There was a boy who was born in the southeast, in the border town of Ta Kuar, Tasdaha. 1962. Fifteen years before, Tasdaha was established. Azu citizens were free to settle down in the indigenous lands of the Dineh, who had been living undisturbed for thousands of years.
The boy’s father was a native Dineh, who had moved to Ta Kuar in the trading spree between As-Z̆onghu̐a and Tasdaha as a merchant, while his mother was a Z̆ongren working as a lower class servant at an Azu hostel.
The boy’s name was Mashuu Ashojan.
During this time, Azu natal policies required all adolescents to be examined for their sahar level and saharic mastery. Although it was now peacetime in both Azutami and Tasdaha, the National Diet had yet to deactivate the military draft within their territory. Only able-bodied men, those with a median sahar level and mastery would be recommended to sign up for the emperor’s imperial army.
The boy in his adolescence was sent to a primary school in Ta Kuar, where he first learned that he was not like the other children in class. They could use spells and channel particles, skills that they learned from their parents. When he attempted to conjure a sahar spell he heard his father use, nothing happened. His classmates laughed as Mashuu was blasted with water. Mashuu knew that it was a burden. Every technology used sahar; buying something from a vending machine, starting a mechanical buggy, or unlocking his parent’s apartment unit in Ta Kuar. He couldn’t do any of those. Everyday he saw people using sahar, and the great things they could do with it. He came to curse them.
After being taken to multiple physicians in the local area, it solidified that he was one of every hundred thousand that were born with the defect. Mashuu hated everyone that could use sahar. People were happy-go-lucky about their lives, using sahar whenever they wished and the machines would obey their command. He isolated himself from his schoolmates, while the others had done the same a while ago. In Ta Kuar, there was no one like him. Being born with no particle manifestation was equivalent to being blind, or a disabled person. No one would imagine not using sahar at all.
Only until he walked passed by the local clocksmith in the town. Mashuu became fascinated at the ticking of the hands, how it looped all the way back over again. When he walked into the store, a kind gentleman greeted him there. It was no sooner that the boy would become a clockmaker’s apprentice.
“Welcome child, do you wish to buy something from this store of horology?” He leaned on his knees.
“H- how do clocks work?”
“Oh? Curious about how these fancies work? My, well they are beauties, aren’t they.”
Mashuu loved the mechanism of clocks. They ran infinitely to the end of its life, always ticking, tocking, recording the count of time. It was a machine that didn’t use any sahar. Defective, just like him.
“Ashojan, could you get an extra escape wheel? The one in this guy is a bit damaged,” The clockmaker called out, as Mashuu, in a work uniform, set down his tools.
“Yes, master,” He bowed, before sifting through the various drawers all over the wall for the cog.
The horologist was passionate in his craft and exerted humility. He was Mashuu’s role model, and while he could use sahar, his master only used it sparingly. Mashuu wanted to pursue horology, thinking that he had found his life’s work. The clocks understood him. His master understood him.
It was then when Mashuu brought a clock he had repaired to his class’s Show and Tell, hoping that the other students would see that even him, a defect, could amount to something great. Unfortunately the result of it was him crying in the school bathroom, holding the smashed machine in his bloodied hands. His face was scarred from shattered glass. The final nail was hammered in. When he came home, his father was enraged. Soon enough, his father enlisted him for fencing lessons. He couldn’t have his son be left defenseless. The swordsman by the name of Izdaha would come to train him when the man visited Tasdaha for work.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Mashuu turned twelve when his master had the opportunity to work in the promised city of Rümqî, the capital of Azutami. Wanting to come along, Mashuu managed to get his parents to consent and arrived at the doorsteps of the metropolis. Unlike their old job of repairing clocks, they were assigned to assemble and fix clocks when needed. One such request required Mashuu to travel to Al-Shinkyou ‘Basad.
When he arrived, he awed at the beauty of the stunning windmills that dominated the town of Al-Shinkyou. Big or small, all types of them churned to the sandy gusts that blew across the north. If anything, Mashuu thought that most of the town consisted of windmills itself. As for his work, the client’s name was Kiyomiya-Legazpí Nakata. When he approached the residence, it was merely a metal shed with one windmill up the hill behind it. Kiyomiya-Legazpí, came out from the shed to meet him, as he carried the clock delicately in a camel-skinned case.
“Thank you for going out of your way to deliver your work to our residence,” The Azu woman bowed deeply. He returned the bow.
“No… Al-Shinkyou is a very beautiful place. We have guaranteed your clock has been inspected and transported with care,” Mashuu dug through his sack. He took out the camel-skinned case, and opened it. It was a silver alarm clock, one of the most expensive pieces he had ever worked on, with a tungsten dial, alloy steel gears, and brass hands.
“Thank you. Shall I fetch your payment?” The client asked him, taking the clock. He shook his head.
“Ah, I will not be paid, for I have made major time delays in my schedule,” Mashuu reasoned, citing the lines he rehearsed. It was his first time going to Al-Shinkyou, so he had gotten lost on the way.
“Well why don’t you join us for supper tonight? It’s dangerous for a kid your age to traverse the Sunakhamaj alone,” She proposed. Mashuu looked hesitant, afraid that they would find out about his defect.
“If you say so, then that’s fine….” He responded, “B- but please don’t tell your family about my profession.”
“I don’t know why you would hide such a cool profession, but as you wish,” The client smiled, as she gestured to him to go inside.
“S- sorry for the intrusion.”
When he entered the house, there sat a girl, with perfectly black hair, staring at the holograms projected on the wall. Mashuu grasped his collar. Seeing someone around his age reminded him of his time in school. There was also an elder, who seemed to be her Obaa, seated at the table adjacent to the girl. The girl turned around as her face lit up.
“Mom mom! Look! Ayai Toya does it again!” She ran to her, pointing at the screen. Then she moved her eyes towards Mashuu, which he avoided. “Who?”
The girl smiled as he raised his hands in fright, “I’m-”
He instantly parried a weapon that launched at him. Taking the weapon from her he spun it around his back and aimed it at the girl. Focusing on the thing he was holding, it was a plastic rod. Immediately he dropped it and prostrated himself, apologizing.
The girl, with sparkles in her eyes, “Wow! You brought a sparring partner?” Mashuu panicked at her words.
“No, no, dear. He will just be here to stay for the night, then he will return to the city,” Her mother cleared up the situation. “I apologize, Mr. Mashuu, Saya can get a bit rowdy sometimes.”
He spent the night at the client’s residence. It was minimalistic, all four of them could barely fit in the tiny shed. During the late night meal, Mashuu was surprised to see the girl eat like a pig, and was two years older than him. When the sun finally greeted the day, Mashuu set off to return, grabbing his walking stick and pouch. Wrapping a bandana around his neck, he left the Izdaha residence.
“Mashuu!” Izdaha Saya opened the door, as he was already outside. “Were you the one that made the clock?”
The boy ignored the question, walking off into the windy desert. If anyone found out about his secret, then they would ridicule him. No one liked him, a person who couldn’t use any sahar, a clockmaker’s apprentice. A boy with a lowly profession, unfinished education, and a major defect would always be hated by society. In this life, he had never encountered anyone like him. Sometimes he would ask himself, did it make him special?
To Al-Wa, perhaps it did.