Page 34 of The Art of Exiley

“No. Makers continue the creation of the world, and that means something different to each person. Though it was the Church who exiled the Makers, there are still many Christian Makers. And there are at least twenty other religions practiced in our communities, as well as many atheists. But while religion has been a leading cause of war and division in provincial history, the Makers believe it is something that should bring people together, not divide them. Many Makers will use the umbrella term ‘the Conductor,’ the one who orchestrates all things, to refer to a shared general concept of a creator.”

Ah, that explains that.

“So, now that you’ve had a chance to settle in, we should discuss your gallerie for Quorum,” Michael says, back to business. “I’ve been assigned as your apprenticeship mentor. Most apprentices become journeymen by around thirteen or fourteen, so I think it would be best for us to aim to have you ready to apply to a guild at the Spring Quorum. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait until next fall. The Spring Quorum is less than three months away.”

Michael launches into an in-depth overview of each of the five guilds while I take some basic notes. When he’s finished, I have the following list:

Sophists (sapphire): social sciences and humanities

Artisans (amethyst): fine art and performance art

Alchemists (emerald): chemistry and earth sciences

Ciphers (pearl): mathematics and physics

Bioscience (amber): biological sciences and healing

A familiar anxious pressure balloons in my chest. I am proficient in approximately zero of these subjects. “So how exactly do I prepare for Quorum?”

“As your mentor, it’s my job to help you organize a collection of work that will demonstrate your skills, passions, and talents.”

This literally feels like college applications all over again. And three months isnothing.

“In terms of your skills, I know you play guitar—”

“Not well,” I remind him.

There’s a pause as we both navigate the memory of the last time I told him this information, and all the flirting that followed. At least, that’s what I’m doing. Maybe he’s totally over it already.

“It’s a good start,” Michael says. “Most Makers play at least one instrument.” No kidding. I’ve counted at least four instrument cases in this room alone. Most in vaguely guitarish shapes and one smaller square case that I assume is some kind of horn. “We should make sure you’re proficient in one song that you can perform. Do you write music?”

“I’ve dabbled.” Well, I helped Kor with some of his earlier songs, which kinda counts.

“Perfect. A well-practiced song of your own composition will be a nice touch. We’ll prioritize that.” He scribbles something in a notebook—the fancy kind with yellowish paper and a leather cover that ties with a cord. “We also know you’re good with plants. I’ll make sure you’re scheduled in the greenhouse and will inform your instructors to guide that strength.” More scribbling. “What are your other talents?”

This line of questioning grates on every one of my insecurities. How do I let him down easy about the fact that I’m generally untalented? I’m pretty sure that my snowboarding prowess is not what he has in mind. I settle on, “I like to write stories.”

He smiles as he takes this down in his notes. “Storytelling is a strength ofmy own guild, the Sophists. Definitely a good option for you. What about other art? Do you paint?”

I do like to paint. Well, I like tostartpaintings. I’m marginally better at drawing. Though the last time Kor tried to help me with my drawing, he said my work won’t improve until I learn to “observe properly” and am willing to have the patience to “develop the layers of the piece.”

“I draw, but I’m not that good,” I say to Michael.

He looks up at me, brows furrowed. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“What?”

“Downplaying your abilities.”

“I’m not downplaying anything. I’m fantastically mediocre.” I paste on an overdramatic smile. “Perpetual jack-of-all-trades, master of none, nice to meet you.” This is the last thing I want to admit to Michael, but better to get it out of the way rather than see his disappointment when he figures it out for himself.

He huffs. “You’re the farthest thing from mediocre. Do you even know the rest of that saying?”

“There’s more?”

“?‘A jack-of-all-trades is a master of none, but oftentimesbetterthan a master of one,’?” he quotes. “And do you know who it was referring to?” His tone is scolding. “A young upstart actor who was mocked for trying his hand at writing, better known as William Shakespeare.” His voice softens, and that earnest gaze meets mine. “Dabbling is encouraged here at Genesis.”

I swallow. It sounds good in theory. But he hasn’t seen how amateur my work is, never mind compared to those who have been developing their talents for years.

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