The Story of Samo: Flashback Story One
“Samo, no!” Gianan called across the garage. “Use a ladder!” He dropped his wrench and hurried over to the shelves where the twelve-year-old was climbing to a can of oil. Gianan was getting up in years, but he could still move. As he sprinted across, Samo turned to look at him, losing his balance in the process and falling the fifteen feet to the stone floor. Or else, he would have fallen to the stone floor has Gianan not caught him and spun around to keep from falling himself. Gianan let go of the boy’s waist and set his hands on his shoulders. He said, “Always use a ladder when climbing up there. The Academy wouldn’t like it if one of their students died on my watch.”
“Then why would you surprise someone who’s fifteen feet up?” Samo replied, with an ironic smirk on his lips.
Gianan set his palm to his face and groaned. He said, “I hate it when you’re right.” He turned to the engine he had been working on, a new design of his, and said, “I think this excitement has tired me a little. Let’s take a break for lunch.”
“Food?” Samo asked. “Food sounds good. I like food.”
Chuckling, Gianan mussed his hair and said, “Well then, let’s go get something at the market. There’s a little coffeehouse on the corner for which I’ve been trying to find some excuse to try.” He turned to the barn-door opening to the garage, and started out. Just then, a man in gray robes embroidered with silver thread entered. He stopped at the entrance and looked around at the greasy area, not disdainfully, but still refusing to enter and ruin his clothes. The man was dark, with tan skin and black hair cropped close. The hood on his robe was down. His features were those of a man who had seen hardship and had stood to face it, but he did not seem to be a hard man. In fact, his smile was almost pleasant. Almost.
He said, “Is this the mechanical garage of Gianan se’Duas?”
Gianan stepped forward and said, “Yes, and I am Gianan se’Duas. Can I help you with something?”
The man stepped forward and let the hem of his robe brush against the oily floor. Samo stared as the gray fabric became black on the lower edge. The man looked at him and said, “Is this your son? I had not heard you were a family man.”
“No,” he answered. “Samo is my apprentice.” He put his arm around Samo’s shoulders and drew him closer. “I guess you could say I’ve sort of adopted him, though. We were just about to get some lunch. Can you come back later, or will this be quick?”
“I have a message for you,” the man said. “However, it must be told only to you. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
Gianan nodded. “Samo,” he said. “Plug your ears, close your eyes and hum.” When the boy complied, he said, “Go ahead.”
The stranger raised an eyebrow, but continued. After giving the message he had come to give, he left without another word. Gianan caught Samo’s attention by tapping him on the shoulder. He seemed different to Samo. Somewhat distraught, in fact. Samo said, “Is something wrong, teacher?”
After a moment, Gianan shook his head and gave a weak smile. He said, “No, no. Let’s go to lunch.”
All through lunch, however, Samo could see that Gianan had been upset by the news he was given. He was silent most of the time, staring out the window at the pedestrians, horse-pulled carriages, bicyclists, and a few attempts and horseless carriages and motorized wagons. As they were beginning their dessert, Samo asked, “Was that man a doran?”
“Hm?” Gianan turned his attention to Samo and said, “A doran? Perhaps. I’ve heard there are a few councils left that actually dress their priests in robes like that. I’ve seen robes like that before, and they were dorans.” As Samo asked him more questions of the priestly orders from before the Council Wars hundreds of years before, Gianan smiled faintly and answered his questions. So far, none of the questions were troubling, just what you would find in a history book. Then, there was one.
Samo asked, “Do you know anything about techmages? I wonder if he was a techmage.”
“Why do ask?” Gianan’s stomach seemed to drop as if the question was a stone.
“Well,” he replied. “Those were some pretty fancy robes, but when he found out who you were, he didn’t seem to mind getting them greasy. I don’t think anyone but a mechanic would be that way. Techmages are mechanics, aren’t they? Magic through science?”
Gianan shook his head and laughed. “You are amazing. Yes, I believe you’re right. There’s more to it than, that, however. Much more.”
As they continued, Samo asked, “Did someone die? Is that what the message was about?”
“No, Samo,” he answered. “No, it was not about someone dying.” Gianan chewed his lip as he thought, trying to parse the message for what it meant, and for what it forebode for him for him, and for Samo. He leaned forward and said, “I’d like to tell you a story.” Lowering his voice, he glanced around the room. “You need to promise me,” he said. “That you will tell no one. Not even your friends. No one must hear of this story.” When Samo leaned forward to hear more clearly, he said, “I want to tell you about Sarenti Dacule and the Order of the Inventor.”
