Georgio's Arc

Chapter 1 of 5

Georgio woke with a gasp, the dream still warm on his mouth. A handsome stranger with long brown hair had been kissing him. He sat up in the gray dawn light, confused, his heart loud. He wanted to master the old magic and still serve the Virgin, but mornings like this made him feel split in two. He dressed and gathered small offerings. A handful of white yarrow blossoms, a thin candle, a knot of incense. In his pocket sat the small carved figure he always carried, the praying Virgin whose base he had scratched with secret Greek letters. Christ above, Apollo below. He held both in one grip. The little stone chapel waited at the end of the path. He pushed open the wooden door and breathed in cold air and old wax. He knelt at the Virgin's feet and laid the yarrow down. He lit the candle. He whispered thanks for the dream, even if it shamed him. He meant to stay only a moment. But the priest arrived, and then the morning hours, and then the noon hours. Georgio painted touch‑ups on the altar panel. He swept. He prayed aloud when asked. The sun crossed the sky while his real work, the Hellenistic working he had planned for weeks, waited unopened in his satchel. There was never a quiet stretch long enough. When he finally stepped outside, dusk had come. A man stood waiting on the path, watching the chapel door with patient brown eyes. Long brown hair. The face from the dream. "You're Georgio," Volpi said quietly. "I've been told you paint. I think I need to speak with you." Georgio's breath stopped. The wall between his two worlds had just cracked open.