Chase Baker and the da Vinci Divinity

Chapter 4-1

Vinci, Italy

Vinci, ItalyApril 1467

April 1467

The bastard son is mesmerized by all that he observes.

The bastard son is mesmerized by all that he observes.Maybe what his father expects of him is to keep his sharp, fifteen-year-old eyes glued carefully to the flock of sheep he herds through the tall grass that covers the seemingly endless foothills of Vinci. But, instead, he focuses on the early morning sunlight shining through the leaves of scattered patches of tall trees. He studies the birds flying overhead and nesting in the trees. The way they take flight by simply falling into the sky with wings spread wide, catching the air with all the ease, speed, and efficiency of a horse galloping along the dirt roads that connect Vinci to Florence. The natural world that surrounds him is divine—a gift from God—and it inspires him like nothing else.

Maybe what his father expects of him is to keep his sharp, fifteen-year-old eyes glued carefully to the flock of sheep he herds through the tall grass that covers the seemingly endless foothills of Vinci. But, instead, he focuses on the early morning sunlight shining through the leaves of scattered patches of tall trees. He studies the birds flying overhead and nesting in the trees. The way they take flight by simply falling into the sky with wings spread wide, catching the air with all the ease, speed, and efficiency of a horse galloping along the dirt roads that connect Vinci to Florence. The natural world that surrounds him is divine—a gift from God—and it inspires him like nothing else.His field of vision shifts and he spots a farmer working a newly plowed field not three hundred meters away, pulling seed stored in his cloak to sow. The boy feels something boiling inside him. An idea automatically brewing. A better way to spread the seed. Something mechanical so the farmer can produce more without so much wear and tear on his body. The idea is there, but the boy can’t quite put his finger on the mechanics of it all—the engineering. A cart perhaps, attached to a horse. A machine like no one has ever seen before that will spread the seed so fast, the abundance of food it will produce will be almost Godlike—Divine.

His field of vision shifts and he spots a farmer working a newly plowed field not three hundred meters away, pulling seed stored in his cloak to sow. The boy feels something boiling inside him. An idea automatically brewing. A better way to spread the seed. Something mechanical so the farmer can produce more without so much wear and tear on his body. The idea is there, but the boy can’t quite put his finger on the mechanics of it all—the engineering. A cart perhaps, attached to a horse. A machine like no one has ever seen before that will spread the seed so fast, the abundance of food it will produce will be almost Godlike—Divine.Dropping his walking stick, he retrieves the sketch book hanging from his neck by a leather lanyard and he once more watches the birds. His eyes capture their every movement in detail, as if his brain is able to place their rapid action on slow motion. Pencil in hand, he observes and he sketches. But he also thinks.

Dropping his walking stick, he retrieves the sketch book hanging from his neck by a leather lanyard and he once more watches the birds. His eyes capture their every movement in detail, as if his brain is able to place their rapid action on slow motion. Pencil in hand, he observes and he sketches. But he also thinks.?ylf I t’nac yhW, he writes in his curious, backward, mirror writing. Finger-combing his long, lush, brown hair, he asks the same question aloud. “Why can’t I fly?”

?ylf I t’nac yhW,?ylf I t’nac yhW, he writes in his curious, backward, mirror writing. Finger-combing his long, lush, brown hair, he asks the same question aloud. “Why can’t I fly?”“Why can’t I fly?”He listens to the forceful sound of the stream flowing at the bottom of the valley not far from where his stone house is located, and he wonders: Why can’t I swim like a fish?

He listens to the forceful sound of the stream flowing at the bottom of the valley not far from where his stone house is located, and he wonders: He wants to do all of these things, but he just doesn’t know how. If only he could talk to God directly, ask him how to make the things he wants to make. Ask him how to make beautiful drawings that take your breath away just by laying eyes on them. Only God possesses such knowledge. Only God alone possesses the power and creativity. The one, all-omniscient force that created the world. Surely a direct line of communication with the Divine would give him the ability to make things beyond not only his wildest dreams, but those of the entire world.

He wants to do all of these things, but he just doesn’t know how. If only he could talk to God directly, ask him how to make the things he wants to make. Ask him how to make beautiful drawings that take your breath away just by laying eyes on them. Only God possesses such knowledge. Only God alone possesses the power and creativity. The one, all-omniscient force that created the world. Surely a direct line of communication with the Divine would give him the ability to make things beyond not only his wildest dreams, but those of the entire world.Then, coming from out of the blue sky, a streak of lightning.

Then, coming from out of the blue sky, a streak of lightning.But this can’t be lightning, because the trail is not vertical and jagged. It’s horizontal and straight as an arrow led by an object that appears to be on fire. A spherical shape with a triangle attached to its front. It reminds him of those horrifying, long-beaked medicine masks the priests wear when confronted with those dying from the plague. Only, this is not a mask. It’s some kind of craft and it has emerged from the heavens. A bright fire trailing behind and it is flying as fast as the swiftest swallow.

But this can’t be lightning, because the trail is not vertical and jagged. It’s horizontal and straight as an arrow led by an object that appears to be on fire. A spherical shape with a triangle attached to its front. It reminds him of those horrifying, long-beaked medicine masks the priests wear when confronted with those dying from the plague. Only, this is not a mask. It’s some kind of craft and it has emerged from the heavens. A bright fire trailing behind and it is flying as fast as the swiftest swallow.He puts pencil to paper, makes a sketch. As detailed as he can make it in just a few seconds of time. Then, acting on instinct, he runs after the trail of fire. Runs downhill, through the grass, tripping once but bounding back up, never breaking stride, his notebook and pencil s******g him in the chest.

He puts pencil to paper, makes a sketch. As detailed as he can make it in just a few seconds of time. Then, acting on instinct, he runs after the trail of fire. Runs downhill, through the grass, tripping once but bounding back up, never breaking stride, his notebook and pencil s******g him in the chest.Crossing over the dirt road, he enters into another field that runs steeply downhill, the bottom of the hill converging with another where it forms a wide streambed. He steps into the cold, swiftly moving mountain run-off as it flows over his bare feet and shins. Looking back up into the sky, he no longer sees the trail of lightning and smoke. Instead, he sees nothing but blue sky and the occasional puffy white cloud.

Crossing over the dirt road, he enters into another field that runs steeply downhill, the bottom of the hill converging with another where it forms a wide streambed. He steps into the cold, swiftly moving mountain run-off as it flows over his bare feet and shins. Looking back up into the sky, he no longer sees the trail of lightning and smoke. Instead, he sees nothing but blue sky and the occasional puffy white cloud.“Where did the flying machine go?”

“Where did the flying machine go?”He looks around ardently. He is certain he saw the machine go down in this very spot. Or close to this spot anyway. But if it went down here, why can’t he see it, touch it, feel it? There’s no evidence it existed at all.

He looks around ardently. He is certain he saw the machine go down in this very spot. Or close to this spot anyway. But if it went down here, why can’t he see it, touch it, feel it? There’s no evidence it existed at all.He decides to walk along the streambed farther away from his home, the cold water numbing his flesh to the point he can no longer feel his feet making contact with the ground. Facing a steep hill, he begins to climb. It takes almost all his strength, but when he comes to the top of the granite-topped peak, he looks down upon the other side, only to see where the stream empties into a lake. It’s a beautiful, if not pristine scene, that he would love to paint one day, but the primary object of his fascination remains to be seen. There is no flying machine down there.

He decides to walk along the streambed farther away from his home, the cold water numbing his flesh to the point he can no longer feel his feet making contact with the ground. Facing a steep hill, he begins to climb. It takes almost all his strength, but when he comes to the top of the granite-topped peak, he looks down upon the other side, only to see where the stream empties into a lake. It’s a beautiful, if not pristine scene, that he would love to paint one day, but the primary object of his fascination remains to be seen. There is no flying machine down there.Dejected, he’s about to turn back to find the sheep he abandoned in his quest, when something on a tree branch on the hillside beside him catches his eye. Another bird. But this bird is different from all the others he’s observed today.

Dejected, he’s about to turn back to find the sheep he abandoned in his quest, when something on a tree branch on the hillside beside him catches his eye. Another bird. But this bird is different from all the others he’s observed today.This bird is a large hawk with glassy, black eyes.

This bird is a large hawk with glassy, black eyes.The hawk appears to be watching him, communicating with him. Stepping down off the hilltop, he moves toward the hawk. It takes flight and soars in perfect circles around the hillside, descending in the direction of the lake each time it makes a pass.

The hawk appears to be watching him, communicating with him. Stepping down off the hilltop, he moves toward the hawk. It takes flight and soars in perfect circles around the hillside, descending in the direction of the lake each time it makes a pass.The boy follows the hawk, moving further downhill until the terrain gives way to a small field that abuts the lakefront. A lake not much wider than the village of Vinci. As he comes closer to the lake, he realizes he’s not alone. The flying machine he spotted shooting across the sky is now hovering over the lake. The triangular shaped machine is shiny on the bottom, as if it is made of the most polished metal, and as it floats over the water it emits a hum. When a bright laser light shoots out of the bottom of the craft, it strikes the lake. The water begins to ripple violently and, at the same time, recede.