale.

  The scrawny man slammed his fist on the table. “My father’s not a liar! I saw them too!”

  “One of ’em turned my older boy to stone right in front of my eyes,” the old man said, and he began sobbing.

  The broad-shouldered man got up, shaking his head. “Now I heard it all. Statues coming to life … I think you had a few too many, old man.” He staggered off toward the bar.

  Zanobius stood motionless. Statues coming to life? Could these men have encountered Tulpas? If there were others like him and Giacomo, Zanobius needed to know. He approached the old man and his son, careful to keep hidden under his cloak. “Excuse me, but I happened to overhear your story. Where did you see these statues?”

  The old man looked up through his watery eyes. “Down south, guarding a chasm. Why? Who wants to know?”

  “I’m sorry, my name is…” Zanobius paused as he conjured up an alias. “Giuseppe,” he said.

  “Well, Giuseppe, you can call me Little Dino,” the scrawny man said. “This is my father, Old Dino.” He patted the old man on the back. Old Dino raised his mug to Zanobius in greeting, then guzzled what was left in it.

  “How long ago did this encounter happen?” Zanobius asked.

  Little Dino shrugged. “A couple months back.”

  “Did the statues speak? Were you able to communicate with them?”

  “Weren’t really the talking type,” Little Dino said. “Besides, I was too busy trying not to get killed by them.”