Giacomo’s Journal (Part 1)

Day 1:

Hello, Brother. I know that you will never read these words. But I wish to record this journey, and when I thought of an audience, of a person I would wish to bear witness to it, yours was the first face I saw in my mind.

Day 1, you ask? Yes, Petruzzo. For if this is to be the beginning of my new life, let me then begin my observation of time anew with that simple marker. What other dates could I use that would have meaning? The third day of the third month of the Vinci year 987. What significance should this have, when I have no intention of living another day among my own people?

The eve of my sixteenth birthday. Again, equally meaningless. No one will know, or care, where I am going.

The eve of my conscription, perhaps I could say, my forced military service under the watchful eye of Father and his General Carlini, as well as your own expectations. But this is not true, for my actions make it untrue. If I had stayed in Miana, conscription is indeed what morning would bring—drilling with the Musketeers, learning the simple art of destruction. The first morning in four years of mornings, and afternoons, and nights, among men who care for nothing else than showing their strength, men with minds suited only to the brute tasks of marching in a straight line and the firing of rifles.

No offense, Brother, but I was not meant for such things. I suspect that you know this, and I had hoped that even Father would be able to see it, to see what an impossibly poor match of gears it would be. He has already groomed you for leadership, Petruzzo. And you seem to enjoy it enough. You were born a soldier. Like Father, I suppose.

I wish only to learn. My education at the Mianan academies has taught me everything it could.

Ha! Even as I write these words, I realize how preposterous they are. I have been years ahead of my own teachers since my first day of classes. The Young Inventor of Miana, they called me, as if there were anyone older with a better claim to the title. Certainly no one among them.

So, with my ‘education’ behind me, and nothing but mindless military service ahead, I choose to leave Miana. I am ready to discover what I cannot learn among my own people.

I was uncertain, at first, as to where I should go. Venucci seemed like a possibility. I feel that a trip to Venucci would only end in disappointment, however. Some of their technology is mildly interesting, but it lacks subtlety. The Venuccians would rather apply twenty tons of power to a problem that could be solved with an ounce of finesse. Though, even if I had little to learn there, I could likely teach them a thing or two. I could just as likely make a fortune for myself in the process.

But politics is not so arcane a subject to me that I do not grasp the ramifications of such a choice. Father would likely assume that Venucci had simply abducted me, and would use that as leverage for another border skirmish with their Doge, if not an all-out war. Perhaps, with Father getting on in years, he would even give the command of his armies to you. I would not put you in such danger, brother.

If not Venucci, then perhaps some other city? But compared to Miana and Venucci, every other city seems little more than a backwater. I have been to several, accompanying you and father on your diplomatic trips to Tarona and Vernazza. I would rather replace my arms with clockwork than to live in such places.

No, I wish to learn, and to learn something new. There is no place among the Vinci city-states where I might do such a thing. If there are new developments in clockwork technology, I cannot help but believe that they would be spun from my own mind. I will have a lifetime to invent. For now, I would very much like to explore.

The Alin Kingdom. That is a place I have never seen. They send trade caravans through the Silean Pass, goods and spices carried on the backs of impossible flying beasts. I have seen their Desert Walkers. More soldiers, perhaps, but they do not seem the simple grunts of our own battalions. The Alin, to a person, simply seem to emanate wisdom.

What could I learn of magic, you might ask? I have no idea. But I sit now in the dark of the Silean Pass, writing these words by lamplight, and I cannot help but believe that my entire future waits but a few miles away.

I would like to continue writing to you, Petruzzo, though I know these words are for me alone. I hope that you will understand why I am doing this, and that you share that understanding with Father. For what it is worth.

Your Brother, always.
– G

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