Chapter 17
17
As Hypatia and Georgie had predicted, I’m quickly invited to try out for the Alchemist hoverjoust team. I was hesitant at first, since I need to stay focused and not attract unnecessary attention, but Hypatia pointed out that it would be a great way for me to quickly integrate into our guild. It didn’t take much to sway me since I wanted to do it anyway.
The hoverjoust arena is carved out of the bedrock on the westernmost side of the island. Its design is inspired by the Ancient Theatre of Epidaurus, and the amphitheater-style stone seating forms three-quarters of a bowl shape that is open to the ocean. In the center of the bowl is a dirt pit bisected by a fence, where the jousts take place.
I approach the pit with trepidation, but the team is warm and welcoming as they introduce themselves with lots of arm clasps and high fives. High fives aren’t a thing here, but they seem to think it’s a provincial greeting, and they do it enthusiastically, wanting me to feel welcome.
“I’ve been hoping you’d guild as an Alchemist ever since I saw your moves at the hover park!” says a tan boy with dyed green hair and very large biceps who I think is called Sebastian.
“Were you on a hoverjoust team in the provincial world?” asks a girl named Carlota.
I laugh. “There’s nothing as cool as hoverjousting in the provincial world.”
Miriam, the Alchemist team captain, claps her hands for order. “Let’s see if you’re a fit for the team! You already know how to use that, right?” She gestures toward Georgie’s hoverboard, which is clutched under my arm.
I nod. I’ve been practicing more at the hover park and have even started to manage hitting the targets with my lance.
Miriam rummages through a basket full of protective gear and tosses me a padded vest, some kneepads, a shield, and a helmet. Most of it is made of spidersilk in shades of Alchemist emerald green and resembles medieval armor.
I pull on the gear and mount my hover. While the floor is packed dirt, there’s a magnetic surface beneath it that engages the maglev of the hoverboard with a now familiar hum.
I feel good going into my first practice match against Carlota—that is until she’s careening toward me with a massive lance aimed at the shield on my left arm, which suddenly feels far too small. I squeeze my eyes shut and do everything in my power not to follow my instinct to veer away. Carlota’s lance crashes hard against my shield, my whole body jangling with the impact as I zoom past her to the other end of the pit. At least I stay on my hover and don’t drop the lance. Carlota beats me 3–0.
Miriam has us do various balance and aim drills and rotates us through more practice matches, all of which I soundly lose.
The entire experience is… painful. The team is made up of competitive, well-trained athletes who have been playing this game for most of their lives. By the time we pause for a break, I’ve fallen numerous times, I’m sore in places I didn’t even know existed, and I’m pretty confident that I’m not getting onto the team anytime soon.
But Miriam is surprisingly pleased with my performance. “For a total novice? We didn’t expect anything different. In fact, we expected much worse. Welcome to the team!”
“I mean, you’ll have to work on keeping your eyes open and on your lance control,” Carlota pipes in.
“Who cares about lance control when she can stay balanced while moving that gravdamn fast?” Sebastian responds with a wink.
A gong indicates that the team’s time using the pit is over, and everyone gathers their things as players from another team stream in for their practice. I glide toward the exit, but I overestimate my ability to jump a barrier and crash into it, landing on my hip, my face scuffing the dirt. I groan and roll onto my back.
A harsh laugh echoes above me, and I glance up to see Rafe. He looks scrumptious in his tightly fitted padded armor—all in Bio shades of amber—with his helmet in his hand and his blond hair flowing like some kind of punk rock Lancelot.
“You’re the prospect the Alchemists have been excited about?” He does not look impressed. “I guess the Ciphers will be our only rivals for the title this year.” He hops on his hover and glides off, making no effort to reduce the amount of dirt he sprays into my face.
“Hey!” Carlota shouts, gliding after him, but Sebastian and another boy, whose name I already forgot, hold her back.
“What did he say to you?” Carlota huffs. “I’ve already reported him to the Jousting Lodge once, and I will happily do it again if he’s being a prejudiced son-of-a-sphinx….”
“Ignore him,” Sebastian says. “He’s purposely trying to get a rise out of us.”
“No, don’t ignore him,” Miriam objects. “Raphael Vanguard was the captain of the Blood Sci team in Avant before he transferred here. We have to take him seriously. He’s our biggest competition—him and Hera. He knows how to use shame and intimidation against us. So don’t ignore that kind of thing.” There’s fire in her eyes. “Let it make you angry, and use your anger to fuel your game.”
We all clasp arms, and I see my determination reflected back at me on my new teammates’ faces. When tournament season begins, we’re gonna take that arrogant prince down.
I’ve been calling home every Sunday, so after practice I knock on Georgie’s door, hoping to use her internet.
“Come in!”
When I enter, I find her excitedly typing and glancing back and forth between her monitors.
“I was going to ask if I could call my family, but you seem busy.”
“Nah, I’m just working on one of my pet projects. Actually”—she waves me over—“you’ll like this.” Her fingers clack a percussive symphony on her keyboard. “I’ve been tracking different forums for conspiracy theories about our existence.”
“You mean the existence of the Makers?”
“Mm-hm. They think we’re so well hidden, and for the most part we are, but stuff gets out every now and then.”
This gets my attention, for obvious reasons.
“Here, check this out.” She’s pulled up a web page. It’s a conspiracy forum dedicated to “the Hidden.”
“Some of their info is scarily accurate; there’s no way it’s only speculation. The main moderator goes by the handle Cicero. He seems to know the most.”
I lean over Georgie’s shoulder and skim through the posts, certain phrases sticking out. “… poison that makes people forget … born with wings …” I take control of the mouse and continue scrolling, goose bumps breaking out on my arms. “… hidden location for hundreds of years … faked death …”
Georgie’s right; this is definitely more than just speculation. At the same time, plenty of posts are way off base. I see more than one entry about vampires and even one about the philosopher’s stone, both of which I’m pretty sure are fiction.
I slow my scrolling when I reach an entire section on illness. According to these rumors, “the Hidden” can cure almost anything, including cancer. More than one person claims to have received miraculous medication from a mysterious benefactor.
“Have you warned anyone about this?” I ask Georgie.
“Nah. I haven’t found anything concerning enough, but I thought you’d find it amusing. You’re all set up to call your family whenever you’re ready.”
Once Georgie leaves the room, my first impulse is to check social media, but I decide not to. The last time I scrolled through my feeds, it left me feeling depressed about the superficiality of what used to matter to me. I can’t decide whether my forced distance from those parts of my old life is a relief or a loss.
When Kor answers my call, it’s clear that I woke him up. He tells me he’s been under the weather and that I should give my updates to Alfie Avellino instead. Bluish veins show through his pale skin, there are dark circles under his eyes, and his hair, which he’s normally so vain about, is badly in need of a cut.
“I’m fine.” He waves his hand dismissively when I ask him if he’s okay. “It’s just a cold I caught while volunteering at the clinic.”
I think guiltily of my own coldless, flueless winter due to my Maker inoculations. Why should he be sick when the cures exist here?
We say goodbye and I call Alfie, and it takes him less than a minute to start pissing me off. He bosses me around about things he wants me to do, even though he knows nothing about what goes on here, and he refuses to answer any of my questions.
Our raised voices must attract the attention of Dr. Ambrose, who appears on-screen and gestures away a seething Alfie—who flips me off with both hands before he leaves—to take over the call himself.
Dr. Ambrose listens patiently, peering through his gold-rimmed glasses as I give him my updates about what’s changed now that I’ve joined a guild.
The institute begins a new term after each Quorum, and now, as a journey, my classes are entirely different from when I was an apprentice. It’s nice to be around people closer to my own age, as the journeys are all mostly in their teens and twenties.
I still attend Sire lab and Foundations, but I now must also be a contributing member of my guild. I have Alchemy lab, where we work on projects to add to the guild’s testament, and Phytology, where I’ve been studying plant life in a three-story greenhouse. The other day I learned to use my Ha’i to sprout a full-grown sunflower from a seed in a matter of minutes. I’ve also been studying nondestructive and nonwasteful agriculture methods (I go into depth with these for Dr. Ambrose since they should be perfectly easy to implement back home), and I’ve joined a rotation creating our guild’s high material, glace. So far I just clean and melt down old products, but I hope to soon be able to understand its production enough to be able to pass on practical instructions to the Families.
I don’t only take Alchemy-related classes. I also have multiple art studios and conservatories. In one class we’ve been learning about the physics of sound so we can physically manipulate things with music—it feels like actual magic.
When I talk about art classes with Kor, he often remind me to remain focused on gathering the information more important to the Oculus. But Dr. Ambrose doesn’t do that. He seems equally interested in all my studies, and he takes detailed notes about my new classes so that he can consult with the Inner Chamber about whether there’s anything specific they want me to glean for them.
When we’re finished, I call Mom. She tells me she misses me and asks about my general well-being, but, as usual, she’s too busy to do more than see my face and make sure I’m safe before she has to go and passes me on to Grandfather.
When his gaunt face appears on my screen, I almost burst into tears. He looks so ill. He’s thinner than before—if that’s even possible—and his skin is sallow.
“Grandfather!” I yelp. “I miss you so much.”
“I miss you too, mi reinita. I miss you too. But maybe we’ll see each other soon. Can you come home for Easter?” He starts coughing—a shuddering, phlegmy cough—and my heart hurts. He’s getting worse. If anything happens to Grandfather that I could have prevented, I’ll never forgive myself.
“Come, Tomás.” Sal appears on-screen. “Sit back. I’ll bring you some hot water with lemon.”
Once I say my goodbyes, I go back into the common room and promptly start sobbing as I flip through pictures on my phone.
“You okay?” Georgie asks, pulling off her headphones.
“Yeah, just missing my family again.”
She comes and sits next to me, and I show her my phone, scrolling through photos and pointing.
“This is my mom.” She looks carefree and happy in this photo, sitting on a rock at the Ravine in Central Park, not a stitch of makeup on, her blond hair loose and blowing in the wind. It’s an old photo. I haven’t seen her that relaxed in years. There are a few more similar shots, reminding me of a time when my mother knew how to have fun. When did she change? And when did I start to forget this version of her?
I keep scrolling and almost show Georgie a picture of Izzy, but calling her my best friend doesn’t feel true anymore, so I flip past all our selfies, trying not to start crying again.
“This is my cousin, Kor.” I bring up a selfie of us making stupid faces on the set of his Rolling Stone photo shoot.
Georgie stares, bug-eyed, with her mouth open in a perfect round O. When she finally regains her speech, she asks, “Your cousin is Kor Chevalier?”
“Very distant cousin,” I say defensively. “More of a friend.”
“I might die.” She puts the back of her hand to her forehead in a swoon. “Like, if there’s a single guy on this planet who could turn me bi, it would be him.”
Sigh. I didn’t realize how nice it’s been to be away from 24/7 Kor-mania.
“While I love Kor, I might puke if I am subjected to too much of your adoration,” I say to Georgie, who is dramatically fanning herself.
She grabs an empty sewing box. “Here, puke bucket. I’m not about to stop.”
“How do you even know about him?” Kor only shot to notoriety in the past two years, after Georgie had already moved to Arcadia.
She puts her hand on her heart. “Ada, I was a fan of Korach Chevalier before he was famous. I’ve been listening to his music for years.” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’m over my fangirl paralysis. Show me pictures of the rest of your family.”
I open the most recent pictures I have of my dad. He’s waving at the camera from a beach in Costa Rica, where, last I heard, he was spending his days playing guitar for tourists and surfing. His wavy brown hair is grown out almost as long as mine, so different from the neat cut he always had when I was young. I’ve been missing him more than usual lately. He’d love to know about my new interest in sustainable agriculture and that I’ve been getting better at guitar. We might finally have something to talk about.
I swipe to a photo of Grandfather. I only took it a few months before I left, but he was already so much thinner the day I said goodbye, and even worse today. I feel my tears returning. I hope he’s okay.
The Makers could help him. I must get ahold of their cures or find a way to make Sire abilities more accessible. For Grandfather, for the Families, and for the rest of my world. Now that I’m an Alchemist, I have access to their Testament scrolls. I’ve gotten too distracted by guilds and guys and hoverboards.
It’s high time I visit the Ark.