Chapter 10
10
Genesis certainly has the most utopian school cafeteria I’ve ever seen. Everyone eats slowly and with intention, and the food is fresh and has more color and flavor than the same things back home. I mean, there’s still a cliquey popular table (three guesses as to who’s sitting there), but that’s made up for by the generally good vibe of the room, not to mention the impromptu string quartet currently playing Brahms.
Hypatia joined me and Georgie at our table. She looks exhausted; she’s paler than she was during Ha’i class this morning, and she hardly touches her food. I’m also not feeling my best. Despite my call with Kor yesterday, I’m still on edge about the Guard. But not being alone and eating a good lunch is certainly helping.
As I indulge in freshly baked herb bread spread with garlic maple butter and a savory nut paté, Georgie and Hypatia find common ground discussing a topic that has them both very excited—hoverjousting.
Hypatia says to Georgie, “I hope you don’t have any delusions that the Artisans will rank in the tournament. Your guild’s team is abysmal.”
Georgie sighs. “Yeah, they really are.”
As their conversation progresses, I gather that a hoverjoust is exactly what it sounds like, a joust—like the ones on horseback at the Renaissance faire—but on hoverboards. The players rush toward each other with lances raised and try to hit their opponent’s shield or, even better, knock them off their hover. It sounds awesome, and Hypatia insists that she and Georgie will teach me how to play after classes today.
Their discussion turns to arguing over whether the Ciphers or Bios will win first place in the tournament this year.
Georgie excitedly says, “The title will go to the Ciphers for sure. Having Hera as captain has transformed their team, and she’s undefeated.”
Hypatia is just as excited, the conversation pulling her out of her lethargy. “Maybe before Rafe joined the Bios, but he’s also undefeated, and Hera has the tendency to—”
Georgie interrupts. “Don’t say anything negative about Hera Earhart in my presence.” She looks wistfully over at a table where two Black girls are sitting. I assume one of them must be Hera. “She is possibly my future wife, and she’ll eat that arrogant pretty boy alive.”
Hypatia giggles. “That’s an accurate description of my cousin.”
My head snaps up at that. “He’s your cousin?”
“Speak of the literal devil,” Georgie says.
I turn to see a beautiful scowl. Raphael “Rafe” Vanguard has risen from his seat at the cliquey popular table and is glaring directly at us.
“Hypatia,” he barks. “Come sit here.”
Hypatia rolls her eyes and blows him a kiss but doesn’t get up. Rafe’s eyes burn with anger—but not at her, at me.
“Why are they so—” I motion with my hand, indicating the general aloofness of Rafe and his friends.
“?’Cause they think they’re better than everyone,” Georgie says.
Hypatia doesn’t seem to be bothered by this assessment of her cousin. She says, “A bunch of us, mostly Sires, transferred here temporarily from the other Maker school, the academy in Avant. There’s rumors of a breach at Avant, and with the Sire abductions, the Council thought we’d be safer here.”
I wonder if the Families have made progress in confirming whether Ozymandias Tech is behind these abductions. I need to remember to ask Kor about it the next time we talk.
“Most of you guys are fine,” Georgie concedes. “But the ones in Guard training are scary.” She turns to me to explain. “There’s a military track for Avant Guard training at the Avant academy. You can recognize them because they wear bone rings”—she lifts her hand and waggles her fingers—“and treat everyone else like crap. Especially him .” She glares at Rafe. “I have a grapefruit-size bruise on my butt from falling after he crashed into me the other day. And he didn’t even apologize.” She turns to Hypatia. “Sorry, I get that he’s your cousin, but he’s an ass. Like, why does he care that you’re sitting with us? Just because we’re recruits?”
“He can be really overprotective of me,” Hypatia says, running her tongue across her teeth. “My whole family is because I get sick a lot.” She rolls her eyes. “But Rafe can definitely sometimes be an ass.”
“I hate having so much of the Avant Guard around Arcadia,” Georgie says. “It feels like there’s more every day.”
“They’re very worried about an infiltration and want extra security for all the Sires.”
Kor had said they’d chosen Genesis specifically for its lack of military. Oh well.
I try to sound casual as I ask, “What would they do if they actually found an intruder?”
I bite down on a gushberry, and sweet juice gushes over my tongue. I harvested this batch myself from the gushberry groves during my agriculture class this morning. We learned all about the history of the red berry that the Makers engineered decades ago, a superplant full of natural energy-boosting nutrients.
Hypatia thinks about it for a moment. “The Makers are generally pacifists, but not the Avant Guard. They’re trained to protect our secrets no matter the cost.”
No matter the cost. Great. No big deal. It’s not like I came within an inch of my life yesterday or anything. I try to swallow the chewed-up gushberry around the painful lump in my throat.
Hypatia covers her mouth with her hand as she chews her own gushberry, but her large hazel eyes bug out as she looks over at Rafe’s table. A wiry boy hunched into a hooded jacket takes a seat next to Rafe. I recognize him as the boy who had been sleeping in the train car with Rafe when I first met him on the Atlas.
“That’s Simon Sanzio,” Hypatia squeaks, her lisp more prominent than usual. “He’s also from Avant. Isn’t he beguiling?”
I absolutely do not find Simon from Avant beguiling. Besides the fact that he’s at least two years younger than me, he has a pronounced slouch in his back, and his face is covered in acne.
“You’d have thought a utopian society could have cured pimples by now,” I say.
“Ada!” Georgie shoves me, and I know it’s rightly deserved.
“We have cured them,” Hypatia huffs, “but Simon forgets to use his tincture. His mind is very busy with songwriting.” Ooh. I wonder if I can get ahold of said tincture for PMS breakouts. “He’s in a band, and he plays the hurdy-gurdy.” Hypatia clearly has it bad for this Simon dude, and she babbles on. “He’s guilded as an Artisan, but he’ll need to present at Quorum to switch from the Avant chapter to the Genesis one. I need to figure out how to get him to ask me to Carnevale.”
“You can’t go to Carnevale until you’re fifteen,” Georgie says. The upcoming festival is months away, but I’ve already heard many apprentices grumbling about how they can’t go.
“Yes, I’m still working on solving that issue.” Hypatia purses her lips and appraises Georgie and me, clearly assessing how we can be utilized for whatever plot she’s concocting.
But I intend to keep my hands clean of any rule-breaking that could draw attention.
“So if Simon’s a transfer, does that mean he’s also a Sire?” I ask.
“No,” Hypatia says. “He came because he’s a Valkyrie. Rafe picked him up from Avant and escorted him here the same day you arrived.”
“What’s a Valkyrie?”
Hypatia stares at me like I just asked what the moon is.
But before I can get an explanation, a familiar voice above me says, “Apprentice Castle, do you have a moment?”
Michael is so tall that I have to crane my neck to see his concerned face. The spike in my pulse might be fear that he’s about to bust me for snooping in his office, or it might be embarrassment over the gushberry juice that’s dribbling down my chin. I scramble for a napkin.
“Uh, sure. I was about to head to the Sire lab.” I’m both nervous and excited for a class with journeymen who are closer to my age. Well, not a class exactly. Genesis is less of a school and more of a community. Only the apprentices who haven’t yet joined guilds are considered students. Guild members have “laboratories,” “conservatories,” and “studios,” which are collaborative environments that include both teens and adults.
“I can walk you there,” Michael offers. His friendly smile confirms this is unlikely to be a confrontation about my office escapades, so I relax. And his offer is a relief. I’m not quite sure where the Sire lab is, and I’m still wary of walking around the school alone after my incident with the guards.
Speaking of which. “I heard about yesterday,” Michael says as we make our way out of the cafeteria. “I am so sorry about how the Guard treated you.”
As we enter the Equinox, my lungs constrict at the memory of what happened in this room. “It’s okay. Everyone else was really supportive.”
Michael stops walking and puts his hand on my shoulder. It’s no big deal, the hand. I’m chill about it. But Michael looks really upset.
“Headmaster Bloche has assured me that the captain of the Avant Guard has been given firm instructions about what will be tolerated while they’re stationed in Arcadia.”
“Thanks.” He’s still holding my shoulder. Okay, maybe I’m not chill about it.
“I mean it, Ada. I will make sure you are always safe and treated with respect.” His eyes are fierce, and for a heartbeat I believe he could keep me safe from anything.
“Hi!” a cheerful voice interrupts.
Michael removes his hand from my shoulder and steps back. He turns to smile at Kaylie, who’s making her way toward us with her own beaming smile. “I didn’t see you downstairs,” she says to Michael. “I was coming to find you.” I hadn’t realized the two of them were friends.
“How are you acclimating?” she asks me. “I was just thinking I should send a pigeon to check if you had any side effects from your inoculations.”
“No. Everything’s great.”
“Wonderful. Let me know if anything changes.” Kaylie reaches over to Michael and straightens his cravat. “You forgot about lunch at the orchard, didn’t you?”
“Oof.” He palms his forehead. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry. We still have plenty of time.” She smiles affectionately, as if she’s used to this happening.
Are they going on, like, a date? Not that I care. It would make sense. Kaylie’s probably only one or two years older than Michael, and she’s sweet and pretty and smart.
“Thanks for putting up with me,” Michael says to her with a wink. “Can you find your way to the lab?” he asks me. When I nod, Kaylie loops her arm in his and they head toward the entrance.
This is fine. They would totally make a cute couple, and I am perfectly capable of navigating my way to the Sire lab on my own.
Blech.
I am apparently not actually capable of navigating to the Sire lab on my own. First I go up too many staircases and end up in a cavernous astronomy observatory. When I backtrack, I find a lab, but it’s the wrong one. A group of journeys are mixing a viscous slime in a foul-smelling cauldron, and they helpfully point me in the right direction.
When I finally find the right lab, a woman in a hijab welcomes me and introduces herself as Master Hayyan. “This is where you can safely experiment and learn to stretch the potential of your Sire abilities,” she says.
There are about twenty-five other people in the room, mostly working in pairs, ranging from about my age to my parents’ ages. My eyes are immediately drawn to the only familiar face, Rafe. I hadn’t realized he was also a Sire, but I guess it makes sense since he’s a transfer. His blond hair is in a bun, and his sleeves are pushed up above his elbows, revealing sun-bronzed muscled forearms. He’s working with a striking girl with deep umber skin who is just as tall as he is. Her hair, a mix of brown and blond locs, is plaited into a thick braid that falls to her waist, and a necklace in the shape of a snake rests around her throat. She has a green guildstone in her ear—an Alchemist. But neither of them has a Sire diamond. My eyes flick to their fingers, where they both wear matching pairs of rings, one each of diamond and bone. Hypatia had shown me her Sire ring and explained that in Avant they wear their guildstones and birthstones on their fingers instead of their ears, and I remember that bone rings indicate members of the Avant Guard.
Master Hayyan gives me a tour around the room, showing me where the supplies are and telling me about some of the projects the other Sires are working on. There are three older journeys upgrading a massive eight-foot golem that is used for deep-sea welding when making alterations and repairs on the Atlas tunnel. Another pair is experimenting with organ growth as part of a hormonal therapy for gender transition that doesn’t require invasive surgery.
I have a hard time imagining that my abilities could make me capable of these kinds of things, so I’m equal parts awestruck and intimidated.
Everything I’ve been taught so far has reinforced the idea that much of the science lost to provincial society is tied in with their loss of knowledge of Sire abilities. If provincial Sires were taught how to use their Ha’i, that alone could transform our science and health care. I wonder how many Sires are out there, their abilities completely dormant, or plaguing them the way mine plagued me. And Master Hayyan is sure to know about a way that Sires can share their abilities, if one does actually exist. The training I can get in this lab could be the most important knowledge I gain for the Families.
“The best experimentation happens through collaboration,” Master Hayyan says. “So let’s find you a partner.” I dutifully follow her as she threads her way through the pairs of working students, but dread descends as I see which table she’s approaching. Oh no. This can’t end well.
She stops in front of Rafe, who is inspecting what might be a human liver but could also be a spleen because I don’t actually know the difference. The tall girl is looking into a complex contraption of lenses and brass that I think is a very fancy microscope.
“Apprentice Castle, until you choose your guild and your focus of study, Journeys Vanguard and Keftiu will make good partners, as they are also new to the institute.”
“Actually, Master Hayyan,” Rafe says, not even acknowledging my presence, “Mbali and I will continue to work alone.” He opens his multi-tool—which I have learned is officially called a Heliotorch, but everyone just calls them “spoons”—and lights a flame beneath the wobbling organ in front of him.
“Journey Vanguard,” the professor responds firmly, “that was an instruction, not a request.”
Rafe continues his work, unfazed. “I’m sure you can find someone else to assist the recruit.” The saccharine way he says “recruit” makes it clear he wishes to say something else entirely.
“In that case,” the professor counters harshly, “I’m sure the Bioscience hoverjoust team won’t be needing your assistance either.”
Rafe snaps his spoon—which is ostentatiously gold—shut and looks up. His face remains neutral. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not an apprentice to be scolded.”
“The choice is yours, Journey Vanguard.”
He stares her down but doesn’t object again.
Master Hayyan turns to me and says, “Why don’t you start by making homing pigeons. They’re simple golems, and an excellent form of practice.”
As Master Hayyan walks away, the tall girl smiles at me. “My name is Mbali.” She has a strong, melodious accent. “Sorry about him.” She rolls her eyes at Rafe.
There is clear camaraderie and affection between them that makes me wonder if they’re more than friends. She’s not the same girl who was clinging to him in the cafeteria earlier, but something tells me that a lot of girls cling to Rafe.
“Fie on this!” Rafe sneers. “Just because Avant’s Sire curriculum is more advanced than Genesis’s shouldn’t mean we have to waste our time catching her up.” He ends his rant by walking away.
“Don’t worry,” Mbali says. “I’ll help you.” She gives a brief explanation of the experimentation she’s doing with viper venom.
Rafe returns and drops a box of putty in front of me. “Here. Make some pigeons.”
I sink my hands into the putty and pull out a handful. It’s soft and pliable and immediately molds to the shape of my palm.
“What is this stuff?” I ask.
Rafe groans. “They sent her to the Sire lab without knowing the basics of the high materials?” He massages his temples. “I can’t believe this. I’m not a gravdamn nursemaid.”
More like a whiny baby. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not standing right here,” I say.
“Pardon me?” he asks in surprise.
“You’re not better than me, and the fact that I know nothing about the way things work here has already been established, so no need to keep harping on it,” I snap.
His eyebrows rise appraisingly, and Mbali stifles a smile.
Rafe draws himself taller and looks down his perfectly shaped nose at me, but before he lets fly whatever insult he has planned, Mbali gently pushes him aside.
“Down, boy,” she says, then patiently and graciously reviews all the guilds’ high materials with me as I take notes.
High Materials
Loam (Artisans): An easy-to-manipulate clay that is highly porous and sensitive to conductive Ha’i. Good for prototyping and simple golems.
Glace (Alchemists): Like glass but lighter and shatterproof. Nonporous. Easily melted down to reuse without creating any waste.
Sap (Bioscience): Biological healing compound. Main ingredient in patch paste.
Spidersilk (Ciphers): Synthetic fabric. Thin and lightweight but virtually impenetrable. Used for ornithopter wings, military and athletic uniforms, etc.
Sense (Sophists): Coin-shaped… something about a neural network?? Used as money and basic brains for golems.
The concept of sense, the Sophists’ high material, trips me up.
“I thought sense was money?” I ask Mbali.
“The coins can be exchanged as currency, but they are also used as neural network power sources.”
“So you’re saying they’re… batteries?”
“That’s not a bad comparison, but no. It is more like a basic nervous system. For example, these pigeons need to be crafted and animated, but they also need sense to give them the ability to fly on command.”
They sound kind of like computer chips. I’ll have to ask Georgie later.
The high materials feel like basic innovations that the rest of the world could easily benefit from as well. They all seem practical and sustainable, and I don’t see any reason beyond selfishness that such things should be withheld from others. I have to learn as much as I can about all the materials and get samples for the Families. Especially sap, the Bioscience healing compound, which sounds like it could be useful for Grandfather.
Mbali shows me how to roll out the loam into thin sheets and where to place the sense. The intricate folding pattern to form the pigeon is tricky, but I practice.
As we all work, Rafe ignores me, but he is simply too present for me to ignore. He’s like a looming rain cloud of discontent and hotness. You know that idea that people become less attractive if they have a bad personality?
All lies.
Once I complete something somewhat recognizable as a pigeon, Mbali says, “A golem can’t work until it’s animated by a Sire. Rafe is particularly good at animation, so he can demonstrate.”
Apparently, the chance to show off is enough to get Rafe to stop pretending I don’t exist. He splays his hand in shiin over the bird.
And then the bird, which I made with my own two hands, flutters into the air. I’ve seen pigeon golems before, yet my heart is in my throat at the thought that I helped create this miraculous thing. That I could potentially learn to use the very same abilities I spent so long being afraid of to bring something to life .
“An excellent first golem,” Mbali says.
“But the construction is too sloppy for actual use,” Rafe interjects. And before I can stop him, he makes shiin again and deanimates the pigeon, which falls lifeless in his hand. Rafe pulls out the sense and pushes the loam back into the container. All of my painstaking, precise work melds in with the rest of the shapeless lump, my sense of accomplishment squished along with it.
The rest of the journeys have begun packing up and trickling out of the lab. Mbali nods goodbye to me and gently presses Rafe’s arm before she also heads out.
Rafe reaches for the vat of loam to put it away, but I say, “I can clean up after myself.”
“I’ll do it,” he says. “I’d rather you stay away from the supplies. Wouldn’t want you stealing anything.”
My outrage is only slightly dimmed by the fact that I had fully intended to scope out the materials for that very purpose.
But I won’t let the insult stand, so I reach out to force him to relinquish the box. When my fingers brush against his, I feel the same tingle as when we touched on the train—it’s almost like my Ha’i is reacting to his—and he must feel it too because he jerks away so violently that he elbows a rack of beakers, causing a symphony of glace to fall clattering and rolling all over the floor.
“If the two of you could please clean that up before you leave,” Master Hayyan says politely before making her own way out of the room.
Rafe clenches his jaw so tightly he may grind his teeth into sand.
Apparently, glace really doesn’t shatter, so the cleanup is relatively simple, but being alone with Rafe gives me the strong urge to flee.
When we’re finished, Rafe says, “Run along.” His blue eyes flash and his forearms flex, muscles tight like a predator about to pounce. “Just know that I’ll be watching your every move. And so will the Guard.”
What does the Guard have to do with anything?
“Wait, are you the one who told them to search me?”
He doesn’t answer, but I know it was him. What a jerk.
“What do you have against me?”
“I don’t trust you. I know you’re scheming, and I intend to safeguard my people instead of falling for your act.” His voice is deep and dark like a shot of espresso, and it elicits the same blend of indulgence and anxiety.
He can’t possibly know anything. He just doesn’t trust me because he’s a bigot.
“And stay away from Hypatia,” he growls.
“She’s my friend.”
“Make new friends.” He moves closer, crowding my space. I instinctively step back, hitting the desk behind me. His eyes are hooded, and I suddenly feel like an entirely different kind of prey.
“What if I don’t?” I breathe.
“Little Weed, why are you trying to provoke me? You need better survival instincts.” His silky words waft in the air between us, and his arms cage me against the desk, causing my pulse to quicken.
“I’m not scared of you,” I say, my voice sounding braver than I feel.
He takes one more step, removing the last of the distance between us. He’s so close I can smell him. Of course he smells amazing, like leather and spice and seduction. His eyes bore into mine, unapologetic and calculating. He leans toward me, and I stop breathing as he whispers in my ear, “You should be.”
I feel his breath on my skin with a heat that chills me. A muscle in his neck tightens as he swallows. The gust of his exhale blows a tendril of hair out from behind my ear, and he reaches toward my face as if to tuck it back, but then drops his hand and clenches it into a fist. I see confusion spark in his eyes before he turns and surges out of the room.
He’s out the door before I finally gasp air back into my lungs, my heart pounding so hard it might bruise my chest out of fear… and something else entirely as well.