Page 13 of The Art of Exiley

A bubble of excitement expands in my belly.

“And you’re saying this society exists?”

“I’m saying it exists and that I want to take you there.” His eyes sparkle with excitement, and his smile is so wide I almost forget I’m not supposed to trust him.

“But if what they’re doing is so great, why does no one know about it? Why aren’t these ideas helping the rest of the world?”

“Because we’re hunted,” Michael says matter-of-factly. “We’re in hiding. And we have been since the original Makers were forced to flee during one of the Roman Inquisitions. Before then, they were scholars of an academy in Italy renowned for its advancements in art, science, and philosophy. It attracted scholars from around the globe who wished to be modern ‘muses,’ like the mythical goddesses said to have inspired the arts and sciences.”

This is the confirmation I’ve been waiting for. These Makers aredefinitelythe exiles.

“What happened to the school?” I ask, and I’m genuinely curious to see if his account will match the blurry version I’ve been told.

“The Makers’ science, and their philosophy in general—the Church hated it. Some of the academy’s research was definitely… ethically questionable.Amazing, but highly experimental. They believed that humankind being ‘made in the image of God’ meant it was their job to ‘continue the creation of the world,’ to perfect upon it. And this philosophy was considered deeply heretical.

“And when the school refused to conform to the Church’s narrow restrictions of what could be taught and studied, Inquisitors came”—his voice grows quieter—“and burned the academy to the ground.” He looks away, and the column of his throat tightens as he swallows. This is ancient history, yet he acts as if the pain is still raw, as if it hurts him personally.

Michael collects himself and stretches out his long legs; his feet jostle into mine, and he quickly snaps them back. Sitting up straight, he continues. “Luckily, much of the academy’s research was rescued and hidden before it could be destroyed. The Makers, like many other groups of the time, were forced to denounce their ways or be expelled or even executed. Some did, and some went into hiding and continued their scholarship. A group of those in hiding eventually arranged for passage to the New World, where they went on to found the Genesis Institute.”

My rapt interest in the story is no act. It’s wild to hear the things I’ve only ever been told about in theory confirmed by someone outside of the Families. I try to wrap my head around how much could have been lost with the destruction of such a school.

A flop of dark hair obscures Michael’s face, and my fingers itch to push it away. We’re sitting close enough that if we both leaned forward, I could. Instead, I lean back, lacing my fingers together in my lap. I school my features to look skeptical and say, “If what you’re saying is true, shouldn’t everyone have heard of this Inquisition?”

“Have you heard of Galileo’s trial for his belief that the Earth revolves around the sun? And the Spanish Inquisition that followed the expulsion, when the Jews and Muslims were exiled from Spain?”

“Yes, but not anything about the loss of major scientific advancements.”

“That’s because the Church simply denied that any of it ever existed. They buried all the evidence of the Makers’ heretical experiments and blasphemous ideas, and they forbade anyone to speak of them. Except for an elite group of Inquisitors who were tasked with hunting down those that fled.” His eyes bore into mine, telegraphing sincerity and urgency. “And the loss of all that knowledge, it set advancements backcenturies. But the Makers kept it all and have continued their mission of advancement in secret.”

“I don’t understand,” I interject. “If these advancements were so great, how did everyone just go along with the Church and pretend they never existed?”

My feet are jostled by Michael’s again as he makes another attempt to stretch his legs. He pulls them back and stands instead, pacing the length of the small room. “Sorry,” he says, running his hands through his hair. “This version of history is very standard for me, and explaining it to someone with a totally different paradigm is always confusing. But don’t underestimate the Church’s power.” He looks at me. “Even in your own lifetime, you’ve observed enough to see how world narratives are formed. How easy it is to reshape history through propaganda and misinformation.”

He’s starting to sound like my grandfather.

“It’s scary how quickly truth can be rewritten,” he continues. “Within one generation after the Exodus, the truth of the original Makers and their discoveries was mostly forgotten, and by the next generation, completely so. Remnants of their legacy remain, but only under the guise of myths and legends.”

There’s a part of me that was never sure whether I really believed all the Families’ stories, that wondered if it has all just been exaggerated and lost in translation over the years. But hearing how Michael’s story fits with what I’ve been taught—it starts to sink in that this could all actually bereal. I feelalmost weightless, my muscles tight and trembling with a mix of excitement and confusion.

Michael’s pacing takes him to the kitchenette. “It’s been a long night,” he says. “Let me get you something to eat.” As he putters around, I observe him with new eyes, looking for signs that he’s from a society hidden by some big historical conspiracy. He looks normal. But there are subtle hints. There’s no branding on anything he’s wearing. His shoes look well worn, well made, and just a little too old-fashioned. He wears no watch. And I don’t think he has a cell phone, or if he does, he hasn’t pulled it out all night. I mean, that alone is weird.

He sits next to me on the bed and places a tray with a cup of tea and some cookies between us.

I’ve been too distracted to realize how hungry I am. I take my time eating the cookies and washing them down with tea. Michael’s not very good at sitting still. He runs his hands through his hair, chews his nails, drums his fingers on his knees.

“You know that you sound crazy, right?” I ask him, the way I assume a random teenage girl who has not grown up among the Families would. “Hidden society, centuries-long conspiracy, and all that?”

He stills his fidgeting and turns to face me. “I understand that it’s hard to second-guess everything you’ve ever learned. And there’s so much more than what I have told you. If you come with me to Genesis, I canshowit all to you.”

It’s the exact invitation I’ve been hoping for. And it sounds incredible. But being kidnapped has really clobbered my enthusiasm.

Michael’s eyes brighten, and his dimple makes an appearance. “You know, Michelangelo was a Maker.”

This gets my attention. “What?”

“Yes, and a Sire; he was at the academy before the Inquisition. He, andothers who didn’t want to abandon their lives, chose to stay behind and denounce all Maker activity considered to be heretical. Whenever I look at his prisoner statues, I see the struggle of the life he chose. Like he’s the one trapped in an unfinished state, confined by the new rules of the world, most of his fellow Makers gone.”

He is annoyingly adorable when he gets passionate about art stuff. And this is not anything I’ve heard before. The Families revere the well-known masters for sure, but not in the same way as the ones who were exiled.

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