ã€ŠThe Masters of Sandã€‹ Chapter 1: Baharis When foreigners hear the name of the Riakesh region, they first think of a vast sea of ??sand where desolation dominates the entire area, with animal bones lying in dry water channels and stone hovels where poor and ignorant people spend a miserable existence. Nothing could be more wrong. Riakesh is the richest region on the continent of Iazaresh. The cities shine like the gold coins of the emirs who govern them, lush gardens embellish squares and palaces with their emerald leaves and the most learned sages of the civilized world frequent majestic libraries. The inhabited centers are surrounded by boundless plantations of oranges, peaches, and kiwis, which are often imported to foreign lands; the herds of cattle and goats are fat and healthy, and thanks to the two important rivers, the Shams and the Alqamar[1], there is certainly no shortage of water. Of the various common rumors about Riakesh, however, only one is true: the desert is there and as boundless as the legends say; and at its center is the terrible Desert of Silence. Called by locals as ¡°Sahra'' alsamt,¡± it is the most dangerous and arcane area of ??Riakesh. Few expeditions have been able to explore even partially the borders of the arid kingdom of which even bandits are afraid and of those who have tried to enter its interior, only a couple have managed to return safely. The nickname ¡°of Silence¡± is well deserved as making any noise within this area is nothing less than suicide. Even a whisper can be lethal. It is impossible to say how many people have disappeared in the dunes, who only from time to time decide to return something to those poor unfortunates. All this because of the Sand.

The sun had just risen when the great gates of Baharmis slowly opened. The caravans of merchants rushed in, eager to find a place in the market to begin their business. Large herds of honey-colored camels and long-horned oxen crossed the gates like a raging river, blocking any other traffic with their cumbersome passage, while the tired travelers waited their turn, sheltering themselves as best they could from the dust raised by the animals. Since the period of commercial exchanges had just begun, in the next two months there would have been a continuous coming and going of caravans that would have traveled from city to city, the lifeblood of the nation''s economy, and together with the money and goods, ideas, news, legends and gossip. The city of Baharmis, the capital of the region, was one of the obligatory stops of these exchanges, by its privileged position in the center of the ¡°Green Passagge¡±, a long green straight line close to the Shams River which connected the coasts of the Hekha Sea to those of the Narrow Sea. Since the areas near the riverbank were suitable for agriculture and the climate was not as hot as in the rest of the territory, over time the natives had settled in various points of the pass, building many small important centers. The increase in flora was also because many farmers had dug canals to bring the river water even over long distances, thus imbuing the land with the right nutrients. Traveling along the ¡°Green Passage¡± is certainly the fastest method, but this does not make it easier or safer. Baharmis is located 294 kilometers from the sea, starting from the coast of Hekha. It stands out for its fan shape framed by high cobalt blue walls, with three entrances, two of which are to the west and the last to the east, as well as the busiest being the main passage. The entrance to the east is distinguished by the eight basins of water which have a stupendous crystalline blue in which perch and soft-shell turtles swim, dividing access to all the neighborhoods of the city into nine streets. The roofs of most of the buildings are glazed in green and blue, while on others small hanging gardens stand out, some of them in bloom, which gave the impression of oases floating in the sky whose leaves or flowering petals fell gracefully down the streets like a gentle rain. A tributary of the river branches out within the city, dividing into many canals that cross it in a sort of damp spider''s web, mostly used to navigate tourists who want to visit the city without the inconvenience of walking. Two of these canals meet, forming a perfect circle in an area used both as a meeting place for citizens and as one of the points where the big market of the season gathers. The square does not have a name, but it is called by everyone "of the shell" because of the mosaic floor which makes up the image of a particular shell with a curved shape like a spiral. From the first light of dawn, the vendors had already prepared themselves by displaying their wares with an attitude that was more like wanting to boast about their products than having to sell them. At first with a calm and slow exchange of polite murmurs, as the sun completed its journey across the sky screams and shouts arose with increasing frequency until they became a deafening chorus of different voices each following their rhythm, transmitting a sort of uncontrolled vigor to the people. Everything was sold: from the finest silks to the most sought-after spices, from the most delicious fruit to the most refined jewels¡ everything that satisfied everyone''s desires, from the humblest customer to the most pretentious. Irfan family''s vase shop was one of those places that was gaining quite a bit of success in the last couple of years. It was one of the oldest shops in the city. The bowls and containers were highly appreciated, above all for the refinement of their appearance and the imagination with which they were modeled. Some were made of clay, some were made of glass, some were created to simply hold liquids, and others to just be luxurious. As with many businesses, this had been passed from father to son for generations: inheriting a profitable and already well-established job represented a great fortune for the heirs who could thus count on secure support without having to learn other trades, but above all, as it happened in just as many cases; to honor the family name. This was the situation of Basim, the current new owner. Basim was a tall and robust boy, with skin as dark as almonds and with very rare sky-blue eyes, uncommon among the people of Iazaresh. He had very voluminous black hair due to soft, slightly curled waves of each strand, tied with a loose ponytail that many had the habit of stroking without permission out of curiosity. Basim was only 17 years old, but it happened that people mistook him for an adult, a mistake they were also led to make due to his mature attitude, which was uncommon among his peers. It was no secret that the family prided itself on it, having a son who was already so responsible and respectful made all its members proud, who used it as an excuse to show off in front of rival traders, whose offspring still behaved like naughty children. << Wonderful! Stupendous! Beautiful! >> exclaimed a caliph, while he admired the cobalt blue ceramic vase decorated with an allegory of gold flowers that he had commissioned. << Too kind sir. >> the boy replied humbly. << Outstanding work, Basim. My wife can''t help but gasp at the sight of this masterpiece. As always, you are the best master potter in town. >> << My lord, your compliments embarrass me and make me proud. As always. >> <> The gold coins landed in Basim''s palms like drops of sweet honey. That caliph was a regular customer, as well as someone who found enjoyment in buying anything he found to his taste or for his lady whom he made no secret of loving madly. Normally, individuals of his rank tried to negotiate the price so as not to have to part with too many of their precious yellow rods, but that man liked to spend and waste without hesitation, defining his purchases as "profitable deals". If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Basim had taken over the shop a year ago and had already established a good reputation among customers. Since he began working, he often received a lot of compliments for his works, especially from wealthy caliphs who commissioned projects of a certain refinement. Normally their family tradition was that members who entered adulthood had to spend a few years of apprenticeship there to learn the art of pottery before they could be considered up to the task and start working with the others. Basim''s case was different: he was a born talent. From an early age, he had shown himself to be surprisingly good as if his hands had acquired from birth the skill that normally came with years of practice. The family could not have asked for a better heir, especially the patriarch, who saw his dowry as a growing success for the business. The caliph left the shop and continued to praise the owner until he was no longer visible or audible. Only then did Basim''s smile, which he had been wearing the whole time, melt and he let out a long, tired moan. << Oooh¡ my poor cheeks¡ >> he said, rubbing his face. He had been forced to smile all day to make a good impression. In addition to that, his back also suffered intense soreness as a desperate cry to beg him not to sit at the press anymore. Basim had a completely different intention of going back to work, if it had been up to him, he would have closed the shop and would have spent the beautiful day wandering around the city, joining his friends in some quiet pastime. Instead, he was forced to stay there, in that room full of vases, jars and bowls. Despite the shop''s excellent reputation, good business and publicity, he was not at all happy about being a potter. Unlike his relatives, who were so proud of their heritage, he, on the contrary, hated it. That life was not what he had wanted for himself. Sure, he had a talent... but only because his grandfather had taught it to him by force so that he could follow the tradition. He still could not forget when the patriarch had announced on his initiative (without consulting with others, as usual) that he would leave the shop to him immediately, without needing to waste time after the usual years of training. He didn''t even care whether his father or his uncle¡¯s came first in the line of succession, he deserved it more than anyone... that''s what he said. << ¡°You''re so good, the shop will be successful, let''s do ourselves credit¡± ¡ and in the meantime, I''m the only one here toiling away. I don''t have a hundred hands to do everything! At least there was someone to give me a hand! >> he grumbled out loud, as he used to do to vent. << I clean, I sell, I model... how does grandfather think i can run this place alone? Could I have been born as the third or fourth child? Or better yet, be drafted early for the military draft? Maybe by being a soldier, I would have worked less. >> Basim snorted repeatedly, but that didn''t change his situation. As the first-born son (and the only one, by the way, on his side of the family) he had to carry on the tradition. For as long as he could remember, they had always given him toys that had to do with modeling. In the beginning, he appreciated those toys that made him look like his father or grandfather and also loved the constant compliments on his first works. As he grew up, however, he began to get bored of those monothematic gifts and the constant talk about learning the family art. Although he hated that imposition, with his docile nature he had never been able to say out loud that it was not the potter''s path that he would have wanted to follow. If he could, he would have confessed to his family that music was what he had always wanted. Everything that had to do with this art enchanted him, from the composition of the melodies to the different sounds emitted by instruments such as the oud, the nay, the qanun or the riqq[1]. He had always attended the local concerts and had occasionally snuck off to the music craftsman to learn how to make the instruments himself and, of course, play them. Only his closest friends knew about this passion of his and out of respect for him they had never confided it to anyone, even if on more than one occasion they had encouraged him to confess his interest to his relatives, especially now that he was officially an adult. But how could he tell them, now that his grandfather had placed all his expectations on him to carry on the business? He didn''t want to disappoint him or make him unhappy, much less ruin the family''s honor. These were prospects that terrified him. Therefore, he chose silence and that way, everyone was happy. Apart from him, of course. Speaking of music, he allowed himself to play a little for his enjoyment, now that he was alone. Far from ears that could not hear him, he hid in the back room and, sitting among the piles of vases, began to pluck the strings of his Oud, a short-necked lute, with a pear-shaped body, eleven strings and three holes. He had learned some melodies in his free time, the ones you would mistake for lullabies when you heard them. They were simple songs, but he liked them and helped him relax in the darkest moments. Music was a sort of special friend for him that helped him when he needed to chase away sadness and negative thoughts thanks to its reassuring voice - or melody, in that case. He wondered if he would ever play for someone one day. << Basim! Basim! Where are you? >> someone shouted. Basim jumped in fear and almost caused a disastrous avalanche of vases. He quickly hid his little treasure and ran into the shop where some of his relatives entered like a tornado, led by his patriarch grandfather. Ghaaib Al Irfan tottered briskly left and right despite being 87 years old and moving with the use of two gnarled sticks. He was short and thin as a blade of grass, bald since time immemorial, his voice very hoarse due to years spent smoking and which he often, between one speech and another, emphasized with loud coughs that still seemed to emit a smell of tobacco. Nonetheless, he didn''t lack the gab. He could be defined as a talkative type. << Grandpa? What a surprise. Why are you here in the shop today? >> << Great news nephew! Really big! You won''t believe your ears! >> << What is? >> << Finally, you will have the opportunity to demonstrate your true talent! >> Basim held his breath, feeling a shiver run down his spine. When his grandfather spoke like that, it meant that he had planned something so exaggerated that he certainly wouldn''t have liked it, as usual. Normally the other relatives were also worried about this "good news", but at that moment they were all almost as excited as he was. Between gasps, he managed to tell him that he had managed to arrange a meeting at the royal palace, together with all the best merchants in the city. In these rare meetings in front of the sultan and the royal family, one could have the opportunity to show off one''s wares and hope, if luck was willing, that they would buy them... or even better, that they appointed them as their official suppliers. << But grandfather, I''m not ready for something like that! >> Basim said shocked. << Nonsense! You are the heir of master potters, you will surely succeed. >> said the relative, very confident. << But you didn''t even ask my opinion. An audience with the royal family for our products¡ what if it doesn''t go well? >> << Don''t be pessimistic as usual. You''ll just have to give your best and in two weeks we''ll make a good impression, in spite of our colleagues. >> << Two weeks? But¡ it''s a short time! And then, I would commit for that period... >> << You can postpone whatever it is. Work comes first. You will see how happy the ancestors will be with what you do. >> The ancestors? Perhaps. He certainly doesn''t.

Along the ¡°Green Passage¡± the caravans continued to move slowly. Some had stopped to seek refreshment under the fronds of the large palm trees or to feed the animals. However, not everyone moved on the back of an animal or aboard a wagon: many travelers were moving on foot either as a matter of choice of person or because they could not afford a ride. If they were lucky, good samaritans would allow them to board their vehicles without asking for anything in return. << Hey sir, do you need a ride? My father and I have a free spot in our wagon. >> The shrill voice of a young boy peeped out among the chatter and traffic noises. His kind invitation was addressed to an elderly man who had attracted his attention by his slow and limping walk. He was wearing a purple thawb[1] and a white keffiyeh[2] rope held in place by a black rope. With a stick he helped himself walk on the ground and on his back he held a voluminous worn sack that wrapped something long and heavy. << Thank you for the invitation, young man, but I don''t need it. >> he replied this with a smile that have the tenderness of a grandfather. << Don''t worry, you don''t have to pay us anything if that''s what worries you. >> << Oh, I believe so. But as I just said, I don''t need it. I''m almost at my destination. And then, the fastest traveler is the one who goes on foot. >> <> << To Baharmis >> The boy''s eyes and mouth widened, and the curls of his messy hair seemed to curl even more. <> << Really? Oh boy, I better hurry then! I have an appointment and I would look rude if I was late! >> said the man, proceeding at a much faster pace. << But¡! But do you really not want me to accompany you? >> insisted the boy << Really, it doesn''t matter to us! >> << Again, thank you for your kindness. But for me, walking is the most pleasant pastime in this world. Good luck with your trip. >> The boy watched the man slowly walk away, amazed that such an old individual preferred to move on his old legs rather than take advantage of a convenient passage. Before he was completely away, he realized that on the back of his suit was embroidered a very particular design that he was sure he had seen at least once when he was at home. The design consisted of four curved waves, two small and two large. Inside the larger ones, there was a symbol that in the child''s eyes looked like a small plant with twigs and three small dots for pebbles, at the top and bottom between the spaces formed by the almost joined points, however, there were two hooked commas. When he managed to decipher the peculiar shape, his eyes opened wide again and he ran straight to his father with an excitement he had never felt before in his young life. << Dad! Dad! I believe that gentleman was a Sand Master! >> Chapter 2: Precious Sand The Sand. The greatest discovery in the history of humanity, and Iazaresh''s most precious treasure. There''s more than one reason why even a handful of these grains are so important. It has nothing to do with the very common, banal sand that can be found in desert areas, as it has incredible properties: magical, to be specific. It can come to life and perform astonishing wonders, including solidifying to take on the appearance of humanoid objects and figures that seem alive, being exploited as a means of transport and even construction, managing to lift weights greater than human capabilities. For this reason, its value is of equal importance to that of diamonds and Damascus steel. But how is it possible that such a common material, often compared to dirt, can act as if it were alive? And why is this "Sand" so different from what can be found around the world, even on the banks of rivers and seas? These questions and many others are the basis of the studies of the Sand Masters, the luminaries who dedicate their lives to discovering the secrets that lie behind this element often considered more precious than gold. Everyone knows who they are and what they do. Everyone respects them and aspires to learn their abilities, as the only ones who are allowed to use that element. Becoming a Sand Master is a title coveted by many, but attainable by only a few. It is not a profession within everyone''s reach, nor should it be treated lightly: when one studies to become a master, one must do so with motivations dictated by seriousness and conscientiousness, above all because the Sand must not end up in the hands of foolish and reckless people. Fawzi al-Taleb was one of the most famous Masters of that era. In the opinion of many, perhaps even the best. Looking at him you wouldn''t have said he was an important person: he was old and had his back bent over, his beard was always unkempt, his clothes were in disarray and his eyes were a little vacant, giving the impression of a person who wasn''t very bright. Many people wanted to meet him just to have the pleasure of talking to him, hearing about his life experiences, and above all being told about his work. His treatises were famous throughout the territory and among students they were often used as a starting point for an easier understanding of studies; even his colleagues had to admit that his mind was very brilliant. Outside of his role, Fawzi was a gentle and friendly man who tried to share his time with everyone, he did not use his title for vanity like many other colleagues did and despite his age he was an athletic and capable individual in good health. He was no ordinary person, that was for sure. It could be said that he had many fans following him and one of them was Prince Hamza, son of the Sultan of Baharmis. << Master Fawzi! Welcome! I couldn''t wait for it to arrive. >> << My prince, I am honored to be in your presence again. >> << What do you say? I''m the one who should feel honored to be in front of you. My title is nothing compared to yours, Master. >> << Then let''s address each other formally, as we always have. >> Fawzi had been, for some years, guardian of Crown Prince Hazma at the request of his father himself. A good relationship had been established between the teacher and the student which over time had transformed first into friendship and then affection. The prince considered the man a relative of his now, even if they were not linked by blood they behaved as if they were grandfather and grandson. It was normal to see Master at the palace. His visits were frequent and always well received, even if this time he risked being chased away as the newly hired guards at the entrance mistook him for a beggar. Only thanks to the intervention of one of the courtiers did save them from the mistake and the prince''s punishment if he had discovered it. Hazma was nearly thirty-five years old and next in line for the throne. He wasn''t a good-looking guy, he had a hooked nose and skin of a beautiful amber shade but with too many moles above, from his father he inherited the frizzy black hair and even the same thick mustache while from his mother small and intelligent brown eyes wood color. Compared to many of his relatives he was very thin, it had been thought for a long time that he was ill with something before accepting that it was simply his constitution, furthermore, he was distinguished by a large birthmark on his chin which was much redder than the rest of his skin, such as to the one his grandfather had and which was considered by some to be a sign of his royalty. << How is the Sultan? Is he still traveling? >> << Yes, relations with the populations of the south are still very immature and I don''t think he will return anytime soon. >> << From your voice I don''t understand if you are worried or annoyed. >> << It''s both things, master. >> said the prince with a resigned expression. << I''m worried about how my father is treating the situation with arrogance and annoyed that he didn''t allow me to come with him to help him. As always, he still doesn''t consider me worthy. >> When the two met - and the prince needed to speak in private - they used to settle in a private room set up in a tower of the palace, where fresh air easily came through the arched windows and the view was breathtaking. In there, surrounded by Areca plants, they could enjoy a chat with a good latay^[1]and with the comforts of large, embroidered cushions. << Hazma, you know that your father just wants to protect you. >> << It''s not his wanting to "protect" me that annoys me, but the fact that he persists in wanting to continue running the kingdom without listening to my suggestions for improving it. >> << Well, it''s the Sultan. He probably knows what he does. >> << Sure... but enough to ignore even those of his advisors, who are honestly thinking of leaving? I don''t blame them, considering how he treats them. >> << Oh. I wasn''t aware of this aspect. >> << It''s the talk of the moment, here at court. >> It was no secret that Sultan Husam was very stubborn. In his years of ruling the kingdom, he had reluctantly accepted the advice of the men who stood at his side, but when he did so he had always thanked them for their wise advice. However, things had gotten worse as he got older, so much so that now many found this behavior irritating, especially his son. Hazma had plans and prospects for the kingdom, ideas that Fawzi knew and found excellent. However, Husam had never paid the right seriousness and attention to those ideas. He followed the principles of the past, just as his father and his father''s father had done... but those principles of his had begun to be obsolete since the time of his coronation, but he persisted in not wanting to give in to possible innovations. << Do you want me to talk to your father? >> <> << So be it, my young friend. And since it''s happiness you want, then I have here with me one more reason to make you smile: I brought a gift with me. >> << Like when I was a little kid? >> << Oh yes. But this is much better than a toy. >> The old man placed the heavy bundle he had brought with him between himself and the prince. <> he said with a triumphant smile. The prince understood immediately and his impression was pure surprise. << Show me! >> he said impatiently. The Master untied the rags that wrapped it, sliding them onto the marble floor. Beneath the rough, gray fabric was a long, thick sort of guitar, very different from those of their culture. The instrument had two bridges: a large one and a small one, the large one was wide and rounded. It was minute with seven upper strings running over curved and raised frets; eleven were lower and ran under other keys and had different lengths, just to pass through small holes in the fingerboard to engage with smaller pegs that ran down the neck of the instrument. Materials used in construction included mahogany wood for the neck and faceplate and half of a wood-covered gourd for the sound chambers to serve as lids; the bridges of the instrument were instead made of ebony. <> the prince murmured in disbelief. << But is it an instrument? >> << Yes. I took inspiration from an object called ¡°Sitar¡±; an instrument used in a distant land that I visited on my last trip. As soon as I heard its sound, I knew it was just what I needed for my project. No doubt. >> <> A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. <> he replied, winking at him. << Fantastic! Try it here in front of me! I want to listen to it! >> Fawzi smiled, happy to please his adopted nephew. He picked up the instrument and placed it between his legs. The dimensions were truly remarkable, without a doubt, but still better than those "others" he was used to. As soon as he began to play, the Sitar immediately made it clear why the Master had considered it so special: its timbre was vibrant and very suggestive. The strings delicately plucked with a metal device placed on the finger, produced a harmonious sound. The prince remained still and enchanted as he heard the sound emitted by that bizarre instrument for the first time. Even from outside the room, someone stopped to listen curiously, wondering what such an unusual melody was. After all, it was just a stringed instrument, but nothing compared to what he was used to hearing in his realm. It was music from another world. At a certain point he began to hear noise, of something flowing or crawling... And there it was, the Sand. The magical powder crawled out of the master''s baggage and immediately performed in a harmonious dance, making every golden grain that formed its sway. Music and movement were in perfect synchrony during the performances of skilled dancers, absolutely important factors for those who manipulated the Sand. If performed by one of the greatest masters in history, the show was even more astonishing, not everyone could enjoy such a rare privilege. Even better, to witness firsthand the inauguration of a new command tool for the Sand. Fawzi al-Taleb was a celebrity in his field. In his eighty years of life, thirty-five of which were spent contributing to the investigation into the properties of the Sand, he had obtained the respect of his colleagues in particular regarding the possible improvement of the means of manipulating it. The Sand, in fact; activates its characteristics via a specific frequency of sounds. By reaching a certain sound wave it is possible to accomplish all the wonders for which it has become famous, but the work is much more complex than it seems. Every Master will agree that the first obstacle in their apprenticeship is learning both to command the Sand and to master the only instrument that can do the job: the Yasirpipe, a sort of xylophone with pipe organs. The Yasirpipe is an instrument made up of a complicated system of tubes that resonate and change pitch depending on how the keys are struck. However, unlike a normal xylophone, where the keys for the notes are struck with hammers, these are struck for short times and then made to vibrate intensely with a ball with which the intensity of vibration is managed. It is a difficult tool to learn, complicated to use and inconvenient to carry around, as it is large and cumbersome. Now, perhaps, these problems would all have been solved. << Well done, very good Master! >> The prince rejoiced at the end of the show, applauding. << There is no doubt, this tool will revolutionize the way we control Sand. >> << I''m happy to see that you like it, my prince. I hope that my colleagues will show the same enthusiasm when I present it at the next meeting. >> <> asked the perplexed prince. << It is far superior to the Yasirpipe. With all due respect to its inventor, obviously. >> << Just like your father, not all Masters are inclined to accept new things. >> << Even if it concerns the Sand? >> << Especially if it concerns the Sand and his way of controlling it. It took my predecessors centuries to create the tools with which we can control it today, not to mention the sound control techniques. They think that if we have always used that method, why change it? It''s not worth it. However, I have never agreed on this point. Change means improvement. >> << Right, that''s the reason why you started this project. >> << Not only that. There are very few individuals in the world who truly know how to maneuver the sand between Masters, Guardians and Architects. The Yasirpipe is not accessible to everyone, even I have always had problems managing it. My invention could, however, simplify the process and allow many future masters to show off techniques that are not currently practicable. >> << It would be wonderful. >> << But it is uncertain whether this will happen. >> Fawzi plucked the strings in a particular melody and the Sand hid back inside its bundle, after which he carefully wrapped the instrument back in its rough blanket. It seemed impossible to the prince to imagine that anyone could express doubts about the new instrument. It was comfortable, it sounded great¡ and it worked well! Speaking of sound, he finally noticed the music that was playing somewhere in his realm. He looked out of one of the windows trying to understand where it was coming from, to identify any movement beyond the wall of the building and the towers that corresponded to what he was hearing. << Some musicians were preparing for a show when I arrived. >> said the old man. << They will have started their show. >> << Yes, a lot of street artists arrived in this period. I increased the security on purpose. >> <> << Absolutely. Especially if they are the ones who, unlike you, Master, use the Sand for less than noble purposes. >> << Just as there are people who use it for good, others will exploit it for evil. But I wouldn''t consider Road Masters dangerous people. >> <> << Oh no, it would be too embarrassing. >>

In that period of commercial exchanges, many street artists also moved from city to city: they were musicians, dancers and jugglers who performed wearing colorful costumes, juggling animals such as monkeys and dogs, or operating wooden puppets on small curtains. People liked to have fun with certain shows, willingly spending a few contribution coins, especially on those who were good or who had an ace up their sleeve to show off at the right time to have complete success. Even among them, as among the traders, there was a lot of competition and a couple of them had no scruples about sabotaging the competition. Despite the fun they provided, in most cases, it was a distraction to rob spectators with the help of accomplices hidden in the crowd, better at taking away purses than throwing balls into the air. For this reason, the guards responsible for urban security were constantly patrolling the city to keep the most suspicious acrobats under control. It wasn''t unusual to see them running after someone, yelling at them to stop. << Basim, you can take that curtain off. Or do you want to be mistaken for a grandmother? >> << Ush. I just don''t want to be found by my relatives. >> << We are no longer near your house, relax. >> Basim had been invited by two of his friends, Anar the farmer and Lofti the fisherman, to spend the afternoon together, a call that sounded like a song of salvation to his ears. He had needed to escape from the shop and his family, the news given to him by his grandfather had shocked him. A palace audience to make a deal? It wasn''t good news at all, but rather the beginning of a nightmare: for him, it meant being locked up in the workshop for two weeks working non-stop to create perfect vases. If he had had more courage he would have started screaming in front of everyone, telling them that he had no intention of embarking on such torture. << ¡ And instead you preferred to run away, as usual. >> << Try to put yourself in my shoes, I certainly can''t disappoint them. They are all excited about this occasion and are counting on me to make it a success. >> << My friend, sooner or later you will have a nervous breakdown. You must decide to face your relatives. Do you want to spend your whole life doing what they tell you? >> << No... but I don''t know how to tell him... >> << There is no nice way. You have to be forthright in these situations. >> << Then he will never succeed. It''s a battle lost from the start. >> << Thank you so much for your trust Lofti¡ >> << Guys, let''s forget about family dramas for a moment and let''s go have fun. I hear some really good dancers have come to town. Let''s go see them before they go away. >> The trio set off through the streets of Baharmis in search of the group of wanderers. The street artists never stayed in the same place and in Baharmis, which was so big, it became even more difficult to find them. You had to rely on people''s directions - and sometimes reviews - to look for the right ones, carefully specifying who you wanted to find. A search made not easy by factors that slowed down the walk such as the intense traffic that day, which threatened to slow down the progress of the carts that moved through the streets, partly hindered by less than attentive caravanners or by the pedestrians themselves stopping to chat in the middle of the sidewalks. Finally finding the right people was a great satisfaction, especially because the reward was an unparalleled spectacle. The crowd had surrounded a large raised stage and every minute applause and shouts of enthusiasm erupted, especially among the children. The group of dancers on stage was making a splash at that moment¡. Both for their skill and because they used Sand, the very famous magical element. Civilians were rarely lucky enough to be able to see it up close and it was surprising to know that it could also be used for entertainment purposes. At that moment, those dancers were using it to act during their dance, more precisely in the most spectacular steps to give the illusion of triggering something of a magical reaction. The audience was enthusiastic about that never-before-seen idea, the applause poured down like rain and the same could be said for the money that filled the offering bowl. Only Basim, who was also present, wasn''t exactly enjoying the show. << You didn''t tell me they used Sand. >> he said a little worried. <> Anar replied to him. << It¡¯s not nice at all. >> Suddenly a jet of Sand rose into the sky, forming a column that crumbled over the dancers with a delicate silver hue. << Ok, we had enough fun, let''s go. >> << Stop it! They are great! And look how well they handle the Sand! They must have trained a lot to use it at the right times. >> << Yes, yes... maybe also to make the spectators anxious. Don''t you realize that they are not true Masters? They''re using the Sand for fun! The sand! >> << One day you have to explain to me why you are so afraid of it. >> << I''m not afraid. Mine is fearful respect. >> Basim jumped in fright as yet another column of colored Sand was thrown into the air, hiding behind his friends even though they were much shorter than him. He had told the truth, however: his wasn''t exactly fear. Indeed, he found the Sand to be the most useful thing in the world, especially for the aspects related to the construction which he had witnessed the works many times there in the city... but he didn''t feel safe when it was used for silly things like games or dramas, like in that case. Basim had always been interested in the Sand. What he knew on the subject was mostly common knowledge; therefore, he always got excited when he had the opportunity to find new information. If he found the right person to talk to, he would discuss it for hours and would willingly listen to any type of discussion. If he had a good excuse to do so, he wouldn''t mind studying it to get to know it better, but he was well aware that he didn''t have the qualities to even become a student at the Master''s school. Speaking of Sand, he knew that not all of it had the same value. It is divided into three types: pure, complementary and impure. The pure and the complementary ones are those used by the Masters and only by them for their high properties, while the impure one is seen and used precisely only for street shows. It is defined as "impure" because it has a limited power of action and reacts to any type of sound, therefore making it more difficult to control. Furthermore, over time its animating properties weaken until it becomes inanimate dust. To use this type of Sand you don''t even need to have been a Master or student and this detail does not make it appreciable in the eyes of the caste who see it as contempt towards them. The company of artists in question was using a large quantity of it to create special effects during their performance: mixed with colored powder, the dancers were covered in colors every time it was dispersed, transforming them into living works increasingly resembling magical creatures. Basim noticed that one of the dancers had started staring at him and was approaching him. She moved undulating like a snake, her penetrating gaze accentuated by a thick layer of black makeup while the rest of her face was hidden by a colorful veil, her clothing was eccentric made up of pieces of different colors. Suddenly she pointed a trumpet in his face and with the single note she blew into it she discharged a generous dose of blue and pink colored powder on him. Basim screamed and fell backward, terrified. Everyone present immediately started laughing at the joke while he, the poor guy, tried to clean himself up. He had had enough, no matter how good they were or whether it was just a game to them, he didn''t want to deal with people who handled the Sand so nonchalantly. Ignoring the calls of his friends and the invitations of those people to return, he set off towards the shop of his luthier friend. At least there, he would be sure of peace of mind. Chapter 3: Act of Misfortune The royal palace was located almost perfectly in the center of the city and near it was one of the most wonderful gardens of Baharmis. This wonder had been created thanks to the joint work of the best botanists of the kingdom on the orders of the sultan''s great-great-grandfather, as a wedding gift for the first wife as she was a nature lover. Instead, of setting it up inside the palace area it was decided to build it outside so that the people could also benefit from that corner of paradise. The garden occupies an area of ??500 acres, divided into many small gardens in the shape of circles or stars. Small streams of water carved into curlicues flow inside it and everywhere there are scented orange blossom trees that women in love often collect hoping for a marriage full of luck and love. During the day you find many people walking or sitting on the grass and chatting, on the contrary, at night only the cats go walking freely, playing and hunting in the bushes. In the early morning, however, when the sun has not yet risen but its faint glow begins to lighten the horizon, it is possible to find someone enjoying a solitary walk or doing gymnastic exercises. Fawzi, as usual, had woken up early to train. Even away from his home he couldn''t help but keep fit and since he had arrived in the city he had continued the routine, carrying it out, especially in those hours when there was no confusion. That morning, however, he had had to give up his usual ritual, forced to slow down due to an annoying pain in his back that had been tormenting him for a few years now. But a habitual individual like him finds it difficult to sit still, rather than resting as suggested to him, he still decided to go out and at least enjoy the silence of the garden with a simple walk. One slow step at a time he enjoyed the quiet of that green rectangle, listening to the growing chirping of the cicadas that were slowly waking up and the delicate gurgling of the ornamental rivers; the scent of fresh grass pleasantly stung his nose and he observed the birds going back and forth between the branches of the trees and the earth to catch the fat worms they were greedy for. In his head, meanwhile; he worked out the future of the Sand Masters. At the beginning, he had rejoiced like a child at the thought of the improvement it would bring to his category, but now that the official presentation was approaching, he felt agitated. He thought about how to present his invention, the speeches he would make and the careful answers he would have to give to his colleagues who, surely; would have asked questions of skepticism towards the instrument. What worried him, however, was not how his Yasirpipe prototype would be received, but how their world would change if, at best, it were accepted with support. What kind of consequences would the replacement of the instrument have brought? What would have been the positive and negative implications? He had asked himself those questions from the beginning of the project and rather than dwelling on the most certain answers - both positive and negative - he had continued to give himself hypotheses that did nothing but cause him a thousand worries. There were many things to do, it comforted him to know that he wouldn''t be alone in managing them. He knew he could count on the support of many friends and having the prince also on his side was an extra reassurance. Suddenly he realized that the cicadas had stopped singing. You didn''t have to be a master to know something was wrong. Despite everything, he continued walking, keeping pace with the same pace. They were following him, his well-trained ear had detected the silent footsteps of one or perhaps two people. He tried not to show any reaction to his noticing them. He tried to understand if they were thieves who wanted to rob him or thugs who just wanted to attack him for fun... he answered no: if that were the case, they wouldn''t have wasted ten minutes of rare opportunities to jump on him. Fawzi thought the worst. Maybe they were murderers. He stopped at a fountain pretending to have to drink: out of the corner of his eye, meanwhile, he spotted them and thought of a plan on how to save himself. He had made himself an easy target at the time, but they did not attempt to; this meant that they intended to act in a different area. So, they were waiting for it to arrive somewhere where they wouldn''t have the risk of encountering possible witnesses. Fawzi was a creature of habit, he had always followed a specific path since he began to frequent the garden: what could it be, then; the best point for them to implement their plan? As far as he knew, there was more than one area on his route suited to the horrible purpose. He reflected: if they had studied his movements, changing direction was out of the question because they would have understood that he had noticed them, thus forcing them to anticipate their moves... He couldn''t even run due to his back problem, but even if he could it would still have resulted slower than them. He had to act with cunning and luck if he wanted to save himself. Too bad he didn''t bring his new instrument, he thought regretfully. Defending himself would probably have been easier. He started walking again, forcing a calm pace. At every step, he wondered what would be the last and what would become of him. While he thought about a solution, all those natural sounds that he had appreciated before now irritated him, even the calm sound of water. The water. Of course! The water! Here''s the solution! Fawzi''s route included a stretch where all the various rivers dotted around the garden met and joined together to form a large circular lake. On the banks and all around there were floating blue tropical water lilies and marsh plants whose roots twisted under the water with elegant braids, while small frogs rested on the large floating leaves and the fish were on the alert to catch the insects that buzzed on the surface of the water. The lake could be crossed via a covered white wooden bridge, accessible from four entrances arranged in a cross. Inside the gurgling of the water could be heard very loudly, part of the structure alternated with closed and open sections while in the center of the cross, a small gazebo had been built which joined the paths. Fawzi stepped onto the bridge, his silhouette appearing and disappearing between the openings. The assassins decided that this was the time to intervene, it would have been impossible for the man to escape from there and no one up there would have noticed anything. They entered running, the thuds caused by their steps made the structure creak and tremble. They ended up reaching the center of the lake¡ realizing that their target had suddenly disappeared. They looked around in disbelief. Only a few minutes had passed since he had climbed onto the bridge and there was no way he could have reached the other banks so quickly as to disappear, even on the bridge itself it was impossible to hide as it was too narrow and if he had thrown himself into the water they would have heard for sure. They discussed it for a long time wondering if it was the work of witchcraft or a well-worked trick, before deciding to split up to look for it. Their assumptions about Fawzi''s sudden disappearance were all correct, except for one. He had jumped into the water... but not diving to make a noise, he had entered it slowly passing through an opening in one of the closed sections of the bridge. The day before he had noticed that a part was broken and had not yet been repaired. A big stroke of luck for him. Hidden under the bridge, camouflaged among the water lilies; he had listened to the conversation of the strangers and waited for them to leave. Staying afloat without making a sound hadn''t been easy, especially with the frogs curious about his presence walking all over him. He emerged from the damp hiding place only when he was truly certain that they would not come back, dragging himself towards the exit with his clothes heavy with water. He was only able to run thanks to the adrenaline, his back protested in pain but he ignored it, focused on escaping the danger without a name or a reason. The sky was much clearer, people had certainly begun to wake up and merchants to opened their shops, finding someone to help them would have been simple, once out of that innocent plant trap. When the exit appeared before him he thanked all the Gods. He never thought he would be moved by something like this. Between him and salvation, there was only a distance of 20 meters to divide them, very few steps that would have made him a safe man, but death that day had chosen not to be merciful with him and lowered his scythe without any mercy. Fawzi hadn''t thought that there might be a third assassin waiting for him right there, hidden among the plants like a lion ambushing a gazelle. It revealed itself only when he overcame his hiding place and taking him from behind, was able to carry out the task for which he had been paid. The dagger''s blade flashed briefly as he slashed the Master''s throat without a hint of uncertainty or hesitation, tearing it with such ease as if skin and tendons were made of paper. Fawzi barely had time to flinch for a second, then only a strangled gasp came out of his throat that suffocated him as much as the blood that was leaking from both the wound and his mouth. The killer could have stopped there too if he wanted, in a few minutes the man would have bled to death. But he wanted to make sure he had no chance of survival; therefore, he stabbed him in the back and stomach seven times in total to eliminate all odds. Only a being without mercy in his heart could succeed in such an evil undertaking.

<< Oh, good morning Basim, we haven''t seen each other for a while. >> << Good morning to you Master Emir, can I disturb you? >> << Of course. Seeing a friendly face is always a pleasure, especially these days. To what do I owe this visit of yours? >> <> <> Basim, with his passion for music, had become a great friend of the luthier Emir, a man defined by some as a bit eccentric only because he did not dress traditionally and wore many colored bead bracelets, he had a beard and long dark gray hair with thin shades of white so thick and messy it made him look a bit like a dog and his teeth were large and sparkling. His shop was located north of the city, in the old quarter. Since the area is very far from the lively hub of the city and the crowded entrances, the surrounding structures were not as fascinating as in other parts and the modest dimensions of the houses resembled large earthen bricks, for the most part. Middle-class people lived there and those who could afford small-time activities, it was a quiet neighborhood where the inhabitants all knew each other and the doors could be left open to allow the children to play in the street, occasionally sparking an argument between neighbors. Then, there was the assassination. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! News of the brutal murder of the Sandmaster Fawzi had spread throughout the kingdom. There was no recent news that could compare with it and it was unlikely to be forgotten anytime soon. In the days following the discovery of his poor tortured corpse, hundreds of people including ordinary citizens and prominent figures of society had reached the capital to pay condolences and tributes to the family understandably destroyed by grief, even the Sultan himself had abandoned royal obligations to participate at the funeral ceremony. Needless to say, he was also furious that such a deplorable act had taken place in his kingdom while he was away. The Sultan''s orders had been clear: that the investigation into the murder should not stop until it was resolved. Whoever did this was to be arrested and executed. Meanwhile, the fear of being the next victim hovered among the people. Baharmis, although declared as a perfect place, was not free from crimes: thefts, assaults, scams... Baharmasians were used to this, not blood crimes. << That poor man¡ how could someone commit such an atrocity? >> said Basim, finding himself talking about the subject with the man. <> commented the luthier. << Revenge? In what sense? >> << That they killed him out of spite. >> he replied, lowering her voice further. << Maybe he had wronged someone and they wanted to make him pay. >> << No, it''s not possible. Everyone knows that Master Fawzi was the kindest and most honest person in the world. >> << True, but he was also a Sand Master. Heavy rivalry reigns among those people and they do everything to assert their prestige. I have heard many times of arguments that broke out between these people for the most absurd reasons. >> Basim knew that Emir''s observation was motivated by his low opinion of the subjects in question. As important as they were, not everyone admired the Masters. Whether it was out of envy of their fame or fear of their abilities to command the Sand, many people frowned upon them and even considered their abilities a gift from the devil. Talking badly behind their backs was easy and denigrating them was almost a pastime, but doing it in person was a completely different thing when you considered the possible repercussions. Basim, for his part, had no negative opinion about it and did not believe that another Master could commit such a vulgar act. << Did you know that that guy lived next to me? >> Emir suddenly said. Basim looked at him without understanding who he was referring to. << The Master. He had rented the room above my shop. >> << Seriously? >> The man looked up at the ceiling: the room was right above them. Even his cripple dog seemed to have a worried expression. It was clear that he was feeling regret for having hosted on his property an individual of whom he did not think highly. Now that he was also dead, he feared that he might also bring bad luck to him. If he hadn''t had too many chores to do, he would have taken that time to burn some incense and sprinkle some salt. << Oh yes. I had no idea who he was until they displayed the poster with his face in the square. >> << By the Gods! And have you ever seen him do anything¡? I mean, did he have the Sand with him? >> << No, no. He never did anything like that while he was at home. Indeed, in the short time he lived here, he was a good neighbor. And now that I think about it¡ >> << What? >> << He was very interested in my work. He asked me a lot of questions about how instruments are built and tuned. >> << Oh, then he was a music lover. >> << Yes. Maybe... Listen Basim, could you help me do something? >> Above the shop, there was an additional floor which the luthier used mainly as a warehouse, storing work materials, instruments to be repaired and many other odds. Emir rented it as accommodation very rarely, especially when he needed to supplement with money. To access it you had to exit the shop and enter an alley on the left, where a stair allowed you to go up to the upper floor. The two men hesitated for a long time before deciding to open the wooden door, wasting time between various prayers. As expected, inside there was a great confusion of tools and musical instruments, in the only tidy corner there was a small bed and a desk. Everything else was a combination of chaos, dust, and darkness, as the four small windows that allowed light and air to enter were partially blocked by wooden beams. Emir wanted to take Fawzi''s personal belongings and bring them to his relatives while they were in the city, not so much out of kindness but rather to get rid of something "inconvenient". He immediately pointed to his bag and threw in the few rags that he found neatly folded on the bed, Basim instead paid more attention to the corner with the desk, noticing the presence of numerous notes on subjects that he couldn''t understand no matter how many times he tried to read them, except for sketches of how musical instruments were made and even papers with pentagrams scribbled on them. Emir had told the truth; the Master had been interested in the world of music. From the looks of it, however, his work resembled a real study on the subject, rather than a pastime. He tried to point this out to the luthier, but he didn''t want to hear anything about it. Basim, out of respect, didn''t touch anything, but he was very intrigued by that collection. << Basim, give me a hand. There''s some heavy stuff I can''t bring up. >> From under the bed, the man dragged out a large, heavy, rag-wrapped object, almost as tall as they were. Another thing to get rid of, Emir said annoyed. Basim, on the other hand, thought it was peculiar. They lifted it without realizing that the ties had not been tied properly and the contents slipped out, landing on the dusty floor with a thud that frightened them. << Good heavens, what is this thing? >> The sight of Fawzi''s Sitar hypnotized the duo who remained with their heads down for a long ten minutes, trying to understand what that peculiar guitar was, why it was so big and why it had been built with so many strings... and above all why it had a shape so bizarre. << Did he build it? >> << No way, how could he? He was an expert in the sand. >> << But you said that he asked you a lot of questions about how to build an instrument. >> << If this is his result, then he did a terrible job. Look! Who would ever use such a bulky contraption? I bet it doesn''t even play. >> << Let''s try. >> << No! no! It belongs to a dead man! Do not touch it! >> Basim picked up the instrument and tried to hold it up like when he played the oud, only managing to tire his arms. Then he sat up and held the instrument close to him, holding it like a broomstick. The number of strings made him uncomfortable, which ones should he pluck first? Was it already tuned, or did he have to think about it? He took courage and made the first two strings vibrate; the sound didn''t particularly impress him. He then dared the beginning of a melody he knew, quickly plucking the strings as he knew how. The brief particular harmony that came out made him let out a small ¡°wow¡± of surprise. Then he could play it, he thought. Inspired, he continued the tune this time much more slowly and without hesitation, appreciating with growing pleasure the unusual way in which the sound was reproduced by that very alien object. He made a few discordant sounds and several bars were difficult to reproduce compared to the traditional method used with the oud, but as a music lover, he was happy to approve. << Basim! Basim! There is the devil! >> Emir suddenly shouted. Basim jumped up in fear, dropping the instrument to the ground again. He followed Emir''s trembling finger pointing at the bag, which until a moment before had been in his hands, writhing on the ground like a snake whose head had just been cut off. Basim was petrified, his mind had already escaped from that room but his body had remained stuck there, without will... quite the opposite of the other man who had instead fled like a camel frightened by a scorpion. Basim remained alone in the room for half an hour, staring motionlessly at the bag that now lay still a few centimeters from his feet. It didn''t cross his mind to check what had moved it, much less to think about pushing it away. At a certain point, he heard someone climbing the stairs and Emir reappeared, this time vibrant with anger and brandishing a broom with a very thick handle. << Die cursed Ghul[1]! Die! >> he screamed at the top of his lungs as he hit it. He stopped only when he ran out of breath. The bag remained motionless, swollen in a deformed manner and even a little frayed, but the man was still satisfied, if there was a demon inside, it was unlikely that he was still alive. << Ah! No demons haunt my property! >> he said full of pride. Now that he felt safe, he picked up the bag and emptied it onto the bed, always keeping the broom at hand: the contents consisted mainly of clothes, a book, medicines and a purple cloth bag. Nothing else. None of those objects could have the autonomous ability to move. Emir, however, didn''t trust it (who assured him that there wasn''t a shape-shifting demon in the middle there?) And there he hit everything with the expectation that at least one would react. It was the purple bag that attracted his suspicions, due to the particular noise it made when it was shaken. It was a familiar noise¡ recognizable enough to give him goosebumps again. << Basim¡ l-look what''s inside¡ >> he asked stammering. Basim complied with the request with trembling hands, removed the string that sealed the fabric and immediately sand slipped out of the opening which fell onto his hand with an almost crystalline hiss. It was smooth and warm to the touch, a bright mustard color that shone in the sun like the gold of coins or jewels. Basim didn''t know what to think, it looked like very common desert sand but the color and consistency were decidedly different from it. << But it''s sand. >> << No! Not sand! The Sand! >> << Yes, exactly what I said. >> <> << Oh?... Oh! >> Basim''s eyes sparkled like the Sand in his hand. It was it, the authentic one! Not a copy or one of the poorest quality... but the one capable of composing very tall towers or creating armies of tireless warriors. It was the first time he had seen the Sand in its almost perfect state, being able to hold something so precious made him feel a bit like a chosen one and it was instinctive for him to move carefully as if he were holding delicate glass. Now he understood what had moved the bag: it was that; which meant that that bizarre "guitar" was a kind of Yasirpipe. That''s why the Master had asked all those questions to the luthier: he had invented a new instrument to animate the Sand... starting from a musical instrument. Basim was incredibly excited; he couldn''t even help but giggle. Emir, for his part, had a completely different opinion, the Sand scared him. Probably, if he had decided of his own free will to open that bag and touch its contents, he would instinctively have thrown it away, scattering it all around, and then cleaned himself as if he had touched the most disgusting thing in the world. According to him, it was unnatural for it to be able to move and it didn''t matter to him if it was useful for some work, it was still an enchanted object that could also cause damage. He could bear to enter a dead man''s room or touch his belongings¡ everything, but not that. He begged Basim to take everything and take it out of his house. To give it to the relatives of the deceased or anyone interested in it. << No, we can''t. It does not work like that. >> <> << The families of the Masters cannot inherit the properties that have had to do with their profession. Both the Sand and the Command Tool must be returned to where they were first delivered. >> << Back where? >> << To Al Haimat. >> Even a wimp like Emir knew what Al Haimat was, but he didn''t understand what it had to do with it. Basim explained that there was this rule that if a Master was overtaken by death, any possessions related to their title would have to be sent back to the school of the Sand Masters. This also included documents, projects, and work notes, if applicable. This rule existed because the great scholars of the school, according to them; did not want to run the risk of these precious assets falling into the wrong hands or being lost, given their importance. << But how do you know all these things? I thought you were afraid of the Sand, almost more than I was. >> << I''m not afraid of it, but I fearfully respect it. >> Basim said annoyed. << In any case... We have to follow the rules: these things belong to the school and we will bring them back to them. >> << ¡°Us?¡± Oh no! I don''t go to that place of sorcerers! >> <> Emir let out a shocked gasp ¨C it was the most unreasonable thing he had ever heard Basim say. << Don''t talk nonsense! Al Haimat is very far away, hidden in the mountains, and you have a business to run! >> <> <> << Oh, they... there''s no need to worry them. I will say that I am absent for work reasons. Yes, that way they will be calmer. >> <> <> Emir couldn''t stand Basim''s interest in the Sand Masters, he treated that matter too lightly when instead; he would have done better to let it be handled by more expert hands and heads. Even though he knew he was making a mistake, he couldn''t find the right words to reply, silenced by his enthusiasm for being able to leave the city walls and see for himself a place considered by many to be almost legendary. Of all people, why should he have been interested in the Sand? << If that''s what you want... then I hope your journey is blessed with safety and luck, my friend. I don''t understand why you would go to this length for something so unnatural, but it reassures me that your intentions are honest. I''ll get you everything you need, no expense spared. >> <> <> Chapter 4: Wind of Change Outside the walls of Baharmis there were farms and crops arranged in tidy rectangles, throughout the day the shepherds brought flocks and herds to graze outside the fences to allow them to enjoy the grass of the meadows. Some families had chosen to live there outside the walls to be more in contact with nature. Fewer problems happened, according to some. After leaving the walls of Baharmis, Basim immediately perceived the different atmosphere, much quieter than in the city. In addition to the bleating of hungry sheep, he could hear the intense smell of the earth being hoed by the hard-working farmers and the faint rustling of the cereal stalks as the wind rubbed together. From the surrounding houses spread the fragrance of freshly baked bread and the good smell of the lunch that the women were preparing. That scent whetted Basim''s appetite so much that he decided to immediately have a small snack to fill his empty stomach. The events of the previous day had shocked him so much that he had even forgotten to eat. He took a large loaf of bread which he quickly devoured. Hungry as he was, he would have immediately started to have lunch, but he had just set off and his friend Emir would surely have scolded him if he had seen him stop and waste precious time. Never mind, he thought. His bags were filled with various delicacies and there was time to enjoy them. The camel he had hired seemed not to agree with him, for it tried more than once to grab the bags with its mouth dripping with drool. Basim looked back several times to see how far he was getting from home. This was the first trip he had made alone and it would keep him away from the family nest in which he had grown up for a long time. Of course, it hadn''t been easy to come up with a good excuse to convince his family to let him go. As soon as he had merely mentioned that he had to be away, they had looked for any excuse to keep him. He had then had to lie. ¡°I want to improve my technique,¡± ??he said. ¡°With new and more beautiful vases we will do more business,¡± he added. After these words, they no longer protested. Indeed, they had changed their tune by insisting that he should leave as soon as possible. He couldn''t believe he had succeeded; he was usually a terrible liar. He continued his journey, enjoying a particular sensation that he had never tasted before: no work, no pressure from his family, and above all absolute freedom to play whenever he wanted to. Even though he was an extra burden, he had also brought his Oud with him and during his stops he took the opportunity to play it more than he had ever done until then. On one occasion other travelers stopped to listen to him and complimented him on his skill; someone applauded him, and someone else accidentally offered him coins, mistaking him for a street artist. Basim considered the trip almost a holiday, in short. As had already happened on other occasions, at every little pause to play, his gaze fell on the Master''s instrument and he immediately remembered that he had an important task to carry out. It was an interesting and bizarre situation for him, it seemed like the beginning of one of those fairy tales that his mother read to him as a child, except in his case he certainly wasn''t expecting to find treasures or magical creatures. To get to Al Haimat from Baharmis it took ten days of travel following the main route and five days following an alternative route. The problem with the alternative route was that it was anything but easy. Everyone had advised him against this path, which was not easy and full of obstacles, but Basim was in a hurry to reach the Master''s school as soon as possible; therefore, he decided to be accompanied by an expert guide. Basim realized the difficulties that had been foretold to him on the third day of the journey, when he found himself traveling along the most difficult part of the road that climbed inside the Gilnora Peaks. The Gilnora Peaks are a mountain range of black stone. Its rock formations are arranged like the quills of a porcupine, hard and extremely sharp due to their composition and structure. They emerge directly from the ground like flower buds that seem to grow as you continue further and further inside, until you reach a point where they become so thick that it seems like there is no space to walk. Since ancient times, that black stone was used by locals to make edged weapons such as swords and daggers. Knowing this, only a madman would have attempted to cross that territory made of natural blades without having first studied its nature. This was the bleakest territory he had ever seen until then, quite the opposite of the lush area surrounding Baharmis. It had a strange effect on Basim to find himself in such an empty place, without a trace of greenery and not even animal life. Even the air was different¡ harder to breathe. At a certain point, the road had become a stony path, and in a continuous up and down he had to be careful of the gravel which made it particularly slippery. At that point, the guide advised him to advance with caution, because although the place already appeared particularly inhospitable, the presence of poisonous scorpions, snakes with lethal bites, and marauders who went there to set up ambushes was certain. The greatest danger, however, was represented by the particularly high temperature. To cross that part of the territory, it was necessary to wear shoes equipped with a sole made of specific material that protected the feet from the strong heat of the ground. Basim realized for himself the truth of that warning when one of his shoes slipped off and he had to put his foot on the ground to keep from losing his balance. They emerged from the Gilnora Peaks on the afternoon of the fourth day and immediately the change in the terrain was evident. The heat became more bearable, here and there flashes of green began to be glimpsed, and the typical dark rocks began to give way to others of a lighter color while some desert foxes peeped out between them. Looking around, Basim was amazed by what appeared before his eyes: on the sides of the road, tall and massive men stood at attention with hard expressions on their faces. They were statues made with the dark stones of Gilnora, adorned with jewels and each held a different instrument in their hand such as a book, a tool, or a weapon. He stopped to admire those masterpieces, remaining open-mouthed for long moments just like a child does when faced with an unexpected gift. The guide told him that they had almost arrived at Al Haimat and that those sculptures were a sort of "signal" to indicate to travelers that they were close to the school of the Sand Masters. Basim began to tremble with excitement, he was finally reaching the place. He was so excited that he didn''t realize that he was pulling too hard on the camel''s reins and the poor animal pointed it out to him with a long, unpleasant moan. The statues, depicting important Masters of the past, were more than two meters high each and descended together with the road into the canyon into which it entered. What struck him most was the incredible precision with which the characters of the faces and the almost real folds of the clothes had been sculpted. As they went deeper into the canyon, the walls around them rose higher and higher, until they reached a height that made the sky above them a thin, crooked line. The rock was smooth, thanks to years and years of erosion due to the water of the river that flowed at the bottom, streaked with various shades of red and orange like the veins of a jasper gem, running along their entire length. Neither Basim nor his guide said a word along that entire stretch. The guide was not very talkative in himself, but for Basim, it was an exception to remain speechless. The moment they had entered the canyon; they had been enveloped by a strange and sudden silence, overwhelmed by the energy of the earth around them. The absence of sounds made the atmosphere almost disturbing; even the sound of the camels'' hooves on the stone bridge they were walking on at that moment was muffled for who knows what reason, you could barely hear the river flowing towards infinity with its intense cobalt blue and the wind blowing above of them. At a certain point, the guide said: ¡°We have arrived¡±. His tone, however low; almost sounded like a scream. Al Haimat, finally. The school, also called by someone the ¡°Stone Citadel¡±, appeared like a magical vision around the corner of a narrow gorge illuminated by the amber rays of the sun. It was dug directly into the rock, giving the illusion of emerging naturally from it, in the central space between the school and the passage stood the famous stone obelisk engraved with the names of the noblest of the Masters who had graduated within those walls and whose names could be read: Tammaam el-Kalil, Jaadallah al-Akel, Nadheera al-Shaheed... even that of Fawzi al-Taleb. In Al Haimat, lessons are strict. The students, in addition to learning regular subjects such as mathematics and geography, are indoctrinated in all the important aspects of Sand such as the difference in quality, the uses that can be made of it, etc. Out of 100 students, only 5% will get full promotions. Various types of diplomas can be obtained at the school, depending on which future Sand manipulators are trained: those who decide to dedicate their lives to study will become "Masters", those who use it for construction will become "Architects"; and finally, the "Guardians" the apprentice soldiers who will be taught how to use the Sand in combat. The fa?ade was large and imposing enough to leave those who saw it for the first time breathless. It was divided into two levels. The lower level consisted mainly of a portico with eight smooth-surfaced columns whose capitals resembled tree crowns. The entablature was adorned with a simple spiral frame and a frieze of stars, while on the low pediment with the tympanum in the center stood the head of a lion, surrounded by vegetation. The upper part instead consisted of a richly decorated balcony which rested on a very large podium. Three entrances could be seen, a large central one and two small ones on the sides, surmounted by polylobed arches, each featuring a statue of an Ibis with its beak wide open. Above the central arch, there was a th¨°los^[1], covered by a cone roof; inside which there was a large hourglass in which very fine white sand slowly flowed. It could be noted that the artifact was supported by a mechanism, probably with the sole purpose of turning it upside down once the lower vase was filled. It gave more the impression of an ancient temple than a school, considering how it was hidden and how it looked. There were no people outside and no one came to welcome them, as if to make people believe it was abandoned. Nervously the guide urged Basim to enter, he certainly wouldn''t set foot in there. Hesitant he dismounted from his mount and one step at a time approached the open entrance. Suddenly a thousand doubts assailed him: was it perhaps rude to show up without an invitation in such an important place? Should he have sent a letter of introduction first to explain his arrival? And his clothing? With all the dust he had on him he looked like a miner and not a visiting guest. Maybe he would have done better to also bring a gift¡. He reproached himself heavily, it had always been his flaw to never think about certain situations first. <> Suddenly thundered an unknown voice. At the entrance to the school, a small man appeared with a frowning expression, marked by thick black eyebrows and a disapproving grimace partially hidden by a long beard of the same color. He was short and round like a wine barrel, he had very long feet that easily peeked out from under the edge of his brick red robe and the Shashia^[2]that he held on his head was too large for him, making it a little ridiculous to look at. <> he repeated, annoyed. It wasn''t easy for Basim to respond to those who spoke loudly to him. Despite being big and strong, he had such a peaceful and good-natured character that an authoritarian and overbearing tone was enough to intimidate him. Encouraging himself, Basim managed to stammer out a response. << I... I apologize for the inconvenience. My name is Basim, I am a potter and I come from the city of Baharmis, sir. >> << A potter? Is your business so bad that you have to come all the way here to bother us? >> the little man exclaimed irritably << This is a school, not a market! >> << No! No! You m-misunderstood me! I don''t mean to disturb anyone at all! This is not my intention! >> Basim hastened to explain. << Then clarify yourself, you''re wasting my time. >> << I... I came to bring back some things... about Master Fawzi. >> Hearing that name, the man''s face changed to a sad expression of surprise. Immediately behind him, three other men appeared dressed in the same way and with the same expression on their faces. With a small voice that tried to mask discomfort, the man asked Basim what kind of "things" he meant. Basim showed the only object that could confirm his words: the bag of Sand. The little man, followed by the other three individuals, reached him with a dangling run, unable to hold back his tears.
Prince Hazma voluntarily chose not to approach the pit, despite his servants'' repeated invitations to do so. Not even his father was able to change his mind, even though he was the sultan. He never stopped stroking the brass-colored fur of the hound sitting next to him, the only comfort at that moment when he was feeling incredibly alone. The dog looked at him confused and yelped, sensing his discomfort. Hazma was heartbroken, having that faithful friend by his side somehow gave him the strength to bear the pain and not let himself be overwhelmed by despair. His Master Fawzi... his best friend... almost a grandfather, was supine on a wooden sedan table, wrapped in white kafan^[3]. The funeral ceremony was almost over, the priest had recently finished the last prayer and all the participants slowly paid homage to the body with a final farewell and a handful of earth. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Every handful of dirt that filled the grave was a stab to him, the knowledge that they would no longer spend long days talking about the present or future. Worse, now he would have to talk about him in the past tense, like a nostalgic memory. Fawzi''s body had traveled a few kilometers to the coast of Musar, east of Iazaresh; and then boarded one of the few ships that stopped at ¡°Jazirat aljana¡±, the island of paradise. In that small drop of land that floated in the center of the Pangea canal stood the necropolis of Mirqit, the city of the dead. For a place dedicated to death, it conveyed a sense of serenity: there were flowers and trees scattered among the simply carved tombstones, and the grass around the area was so thick that it muffled the sound of the footsteps of those there walked above and the birdsong, low and harmonious; were a happy accompaniment to the unhappy souls who passed by to shed tears on the cold tombstones. However, those elements did little to lighten the sadness in the hearts of the people who had been closest to Fawzi. Everyone wore white clothes, the color of the dead, and without frills, jewels, or elegant scarves they looked the same, without distinction between rich or poor. Little by little people began to leave: first the relatives, then everyone else. Hazma thought it was unfair to leave Fawzi there alone in that land of despondency. As much as he wanted it, he couldn''t take it back, his soul now belonged to the Gods and his body to the earth, forever. Suddenly his sense of unhappiness rose all at once and like water in his lungs it began to suffocate him until he felt sick and at that point, he could no longer hold back the tears. Seeing a prince cry in public might seem inappropriate... but he didn''t care. One of the most important people in his life was no longer there and he felt terribly alone. Back at the palace, even though the sun was high in the sky, the halls seemed dark and cold. He locked himself in the room where he and Fawzi had usually spent hours... or rather, entire days chatting and studying together. He continued to stare at the now empty seat where he sat. He would have been able to wait for him in there forever, forgetting everything. He ordered that no one disturb him, he wanted to be alone in his pain. Now and then in the silence he heard the sounds of footsteps behind the closed door, then he naively hoped that Fawzi would suddenly enter showing off his partially toothless smile. With his mind, he tried to recompose his image and reproduce the sound of his voice, but above all that particular smell of his, that smelled of saffron. They had spent so much time together that they considered him a member of the family, even more so than their closest blood relatives. He had spent wonderful moments with him... now he felt lost and confused; he no longer knew who he could confide his thoughts to without having to endure judgment. Suddenly the door opened and without ceremony or invitation the father, Sultan Husam al Bilal, current ruler of Riakesh and pillar of the law in Baharmis, entered resolutely, followed by the captain of the royal guards. The sultan was a man who left a strong impression on people. He was very tall compared to the rest of the Riakeshian men, so much so that some thought of a possible descent from giants; although he had already turned seventy, his beard and hair were still an intense midnight black, apart from a rare gray hair hidden here and there, and his eyes, similar to those of a feline with a shade between golden yellow and light brown, observed with a sharp and penetrating gaze everything that was around him. He wore a long, blood-red long-sleeved robe with phoenix ornaments embroidered with golden thread, which billowed like the living flames of fire, partially hiding the simple, but completely black thwab. Those two colors were, in a sense; his hallmark. There was a rumor among the people that she had his clothes dyed red with the blood of his enemies. His hands were large and marked by scars from years of hand-to-hand combat and sword slashes, and half of the index finger of his right hand had been missing for a long time. At that moment he was wearing neither the crown nor the turban, his hair was free to slide over his head and shoulders like thin snakes, still instilling a strong sense of reverence. << Father. >> Hazma said. He bowed before his father, sighing. If it had been another person, he would certainly have let himself go into a fit of anger at the invasion of his solitude. <> << I''ll leave again tomorrow. I cannot leave negotiations with the other kingdoms pending for too long, and many other tasks await me soon after. >> The sultan''s voice was scratchy and hoarse. At that moment he spoke in a very low and almost inexpressive tone... but on other occasions, when especially aimed at demonstrating his authority, he could become deafening and thunderous like the thunder that follows the lightning. <> asked the prince with slight discretion. <> <> The prince did not like hearing that the affairs of the kingdom took priority over his desire to find his friend''s killer. Husam took a seat in what was once Fawzi''s seat. Hazma bit his lips to avoid yelling at his father not to occupy that small corner that had become sacred to him and tried to concentrate on what he would say to him at that moment. <> << For me? Meaning what? >> << You can take care of it. >> cut the father short. It took him a few minutes to understand the meaning of the speech and the surprise was evident on his face. << Should I¡? Do you want me to think about it? >> <> <> << Captain Rashad will assist you in any case. >> <> << This is your chance to punish those who dared to commit this crime. >> The sultan raised his voice enough to make it echo in the room. His eyes for a moment took on a menacing expression that even frightened the captain next to him. The man looked small compared to the sultan when, in reality, his height was average. The black and cream uniform was tight on him and now and then he tried to adjust it without being too noticed. He was a valiant soldier, a veteran of many battles, but at that moment his thin, unkempt mustache and the sweat on his brow revealed a strong agitation like all the times his master was irritated. Husam paid no attention to his state, focused only on convincing his son to make the obvious choice. << These scum dared to kill one of the most important Sand Masters of our kingdom. Moreover, in our house. The punishment should not be light as happens with thieves or swindlers, with whom we are limited to months in prison. >> <> Normally the prince was able to immediately understand the meaning of his father''s speeches, but with his mind as clouded as at that moment, he was not even capable of deciphering his own thoughts. The words found clarity the moment the captain handed him a shapeless bundle. He delicately untied the thin knot that joined the edges of the fabric and found in his hands a silver saber with a gold hilt forged in such a way as to resemble a snake with its jaws wide open. <> Hazma should not have been surprised by that peculiar gift, his sultan father was of the old school... that is, that the measure of justice was a sharp sword. Among other things, he had already known for some time that he would give him a sword as a gift. Of course, he didn''t expect that he would be on that occasion. He grabbed the hilt and raised the weapon to his chest, without waiting for his parent''s permission. It was heavy, he held it carefully so as not to let it slip out of his hand. The silvery color of the blade intensely reflected the sun''s rays, as if some unknown magic made them fiery. The snake was not well refined, yet he had the impression that at any moment it might pounce on his hand and bite him. Before then, he found the idea of ??taking the life of another living being repugnant, now he had a different opinion. A feeling of revenge was rooted in his heart and his mind. << I''ll ask you just once, son: do you want justice for your Master? >> << Of course I want it! >>
The little man wasn''t as unpleasant as he might seem. Adib, that was his name, was a very friendly person. He apologized profusely to Basim for how he had treated him at the entrance, but it was his job as the school guardian to be strict with visitors. The attitude that had worsened since the death of Master Fawzi. The accident had raised a great hornet''s nest among the community, there were already rumors of severe interventions. Together with him, all the members of the school were shocked by the tragic news. By now, nothing else had been talked about in the building for days, especially among the teachers. Fawzi was not the first Master to have been killed at the hands of someone, according to historical chronicles other Masters had met a similar end. But he was different... losing him wasn''t dramatic just from a work factor, it was above all the emotional aspect that hurt the most, cutting into the pain like the tip of a dagger in the flesh. The honesty, the kindness, the constant commitment to helping others¡ a better spirit than him would probably never walk the land of the living again. Adib pushed those troublesome thoughts away, forcing himself to do his job professionally. He welcomed Basim Al Haimat with an attitude that was almost excessive for a modest boy like him. Yet, this gesture somehow seemed to emphasize his access to that almost legendary place. As soon as he entered the entrance, he found himself inside a very eye-catching rectangular room, where every architectural and decorative element had been carved from mountain stone, carved to the point that the veins of the sandstone could be seen. The hexagon floor was polished to a shine but creaked with every step, giving the impression that it might break at any moment. The light came directly from the ceiling through small cracks, which were reflected on mirrors which increased its intensity, allowing discreet illumination. In reality, the most suitable term to use was "polished", not "sculpted". Yes, because no carving tools had been used to build the school, everything had been artificially carved out of the Sand. The power of Sand is not only limited to moving or molding into a solid form, with its particular crystalline structure it can also easily erode rock. The result of such work had no comparison with the traditional technique, especially on those smooth and curved walls, whose reflection was reminiscent of that of the surface of the water, and which seemed as if one were diving into it. Basim wondered how big the school was. After passing the entrance, in front of him, three corridors with arched vaults led into the structure with a dark aura of mystery. They took the long and narrow one on the left, and as they walked, they met many people, both old and young, who, although they met his gaze with a certain curiosity, continued in silence. In the open rooms where he managed to peek, he saw men and women intent on talking to each other, writing on large books and parchments, or severely scolding teens older than him. They didn''t look like classrooms... so that area was probably used for bureaucratic work. Too bad, he thought disappointedly. It would have been nice to see some lessons going on. Soon he was placed in a small room where he remained alone for several minutes. Unlike the entrance there was no passage for sunlight and therefore lamps like inverted crowns were used for lighting. There were two aqua green sofas with cinnamon stripes and dark yellow edges, facing each other, on which you could sit and small footstools with a checkerboard pattern, most of the walls were covered with tapestries on which landscapes were embroidered of lush oases. At first, he was struck by a strong sense of unease since no one had spoken to him again after introducing himself. He only managed to calm down when Adib began to speak to him more kindly and offered him food and drink as a welcome. << You are truly honored to have brought the Sand back to the school. I already took it for granted that someone had stolen it to resell or use it illegally. >> <> << Good people like you are hard to find nowadays¡ more tea? >> << Oh yes, thank you! >> Basim enjoyed sipping that delicious drink accompanied by tasty nummora^[4], proving to be a good host. <> said the guardian with a note of embarrassment. << Don''t worry, the satisfaction of having been able to visit this place is enough for me, I will remember it for my whole life. >> << Oh, yeah. There is no denying that our school has a lot of curiosity, especially about the powers connected to the Sand. >> <> <> <> Adib let out a laugh. << It''s the first time I''ve heard such a statement. >> << Well, that''s what I think. I find Sand interesting and useful, but I always believe that it is an element to be treated with great caution. Not a game or a show object, as I have unfortunately seen others do. >> <> << Oh¡ um¡ I didn''t mean to disrespect you¡ >> <> Basim was surprised to hear his opinions so valued. This was a pleasant change considering that people (his family in particular) did not always take him so seriously, belittling his opinions. Suddenly a man whispered something in the guardian''s ear. The latter widened his eyes in alarm, ordered everything to be taken away quickly, and adjusted the wrinkles of the sofas to make it appear as if no one had sat on them. He also made Basim stand up and arrange him to give him a tidier appearance, advising him not to speak unless asked directly, and above all - he begged him - to always keep his head down. Adib stood next to him with the same rigid posture with which he had introduced himself, nervously combing his beard. Basim asked him what was happening: << The Rector is coming. >> he whispered. The door of the room opened slowly, producing a sinister creak almost on purpose, everyone present got goosebumps and suddenly it seemed they had stopped breathing. Rector Daysam entered with a look as grim as that of a vulture. Everyone present greeted him with a synchronized bow. Basim had heard that name a couple of times: he was one of the most important people in the school and in addition to being Rector, he was also one of the most feared Sand Masters. He didn''t know much about his repertoire, though, except that he was a devil of a man. The Rector stood in a very rigid, almost statuesque pose, the dark blue tunic falling straight on him and making him look like an icy ghost, also due to his greyish complexion. He had no hair on his face, not even eyebrows. He had very accentuated cheekbones and wrinkles so deep they gave the impression that his skin had been cut with a knife. Maybe he was sick, he certainly didn''t look healthy. Despite this, it seemed that he could incinerate with a look. << Adib, is it true that Master Fawzi''s Sand was reported? >> he asked the guardian. Not a greeting or a nod of introduction towards Basim. ¡°How rude,¡± he thought to himself. << Yes, sir. And it has already been secured. >> Adib replied quickly. << Good. >> His glare then fell on Basim. He winced. Avoiding eye contact, he tried to focus instead on the details of her intricately woven dress that for some reason reminded him of knotted snakes intent on fighting. Even the man, in some ways, reminded him of a snake... not so much in his appearance, but in the menace he conveyed. <> << It is the kind traveler who brought it. >> << Oh. And what is he still doing here? >> << Oh, he... we were preparing a room for him to spend the night. He had a long journey from Baharmis, so¡ >> << It''s not worth wasting accommodation if he leaves tomorrow. Place it in the animal shelter, it will be more than enough. >> ¡°In the animal shelter?¡±, Basim thought indignantly. He didn''t expect princely treatment... but by golly! Why did he have to be placed with the beasts? <> he began to say with determination, before Daysam glared at him, softening his determination. << I... I... I wanted to say that... >> << Please speak clearly. I hate stutterers. >> << Well... I brought other things... from the master. >> << Yes? Would they be? >> <> << Clothes? >> The rector''s tone suddenly became threatening. He didn''t raise his voice, but it was still intense enough to make every person near him tremble. <> <> << What? Socks? Sandals? I am not interested. The only good thing about your "visit" is that you brought back the Sand of Fawzi. >> <> Basim unwrapped the instrument, showing it to everyone. Contrary to his predictions, however; no one showed the slightest surprise. They looked at him with perplexity, without exchanging any comments. Suddenly he felt embarrassed. The instrument wasn''t big enough to hide it from those glances that weighed like stones; it would have been enough for him to explain its exact nature to change everything, but not a single syllable came out of his mouth. <> << I... I just wanted to be useful... >> << The only way to be "useful", if you know the meaning of this word, is to leave as soon as possible. This is a place for people with dowry, not for Ard kabeereh^[5]like you. >> Chapter 5: Bad luck <> Basim exclaimed for the umpteenth time. The guide raised his eyes to the sky, holding back a moan, and sighed, praying to the Gods to give him a little wax to plug his ears. Even his camel seemed to share his thoughts, moaning with long hoarse bellows. The man invited Basim several times to get back on his mount (not so much for safety, but to speed up the journey), but at that moment he needed to move on his legs to vent the anger that had already been going on for a couple of days. Basim had many qualities, which however compensated for his biggest flaw: the ability to sulk for a long time. He could bite the bullet many times, but if he was seriously offended, he would snort and grumble for a long time. He usually found food as the comfort he needed to calm down but, unfortunately for him, his abundant pantry was now not at hand and so he had to resort to other methods. He was walking briskly at that moment, dragging his poor camel by the reins, forced to stretch its neck in an uncomfortable position; his face was deep red and certainly not because of the sunny day, even his curls seemed to twist even tighter in anger. As annoying as his temper was, he had good reason to be angry right now. He had immediately understood that Rector Daysam was an unbearable person... but that he was also uncivilized to the point of calling him Ard kabeereh, had left him speechless. He had demonstrated that he did not care about the effect of his words on others, in fact; immediately after insulting him, he left as if nothing had happened, telling him several times to go home and bring back the dirty laundry that he had taken great care to drag behind him. Neither the guardian Adib nor the other adepts had defended him. The Rector inspired too much fear for anyone to dare contradict him. If he hadn''t had so much respect for the place he was in, perhaps he wouldn''t have held back in responding in kind. His friend Emir came to mind. He was quite right to have a low opinion of the Sand Masters. His thoughts were a mixture of anger and disappointment. Before reaching the school, he had imagined an almost magical experience, with guided tours of classrooms and lessons and, who knows, perhaps even the luck of witnessing moments in which the skills of commanding the Sand were put into practice. Serious skills, not acrobat tricks. In the end, however, it all boiled down to a one-way exchange of insults and rudeness. He had had too high expectations, and now it was inevitable that he would feel frustrated. <> The guide began at a certain point. Basim, before rightly complying with the request, grunted annoyed for a couple of minutes. He continued to grumble, in a low voice this time, while inside he felt a strong desire to eat until he was sick so he could forget the bitterness. Despite the change in tone though, due to his guidance, it still wasn''t quiet enough for the peace of his ears.
The region above Al Haimat is a small mountainous area within which a green valley is partially hidden. It is located 20 kilometers from the school, to reach it you necessarily must use pack animals. The climate of the area is hot during the summer and mild during the winter, which would make it suitable for sowing, but the valley is exploited for many other purposes. At least three times a day, the area is tormented by students'' practical exercises. Under the hot sun, future Sand Masters are trained hard so that their technique becomes perfect. The rocks and mountains themselves have been the object of training for the Masters for centuries, used as targets or objectives on which to unleash the power of the Sand. It immediately catches the eye how the stone appears polished in the same way as the structure of the school, perfectly smooth both to the sight and to the touch. Some rock ridges, by dint of being exploited, have ended up becoming a kind of artistic sculpture, many of which still stand upright only thanks to a thin worn support no wider than a large ox. The vibrant sound of the Yasirpipe spreads through the air like a sinister howl, masses of Sand move and form depending on how the notes are played, all under the attentive gaze of the teachers. Students have sheet music at their disposal as they compose the jarring melodies, each providing certain instructions on how to move the Sand. There are no musical notes written on the sheets, it''s more a kind of sequence of the order of how to hit the keys of the instrument, some of which are marked by the length of time they had to vibrate. Before the end of their apprenticeship, students will have to memorize all the sequences. Punishment, the failure. The kids know this well and this causes tremendous anxiety in many of them, which is also made worse by the teachers who constantly repeat how easy they are and that it is therefore absurd that someone struggles to memorize them. Nevertheless, those "easy" signs appear to some students as untranslatable hieroglyphics that some mysterious spell confuses their eyes, preventing them from learning. The soft crackle of the quill pen writing on paper was the only noise that could be heard in Daysam''s office. The Rector was slowly compiling with almost maniacal care a series of letters announcing the failure of at least a quarter of the students with a list of the related reasons, writing the letters precisely and without smudging. Only in affixing the signature and the seal that highlighted his title on those unpleasant documents did a hint of satisfaction appear on his expressionless face. He had only recently started writing, so the pile of papers in front of him was still high but for him more than a job, he almost considered it a pastime. The office was claustrophobic. Small, dark, and cold, a nightmare for anyone who hated tight spaces. The shelves on the walls, solid pieces of wood, bare and without any decoration, took up too much space and touched the ceiling so much as to give the sensation of removing all the air; two lamps with glacial glasses like bird cages radiated a dim light that made the environment even darker. The desk was made from a fragment of rust-colored stone at the edges of which were installed funnel-shaped glass cylinders containing Golden Sand, one of the most valuable, which moved inside forming weak vortices; another pair of larger cylinders were behind him. The only chair was that of the Rector, forcing anyone entering to remain standing. The door, with the symbol of the Masters, painted in white in the center, was securely locked from the inside with a double lock. Everyone knew that when that door was closed, they should not dare approach it under any circumstances. When Daysam worked he hated to be disturbed unless there was an extremely serious reason. He was a man with a difficult character, he considered his task a real mission and for this reason, he had always dedicated all his time to it. Even now, despite being old and ill, his extreme zeal and commitment did not fail. The very few breaks he allowed himself were only those he was forced to take to take his medicine. The doctors had also imposed forced rest on him, and although his nameless illness weakened him day by day, he refused to rest all day, considering it a waste of time. Suddenly someone knocked on the door with three distinct knocks. The man froze and stared at the door askance, wondering what fool would dare break his rules. A familiar voice asked permission to enter. He incredibly stopped to welcome his guest, despite the amount of work he had to do. <> said the amazed Rector. << Old man, you look as gorgeous as the last time we saw each other. >> << It could be worse. >> The newly arrived man was the only one among the rector''s acquaintances who could use an informal attitude with him. His host''s appearance did not go unnoticed; his skin was bronze and shiny, he had two sparkles like emeralds and a hypnotic gaze; his hair and mustache were black, thick, and soft as wool; his teeth were shiny and sharp, the canines were much sharper than normal, and when he smiled it seemed like he was trying to point it out on purpose. He had small hands with long, tapered fingers, his nails were perfectly filed into a crescent shape, and he smelled excessively of rose water. The clothing on the contrary was modest, consisting of a very simple black tunic, devoid of any ornaments or embroidery. <> <> replied the Rector annoyed. <> << How can you think that? I came to see you to talk about work. >> << If that''s the case, at least credibly tell me. >> <> << Yes, I know. It will be the hundredth time you repeat it. >> Daysam sighed, sometimes the man seemed exasperating to him. Jabar, contrary to how he appeared at first glance, was anything but a fool. First, he was the General in charge of the Sultan''s army. Unlike many soldiers, he had not built his career solely on the battlefield. He was also a man of very fine culture; he loved the arts and sciences to which he dedicated his free time. At important events, he was always a welcome guest, and he liked to participate in discussions between scholars and philosophers, expressing his thoughts without being presumptuous or unprepared. Daysam and Jabar had met at one of those events. Between the two, who shared the same ideas and opinions, perhaps it cannot be said that a true friendship was born, but certainly, a relationship of profound esteem and mutual admiration had developed over time, so much so that they decided to collaborate when necessary. When the General went to visit the Rector, it meant that there was big news from the royal palace. The two maintained a very close epistolary relationship and Jabar never failed to inform Daysam of everything that happened within the royal walls, even when it involved small trivialities. Only when the news was of considerable importance did the General appear in person, even for the sole pleasure of communicating it orally with almost exaggerated emphasis. The news of the moment concerned Prince Hazma and the beginning of his military apprenticeship. << The prince among the army? >> Daysam said amazed. << What convinced a pacifist like him to join the royal garrison? >> << Revenge, my friend. This is the reason. >> Jabar replied, touching the sword hanging at his side. << The murder of Master Fawzi has become a matter of honor for the young scion, his father convinced him to look for his killer in person. He even gave him a sword as a "stimulus" for his new career. >> <> This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. << The Captain has orders to tell me everything that happens in the palace. >> << Oh. Now I understand... >> The General chuckled amusedly, pretending to regret having let such a big "secret" slip. The Rector also had some news to tell about Master Fawzi, although not very interesting compared to that given by the General. Although it seemed like useless and unimportant news to him, he told him about Basim''s visit. Unlike his guest who loved to narrate everything in detail, getting lost in a thousand details, he was more concise, briefly describing the meeting. The only place where he spent a few more words was in the description of that strange cumbersome instrument that Basim had shown him. He snorted¡. It was ridiculous that such an ignorant person could think that this ridiculous thing could be important. Once he finished telling what had happened, he realized that Jabar was looking at him uneasily, his eyes were completely wide and were turning red like fire. He no longer smiled. He no longer had a relaxed pose. <> he asked in a serious voice. Caught by surprise by this change in behavior, Daysam was unable to adequately describe the object, limiting himself to saying that it was a large, bizarre guitar. The General began to nervously comb his hair with his hands, huffing repeatedly. He opened and closed his mouth, bit his lips, and moistened them with his tongue. He could tell he was seriously losing control. << Do you have any idea what you did? >> he finally said. << That "bizarre guitar" as you called it, I''ve been looking for it for days... and it was here, at your place! >> Jabar growled and smashed one of the shelves with his fist. Books and documents collapsed at his feet, accidentally tearing in the fall. The Rector gripped the desk in shock at this sudden outburst. It was the first time he had seen him react that way. << What''s his name? >> << Who? >> << The man who came here. What did he look like? Where did he come from? Describe it to me, dammit! >> << I... I didn''t ask his name. He was a big guy¡ with long black hair¡ and he said he was from Baharmis. >> << From Baharmis? Seriously? >> << Yes. But he looked like a lout, so I didn''t¡ >> <> << When? I think three days have already passed... >> << Three days. Well. Well. Enough, not too many. I can still reach him. >> The General started to rush out of the office, but Daysam stopped him before he could put his hand on the door handle. <> he asked him. Jabar looked him straight in the eye and said: << That was the new command tool of the Sand created by Fawzi. >>
Basim sighed relaxedly. As soon as he dipped his feet in the crystal-clear water, the tension disappeared as small silver fish approached his toes, tickling him. The oasis had happened like a dream, that little corner of paradise towards which we had rushed at breakneck speed had appeared like a miracle. Even the camel seemed to be happy with the unexpected stop. The guide had protested, saying it was not safe to leave the main road. Always staying within the limits of the route was the only way to have a smooth journey, he also had said. Basim, however, was tired of the rules. He had done nothing but follow them forever. What harm did a little a small exception to the rule could have done? And he was even more tired of always having to do what others told him: how he worked, how he should behave, what was best for him to eat! So when the little oasis appeared from behind the dune he thought ¡°To hell with everything! I deserve some rest!¡±. The silence, the pleasant shade of the palm trees, the freshwater, the carpet of soft grass on which to lie down comfortably... there was no more idyllic place at that moment, even the high-pitched chirping of the crickets, which so often he had found annoying, now it was pleasant. He pondered the possibility of extending his absence from home. He would have liked to stop in towns along the way, meet new people, and visit some new musical instrument shops without having the anxiety of being discovered. Speaking of instruments¡ he still had Master Fawzi''s with him. It was on the ground, a few centimeters from him, dusty and slightly scratched around the edges. He had been lugging that burden around the entire time, carrying it on his back without any problems. Now, however, it seemed that the weight had crushed his bones and he felt pain everywhere. What was he supposed to do now? The voice of his luthier friend suggested that he abandon it and wash his hands of it. But for Basim, it was still a musical instrument, therefore something important to him. He thought about it for a few minutes and then decided to keep it. The Masters hadn''t claimed him, so there was no problem if he "played" a little. It was still a strange object, but it no longer had as much effect on him as before. Now he even found it very handsome. He realized that when seated he could manage the weight better and could move his arm better along the entire path of the strings without struggling to hold it. He began to manipulate the knobs, both to understand which string it was paired with and to find the right intonation. It was a process not too different from that used to tune any other stringed instrument, but certainly longer and more complicated. Playing it wasn''t easy either; the strings seemed to be made of metal wire which, poor him, did not fail to scratch his fingertips. It wasn''t a waste of time anyway, little by little his ear began to get used to that particular sound and to like it. How could he describe it? Well, it was a sort of reverberant, stationary, and transversal buzz. While he was playing, the camel approached curiously to smell the instrument; then, it lay down on the ground and began to bob its head, as if it wanted to dance to that unfamiliar rhythm. It was nice to have someone listen to him, even if not human. << Master, we are late. They should have arrived at the village by now. >> began the guide at some point. He was very agitated, he had respected Basim''s wishes to stop, but little by little his patience was waning. He continually disturbed the sand at his feet with the little whip that he used to spur his beast, kicked the small stones, and continually spat with a hoarse gargle. << Five more minutes and then we can continue. >> he replied patiently. << Five minutes is not good. It''s always late. >> retorted the guide. << When moving in these areas you must always be quick and careful. They are dangerous, especially near oases. >> << Dangerous? What kind of danger could lurk in a place like this? >> << The scorpions, the lions, but above all the¡ >> Marauders. That''s what the guide meant to say before his throat was split in half with a crescent-shaped cut. He fell to the ground like an empty sack, rolling down the low slope of the road. A figure towered there in a brown and white robe that covered him from head to toe, hiding his entire face except for his olive-black eyes, screaming as menacingly as a coyote, and pointing a dagger dripping red high into the sky. Suddenly a cloud lifted behind him, and other screaming figures appeared like a swarm of hungry locusts, riding black, white, and brown stallions, waving long scimitars like flags. There were at least ten of them, too many for a single boy like Basim. He and the camel understood each other immediately, with a leap he jumped onto it while it sank its hooves into the sand to escape from those screaming madmen. Poorly positioned on the animal''s hump, he meanwhile freed it of any unnecessary weight. The raiders wanted his goods, not him. Or perhaps they thought he was a rich traveler and for this reason, they ran after him, convinced that by kidnapping him they could earn a rich ransom. It was more likely, however, that they would kill him the moment they realized that he was nothing more than a lowly potter. Bandits were not men who liked to waste time. His heart was already beating very fast, and when two raiders managed to get closer, it seemed to him that it was about to explode. The horses with long, shiny manes snorted and neighed loudly as they came alongside the camel that could not match their speed and their thick hooves kicked up the earth with loud snorts. Meanwhile, their knights tried to stop him in different ways: one tried to unhorse him, and the other instead; grabbed the reins. Behind them, the rest of the group cheered them on with very loud shouts. It is not known whether, by luck or miracle, neither of them managed to block Basim who, even though no one could hear his pleas, shouted for help a thousand times. Suddenly the camel let out a heartbreaking wail, its humped form falling into what had once been a now-dry riverbed. The depression was very deep and steep, it was impossible to notice it from the top without being right on the edge. The animal fell into it and rolled disastrously to the bottom, dragging poor Basim with it. When they stopped at the bottom, partially covered by stones, sand, and dust, neither of them moved. The animal gasped for a couple of minutes before taking its last breath. The raiders, from the top of the valley, unable to descend, argued heatedly and then left with poison in their mouths, angry at their lost prey. About half an hour later, Basim regained consciousness. He wasn''t seriously injured and apparently, nothing was broken. However, he felt severe pain, especially in his head which seemed to him to vibrate like a cowbell, and he found it difficult to think. His mind wandered among many disconnected thoughts. The survival instinct suggested him, first of all, to breathe deeply, remove himself from under the body of the animal that had fallen on him, look around, and check that no one was there. He crawled on all fours a little before stopping and sitting up; his ears were ringing, and his vision was partially blurred. He ran a hand through his curls, trying to figure out where it hurt the most, and pulling it back he took away some hair and blood. It was a shock to see his fingers a different color; he wiped himself on his clothes leaving streaks. When he raised his head, for a moment everything revolved around him, dazed he wondered if the gods had decided to turn the world upside down for fun. He tried not to look at the poor camel lying nearby with a broken neck; flies had already begun to buzz around him, and it wouldn''t be too long before its scent attracted the attention of predatory wanderers. Speaking of "predators", he was slightly reassured to find that the bandits were no longer there. He was alone but alive. He attempted to climb up the valley, but unfortunately, the slope was unstable and easily collapsed under his weight, causing him to slide repeatedly back to the starting point. He understood that it was useless to continue with that superfluous effort, he would never be able to return to where he had come from. He looked at the horizon trembling from the heat of the ground, he thought that if he started walking, sooner or later he would meet someone. Optimistic in his luck and divine support, he gathered what little he had left and began to walk slowly in an unclear direction. Riakesh is a territory that is as rich as it is hostile and, without a doubt, also very hot. Even its inhabitants themselves, who are baptized by the kiss of the sun when they are born, often cannot stand it and complain about it out loud. Even in areas near the coasts, where the presence of water should help mitigate the heat, the incandescent globe does not spare itself. City people don''t know what it''s like to be hot, only the nomads who live along the borders of the Sahra'' alsamt truly understand how unbearable a whole day can be under that golden disk which, apparently; it seems to set fire to anything its rays touch. A man may surround himself with gold and other precious things in his life, but they become useless when his fate falls into the hands of the desert. In the hot nothingness, water and shade become more precious than any fabric, spice, or jewel the market can offer, but above all, none of it serves to protect from hours and hours of light. Basim looked at the sun, not knowing whether it was moving or whether it had decided to remain still in the center of the sky. How many hours had he been walking now? He kept asking himself that repeatedly. He no longer lifted his feet, he dragged them one behind the other leaving furrows, he no longer even noticed the grains that remained stuck inside his sandals and between his toes. He had rolled his hair on his head in a sort of big messy knot, he had covered his head with his shirt to protect it from the heat. Aside from walking he did nothing but wipe the sticky sweat that slid from his forehead to his mouth and had a salty taste that dried his throat. He made a stop, yet another to quench his thirst. He only recovered a water bottle that was still half full. Despite his thirst, he tried to save every drop so that it could last until he found a well or a town. Now and then he felt like throwing it on himself so he could cool off, it would be a wonderful experience at a time like this, but he knew it was too precious right now. The heat wasn''t something solid, yet he felt the sensation of an oppressive weight. He could swear he saw steam coming off him as he moved, but with his eyes bleary with tiredness and sunburnt, he wasn''t sure if it was real or if he was starting to delirious. When the sun went down, he left a slight relief. He felt the air getting fresher, every breath of oxygen filled him with optimism and energy, as well as the hope of making it¡. But the night, like the day, was by no means a moment of serenity. Darkness, with its black and blue cloak, much more easily conceals dangers that are otherwise clearly visible in daylight; even just walking becomes risky because you can end up in a den of scorpions or fall into quicksand. The moon provides a pale aid with its white light and the stars in the sky become only small ornamental points in the drapery of the bluish Milky Way if you are not able to recognize them and use them to orient yourself. Basim, despite not having the slightest education on this matter, persisted in continuing the journey, placing blind trust in his instincts. It was his tiredness that forced him to stop, when his legs seemed to stop of their own accord, giving way suddenly causing a pang of pain not unlike a stab wound. Having no bed or cloth to lie on, he dug a hole at the base of a dune and crouched inside, hoping it wouldn''t become his grave. Along with that thought, there were also the sinister sounds of crumbling sand and the low temperature keeping him awake. Stuffy during the day and freezing at night. This is how it works in the desert. An absurd climate for a foreigner, but not for its inhabitants. And the cycle repeats itself every day, every year, without interruption, in a continuous and dangerous succession of climate changes, sometimes shaken by storms that can last for weeks. The dawn of the second day came too early and already too hot for Basim, tired and dizzy after an almost sleepless night. He felt worse that morning, his head hurt more, and his body was in pain. He moved but was in a stupor. His water bottle had remained open and for a couple of hours he had been dangling from his hand empty, part of his hair had fallen forward partially covering his vision but he didn''t seem to notice. Suddenly everything went dark again. ¡°How strange,¡± thought Basim. However, it wasn''t the night that had returned early, it was he who had lost consciousness immediately after collapsing on the ground. The faint spark of perception of the world that remained only served to make him hear the sounds of the warm wind and his own heart that began to beat more and more slowly, imagining it as a worn-out drum that was wearing out with each blow. Before finally falling asleep, he had time to notice something else. It was too unclear for him to decipher with a name or a picture. At a certain point, he was certain that they were human voices. Then he told himself it wasn''t possible and fell asleep. Chapter 6: Intrigue General Jabar could be called the perfect warrior: athletic, bold, and intimidating. A foot taller than everyone else, arms and legs as voluminous as tree trunks, the proud look of a puma, cunning and intelligent. Any ruler would have paid their weight in gold to have a man like him at their service. Baharmis'' soldiers trained hard to be worthy of his esteem hoping to match him and young males who decided to follow a military career took inspiration from him, noblewomen and courtesans sighed with secret adoration behind their veils. It was tough to hear criticism towards him, even if someone jokingly allowed themselves to comment on his hair, which had been dyed black to hide the first gray tufts. Jabar, aware that after all he too could not escape old age, accepted these comments without touchiness. Given his commitments as the head of the royal garrison, many were surprised that he even managed to find time to actively participate in cultural and social initiatives. Could a cultured guy like him give up such appointments? You could tell he loved showing off his loquacity almost as much as he did with his swordsmanship. Shutting him down was almost as difficult as defeating him in a duel. Because of his manner, he might have seemed a little moody, but that was precisely why he had won over the sultan. Sultan Husam always boasted of his collection of victories in battle as if they were trophies to be displayed, but now and then he omitted - whether deliberately or not it is not known - that part of the credit was also due to the ability of his general. Certainly, when he remembered to do so, he enjoyed seeing the jealousy in the eyes of the other nobles, many of whom surrounded him only to cajole him. Jabar, however, did not care whether his merits were recognized by his sovereign; It was the results of his actions that he valued, not the amount of compliments, medals, or recognition he might receive. Bringing order to disorder, maintaining justice, expanding the borders of the kingdom... these were his principles, unlike other generals who only showed interest in accumulating loot and slaves. To reach the position of prominence in which he found himself, Jabar had worked hard and consistently for many, many years. He had been dreaming of his career since he was a 13-year-old boy, no taller than a calf and a little thinner than a young shrub. Then he was foolish and arrogant, like any young man who thinks he is already a true warrior of Riakesh, indomitable and bold like Gasldir, the legendary warrior God of Victory, whom his people honored together with other Gods with a thousand celebrations. The encounter with the glorious army of the kingdom of Baharmis made him understand that this was his destiny. It was a kind of ¡°love at first sight¡±; from there he understood what a true warrior was and how he behaved, and from that moment, becoming a brave soldier of Baharmis became his reason for living. Now he had done it, he had gotten where he wanted, and he had no regrets. Jabar defined himself as a calm and reasonable man, but even someone like him lost his temper in certain situations. Among the things that infuriated him most were the unexpected. His success was also due to the fact that he was a very meticulous person, perhaps too much so. Whatever plan or project he had in mind, it had to proceed exactly as imagined. Any mistake or unscheduled change made him lose his temper and it wasn''t at all pleasant to be around him at such times. Captain Rashad, his second, who had experienced these situations, did not have good memories of them. It had happened about ten years earlier when together with the General and a small team of five men, they had escorted a caliph allied with the sultan on a secret mission. Before departure, the General had planned all the stages carefully and in detail to ensure maximum safety during the journey and avoid any unforeseen events. On the outward the journey had been almost uneventful, but on the return, a small accident had almost put the caliph in danger, due to a mistake made by one of the men in the escort. The general had not forgiven the soldier for his inattention and had punished him first, with the worst lecture of his life, then had transferred him to a role that would have prevented him from making a career. Rashad, warned by the lookout of General Jabar''s arrival, went with a small troop to welcome him at the city gates. He immediately noticed from the expression on his face and the total lack of greetings and pleasantries that he was in a very bad mood, in fact, it seemed as if he was trying to repress a strong feeling of anger. ¡°Something must have happened during the two weeks he was away, something very serious.¡± He thinks. He certainly couldn''t imagine how great the irritation and disappointment he felt inside for not having been able to reach Basim and his precious instrument. << General, I see you are upset. Something wrong? >> he dared to ask him, after a moment of uncertainty. Jabar grunted without answering, nudging his horse to quicken his pace. << The situation in the kingdom was very calm during his absence. There were no incidents of particular interest and traffic between merchants proceeded calmly. >> Another grunt in response was a clear sign that something was wrong. Captain and General entered the palace doors, welcomed by a trumpet blast. They made a long circuit of the perimeter, passing courtiers who happened to be walking nearby until they reached the stables where some servants were taking care of the thoroughbred foals and stallions. Jabar dismounted even before one of the servants helped him, heading quickly into the glorious structure. Rashad followed him like a shadow, speaking as little as possible so as not to bother him. << Enough with the traffic news. >> the General blurted out at a certain point. << Is there any more important news? >> << No, not at the moment. >> << Good. What I want now is just a hot bath and a hearty dinner. >> << Of course, General. Oh! I forgot. The prince would like to see you. >> << The prince? Really? >> << Yes, he said to bring you to him as soon as you returned. >> << I''m amazed, it''s the first time His Highness has asked for me. What would be the reason? >> << He didn''t specify it. He just insisted on seeing you. >> Jabar, intrigued, immediately went to the prince. Until then, except for court formalities, the two had not developed any type of relationship simply because there had never been the opportunity for a confrontation. And it was a shame, Jabar thought because the boy''s ideas on how to carry on the kingdom weren''t bad after all. If refined better, they could become as precious as diamonds. Maybe this was the right opportunity to start a profitable relationship. The prince was at the training camp, just as Jabar expected. It was a small mustard-yellow stone fort with a particular serrated arrowhead battlement, inside which there were 30 rooms, many of which were used as gyms. There, mixed with the unpleasant smell of sweat, you could hear the instructors'' incitements coming from everywhere, the insults directed at those who were slacking, the clang of swords crossing each other. Among the various disciplines practiced, there were free wrestling, archery, fencing, and sand fighting. Yep, even that. Baharmis undoubtedly had excellent soldiers, but having some Sand Master expert in combat at hand was always an additional guarantee of both safety and possible victory. The Guardians of the Sand - the honorific name of the category - being warriors too, had to keep in constant training. Their training was held in rooms that only the Masters and all those specifically authorized could access and one of them was Jabar. From behind the closed doors, you could hear an infernal din of screams, metallic screeches, and violent drums. It seemed like all hell was happening, but it was just simulations needed to train the Guardians. Controlling the Sand required a very high concentration effort and a considerable expenditure of energy. The Guardians, unlike the other Masters, were taught to always remain extremely concentrated, indifferent to any situation, sound, or noise. No matter how many allies died around them or how many times an arrow grazed them, they had to continue playing while always keeping the sound at the frequency necessary for the Sand to act until victory was achieved. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it A Guardian''s Yasirpipe was slightly different from the classic one: it had two rows of keys instead of one and was wider; the spheres to produce the vibration were smaller in size and the pipes had a wider opening which allowed a higher-pitched sound capable of propagating over long distances to come out. The Guardians course is the most popular one at Al Haimat school. The usefulness of the Sand in battle was immediately understood by the first Guardians who realized that they had a deadly weapon in their hands against the enemy and had no way of defending themselves. At the right frequencies sand walls, sand warriors, sand catapults, and even sand projectiles could be created to annihilate the opponent without them being able to react. For the wise old men, however, who considered Sand a sacred element, the use of it for war purposes was reprehensible, and they made no secret of it; it was a gift from the Gods made for the well-being of man and not to cause him harm; Knowing that it was stained with blood was a terrible sacrilege for them, but its power as a weapon and the consequent possibility of using it for new conquests had over time induced the Sultans to establish this course of study and training by law. Jabar would have gladly stopped to watch this interesting exercise, but he could not keep the prince waiting. <> said the Captain pointing to it. Inside the fort a courtyard was formed, closed in a perfect rectangle, and on one side of it puppets and targets were positioned which the recruits took turns using for training. At that moment, a small group of archers was targeting them with a flurry of arrows, and among them, in the center of the row, was Hazma. Seeing him, Jabar was stunned. ¡°Is it really him?¡± He wondered. ¡°How much a person can change when motivated by revenge.¡± he thought again. In those two weeks of absence, the sultan''s son had changed; he showed a more mature appearance, he had cut his hair and acquired, however little, evident muscle mass, he was dirty and bruised, with his hands marked by fresh scars like those acquired by those who begin to juggle with blades. Had his jaw become more squared, or was it due to the unkempt beard that was slowly growing? Of course, he now looked more like his father. He stood straight with a proud and confident bearing as he shot the arrows one after the other. The other archers were training with Mu''aqabbah-type task bows, while he held a Qadib[1], of the simplest kind. He counted the number of successful hits: 14 out of 20, not bad for a beginner. << Keep your back less stiff, otherwise all your muscles will be sore afterward. >> Jabar debuted. The archers and the prince turned at the same time. Apart from Hazma; everyone bowed when he arrived. << Congratulations your majesty, it seems you have a knack for archery. >> << Thank you, General, I hope your compliments are sincere and not a pretext to soften my incompetence. >> <> << If that''s the case, then could you give me some other advice? >> The man smiled delightedly. << Aiming is not just pointing the arrow at the target; it is very important to focus on the objective, keeping calm and concentrated, making the weapon become an extension of your body. Wait a few seconds and finally let it pop. >> Jabar borrowed a bow. He took the prince''s place and after just a second he shot his arrow, which landed precisely in the cotton "heart" of the dummy. Everyone gasped when they saw how deep the dart had gone. The Captain did not participate in that leap of admiration, managing to contain an expression of envy. << Nice shot. >> was Hazma''s comment. << Shooting instinctively requires coordination between the eye and the arm holding the bow, letting experience guide your movements. It takes a lot of concentration and practice to reach this level. >> the General explained with known pride in his voice. << And for a beginner? >> << Adjust the position of the bow arm. This makes it much easier to learn to shoot. >> << You know a lot about the subject. I thought you were only skilled in swordsmanship. >> <> << No indeed. I need something more from you. >> << And would that be? >> << Of all of your experience. >>
¡°This is getting very interesting¡±, Jabar thought. The prince wanted him as his trainer. He couldn''t have asked for a better person to train him. But that wasn''t the reason he was particularly excited. As Hazma spoke, Jabar thought that he could use the situation to his advantage to find Master Fawzi''s "Yasipipe". Jabar was a man of a thousand resources and knowledge, but still limited. If he had had the support and means of the royal family at his side, and perhaps even a bit of luck, the search would have been easier. The damned thing had vanished. And with it the man who had it with him. If Daysam had looked a little further than his nose, Jabar mused, the revolutionary instrument would already have been in his hands. When he had been told of the arrival of Master Fawzi and his instrument; a whirlwind of ideas had arisen in his mind about how he could use it. An instrument that makes the Sand move with music, making it easier to use? Wonderful! He had thought. What a brilliant mind that man had been who had built it! << Your Highness, if I may ask, is there any news on the Master''s case? >> The prince let out a sigh: << Nothing has been discovered yet. >> he said saddened. He refilled the goblet with Arak[1], in an attempt to sweeten his mouth. In the large mess hall of the fort, still empty because there were at least two hours left for lunch, Hazma was able to freely express his uncertainties without anyone else being able to hear him. He openly confided in the General, also aided by his kindness and his persuasive voice. He told him how much determination he had set out to do justice to his late friend and how high the expectation was of obtaining results immediately, only to then realize that between saying and doing... well, there was an obstacle as deep as an abyss. Without clues or testimonies, the undertaking was almost impossible and this did not help his self-esteem at all, which was so eager for success. << Do you have at least an idea as to why he was killed? Excuse the frankness, but a Sand Master is worth more alive than dead. >> Jabar stated, taking a gamble. Hazma rubbed his hands nervously, he seemed undecided about whether to answer that question or not. << I... I think I know. >> he began to babble in a low voice. << But I can''t venture an official accusation. I would unleash chaos. >> <> << The fact is that... the Master had invented something. >> Hazma, unaware that the General was already informed about the instrument, began to tell everything about the story. Jabar, pretending to learn about it for the first time, let him explain every detail about that sort of guitar and how Fawzi had been inspired to build it during a trip to a distant land. Hazma also told him of the Master''s desire to simplify and expand the control of the Sand with that instrument and to present it to the other Masters, being aware however that they would not willingly accept an object not in keeping with tradition. Jabar knew very well how rooted the elders were to the ancient rules and this was a big problem. They said they were carrying out studies on the magic sand, but in reality, the words "change" and "innovation" sounded blasphemous to their ears. He had never understood why such obstinacy against new things was so ingrained in their heads, perhaps he should ask Daysam in person. << Really surprising! This explains everything! >> he finally replied, feigning surprise. << Right? Fawzi was truly incredible. >> said the prince, in a melancholy tone. << Sometimes I wonder if he wasn''t magical too, in a certain sense. >> << That''s what I think too. Now, based on what he just told me¡ I think it''s possible that the news somehow leaked out and that someone found out about it. >> << But who? Fawzi kept the secret from everyone. No one in Riakesh could know this. >> << But the fame of the Masters extends beyond the borders of our lands, and rumors spread among them. Perhaps some of them will have seen him practicing with the instrument and wanted to prevent him from disclosing his invention... >> << As impossible as this may seem, I too have come to the same conclusion. >> << They are still men, Your Majesty. They too can fall into the trap of violence. There is a lot of antagonism between the Masters and a discovery of this magnitude could have unleashed strong feelings of envy, jealousy, and lust for power such as even leading to killing >> << Yes, this is also true... >> Hazma was tremendously worried by this possible prospect. If the intervention of a Master was involved in that delicate matter, the laws of justice could not be applied as in the case of a civilian. Even for a ruler it was risky to accuse a Sand Master. The only body with the power to judge the Masters was a special tribunal made up of the highest dignitaries of the school and in this case, the risk that everything could be hushed up was very high. And while the prince was worrying about a thousand thoughts, Jabar was developing a new idea in his head.
The General''s home was informal and spacious, located in one of the tallest buildings in Baharmis. Its prerogative was that it had a small tower with a pointed dome, accessible via a hidden staircase inside the house. There wasn''t much furniture other than the basics, but tapestries depicting bloody battle scenarios abounded, and objects such as helmets, flags, and medallions were arranged like trophies on any flat surface. Each room was large enough to hold three large oxen; all were decorated with dwarf palms and scented with delicate incense released by candles. However, Jabar''s favorite one was his study with his dear library from which he could access a large balcony overlooking the city, where in the evening he loved to sit and relax in the company of a good book and a cup of tea. The sun was about to reach the edge of the horizon; in half an hour or less, it would have begun to sink into the earth to make room for the deep blue of the night while some stars began to show themselves among the faint pink streaks of the sunset. Jabar, however, was not paying attention to this, concentrated on writing a short letter. Next to him, the table was set with falafel, hummus cream, and grilled chicken skewers with steaming vegetables, but still intact despite the delicious smell and appearance. Dinner could wait, he had to finish his work first. The message was addressed to his friend Daysam, where he explained in a few lines what he had planned regarding their project. He wrote as much as would arouse his curiosity, promising a meeting as soon as possible. He ended the letter with: ¡°See you soon my friend; Extraordinary times are about to unfold!". While writing this last sentence, with his hand trembling with emotion, he dropped a couple of drops of ink which stained the paper. He ran up the stairs of the tower, hidden behind one of them, and reached the top of the structure where he had set up an aviary with splendid specimens of falcons with plumage as dark as coffee, trained both for hunting and for carrying messages. The birds were perched lazily on their perch half asleep, remaining indifferent to the arrival of their owner who greeted them with the usual whistle with which he made himself known. He chose the one that was usually responsible for carrying messages to Daysam. It was the smallest of the group but made up for its small size with surprising wing speed. He tied the message to its right paw and let it go, in a few days, the letter would reach its destination, barring possible unforeseen circumstances. The hawk quickly disappeared among the buildings whose windows lit up one at a time, blending in with the growing shadows and the bats that left their burrows to hunt insects. Jabar smiled, his teeth gleaming. The hunt had just begun. Chapter 7: Nomads Basim felt something pinch his face slightly. First his cheeks, then his ears, and finally his nose, where the sensation of him was strong enough to force him to open his eyes. At his slight movement, a young specimen of a desert fox made a quick leap backward; its large, pointed ears stood erect in alert and its lively dark eyes stared at him as if in amazement. Basim looked at it curiously, it was the first time he had seen one up close. It had a nice appearance, and its beautiful sandy-colored fur made him want to caress it. Suddenly the little animal hid behind a pile of pillows, leaving a piece of its tail exposed. Slowly he began to put his thoughts in order, he began to look around and realized that everything around him was different from the last memories he had before fainting. Black fabric walls surrounded it, filtering the warm sunlight that flashed through small tears, the corrugated ceiling was supported by thick wooden poles on which unlit lamps and rags were hung, while on the floor were spread wide white carpets decorated with squares and triangles of red yarn, and then there were red and blue pillows everywhere near the edges. In a couple of minutes, the word ¡°tent¡± popped into his mind. It wasn''t his first time inside a tent, but at that moment it seemed surprising, as well as reassuring. He tried to get up, but a strong headache prevented him. There was a precise point on his head where he felt a strong pressure that caused excruciating pain as if he had something stuck inside up to his brain. He felt heavy and sore and also felt a tremendous tiredness that prevented him from moving. Suddenly a woman poked her head into the tent. She was dressed in a modest but elegant olive-green garment on which necklaces of yellow and orange beads stood out while on her head she wore an ivory shayla[1] with floral pattern. Their eyes met, and the woman dropped the basket she was carrying and ran away screaming. Immediately from outside came voices of people talking animatedly and immediately afterward the curtain opened and two men and three women entered, each wearing a green dress. << Glory to the Gods! We thought you''d never wake up! >> exclaimed one of the men. He was short, roughly half his size. He had short, disheveled hair and a messy beard as black as coal, his nose was perfectly straight like a bird''s beak and the color of his eyes was close to that of his dress. << Chief, it would be better to make him drink. He is certainly dehydrated. >> <> Basim pulled up the blanket he was wearing, confused and frightened by the sudden commotion. << Everything''s fine! Don¡¯t be scared! You are among friends here. >> said the man, trying to control the tone of his voice. Despite his small stature, he stood out among the others by giving orders in a firm and decisive tone. His expression was kind and his voice, although imposing, had a slightly strange accent that almost made it seem funny. They began to take care of him by examining him carefully, focusing in particular on his head exactly where he felt pain. After having treated him and cleaned the dirt, they brought him some clothes to change into and a couple of small water skins which he emptied greedily like a thirsty camel. Along with water, he was also given food, a generous portion of Mansaf[2]he managed to silence his stomach which was protesting because it had been empty for too long. All those kindnesses moved Basim so much that he couldn''t hold back his tears. He burst into tears¡. Understanding that he was safe. The man, in a reassuring voice, explained to him where he was: he was in a Bedouin camp. Basim knew well who they were. They were desert nomads, dedicated to transhumant cattle breeding or sheep-rearing, he saw people arriving in the city a couple of times a year to purchase wheat, coffee, tea, tobacco, weapons, and those objects that are not capable of obtaining in another way. Sometimes they even stopped by his shop to buy vases. People said many rumors about them, that they were ruthless and bloodthirsty warriors, dedicated to strange rituals... but in the end, they were just silly rumors. One thing was certain, they had saved him from certain death, and for this, he would always be in their debt. Finding it by chance while their caravan was moving had been his luck. And what luck! Without water and food, it was impossible to survive in the desert, especially when injured. << It went well for you. Another day in the sun and we would have found you cooked to perfection like a lamb on a spit. How did you get into this trouble? >> << The raiders. They attacked me and I was forced to run away. I had a guide, but he wasn''t as lucky as me. >> <> <> << I assure you that you are wide awake, alive and well. Although after two days in which you showed no sign of waking up, we began to fear the worst. You survived, not everyone is this lucky when they get lost in the desert. >> Yes, it was true. The Gods had been kind to Basim, giving him a chance to continue living. For a few days he was forced to rest, his legs could barely support him, as weak as dry branches gnawed by mice. At that time, he was only able to eat, drink water, take strange bitter-tasting medicines that the doctor said would restore his strength, untangle the knots in his hair, and play with the fennec fox who had discovered that his pillows were comfortable. When he could, the chief of the tribe, whose name was Zaka, went to keep him company and chat a bit. He was very curious and bombarded him with questions about his life and his passions. Basim was very happy with those visits, having a friendly person to talk to helped him calm down after everything he had been through. Now and then someone peeked into the tent out of curiosity, especially the younger boys who commented to each other about how different he was from them before the women arrived to send them away with reproaches. During the day, from outside the tent, he could hear people talking, the lowing of cows, and from time to time the shrill cries of children playing tag whose laughter put him in a good mood, but when night fell, with the silence of the falls, he couldn''t help but feel alone, abandoned and helpless, even if that wasn''t the case. Basim woke up early in the morning to the first solo of the cockcrow. He had slept a few hours and felt groggy but, nevertheless, he had no qualms about getting up, now tired of lying down. Waddling like an infant learning to walk, he managed to get out of his shelter; the sun was still a pale-yellow segment on the horizon and the sky a pale pastel blue, many of the nomads were already awake ready to get to work. Zaka was already darting from one part of the camp to the other to give orders or comply with some request. With his slightly rounded shape and the pale green of his clothes, he seems like a tangle of twigs at the mercy of the wind. He noticed Basim and went towards him smiling as usual. << Already up? Our doctor worked a miracle! You''re already better! >> << I''m standing, yes, but to say that I''m "fine"... it''s still early to say. >> << It''s still a good result, I mean it. Come. I''ll show you around. >> The nomad camp was much larger than Basim had expected. Each tent was large and equipped with small comforts, some had a pyramidal "roof" while others instead; had the shape of flattened spheres and could be distinguished from each other by their finely decorated colored drapes and particular designs. As the light irradiated the sky, the torches used to keep wild animals at bay were extinguished; the men prepared to go hunting or take the herd to graze, while the women took care of the domestic chores of their fabric houses and cradled their children while they were still in swaddling clothes. Even the older children busied themselves with simple but important tasks such as collecting water from the nearby oasis or preserving meat and cereals. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Zaka, holding his arm, told him the whole history of his people. A simple story, without twists, but in an interesting way. When he talked about it, his voice filled with enthusiasm and his eyes shone and his people, who had listened to him many, many times by now, managed to complete his sentences, demonstrating that they knew it by heart. You could see how proud he was of his people and their traditions. His tribe was neither rich nor of noble lineage compared to many others that inhabited the region, governed by caliphs who displayed wealth and power without hesitation, but he was still happy to belong to those people, and sharing their history was his way to honor them. << Very interesting, but all I think about is my house. I would like to go back as soon as possible, could you help me? >> Basim managed to ask him, taking advantage of a brief pause in his monologue. <> << No, I come from the capital: Baharmis. >> Zaka opened his eyes wide in amazement and so did those few people who were nearby and had the opportunity to hear the name of that famous city. << Seriously? From Baharmis? By golly, then you are an important person. >> << Who? Me? No, for goodness¡¯s sake. I am just a humble potter, nothing more. >> <> For Basim, however, it was the first time he had heard such a statement. Did they think this about the citizens? It was quite funny. << Well, I''m flattered. But going back to my initial question, can you help me? >> << There''s no talking about it, pal. >> A strange character suddenly entered the conversation. He appeared from behind them without them noticing. He walked in a graceful and controlled manner like a feline approaching its prey with feigned distrust before deciding whether to pounce on it or not. The people who had gathered around to listen to the conversation moved away, giving way to him, some showing disappointment and others, instead; they were a little scared. His clothing was a much darker green than that of the other nomads who instead tended towards lighter and more lively shades, his face was almost completely covered by the traditional keffiyeh, except for his eyes which, to Basim''s surprise, were blue as much as his, if not clearer. He stared at him intently: it wasn''t a bad look, but it wasn''t friendly either. There was something "sinister" about him, which alarmed Basim''s instincts, suggesting him not to trust too much. << In a few days we will enter the "Green Passage" and then follow the trade route from there. Because of you, we are already late, you should reimburse us for the time you have made us waste. >> << Sadin¡! What is this way of addressing our guest? >> << It''s the truth. He should at least pay us the trouble for saving him. >> << Sadin! I apologize on behalf of my nephew; I assure you that he is not always so disrespectful. >> << But chief... on the one hand, he is right. >> Someone intervened at that moment. << We have been preparing for this trip for a year. In the situation we are in, we cannot afford any more interruptions. >> A murmur arose among the nomads. Evidently, the topic was very important in the group, so much so that it divided people''s moods and opinions. Zaka repeatedly scolded his nephew for his behavior. But the more he talked, the more Sadin seemed to enjoy teasing him, like a magpie who found amusement in molesting a dog''s tail. What a strange individual, Basim thought. Zaka dragged Basim away, away from the attention of his strange nephew. He took him aside and confessed that the tribe was going through a difficult time. In recent years the nomadic life had become increasingly harsh, they were experiencing a period of famine and many animals had fallen ill and died; even the weather had not been kind, the frequent sandstorms and the invasions of locusts that had devastated the crops had given the final blow. To solve their problems, it would have been enough to buy new seeds and livestock, but very expensive goods and they did not have enough money to afford to buy the right quantities of supplies they needed. Zaka said that it was his nephew, during a meeting with the elders, who made a proposal to get out of that dramatic situation. His idea had been to organize street performances to earn the money they needed. He had an excellent sense for business, he knew how to understand the desires of others, and he also had the particular gift of easily enchanting with his persuasive words. Precisely with these qualities he had convinced his people to undertake that road. The adults, in reality, were not convinced that such a bizarre idea could work, the young people, on the contrary, had enthusiastically joined the project. << The boys have trained all year for this moment and we need the money... this is the best opportunity to take advantage of it. >> << Baharmis is the right place for this purpose, I have seen many companies of street artists perform with great success. Why is your nephew against going to the capital? >> << it''s too far from our route. We headed south, towards the end of the "Green Passage". If we headed towards Baharmis, it would take us maybe a month, or even two, and that would be too long. >> << But-but I need to go home! I can''t stay away this long! >> << I''m sorry, but I really can''t. Ours is a rigid itinerary to follow to avoid accidents, we cannot afford to change it. >> << Lend me at least a camel... or at least have someone accompany me! >> << Lend? Accompany? And how do you plan to pay for all these favors? >> Sadin reappeared unexpectedly again. This time, he was playing with a ball of cloth that he deftly rolled back and forth in his hand. << Sadin, have you started eavesdropping again? >> << Nooo uncle, I just happened to pass by the tent while you were talking. >> <> The boy chuckled. <> <> <> <> << A potter? How lame. It''s the most boring job in the world. >> << Hey, it''s the family business! Show respect! >> And as he said this, his ears picked up music. It was out of tune, yes, but still music. In the situation he was in, he wouldn''t have given it any importance, but he recognized something familiar in that sound. He gave a start and, stunning everyone, ran away in the direction of the sound, wandering nervously between the curtains, until he reached the source. A small group of boys were attempting to play Fawzi''s Yasirpipe. The teenagers were discussing the nature of the instrument, expressing lively opinions on its origin, while in the meantime they passed it from hand to hand causing it to fall repeatedly and whoever tried to play it pulled the strings clumsily with the risk of breaking them. Basim shouted to stop and told them to give it back to him. The boys, instead of returning it, ran away and began to make fun of him, exchanging it among themselves to confuse him, laughing at his still lolling walk. Poor Basim''s head was spinning from the excessive effort; he could faint at any moment but his biggest worry was that the instrument might break. If that had happened, he would never have forgiven himself. At a certain point, the Yasirpipe ended up in Sadin''s hands and everyone stopped. Basim held his breath without realizing it. The boy, with his lively eyes, studied the object with great interest, caressing every corner and detail with care, moaning thoughtfully. Suddenly those mischievous eyes looked at him again, triggering a leap in his heart. << Is it yours? >> he asked him. <> was his reply. << It seems precious. >> he said, realizing its importance. << We could resell it for a nice sum. >> he added. <> Basim exclaimed. <> << No! Because it''s¡! It¡¯s¡! It''s a Yasirpipe! >> Maybe he shouldn''t have said it, maybe it would have been better to make up a lie, but at that moment he couldn''t think of better solutions. He had no obligation to protect that object that wasn''t even his, but he felt that it was his duty to guard it until he found a worthy successor, not so much because it could control the Sand, but rather because it deserved to end up in the hands of nobler than his. Meanwhile, a silence full of amazement had fallen among those present, even Sadin showed great surprise through his gaze. In an unusually serious tone, he asked him if he was telling the truth; Basim swore it in the name of the Gods. The boy left the instrument without saying a word and quickly went to a distant tent. When he returned, he had with him a voluminous bag in which colored powder with light and dark shades was stored. Impure sand, Basim thought. With all the shows he had witnessed, he had learned to recognize the so-called "worst" category of the element at first sight. But why did he have a bag full of them with him? << Prove that what you say is true. >> The boy ordered him. Basim realized he had no other choice. He had already "played" with the instrument a couple of times, but only to play music, never to move the Sand (also because he didn''t have any). His hands were sweating and trembling as he tried to play the first song that came into his head, hitting repeatedly as he had never done before. However, it mattered little whether the notes were right or wrong, the Sand suddenly shot out of the bag like crazy, pirouetting up and down or forming small whirlpools with its colored pigments. << Ok! Okay! I believe you now! That''s enough! >> Sadin shouted. Basim was happy about it because his fingers hurt terribly after less than a minute of performance. Who knows what the Masters would have thought if they had discovered that a simpleton like him had used their Sand without a diploma. At that moment Sadin untied his keffiyeh, finally showing his face; Basim realized that the boy was unusual in his appearance as well as his words. The hair was long and thin like the threads used to weave a carpet, dark and with slightly coppery reflections, the forehead was spacious with a large mole in the center and the nose was very pointed. His facial features were much squarer than those of his people who, however; tended towards rounder features and, now that he noticed it, even the shape of his eyes was much larger and more expressive; he couldn''t decide if his skin color was too light, "unusual" for an individual of that tribe. <> Sadin said with a mischievous smile. <> << Basim. >> <. Anyway, today is your lucky day, I know how you can pay for your trip home. >> Chapter 8: The Masters of the Road Khor Abagat is a city located on the banks of the Shams River, built exactly in one of its inlets. Houses and buildings are all of a single gray shade which from above makes it resemble a shapeless patch of clay, except for some bluish areas due to ponds in which reed and papyrus plants grow luxuriantly. Feluccas^[1] of all sizes move from one bank of the river to the other, some are used for the transport of people and goods, others for fishing, a very important resource of the city. The streets are narrow and very crowded, and it often becomes difficult to walk without colliding with other people. There aren''t many references to understand which direction you''re going; the almost labyrinthine shape of the streets confuses the ideas of foreigners and the residents themselves who, to orient themselves; used bizarre reference points such as, for example, a house with a broken wall or a tower that can be seen from afar. On the eastern side of the city, there is a large temple that can be freely accessed to pray to the Gods. It is probably the only building in the city built with quality materials. The temple is located inside a valley, a golden brick path cuts the area in half up to the entrance, including the garden in which very little grass and a few palm trees grow. The temple has a simple rectangular base; externally, the only elements worthy of note are the twelve columns on which the faces of some of the most important deities of Riakesh are carved and part of the central section of the facade on which magnificent carvings stand out. The interior is white and clean, the walls seem to be covered with sweet cream and the floor, with rhombuses enclosed in rings and spirals, is a pale grey-blue that recalls the surface of the water and the few but fascinating blue and green embellishments similar to stars, they seem to recall the river and the vegetation that grows on the banks. The room is divided into three long corridors surmounted by a large series of arches and the columns, one identical to the other, are entirely made of hematite so shiny that they look like metal. The prayer altar is located on the opposite side of the entrance, as soon as you enter it is immediately visible thanks to its size and a particular play of lights that illuminate it for almost all hours of the day. The pilgrims who come in large numbers from all over Riakesh, during the hours of prayer, kneel on a cyclamen-colored carpet, bow their heads and place the fingertips of both hands on their foreheads, partially covering their faces, and follow the ceremony singing songs and litanies. The most widespread and followed religion in Riakesh is a very ancient religion based on the veneration of a main God and dozens of minor Gods. The main teachings revolve around tolerance and respect toward every living creature and are often transmitted through moments of meditation and prayer. They are handed down by so-called "mentors", chosen from among the most religious and wisest, the only ones who are allowed to pass on the religious word. Silence was obligatory in the temple, only during celebrations were prayers recited aloud, and even those walking tried to make as little noise as possible. There was no time limit for staying to pray: there were those who stayed for a few minutes, and those for an entire day, depending on their thirst for faith. Every day since they had arrived in Khor Abagat, Basim, in the few free moments he had available, went to the temple and prayed to the Gods to help him return home and to forgive him for having been so arrogant as to think he could complete a mission beyond his capabilities. They were the only things he asked and repeated, hoping to be satisfied. Once his prayer was over, he left the temple wavering between hope and disillusionment. Very often he stopped to look at the sky waiting for a sign from the sky but, until now, the only thing that fell on him was the poop of a fishing bird. Like every day, upon returning from prayer, he quickened his pace remembering the phrase that his grandfather repeated: "If you have time to complain, then you also have time to work". And Basim had a lot of work to do. The Bazaar^[2], located in a neighborhood at the crossroads of almost all the streets of Khor Abagat, was the scene of the biggest tough faces anyone had ever seen. Sellers went to great lengths to pass off their modest wares as extraordinary, top-quality merchandise, whether it was food or carpets. You could find anything and everything under the tents of the kiosks, sometimes so close together that you thought they belonged to the merchant. Pyramidal piles of spices, baskets of dried fruit that attracted swarms of midges, plenty of fish, and lots of pottery were all there. The noise was exasperating, the continuous shouting was also accompanied by the heavy bleating of some goats exposed for sale; in that commotion, everyone was shouting to promote their wares. By paying a little attention, you could notice how the sellers treated customers differently depending on whether their appearance exuded poverty or wealth, and when it came to the second category, they were all continuous smiles and incessant kindnesses. The bazaar area was not very large, and everyone had to make do as they could to get a seat. The acrobats, however, always found space to perform and it mattered little whether it was small or large, what mattered most was the result of the performance. The trick to a successful show is to start with something that captures the viewer''s attention. If you can pique their curiosity and keep their attention high, success is guaranteed. The real triumph, however, comes when the artist, in addition to possessing exceptional skills, also proposes something new and special that distinguishes them from all the others. The boys of the nomadic tribe were doing well with their Sand theater, but ultimately it was nothing exceptional. All the tricks they were using were things already seen and proposed a thousand times; nothing to waste an ¡°ooh!¡± or an ¡°aah!¡± of wonder. Basim had seen far more engaging shows, so he remained impassive, almost bored, the entire time. A few coins fell into the chipped offering bowl, just enough to give those boys some satisfaction, but certainly not enough to fill the pantry. << Nope. That¡¯s not good. >> grumbled a disgruntled Sadin. << At this rate we would become old and gray before we earned enough to save the tribe. >> << We are doing our best Sadin... but we are not familiar with the Sand. >> said one of the boys. <> << But will we succeed? I have seen the other ¡°Masters of the Road¡±; they''re really... really good. They can do incredible things and are better than you can imagine. >> The ¡°Street Masters¡± were all those artists who used Impure Sand for street performances. Despite the title of ¡°master¡±, there is no reference to nobility behind it. The Masters of the Road are regarded by the pure Masters as outcasts, capable only of tarnishing the art of manipulating the Sand. Their category was so despised that the deans of Al Haimat were trying to pass as many laws as possible to take away their right to use the Sand and, even, to be able to incriminate them with its improper use. But many threats had never been followed up on. They also had their own Yasirpipe, but it''s an older variant. These are six thin flat brass plates ¨C two small and another four large ones fixed centrally to the tops of wooden pillars, called Goll''s Discs. To make the Sand move it was necessary to rub the edges of the plates with a thin metal arch, rather than doing it on the plate itself as in the case of the official Yasirpipe. It is certainly very convenient to transport because it is light and removable but with a very limited power range. The origin of the Road Masters dates back to a former student who, rejected by the school, passed their basic knowledge of Sand command to others who like them had been deemed undeserving of the honor they had studied for. Their identity is unknown, even their name has been erased from official history, even though their story has become a legend. Initially, the intention of the Road Masters was only to spite all those who, because they knew how to use the Sand, had an arrogant attitude. As time passed, however, it had become not only a job to survive but also a revenge for all those underrated people like the founder. << Look guys, our people are counting on us. We promised this thing would work and I swear on my life it will! >> << Calm down Sadin, you''ll have a nervous breakdown. >> << Let there be exhaustion, sunstroke, and even fever! Nothing will stop me from carrying out my plan! >> << Maybe we should start asking the Gods for help. >> << Maybe the time has come to implement "plan B". >> There was a slight gasp of surprise among the boys. In Basim, however; those words sent a shiver down my spine. And he was right to be: he was the ¡°plan B¡±. Sadin motioned for him to come closer with his index finger, forcing him out of his makeshift hiding spot behind a large ruminant ox. << Looks like your moment of glory has finally arrived, pal. >> Sadin announced with a menacing smile. << Tomorrow, you''ll show us how good you are at strumming with that thing. >> <> << Of course you are! Tomorrow everyone will be amazed: it will be a triumph! >> << Or a colossal disaster. Sand is not a toy, and you cannot learn to use it overnight. >> said Basim dejectedly, who, after that announcement, became more agitated. Since living with the nomads, he had been forced to learn to play the Yasipipe and try to refine his technique. Sadin had called him ¡°the trump card¡± they needed. A rare combination like his could not be overlooked, so he had told his people with exaggerated enthusiasm. The assiduous use of that instrument - according to the boy - would have meant that Basim could become the greatest street artist history had ever known. But Basim disagreed; he had even tried to protest but, only the threat of being abandoned in the middle of the desert had forced him to comply with the orders of that boy who had imposed himself with great vehemence. Not even his uncle who was his chief had managed to change his mind. Basim had lost count of the time spent tuning the instrument and how many headaches he had experienced trying to accustom his ear to distinguish between harmony and out of tune... not to mention the pain in his fingers and when plucking the strings and those in the legs from sitting for too long. Learning to play an instrument is difficult in itself... if there was someone constantly breathing down your neck, it becomes an almost titanic undertaking. << At least with our efforts we have earned some coins, unlike you with your vases. >> Sadin said. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. << If I haven''t sold even one vase, it''s because you scared away customers by saying they were worthless pieces! >> Basim replied furiously. <> << Take back what you said immediately! This is an insult to my family''s business! If my grandfather heard you, he would have made you eat your words! >> << Stop with this "family business" thing, you''re an artist now. If you want to go home, from now on you must use your hands to play; put it in your head. >> Basim grunted angrily and impatiently kicked the basket with the few vases he had managed to forge, breaking loudly into a thousand pieces. If someone who knew him had seen him at that moment, they would surely have been surprised to see him so angry. <> << Business is business. >> <> <> << Damn, you''re unpleasant when you are like that. >>
Outside Khor Abagat, almost close to the western border, the squat figure of a small mound loomed. The slope was not too steep and with a good dose of patience, you could get to the top and enjoy the beautiful landscape of the area, even if now and then the wild goats came to look around to understand who those intruders were. The Bedouins had camped on its slopes and from the heart of the camp, set up to form a circle, a pleasant smell of burning meat and wood rose. Everyone was sitting around a large bonfire, intent on eating dinner amidst laughter and singing as they always used to do. Zaka felt relieved to see that everyone was in a good mood, even though they were going through a rather unfortunate period. There was a lot of turmoil and animosity, but he still managed to notice Basim''s absence. He filled a plate with meat and vegetables and went to his tent, knowing he would find him there. He was there, all alone, with pages of musical scores next to him and a small, voluminous notebook with a worn cover whose yellowed pages he was lazily leafing through. <> he asked him, handing him the plate. Basim gasped, quickly hiding everything. He was about to say something, but he kept it to himself after realizing who was standing in front of him. << I''m too tired and I have to get up early tomorrow... >> he replied, with a somewhat altered tone of voice. Zaka felt a lump grow in his throat and a heavy feeling of guilt grow in his chest. He wasn''t the type who liked to see people dissatisfied. << I''m sorry for how my nephew is treating you; the boys told me what happened. I should have been stricter with him. This payment story has gone on too long. Tomorrow I will have one of my men take you home. >> << No. >> <> << Because as difficult as it is... it''s right that I do something for you, in exchange for the fact that you saved my life. >> << By golly, the help you have given us in recent days has been more than enough! You looked after the animals, sewed up the curtains, played with the children... you did so many things, even without being asked! >> << At home they taught me not to slack off. I was used to always doing something, even chores that could be put off until the next day. >> << As far as I''m concerned, you¡¯ve more than paid off your debt. >> <> << You can call me Zaka. >> At a certain point, Zaka''s eyes ended up on the Yasipipe, resting in a corner. Although he knew its worth, he valued it more for its peculiar appearance. Its rounded shape was captivating, and the sound was also pleasant to him. <> << After all it''s not that difficult when you understand how to tune it. >> << Do you know how to do it? >> <> <> The interest in the subject so dear to him put Basim in a good mood. Before he knew it, he was already immersed in the subject with enthusiasm. It had been a long time since he had shared his love for his favorite pastime with another person, being able to talk about it freely without fear or embarrassment, or even the fear of being told he was silly. Zaka listened carefully and asked a few questions; Basim always responded to everything with a smile that radiated joy. Now and then he interrupted himself, realizing the torrent of words with which he overwhelmed his interlocutor, who however urged him to continue. In a moment of extreme confidence, the man asked him why he liked music so much. Basim told him that it all began when he was a child and an older cousin of his had made him "escape" from his training as a potter by taking him around Baharmis, to give him an afternoon of leisure and relaxation. Wandering around the city was always an adventure, even when you thought you knew it inside out, and in company, it became even more fun. That day, a concert was held in the central square. It almost seemed like there was a party; many people were dancing and singing in an atmosphere of general joy. For some reason, he was enchanted by that music, but even more enchanted by the skill of those artists from whom he couldn''t take his eyes off. He had already heard people play, it was nothing new for him... yet that group, for some reason, seemed to have something more... a sort of magical touch. The spark struck when a guitarist from the band caught his eye: he smiled and invited him to come closer. Basim did so curiously, embarrassed, and also very excited. When he was next to him, the musician started playing with more ardor, urged by his colleagues who sped up the pace to keep up with his frenetic pace; even Basim''s heart seemed to quicken for the same reason. He couldn''t take his eyes off him, he was as if he were haunted. He had never heard such an engaging musical performance before. From that moment, he understood that this was his world and perhaps one day he would be able to be part of it. The excitement of the story suddenly subsided as Basim returned his mind to the present. The situation he was in now chased away the enthusiasm of the past, now so distant and nostalgic. Yes, he could play the Yasirpipe¡ but command the Sand? That was a difficult task. The masters studied for years and years to be able to do it, while he, with little time available, didn''t even have the basic knowledge that was taught at their school; his best achievement so far was to "throw it" in his face. << You know, I think you''re worrying too much about tomorrow. >> said Zaka. << You are talented, and you managed to achieve such a difficult object all by yourself. How many people can boast of having succeeded in this goal? >> <> << Music means fun, right? Involve your listeners, and make sure people have fun while you play. Think of it as a party or a game, rather than a job. >> << Put like this, it''s not a bad idea. I must admit that I like it. But¡ >> << Oh, no! No ¡°buts¡±! Now focus on this positive thought and don''t get caught up in anxiety anymore! Tomorrow, I want you to go to town with a clear head, okay? >> << O-okay¡ >> That being said, Zaka dragged Basim out of the tent and made him join the rest of the company. After a few seconds of hesitation, his appetite arrived and he accepted the various dishes that were offered to him one after the other, all exquisite in their simplicity. Usually Basim, during lunches and dinners, concentrated only on the food, glutton as he was. But at that moment completely new thoughts were swarming in his head, far from the pleasure of eating; still tied to the performance, but less stressful than the ones that had plagued him all day. The conversation with Zaka had made him think; involving people as if in a game... perhaps seeing the situation from a different perspective, rather than focusing on a single point of view, was precisely what he was missing. He imagined the ideas as if they were the clay he used for the vases and began to shape them with his imagination, giving different shapes that were beautiful and above all made sense. The ideas that didn''t completely convince him he immediately discarded, while those that seemed interesting, he kept aside and, considering their strengths and weaknesses, he tried to blend them. With this imaginative game, he created many vessels that contained interesting ideas, inspired not only by his thoughts but also by what he saw around him, such as people talking or the dancing fire that warmed him in a reassuring embrace. And there is the idea! The winning one! He finished eating and took his leave with newfound enthusiasm. In his tent, he immediately began scribbling down different staves and tested their musicality with the Yasirpipe. Sometimes the melodies were long, other times shorter, and occasionally even accompanied by the identifiable rustling of the Sand swirling.
The new day it arrived early and already, as usual, chaos reigned in the city. Every time citizens wake up; it seems their first thought is to create confusion. Sadin was already at the bazaar, tapping his foot impatiently; he had taken possession of a pitch for Basim''s performance, but he still hadn''t shown up. All the people who passed in front of him represented lost income and he hated missing good opportunities; To make the situation worse and increase his bad mood, the other acrobats would scold him for occupying a space without doing anything about it, but he would send them away cursing. When Basim finally arrived, without even a hint of ¡°Good morning¡± or ¡°How are you?¡±, he brusquely urged him to get to work immediately. <> << Don''t worry, I''m ready. >> Basim replied annoyed. <> <> Basim didn''t have to repeat it twice. Calmly he sat down on the ground, placing three small baskets in front of him each containing yellow, orange, and red Magic Sand, after which he placed the Yasipipe wrapped in a cloth on his legs. As he unrolled the wrapping, some passers-by stopped for a fleeting glance, intrigued by the shape of the object. He didn''t need anything else; he was ready for his debut. The young nomads crossed their fingers, hoping that Sadin had been right. The first delicate notes of the Yasirpipe managed to emerge among the noises of the market, literally capturing the attention of the people around. Basim was concentrated on playing, his gaze alternated from the strings to the score, and he didn''t waste time checking how many people were listening to him and the reactions they were having. The melody wasn''t perfect and the pace was rather slow, but overall it was pleasant music to listen to and somehow even relaxing. A little girl in the crowd began to dance to the slow beat, swaying gracefully despite her young age. Basim noticed her out of the corner of his eye and took her appearance as a sign and it gave him courage to continue. It began to play louder and, if until then the sound had been like a faint chirping, it had now transformed into a vibrant hum. Suddenly one of the baskets began to shake and puffs of yellow sand began to swirl in the air. If at first glance it seemed like only chaotic movements, by observing carefully, one could realize that the Sand was faithfully following the rhythm of the music, in perfect harmony also with the little girl''s movements. All three elements were in balance with each other, at least until the little girl suddenly stopped to observe the Sand, gaping in wonder. Basim reacted to the little girl''s expression with a reassuring smile. << Anyone wants to try? >> he then asked the audience who had already gathered around him in large numbers. A murmur arose, and everyone looked at each other to see who would accept the invitation. Someone looked away, others walked away... then a man came forward and improvised a dance. Without missing the opportunity, Basim immediately started playing again, finding a tune suitable for those movements and the Sand began to twirl again with movements suited to that new rhythm. The man laughed with satisfaction, pointing to everyone at the Sand and shouting out loud how funny that show was. Gradually the enthusiasm became more and more engaging, attracting the attention of even those who were far away. It was mainly the younger ones who approached to take part in the show, but even the adults did not hold back to see the Sand dance. Two people exchanged a friendly handshake and started dancing at the same time. Basim instinctively sped up to keep up with them, even if his fingers were starting to hurt, he wasn''t going to stop now. The Sand began to move simultaneously from two baskets at a certain point, raising a unanimous chorus of amazement. Red and yellow danced together, following the steps of the two improvised dancers who continued to dance excitedly in surprise. Equally amazed was Basim, who didn''t expect all that success. Suddenly other people joined in and started dancing the Dabka^[1]. Basim was sweating, he hadn''t expected to get this far and unleash such pandemonium, but he didn''t dare stop at all. He continued undaunted. He was determined to give his best and not make the many days of hard training in vain. And he was pouring so much of his energies into the Yasirpipe that he didn''t realize the dim glow of the strings and how the sound was changing without him knowing. Something about it all drove Sand mad. Three colored fountains rose from the baskets and performed phenomenal acrobatics. They were intense minutes of enchantment, accompanied by screams of excitement and thunderous applause, as well as lots of coins. It was the first time the people of Khor Abagat had witnessed something like this, and word would soon spread to the rest of Riakesh. << See? I told you the guy was helpful! >> Sadin said more than satisfied, while he watched the rain of gold overflow from the bowl. Basim on the other hand... to say that he was shocked was an understatement. His blue eyes stared at the now helpless baskets of the Sand and not even a hiss came out of his wide-open mouth; he was so fixed in his position that he might have been mistaken for a statue. He was the only one, at that moment, to have realized that he had performed some sort of magic. Chapter 9: Aspirations Al Haimat is not only the school where one becomes a Sand Master, but also the sacred temple where the magical characteristics of this element are studied. In the most remote areas of the structure, near the heart of the mountain into which it was carved and where students are forbidden to enter, are the offices and laboratories. There, the highest-ranking Masters often spend entire days analyzing the Sand trying to better understand its properties with experiments that are difficult to describe in simple words. 500 years after its discovery, many mysteries still hover over the Sand and it is thought that many features remain to be discovered. Manipulation with sound is certainly the main cornerstone for its use, but there are other questions to be answered such as: ¡°Is it possible to go beyond this skill?¡± or even, ¡°What else can you do with Sand?¡±. The topic is certainly interesting, but less vast and in-depth than one might think. All the books and treatises that talk about it do nothing but repeat the same old things and very little that is current is added in the recently published tomes, which is why current generations partly aspire to be future discoverers of something vital. Those modestly important discoveries made over the years have undoubtedly been revolutionary, but the thirst for knowledge is not easy to quench, especially after the last two centuries of lack of innovation. For some Masters of the aforementioned centuries, this stagnant and poor development situation represents a sort of personal embarrassment: the baton was passed to them to carry forward the evolution of the Sand and none of them achieved truly important results. Their predecessors with disappointment, certainly, were watching them from the kingdom of heaven. Daysam was reminded of a speech given by the late Master Fawzi. At one of his last gatherings with colleagues, which took place right there in Al Haimat, before disappearing for a couple of years on what was his last trip, he was asked what, in his opinion, was the reason why there were no had been innovations in their profession. << Because our category has become lazy. That¡¯s because. >> he responded without mincing words. << Masters are arrogant and think they know everything, they have decided to be satisfied with the knowledge they have already established, ending up losing that desire to study even after graduation. I find it reckless: you should never think that you can stop learning something about your craft. Architects must continue to study architecture if they want to learn how to build new, safe structures; soldiers must always prepare themselves in case they find themselves faced with an enemy who uses different war strategies¡. therefore, a true Sand Master should always expand their knowledge and never limit themself to what they already know. It is important to know as much as possible. In a certain sense, every Master should remain an eternal student. >> Daysam completely agreed with that thought. Stopping learning meant missing important opportunities to acquire knowledge that would make him superior to others. He had always admired Fawzi for his commitment to enriching the culture of that profession; he was one of those few men he could truly define as a colleague. It was a shame that on other fronts, however, they had different opinions. And above all that, he felt a strong resentment towards him. << Honorable Fawzi, is the rumor true that you are designing a new model of Yasirpipe? >> asked another of the Masters in that same meeting. The question pricked up the ears of many, but the interest was not truly complete until the answer, which was clear and concise: << Yes, that''s how it is. >> Those present fell silent in perfect synchrony, staring at the man who returned their incredulous gazes with glances of pride. Even Daysam couldn''t help but show amazement. <> << Of course, we know... but... do you really want to create a different Yasirpipe? >> << I confirm it. And I still don''t understand why so much surprise. It is a process that has already been done in the past starting from the Tablet of Ses, then moving on to the Disks of Goll, and finally to the Yasirpipe. Why this amazement, then, at something that has already been done? >> << Well, because¡ because the current instrument is perfect. It is suitable for crafting, modeling, and fighting. It has been calibrated so that it can do everything.>> << It may be suitable for every job, but is it the same for every Master? >> None of those present understood what Fawzi meant, looking to each other for a clear explanation. The Master did not take long to explain himself. << As far as I''m concerned, the Yasirpipe we are using is an object that limits the potential of a good percentage of Masters. All those keys, the way they must maintain the frequency, the excess concentration that each movement requires... I confess that I never liked it. It Works? Yes. It''s perfect? I don''t agree with this. Its difficulty in playing it is as burdensome as its size. >> <> << Not "easy", but rather "effective". >> And after that announcement, Fawzi had no longer provided any information about it. A rift of opinion as wide as a canyon had formed among the colleagues and the exchange of views almost degenerated into a real brawl. ¡°Crazy!¡± they shouted from one side, ¡°Revolutionary!¡± they answered on the other. Daysam, on the other hand, was in the middle, in the space of indecision. He didn''t doubt that a new version of the Yasirpipe could be created, but was it possible to do it with a different system? Had Fawzi discovered something about the communion between sound and Sand? Why didn''t he share this discovery about him with others? He didn''t dare think that Fawzi was all a farce to give himself importance, but he wasn''t convinced by what he had heard either. Daysam once greatly admired Fawzi. Like many of his supporters, he hung on his lips and took his words at face value. He was reluctant to admit it, but some of his career goals had been achieved by following his suggestions. Of course, there was a note of envy, but it was nothing so important, as insignificant as an earthworm crawling on the ground. This is at least at the beginning. Slowly, however, that worm had begun to creep deeper and deeper into his heart, giving space to negativity which, finding fertile ground, continued to grow luxuriantly. Daysam''s abilities and his studies of the Sand had undoubtedly made him something of a celebrity among the Masters; his commitment to bringing out the potential of the Sand had not gone unnoticed, thus allowing him to receive the most important honors. But there was always that continuous comparison with Master Fawzi that made him understand that he was not considered at his level, and this left a bitter taste in his mouth that caused a feeling of resentment mixed with hatred to grow in him which had now become like a disease. This feeling had reached its peak upon his appointment as the new Rector of the school. As soon as the news of his predecessor''s death spread, the council of Masters informed him that they had chosen him for that important position. Daysam had apparently received the news with controlled happiness, but inside himself the satisfaction was enormous. After the title of Master of the Sand, there was no other more important role one could achieve than that of Rector of Al Haimat, and now that the title had become his, he felt like the king of the world. He had finally reached the pinnacle of his career. Now that the throne of the school belonged to him, there was no doubt that he was the most important of the Sand Masters, no one could say that he was worth less. But that moment that should have been his triumph was overshadowed by a bitter surprise. In reality, the position of Rector had been proposed to Fawzi first. The role had been offered to him immediately after the death of the old Rector because the Council of Masters thought that no one else better than him could become the best representative of the Masters. However, Fawzi had refused, and they had even begged him on his knees to accept but that old fool had continued to reject the offer undaunted, choosing to renounce that title to be able to freely continue his project of creating a new instrument. A second choice¡ that''s what Daysam was. Once again Fawzi had overshadowed him, among other things belittling the position of Rector of Al Haimat and choosing to pursue an absurd dream. Master Fawzi had a great mind, without a doubt he was the best of all the Masters of his century but, if a flaw had to be found in him, it would have been precisely in the fact that his dreams prevailed over his common sense. From that day on, Daysam dedicated himself to working body and soul with a single objective: to train the best Masters to bring the caste he represented to perfection. He had no further news of his colleague, nor had he even looked for them, until the day his sudden death was announced. As regards the existence of the phantom instrument that he so wanted to build, there was no news about that either, at least until Jabar confirmed its existence to him. << Gone! Not even a trace! >> exclaimed the General upon his return to the school. After their brief and intense meeting, he had set off in search of Basim. He returned a few days later, empty-handed but still full of irritation. It must have been a crazy search for him, his poor horse was almost on the verge of collapse from exhaustion. <> << Jabar, calm down... >> << Don''t tell me to calm down! I don''t want to calm down at all! I''m still mad at you! >> << You can''t blame me! I had no idea that Fawzi had managed to make the instrument! >> << But didn''t you hear any rumors about it?! >> << Of course not! He kept the secret until the end! >> Jabar indulged in a long string of disrespectful insults towards the late Master. Between one curse and another, they repeated how close they had been to being able to give shape to the idea they had been working on for seven years. Daysam, silent, remained alert to defend himself from another possible outburst of anger. He still trembled at the memory of that unusual reaction of that man who had always appeared composed and patient. In a calm voice, he asked what they could do now. <> explained Jabar restlessly. << We must hope that that guy hasn''t already arrived in Baharmis and instead stopped in another city. If he brings the Yasirpipe to the Sultan, the project is ruined. >> Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. << Is that all? Can''t you do anything else? >> << No, my dear. I cannot. Unlike you, who spend your time boasting about your very important title as Rector, I have many commitments that I cannot give up. >> << Oh, I didn''t think that attending parties and bathing in rose water were essential chores. >> << Be less funny, we''re both in the same boat, and up until now I''ve only been rowing. Now it''s your turn to take up the oars and get busy. >> <> << No... but you have the Sand and an entire school with you. >> <> <> What kept Daysam from sending the General to hell, he didn''t know either. He had asked him the impossible, how could he create something from nothing, without knowing where to start? He couldn''t say what was more absurd: his ally''s expectation and the feat itself. The sudden rustling of sand brought his mind back to the present. It wasn''t his habit to get distracted at work; certainly, the hypnotic noise caused by the moving sand and the relaxing effect of the medicine on his mind had weakened his concentration. << It didn''t work this time either. Sand goes mad too easily. >> << It doesn''t matter, try again. >> Try again, try again¡ it was easy to say, without adequate information. Daysam hated not having a concrete guide to work, but in this case, he had to make do on his own to understand what the secret of Fawzi''s instrument was. Music as a source of Sand control. Only an ingenious guy like him could succeed in such a utopian project. Daysam and a few other trusted people had been trying for days to recreate this unlikely success without managing to come even close to it. Studying old manuscripts on the principles of sound, he had discovered that there had already been experiments to obtain total control of the Sand through music, an idea however abandoned due to its complexity and, in his opinion, absurdity. Every musical instrument generates mechanical vibrations thanks to an element capable of oscillating around an equilibrium position when excited by the instrumentalist. The vibrating element can be a string, air, a wooden or metal bar or plate, and so on; furthermore, the instruments must be able to play many notes, which means that each of them must have a mechanism for selecting the frequency of the oscillation produced. This mechanism is very diverse. For example: in stringed instruments, the frequency is selected indirectly by varying the length of the vibrating string. In the guitar, intonation occurs as in strings by shortening the strings with the fingers; however, the presence of pre-set bars on the keyboard guides the performer to play only pre-established notes. In reed wind instruments the source of the oscillation is generally very variable in frequency and the real selection takes place directly in the resonant body of the instrument, varying its effective length, that is, opening or closing the holes. For percussion, the situation is even more varied, as there are "non-tunable" percussion instruments, i.e. which do not produce a sound of a defined pitch. Ultimately, therefore, the frequency of the sound produced depends on both the geometric characteristics and the physical characteristics of the vibrating element.[1] It is unthinkable, therefore, to attempt to use this musical arsenal for the Sand. It meant building different means of control, custom Sand-to-instrument calibrations, and a lot of other processes too hard to even imagine. Instead, with a single tool like the current Yasirpipe, all these problems did not arise. In short, such an object could not be successful. ¡°But then why do I have the feeling that Fawzi has built something better?¡± The Rector thought anxiously. The experiments went on night and day, although it would be more honest to say that they were blind attempts. They collected all those notes from which the Master must have started and hoped, as he had done, to find along the way the enlightenment that had led him to build that tool. They had even begun to build prototypes, trying to insert the parts used to make the Yasirpipe work, but without getting anything working. All they were conquering was just wasting Sand, scattering it around like wheat seed. Not even in the "chambers of silence", to limit any interference, did the outcome change. << Damn it! >> exclaimed Daysam frustrated. He looked one last time at the paper sketch he had made of Fawzi''s instrument and then tore it up in anger. Cursed be the day he was assembled. <> << Is that a note of jealousy I hear in your voice? >> << Don''t start Jabar. I''m not in the mood to listen to you. >> Daysam was as agitated and in turmoil as the terrible Haboob[2]which had been blowing with its hot and stormy wind for a good half hour throughout the territory around Baharmis, with clouds of red dust falling onto the plain oppressing flora and fauna. He had spent the last period under constant stress. Between work, experiments, and poor health he hadn''t had a moment of peace. He was tired, exhausted, and above all particularly nervous. He felt himself crumbling one piece at a time like the rock of the Al Haimat canyon, from which dust and stones occasionally fell. For this reason, he had decided to be the one to reach Jabar this time, moving away from his stone castle to be able to change the scenery, hoping to find a new perspective in that city full of opportunities. << ¡°Of course, I can do it! I am the Rector!¡±. Didn''t you say something like that? >> muttered the General mockingly. <> the Rector replied between coughs. << If it weren''t for the storm I would have already left! >> <> << Continue to joke... I would like to see you in my place. >> <> << Oh yes, ingratiating yourself with the prince is a big commitment. >> <> The two men exchanged glares of respective impatience. The living room of Jabar''s mansion which they discussed was spacious but, for them, who were detached from each other, it still seemed too narrow. The relationship had not yet healed after the Yasirpipe "accident" and even if they were now collaborating, it could not be said that they did so with serenity. At least they were on par when it came to failure, Daysam thought with a hint of satisfaction. There was a reason why those two men were so eager to have that item. Finding it would allow them to achieve important success both for their respective categories and for the kingdom they served. According to their point of view, the kingdom was not as perfect as it wanted to appear. According to them, there were still many defects, mainly because the empire never did anything concrete to improve it. Baharmis had become a very rich and powerful city thanks to the monopoly of the Sand and the skills of the Masters who with their use had become invincible, which is why the desire for expansion was greatly attenuated. The tributary kingdoms would never have dared to go against a power that could easily destroy them, and this too had contributed to those who always had the duty to rest on their laurels instead of continuing to make the empire prosper. Under its golden appearance, Baharmis hid many problems that had accumulated over time and were starting to ruin those structures that made them unassailable. Over time, all this would have led the kingdom towards an inevitable decline which would also have involved the rest of the territory. The goals of Daysam and Jabar were similar: they wanted to impose order and peace. But without the right means, which for them was equivalent to having an unstoppable military force, this could not have happened. From this perspective, the Masters could have played a fundamental role. For years Jabar had privately financed Daysam and his school, with the condition of paying more attention to the courses dedicated to the Guardians, those who used the Sand for combat. His contribution was not particularly considerable compared to those of other donors, but it certainly guaranteed certain privileges that could not be renounced. The strength of the Sand, combined with the abilities of a Guardian, is a very powerful bond limited only by the tool that binds them. In battle, you need to have all your senses alert because possessing the biggest weapon can''t always lead to victory, especially if it is used badly. The Guardians of Riakesh are undoubtedly excellent, but not perfect. Although it was the most popular, the course was at the same time the most detested by most of the Masters, who disavowed its use for violence and conquest. Yet, it was precisely thanks to this that the kingdom of Baharmis had been able to defend itself in the most serious moments and then achieve the current prosperity that had also made it lazy. Fawzi was one of the biggest opponents; he was against war and despised violence. His opinion mattered a lot in the community and one word from him would have been enough to start a revolution. The thought that with a tool like Fawzi''s, the Guardians could become exceptional fighters, particularly appealed to Daysam and Jabar, but the old geezer would never cooperate with them. Then they would do anything to have the instrument in their hands. <> the General announced with a satisfied smile. The words caught the Rector''s attention like magic. Jabar explained that the mysterious boy was called Basim and that he was the son of a well-known family of potters. His spies had given him a full profile report on the young man who, in one word, was a ¡°good guy.¡± He didn''t seem to have anything in his head, nor that he could get into trouble easily, and he didn''t take advantage of the family''s fame to put on airs. Everyone who knew him spoke well of him. <> Daysam commented disgustedly. <> Jabar continued speaking. The real surprise came now. He explained that while observing Basim''s profile, his men had discovered three important details: The first was that he was a music enthusiast; the second, that he was a regular visitor to a music shop in Baharmis and that he was a friend of the owner; the third and last, the most important one, that the shop had been Fawzi''s secret refuge. The landlord had an empty room which he had rented to the Master for the duration of his stay in Baharmis; he didn''t like the Sand Masters and after the death of his tenant he quickly got rid of all his stuff, including Yasirpipe. On reflection, it was reasonable to think that Basim had intended to bring the instrument to Al Haimat as tradition dictated. The only question that remained was whether he knew that it was a special instrument or not. << Wow¡ what a bunch of useless information. >> << How useless? Has the disease burned your brain? We finally found out who had our instrument. >> <> << Having this person''s identity in hand gives us a big advantage, don¡¯t you understand? Finding him will be much easier now that we know what his face looks like. >> << If he isn''t already dead somewhere... maybe I should make an offering to the Gods. >> << It''s not the Gods you need, but me. With my resources, it will be easier to track him down. Now we need a stroke of luck. A small one. >> Three sharp knocks shook the door. The General shouted "Come forward" and a man wrapped in a dusty cloak, under which the uniform of the palace guards could be seen, entered. << General, I have an important communication from the barracks. Perhaps we have news on the assassination of Master Fawzi. >> informed him. There was a mutual look of surprise between the two men.
Emir the luthier was worried. Another day had passed without any news of his friend Basim, and that meant another day he would spend with his heart crushed by the weight of worry. He knew that something could happen to him because of the Sand: he had always maintained that it was bad luck! Everyone said how useful it was, but only he realized how much evil power that thing possessed. He felt guilty. He regretted not having made more of an effort to stop him, so much so that he lost sleep and his appetite. He looked terrible, he almost seemed sick, and everyone pointed it out to him. Rumors about his family often reached him: he couldn''t even imagine the apprehension those honest and good people were feeling. He mulled over what he could do. In the last period, he was considering asking for an audience with the sultan to ask him to do something. However, it is difficult to think that his majesty would have moved to look for a single boy... but perhaps he would have changed his opinion if he had mentioned the magical instrument... "No! No! No! Don''t be silly Emir!¡±The man thought. ¡°The sultan might think we had something to do with the murder of Master Fawzi!¡±He said to himself again. Yet, he had to do something, he couldn''t bear to sit idle any longer. The frustration was just too much. Enough! He couldn''t go on like this anymore! It was time to do something! And that something was to talk about! << Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! How could I allow my nephew to do such a foolish thing!? >> The patriarch of Basim''s family shouted furiously. He, and all the other relatives, did nothing but rail against the poor Emir who could do nothing but repeat how sorry he was. A couple of soldiers divided them, defending the luthier from being beaten by those people who had believed a lie for days. The old man had foreseen that reaction and couldn''t blame them: he was guilty of keeping the truth hidden and deserved all the insults. Inside the structure, only their voices could be heard and the Captain struggled to calm them down, at yet another curse from the patriarch, the General imposed silence with his powerful voice. Everyone fell silent, although the sobs weren''t so easy to hold back. << Please gentlemen, this scene is not helpful. >> he then began to say, in a calm and reassuring voice. << The most important thing now is to find your relative. >> << Yes! Yes! Please! Find our boy again! >> The relatives overlapped one another as they spoke, creating the same confusion as before and Jabar thought that perhaps Basim had also left so as not to have to put up with them anymore. <> << What do you mean General? You won''t think our Basim is a criminal? He is a good person! >> << I''m not saying that, but I have to stick to the rules. This means, that until his position is clarified, he will be considered an "involved person". >> << You have to believe us General! Our Basim wouldn''t hurt a fly! >> << This will be up to me to decide. Go home now, the royal garrison will take care of it from here on out. >> Reluctantly, Basim''s relatives walked away full of apprehension, casting evil glances at Emir who was huddled in a corner pitying himself. The soldiers forced him to get up, tugging him gently. With the General and the Captain there in front of him, he could only tremble like a rabbit and struggled to get out the words to tell his story, fearing that after this he would end up in prison. Over the next few hours, he talked so much that by the end his throat was sore, and his voice barely came out. When he was allowed to return home, he almost didn''t believe it, thinking they were making fun of him. Jabar''s honey voice, however, reassured him, exhorting him with gentle firmness not to worry anymore about his fear and anxiety, promising him that he would do everything to help his missing friend. In his head, Jabar smiled: the stroke of luck had come sooner than he thought. Chapter 10: Open Hunt A small flock of houbaras^[1] rested tiredly on the bare branches of a tree, chirping lazily. They had momentarily interrupted their migratory journey; their wings were sore after so many days of exhausting flight and they were still many miles away from their usual final destination but, at the end of the journey the effort would be rewarded with the possibility of building a nest and finding a partner, as well as a peaceful environment in to live on until the next migration. The tree was located near a pool of water where a small herd of cattle quenched their thirst and refreshed themselves in the muddy water, while some white herons rested on their backs, freeing them from parasites and flies. There was a serene atmosphere, although the unpleasant smell of the animals ruined the harmony a bit. Suddenly the flock quieted down, the cattle without showing any interest continued to ruminate passively, while the herons and houbaras raised their necks and with their glassy eyes began to scan the entire surrounding environment with growing concern, refraining from emitting any type of towards. They had sensed an anomaly in the air, something that had triggered their innate instinct for self-preservation. There, on earth, there was nothing to consider as a threat... in fact, the danger came from their element: the sky. The big hawk shot out as fast as an arrow, so fast that it became an indistinguishable black figure. The flock scattered haphazardly, screeching both in panic and in alarm, as a cloud of feathers scattered into the air. A young houbara ended up between the sharp claws of the predator; its desperate cry reached the ears of its peers who took care to save their own lives, rather than worry about it. The claws dug into the soft and weak body of the specimen, the blood-soaked gray feathers while its last cries were only notes of suffering. The hawk landed at the foot of a hill. With its beak, it finished off the prey in whose eyes that desire for life for which it had struggled so much up until that moment slowly disappeared. From the top of that same hill, a group of nobles had witnessed the scene and applauded the falcon''s skill in capturing prey in such a short time. They were sitting under a tent whose poles were supported by four servants, while two others were delicately waving large fans to cool the torrid air of that place. The Sultan smiled proudly and proudly of his falcon''s skills, aware that the specimens of other hunters could not compete with his animal. Prince Hazma was also present in the group, but he was not enjoying himself at all. He found that "pastime" boring and would much rather roll in the dirt with the army recruits than watch his father strut his stuff. From time to time he checked the position of the sun, hoping that it would be time to return to the palace soon. He noticed a group of knights arriving at the slopes of the hill with General Jabar in the lead. They had waited for him all day, but certainly not so that he could play with the birds too. When he stopped in front of the sovereign, he was greeted by the shrill cry of the bird, annoyed by the presence of the horses who responded by neighing to its unwelcome. << Congratulations Your Majesty, they weren''t exaggerating when they said that your falcons were the best. >> commented the man, eyeing the animal with interest. <> Husam replied with indifference. << Are you sure that there isn''t a price you can accept to buy one? >> <> <> Far from the ears of people who were too curious and whose easy gossip would lead to nothing good, the two men and the prince, riding slowly across the plain, discussed important matters concerning the kingdom and in particular the Master''s case. Jabar briefed father and son on his investigation and Basim''s still uncertain role in the whole story, always pretending that it was all news to him. <> << Yes sir, the Rector himself met him in person. >> <> << No. Nobody knew about this invention. >> <> << He could have had an accident, the road is known for its insecurity. >> The Sultan didn''t seem convinced, you could see on his face that he had doubts. <> asked the Sultan. <> << Don''t you think that boy understood the value of the object and decided to sell it? >> << From the stories of friends and relatives, he is such an honest person that he even apologizes to the ants he tramples. >> << So this supports the thesis. If he is not dead, he will be keeping the item with him. We will need to organize a research group and¡ >> <> The ruler stared at the interested man, wondering why he had chosen those specific words. Jabar explained that whoever killed Master Fawzi may have done so because they were interested in the instrument. Surely someone who, having learned of its power, wanted to take possession of it before his creator could make it public. However, not having found it, their plan was ruined. It was still too early to say, but there could be a possibility that the assassin... or assassins, might have already known that the instrument was in Basim''s hand and perhaps they were now already on his trail intending to complete the mission. << It can only be a possibility...>> reiterated the General << ...but with the killing of such an important person we must not leave out any leads. The consequences of failure could be disastrous. >> << Yes, you have a point. What you say makes perfect sense. What do you intend to do, then? >> asked the Sultan, convinced by his logical reasoning. << Finding the boy is certainly the priority. We don''t know what state he is in, much less whether his life is in danger; I recommend using maximum caution with him. I don''t think he''s dangerous, so there''s no point in using force once we find him. When this happens, we will escort him to a safe place and keep him isolated from other civilians so that he does not speak to anyone. >> <> asked the prince, interjecting himself into the conversation with a decisive impulse, after having listened in silence until then. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. << It is a precautionary measure; by speaking to me first he will be able to clarify his position without external influences being able to jeopardize his freedom. >> << Is this intervention really necessary? >> << It may seem harsh to you, Your Highness, but it is in this way that many innocent people have guaranteed their freedom. >> << One step forward as always, General. Good job. >> The Sultan was satisfied with Jabar''s strategy, while Hazma was surprised by his approach. Rather than seeing their target as a threat, he spoke of them as a person who needed to be saved. Well, it was more likely that he did it mainly because the Yasirpipe was involved, but this attitude, different from the General''s usual brusque ways that he was used to seeing and hearing, couldn''t help but give him a sense of admiration. Who would have thought that he also could investigate? He had to admit that this man was a constant surprise. He had already demonstrated these abilities in other similar cases that occurred in the city, demonstrating that he knew how to "enter" the mind of whoever he was looking for but, in that situation, he was at another level. He understood that he couldn''t do without his abilities. << I''m finishing selecting the best men and the areas of the kingdom to send them to. I already have the whole plan ready. I was just waiting for his permission. >> <> Hazma began determinedly. He wouldn''t take no for an answer and wouldn''t back down even under the threat of punishment. Both the Sultan and the General knew this well and fortunately for him they did not have a reason to prevent him from joining. Even though his father himself had tasked him with investigating Fawzi''s case, in that type of operation he preferred to leave the reins to Jabar due to his long experience. As always, his father was generous with recommendations, above all he recommended him not to hinder the General''s work. The presence of the prince to the man was more than fine as an extra man in the team was always an advantage.
In the barracks, preparations for the mission were in the excited phase of conclusion. Forty bold men stood at attention like stiff statues, each paired with a freshly forged sword. With a watchful eye, they followed every step of their commander who, as he marched back and forth, gave his instructions for the last time, reminding them of the reason why they had been summoned. The speech was clear and direct, which meant that no questions were asked for clarification. Behind the impassive faces, there was a mix of different emotions: the more experienced men saw it as another task to complete in the name of their sovereign, while the younger ones were excited at the idea of ??being part of it for the first time of such an important mission. This enthusiasm also infected the prince, even if in his case it was mitigated by the disturbance and the rush to find a reminder of his dear Fawzi. A part of him thought that by taking part in the research he would also find the solution to the murder of his friend... but he knew that it was an illusory hope, a dream that was too beautiful and would not come true so soon. The General granted one last hour of rest before departure and the small garrison took advantage of it and dispersed in the blink of an eye. Hazma returned to the barracks and walked alone towards one of the empty gyms, still soaked in the smelly sweat of the men who had trained. He unsheathed the sword his father had given him and began slashing through the air, pretending to be in the middle of a duel. His muscles still struggled to support the weight of the weapon, but thanks to the training he had undergone, the fatigue was more bearable. He imagined that his invisible adversary was Fawzi''s killer and the moment in which he would have pierced them with that deadly weapon and then withdrawn it soaked in their guilty blood and the satisfaction he would have felt in seeing them take their last breath. He had never killed anyone before and hoped he would not have to feel any hesitation in carrying out this act of justice. << Can I join the duel? >> Someone suddenly asked behind him. Hazma turned instinctively, pointing his sword. It was Jabar but, intent as he was in his thoughts, he had not recognized his voice. <> said the prince, lowering his weapon, mortified by his reaction. << It''s good... actually, perfect. Any time is a good time to train, even if alone. >> << Was your request just now real? If it is, then I''m ready. >> Jabar smiled amusedly and unsheathed his sword. The weapon gleamed a vivid silver, and the perfect, sharp curve of the blade made it look like a perfect crescent; the hilt was long and thick, the hilt was black, and adorned on both sides with two small stones that changed color from red to black depending on how they reflected the light. The sword was normal-sized, but in the General''s large hands, it felt small and even a little fragile. Hazma knew by reputation the solidity of that weapon and even if over time the blades of the swords deteriorate, fade, and lose sharpness, Jabar''s, after a thousand fights, still had a perfect and shining appearance, as if it had just been forged. The one between Jabar and Hazma was a simple training duel, but it didn''t seem that friendly due to the effort the two were putting into it. The level of experience they had was evident; the General moved naturally giving the impression of hovering in the air, while the young prince was quite stiff and moved with little grace but seeing him fight would certainly have made the Sultan proud, who would have been amazed by the speed with which his son had learned the art of fighting. The duel soon ended, with a clever move, Jabar managed to disarm his opponent, decreeing his victory with a bow. << Not bad, my prince. You are learning well, but there is still a long way to go. >> <> said Hazma. <> Jabar replied in a tone that almost seemed disrespectful. << Yes... you''re right. >> admitted the prince, a little disappointed. Curiously he asked him: << Was your training difficult when you joined the army? >> The question triggered a tumult of nostalgic emotions in Jabar. Yes, he remembered that period well. He could never forget the obstacles he had to overcome to climb to the top, the extremely rigid methods of the school, and the classmates who were as hungry for success as he was. From his first day, he had prohibited failing. It didn''t matter how many insults he might receive, how hard the training would be, or how many times he would get hurt along the way, he had to be the best, he had to surpass everyone else no matter what. Having succeeded now gave him particular satisfaction. << It was a long time ago, a lot of things happened. But it was difficult for me too. >> Jabar finally replied. <> << What was the most important part of your journey? >> << I would say everything. Every moment of the training taught me something fundamental. I not only developed my body but also my mind. You know, there''s no point in training your body if you don''t do the same with your mind. >> The prince remained listening intently. Since they had begun to meet more closely, Hazma had realized that the General was not only a tough and determined soldier but was also a sensitive and intelligent person, with a vast cosmopolitan culture. He was particularly impressed by the stories of his travels and experiences with different cultures and people and the many things he had learned. Those stories resembled the ones he heard from Fawzi when he returned from his travels, always enriched with wonderful details that enchanted him every time he listened to them. The thought had often occurred to him that many of those stories might be a little exaggerated but, knowing Fawzi well and knowing that he was incapable of lying, those thoughts immediately dissolved. At that moment, a phrase from Fawzi many years earlier resurfaced: ¡°Having great admiration for someone is just an action we do, trying to make ourselves better. In theory, it''s great. But if we choose the wrong person to admire, then we will get worse instead of better.¡± How strange that it had come back to him just now, as vividly as if he had just relived it firsthand. He didn''t feel sad nostalgia as usual, but a strange feeling of guilt, as if he had done something wrong. The sound of a horn called their attention. The break hour had already passed, and it was time to leave. They joined the ready squadron and officially kicked off the mission. One after another the forty soldiers, riding their best stallions, left the barracks in formation and crossed the city to the outer gates where the group split up. One group went north, and the other, of which Hazma and Jabar were in command, went south. << Come on Your Majesty! Let''s not fall behind! >> Jabar urged him. It was no coincidence that Jabar chose to put himself in command of that very group; in fact, it was made up of men who had chosen to swear loyalty to him preferring him to the Sultan; they were the ones he could count on for special missions and who shared his ideals. He could not have chosen better individuals. But obviously, the prince could not know this. The group was supposed to search a very large area. Their mission was not a simple one and perhaps they would not have solved it in a short time. The royal family''s territorial domain stretched for miles and miles; the thirst for power had meant that over the years the rulers of Baharmis had managed to conquer such a vast territory as to make it difficult to control the borders. The vastness of the area, however, did not intimidate the soldiers much less the General who would not have stopped at anything and would not have allowed anyone to hinder him. Chapter 11: One Mans Success The music produced by coins jingling together is the favorite symphony of anyone who has known poverty. The adage "money doesn''t bring happiness" may be true in many cases, but it seemed to be the opposite for the desert nomads. Basim''s performances had been a resounding success. The echo of his musical performance with the Sand used unusually never seen before had spread like wildfire, and people, intrigued by the novelty, now came to see his shows in ever greater numbers, and so did the other street artists, who usually disdained attending other people''s performances, believing that they were the best, were now present mixed among the public, trying to steal his secrets. Each show added something new to the previous one, also thanks to the resourcefulness of the spectators who challenged the musician to follow the rhythm of their dances, which were different each time. The money raised to that point was a lot, but not enough to say that they had become rich; however, for all of them it was enough to be able to shake off the memories of those sad days when they had to put aside every crumb of bread to survive. They had immediately spent some of the money judiciously to purchase the best breeds of cattle and goats, fresh seeds, and new curtains for the tents. It was still early to say that their life was returning to normal as before the famine, there was still much work to do, but they were certainly more confident about the future. << And we owe all this to our savior Basim! >> Chief Zaka exclaimed. All the nomads exploded with joyful shouts, applauding vigorously. Basim smiled sheepishly, twisting some locks of his curls. His fingers were almost all bandaged, the exhausting hours of music had put a strain on an amateur like him who until then had only played as a pastime. << The credit also goes to my nephew Sadin, I''ll say it straight away, otherwise he''ll be offended, that he had this idea. I didn''t think I''d say it, but I''m happy his exaggerated resourcefulness worked. >> << Thank you, thank you all. I know you already loved me, but I''m really happy to know that now you adore me like crazy. >> Sadin said proudly. << Sadin, at least tonight spare us your nonsense... >> << But uncle, it''s the best part of me. >> Everyone at the camp celebrated, it had been a long time since there had been an opportunity to party. The large bonfire was constantly reinvigorated so that its heat and light fueled the joy of the nomads who danced and sang with an energy never felt before, without the need for help from wine or spices. There was no one in that moment who wasn''t smiling; with their green dresses they looked like flowers dancing around the sun and the children instead looked like the petals that the wind harmoniously scattered around, it was an almost magical vision of pure joy. Basim watched with a new sense of satisfaction. It was different from what he had felt in his work as a potter; he didn''t have to satisfy a customer''s requests or commit to carrying on the family tradition; in this case, he was giving serious support to people in difficulty. There was something in their "thank you" that made his heart beat faster. Regardless of who told him, the feeling was always the same and now and then he felt a few small tears moisten his eyes. Suddenly the dancers, exchanging a nod of understanding, grouped around him, forcing him to dance around the bonfire like one of them. They had already been there for a while and still showed no signs of tiredness, continuing to move their bodies without pause. Luckily, they didn''t ask him to play, at least for that evening he had had enough of music. He noticed that Sadin was enjoying the party too. The boy hopped from side to side like a cricket; when he laughed, his laugh was bizarre, very similar to the sound of a hyena, which managed to infect other people who started laughing too. He hadn''t yet understood Sadin''s character and when he thought he had, there was always a reason to start over. He was an eclectic guy, it was amazing how he could transform himself into a different individual simply by modulating a little the voice and changing posture; even a small adjustment to his hair or even the way he dressed was enough to become a perfect gentleman or a shy little man; he was able to move from simple and frivolous speeches to others with profound contents with acute observations. He had to admit, he was an incredible person. But precisely for this reason, he was unable to place complete trust in him. With all those facets of character, who was the real Sadin? His grandfather had always told him not to trust those who deliberately say what they want to hear. But could he really be a bad person? Him, who seemed to care so much about his people? << Basim! My friend! >> Sadin suddenly shouted, moving towards him. He was slightly tipsy and his gait was a little wobbly, but he enthusiastically invited Basim to dance with him, so they began to dance with awkward movements but miraculously managed to remain standing. << You were born to be a musician! Trust me, you''re wasted on clay, follow your passion for music, your true reason for living! >> << Thank you, you are very kind >> <> << Ah yeah, I didn''t expect it either. Speaking of Sand, I wanted to tell you something... >> << What? A new idea for the show? Of course, I''m listening! Speak up! >> << No, it''s not a new idea. It''s just¡ well, anyway. I think we should stop using it. >> << What?! >> Taken by surprise by that statement, Sadin lost his balance and after a twisted pirouette fell badly, hitting some dancers. Everyone laughed, seeing the scene as a funny accident, not realizing his frowning expression. His gaze was clear again; That was enough to make it clear that the effects of the alcohol had worn off. He took Basim aside, moving away with him into the shadows of the curtains that protected both the light of the fire and the attention of people. << Have you gone crazy by any chance? Why do you want to stop now when business is good? >> he told him irritably, pointing his finger at his chest. <> << Our agreement still stands, but I am convinced that we should no longer abuse the Sand. That''s all. >> << What are you saying? It''s luck in powder form! >> << Sand should not be treated as a toy or prop, and without proper control, its power could become extremely dangerous. >> << Yes, I know, you must have repeated this chant to me at least a hundred times. When I said you were a Master it was because of your skills, but you are also good at making controversies. In any case, I think you worry too much. So far everything has gone well, and people are having a lot of fun and therefore spending. >> << What I mean is that Sand should be a tool used only for good, help, and support, not as a source of income or play. >> << Well, isn''t that what''s happening now? It is helping my people get back on their feet from poverty. I don''t understand why you''re suddenly afraid of Sand. >> << It''s not fear, it''s fearful respect. >> << Fear or respect, I see no reason to stop. If you fear some retaliation from those haughty growlers, you need not worry. Everyone knows that they have been trying for years to stop the Street Masters by making them look bad, but up until now all their attempts have been just talk. >> Basim was indeed afraid of the Masters but, in reality, there was a deeper reason why he wanted to stop. It was absurd to say it, but he was beginning to perceive strange effects on himself, perhaps due to the "magic" imbued in the grains of that substance. Defining it "magic" was probably an excess, he had little knowledge on that particular topic but, on the other hand, he didn''t know any other terms that could describe that feeling of strength that day after day he felt growing within himself. It was like a gentle pulse, weak when he approached the Sand, but more energetic when he touched it. The first time he had had that strange sensation, he thought he had accidentally grabbed a small animal hidden in the sand and heard its heartbeat. Looking carefully and seeing nothing, he then tried to convince himself that it was tension building up in his hands or something. That feeling had scared him and he had been tempted to abandon everything and forget about it, but he had realized that he couldn''t do it or, rather, that the "Sand" wouldn''t have allowed him. That force attracted him to it and, even when he was far away, he felt its whisper hovering around him, and he didn''t understand if it wanted to punish him or confide in him some dark secret. The Sand had revealed a sinister aspect that Basim had never imagined existed, and it troubled him greatly. He rubbed his hands nervously, unsure whether to tell Sadin his fears, but he had strong doubts that he would be understood. He didn''t want to be told once again, in that particular sarcastic tone of his, that he was exaggerating. It often happened to him that people didn''t understand or didn''t want to understand his concerns because, due to his cheerful and carefree character, he was never taken seriously, and instead, especially at that moment, he needed to talk to someone who could help him, to be listened and gave him the security of being able to say what troubled him. Suddenly the singing and music stopped, and a buzz arose from the center of the camp accompanied by exclamations of surprise. Five knights in sumptuous blue and silver tunics with black turbans entered the field and dismounted from their horses without paying too much attention to where they put their feet. Half hidden by a large leather belt hooked around the waist, daggers^[1] were sticking out with handles forged in gold and adorned with small precious stones. The knight at the head of the group, probably the leader of the group, greeted and asked proudly who among them was the Street Master called Basim because he was carrying a message for him. Upon hearing his name, Basim shyly presented himself in front of the knight, greeting him with a small bow. << Caliph Ghaali el-Meer, lord of the city-state of Shagreb, has learned of your abilities with the Sand and has ordered you to come to the palace immediately. >> << Am I in trouble? >> << On the contrary, he is fascinated by the stories he has heard from your shows and wants to witness them in person. >> << Really? Does he want me? >> << So he said. >> The individual handed him a scroll, tied with a red string that prevented it from opening, and added: << We will return tomorrow morning to escort you to the palace. Be ready with your tool and your Sand. >> << But I don''t¡>> Basim was about to say that he could not accept the request, when Sadin abruptly interrupted him, preventing him from speaking. << One cannot believe how high the caliph granted him such an honor! What generous soul is he, to grant our humble artist this opportunity? >> he said theatrically. << Tomorrow our Basim will be more than ready. However, I would like to inform you that he needs to bring his collaborators with him to be helped. Do you understand what I mean? >> This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. << All right, let them come too. As long as you don''t waste too much time. >> << Of course, we will be very punctual. >> With that confirmation the soldiers set off again, spurring their horses. When the galloping of the animals was no longer audible in the silence of the night, the excitement among the nomads was palpable. An engagement by a caliph? Now that was a great honor! Performing in front of a noble was a privilege that only a few established artists enjoyed, and it was rare for this to happen to someone who came from the street. In Basim''s case, the occasion was even more important, considering that he had only started playing for a few weeks. It was yet another affirmation of his special talent, even if he thought otherwise at the time. << Are you scared right now? After you''ve already performed in front of hundreds of people? >> Sadin told him. Basim had to sit down and was breathing heavily due to anxiety. Performing in front of common people did not bring him discomfort... but doing it in front of a nobleman, and moreover, a caliph, was too much for a person like him, the meek and shy one of him. << If you make a fuss about a caliph, what will you do in front of the Sultan, give yourself a heart attack? >> << Don''t joke... >> Basim said, between gasps. <> << Refusing is not an option; nobles don''t like being told no. >> << What if he doesn''t like the sound? What if something doesn''t work? >> << ¡°If you stop every time a dog barks, you''ll never run out of road.^[2]¡± >> Zaka intervened at that moment. He sat next to Basim and gently stroked his back in slow, steady circular motions. Using his usual calm tone, he tried to reassure him and encourage him about the imminent new challenge he would have to face. << All you need to do >> he told him << is to continue playing in the same way as you have done at this moment, without racking your brain looking for strange alternatives and without tormenting yourself unnecessarily. Just be yourself and everything will be fine. Why does it have to go badly? >> Basim tried to answer that question by reiterating all his uncertainties, but the incredible encouragement that Zaka and his people showed him at that moment dispelled any doubts. With all that positivity around him, he felt the dark cloud of fear that gripped him slowly dissolve. <> The man finally concluded. One after the other the nomads retreated to their tents, to enjoy the right rest after an evening full of many emotions. Everything was quickly put back in place; the fire was put out and the smell of ash and wood hung intensely in the air, some mothers started singing a lullaby to make their children''s sleep happier and the men smiled unconsciously at the serenity that was blossoming again in their families and those of their friends. Zaka was the last to go to sleep, as a good leader he should have been the one to sort out any last tasks in the village, he made sure the animals were taken care of or if anyone needed help. Only after carrying out these final checks, he was finally able to go to rest. This was his duty as village leader, even if lately he was starting to feel the weight of the years. Just as he went to his tent, he found his nephew intent on arranging the supply of Impure Sand, probably to have an account of the quantity he had left. He noticed that he had a cheerful expression, without anything cunning as he usually appeared. << Are you excited for tomorrow? >> Zaka asked him. << You can say it, uncle. Opportunities like this don''t happen often. >> Sadin replied smiling. << For Real. However, I am annoyed by the fact that you decided to accept the assignment for Basim. >> << As I told him, refusing the offer of a person of such high prestige would have been a terrible idea. You too know how much nobles can resent the rejection of their request. >> <> << It will all be fine. The talent of our musician will surprise even the caliph. >> <> << After seeing Basim''s show he will never want to see anything else. >> << Tomorrow I will pray to the gods to assist you. >> << You know what makes me laugh? >> << What? >> << That for once some soldiers didn''t come looking for me. >>
As they had agreed, the knights returned to the camp on time the following morning and, as promised, Basim and his small company were ready. After a quick goodbye and having taken the bare essentials, the group left for the city of Shagreb. Accompanying Basim were Sadin and four other boys. On their creaking cart, slower than the horses of the men who escorted them, there were four large bags of Sand, the last supply left at their disposal. They had to take care of those precious grains because with them they would have had to win over the caliph who was so eager to see their performance. The Yasirpipe was on Basim''s back, bundled up so that not a single string was visible. The fame of the instrument, which by now had spread across much of the territory, had attracted the attention of many people, not all of whom had good intentions, but, fortunately, no one had attempted to steal it until now. Basim considered himself, in a certain sense, the Master''s heir and now saw that instrument as his property. But who knows what poor Fawzi would have said if he had seen his precious treasure used in that inappropriate way! They arrived in Shagreb after a morning of travel. With the sun high, the buildings shone with the golden yellow color due to the material with which they were built; the river that enclosed the city inside formed a perfect rhombus with the two tributaries of the Shams River that joined in the South-East and then divided again in the West; it was like a turquoise necklace that wrapped it elegantly. At first glance Basim compared it to Baharmis; the splendor and refinement of the place reminded him of home; but observing it better, however, he noticed some details that diminished it in his eyes compared to the capital; like the limited presence of gardens and greenery in general, to which was added that monotonous yellow color that after a while it annoyed the look. In his opinion, Shagreb wanted to be an imitation of Baharmis. The streets were very wide and on the edges, palm trees with thin foliage and acacia trees rose: the squares were embellished with statues representing the rulers of the royal dynasty and the most important palaces were adorned with exaggerated architectural ornaments and small towers without windows and flags bearing the symbol of the country; along the way they met people with a very well-groomed appearance, dressed in brightly colored clothes who made an exaggerated display of jewelry; but also tired-looking individuals, dressed in disused clothes and dull colors who with weak voices asked for charity on the street corners. The distinction between rich and poor was evident. Basim soon began to dislike the place. There was too much contrast between social classes. What he had seen up to that point led him to think that the beautiful things that existed could only be a privilege for a select few. Of course, Baharmis was not like that; there were certainly less fortunate people there too but, at least the community did its utmost to help them, while here he noticed a total indifference towards the less well-off. His traveling companions did not agree; accustomed to the monotony of the desert, they were still enchanted by that apparent splendor. For them, who had never seen such a place, even a city like that seemed like a paradise that they would describe as something extraordinary. Sadin also made numerous comments of appreciation as he walked through the city, but a strange light shone in his gaze that seemed closer to interest than amazement. It was so similar to a cat facing a mouse. The palace of Caliph Ghaali el-Meer appeared in all its dazzling splendor. It had a central dome that featured elaborate geometric patterns crowned by six smaller domes. The color of the building was like the different shades of desert sand and all around there were swimming pools filled with crystal clear water and palm trees that made one think of a luxury oasis. On the sides of the long staircase that led to the entrance, a waterfall descended with a quiet gurgle which, reaching the base, flowed into some basins. The caliph welcomed himself comfortably seated on a large blue velvet armchair, surrounded by his splendid consorts who delighted him with food and drink, while a boy in his early teens slowly waved a fan larger than him. In the same room, there were also the soldiers of the royal guard, lined up along the perimeter of the walls as if they were columns, and a small group of court dignitaries who looked at the new arrivals with a sort of indignation, as if they were intruders who had entered a place sacred. In that group the figures of the Sand Masters stood out; it was impossible not to notice them with their symbol sewn on their clothes. Usually, the Masters were individuals who preferred to be on their own, but some placed themselves at the service of the nobles to carry out various important tasks, especially that of enforcing justice. << Welcome gentlemen. Welcome. >> said the caliph. The man was plump, not very tall, and had a slightly dark skin. He had a long, thin mustache and a well-groomed beard with the tip curled up. He was wearing a simple white thwab, however, the dressing gown was lavender colored with intricate floral embroidery and on the turban that encircled his head, a pompous light pink feather stood out. <> Sadin had to nudge Basim to make him understand that he was addressing him. ¡°Sand Dancer? Seriously? Was that what they call me now?¡± Basim thought. << Congratulations for inventing such a fun pastime. I have always appreciated those who have a lot of imagination with art. >> << Thank you, Your Highness. >> << Can I dare to see the famous instrument? >> Reluctantly, Basim took out the Yasirpipe, showing it to the noble. A muffled buzz of amazement arose among the court dignitaries, while they exchanged opinions on that strange object in a whisper. The Sand Masters were among the most surprised, of course. However haughty and aloof, it was clear how enormous their curiosity was. << It is truly a peculiar instrument; its reputation is more than deserved. >> said the caliph, tempted to touch him. << Now that I remember, did you read the letter that was given to you, didn''t you? >> How could Basim forget that message he had read and reread? All night he had done nothing but think about it and ask himself if what was written was real: Ghaali el-Meer ordered him to organize a performance for the anniversary of his rise to power. He didn''t have to limit himself to just playing, he had to organize a majestic choreography complete with dancers, acrobats, and even snake charmers, who in the meantime would have had to interact with the Sand. It was also up to him to set up the stage and how to make the artists move and a lot of other things. That parchment looked more like a shopping list than a formal invitation. << Sure. Until the last line. But¡ >> << Perfect. Then I don''t need to repeat myself. In four days, I want to witness a spectacle that will amaze the other nobles. You can start immediately and if you have any special requests, contact my advisor directly. >> The caliph dismissed him with a hand gesture similar to that of someone trying to chase away insects. He would see them again just to get updates on his party. The small group was escorted to a modestly furnished accommodation, located in one of the many areas of the palace, dedicated mainly to servants. The boys were excited for that prestigious opportunity, but as soon as they were alone Basim openly expressed his opinion. << By the gods of the sun, moon, and stars! I hate this place! >> he exclaimed angrily, throwing his stuff on the floor. << It wasn¡¯t that bad.>> Sadin said very calmly. << But do you realize that I must invent it myself? It is already difficult to compose a simple melody, let alone a drama as complex as the caliph requests! And in just four days, by the way! >> << Relax my friend. We just arrived and you''re already stressed? >> << It''s this city''s fault! It''s a sleazy paradise of glitz! >> << Sleazy? What are you saying? It''s an open-air treasure chest. There are lots of opportunities to get good deals, I can already smell the gold... >> << Who cares about business! I wish I had never come here! And it''s all your fault! >> << Hey! Hey! Let''s not start with the buck-passing game! I told you that the caliph''s offer could not be refused. >> << You are the one who accepted, I never gave my consent. >> << If you had refused, know that by now you would no longer have your dear little hands. And anyway, as a musician, you are obliged to play for anyone. You can''t choose your audience. >> << There''s a big difference between playing for people like me or a nobleman who just wants to show off. The Caliph may have paid me compliments, but they are superficial and empty, like a refined vase that contains nothing. >> << Look man, you''re too nervous. Let''s take a step back and calm down¡ >> <> Having said this, Basim locked himself in a separate room, starting to work, albeit reluctantly, on the caliph''s requests. From behind the door, he could be heard grumbling loudly. << Maybe we expected too much from him, he seems very stressed to me. >> said Zaafer, one of the boys in the group. << Does that sound like you? He''ll get over it. Business is business. >> Sadin said nonchalantly. << Yes, but maybe it wasn¡¯t right to force him to do this. He''s not entirely wrong, what they asked him to do is a lot of work, and the effort he has to make is enormous. >> << Oh quit it. What do you know about it? >> Sadin said frowning. <> Zaafer said, looking at him suspiciously. Zaafer looked like the youngest of the group, when in reality he was a year older than Sadin. Despite his almost boyish appearance, every time he spoke, he demonstrated that he had considerable maturity and a strong charisma. He was very thin in appearance and had thick eyebrows that almost met, his hair was thin, and his eyes were dark like obsidian, he was a boy accustomed to hard work since he was a child, and this justified his already calloused hands. << By the way Sadin, why are you still covering your face? It''s not like you to keep your face hidden for so long. >> << Oh¡ there''s no particular reason. I''m comfortable like this. >> << With this heat? >> << Yes! It doesn''t bother me at all. >> The other boys, realizing that detail only at that moment, began to look at Sadin with caution, sensing something shady in his way of acting. Sadin was certainly a genius in his way and always had the solution at hand for everything, but at the same time there were aspects of his character that made most people hate him. Worried, they hoped that this "dark side" of him would not emerge at that moment when they were in a too delicate position and there was no need to have problems. They began to regret not having convinced Zaka to come with them too, to keep an eye on him. They had good reasons to be worried. << Don''t get us into trouble as usual. We cannot afford mistakes. >> Zaafer told him. << Why are you telling me this? I always behave well. >> << Oh heaven! That''s exactly what you said last time. >> << Get it over with. Instead of babbling, get to work. We must show the Caliph what we can do. Chop! Chop! >> Sadin gave each of the boys a task to do, to keep them busy and not allow them to express other opinions about him. One of them exchanged a statement in a low voice to the companion who was next to him which made the other nod in agreement: << The liar is the worst of the dishonest.^[1]>> Chapter 12: Putting on a show Only the most important families of Riakesh were invited to the feast of Caliph Ghaali el-Meer to celebrate the anniversary of his rise to power. In the two days before the event there were a lot of comings and goings in the city. Men and women of high social rank arrived at the palace even from very distant places, followed by a long procession of servants who brought rich gifts for the birthday man. The poor people who lived in Shagreb contemplated that coming and going of pomp and ostentation of wealth with curiosity and perhaps a hint of envy, daydreaming of being able to find themselves in those guises one day. The caliph had no problem hosting so many people in his palace. In the building, in the north wing, there was plenty of accommodation, both for the nobles and servants. Most rooms are furnished with finely crafted furniture, gold draperies, precious statues, and tapestries. In each of them, there was a bathtub made of fine marble, with a bronze fountain from which fresh water continuously flowed. Guests had a bevy of servants ready to satisfy any request at any time. The guests were very excited about the party; Ghaali el-Meer was known for his lavish receptions for which he spared no expense. Even on that occasion, he had promised to amaze with something special, but he had kept everything under an aura of mystery, having fun fueling the curiosity of his guests. Someone had tried to find out what secret he was keeping but nothing had served to make him reveal a crumb of the great surprise that awaited them. When night fell on Shagreb, the splendor of the palace was such that the full moon seemed like a faint twinkle, large torches were lit around it and illuminated it with red and orange reflections. Inside, the sumptuous dinner that had started the party was coming to an end. All kinds of delicacies were served, brought for the occasion even from very distant places and in such abundance as to be able to solve the hunger of many poor villages; mountains of sweets and fruit had been artistically arranged and served on large silver trays, while rivers of wine had continuously filled the glasses of the guests. At the invitation of the masters of ceremonies, the guests, now full, were invited to move to the central room where they relaxed on comfortable sofas, chatting and smoking hookah^[1], waiting for the Caliph to start the promised show. Ghaali el-Meer arrived accompanied by his highest dignitaries. His clothing, chosen for the occasion, was quite particular: he wore a purple tunic with a blue vest and a large golden overcoat with orange geometric patterns; his head was covered by a large blue and yellow turban, adorned with a thin belt of precious stones and a red bird''s feather. The hilt of a large inlaid ivory sword peeked out from beneath his coat, and pearl bracelets glittered on his wrists. If he spoke, everyone listened to him; if he made a joke, everyone laughed; if he made judgments, everyone agreed with him. A valet approached him discreetly, whispering in his ear ¡°Everything is ready.¡± The Caliph smiled excitedly and called the attention of his guests with a clap of his hands. << My friends! The moment you''ve all been waiting for has finally arrived! >> he announced smiling. << For this special evening, I have decided to prepare a one-of-a-kind musical show. Don''t be fooled by the apparent simplicity of my announcement, because playing for us is a musician who is anything but ordinary, whose fame will surely have reached your ears. Well yes, I am referring precisely to that young artist who managed to combine music and Sand. Here is the Sand Dancer, Basim! >> A chorus of excitement arose among those present. As expected, young Basim''s fame had spread well. A good sign, proving that the idea hadn''t been that crazy. Only the Sand Masters in the Caliph''s service showed no enthusiasm and exchanged somewhat contemptuous comments in hushed voices, not daring to make themselves heard by their master so as not to risk being punished. The caliph clapped his hands vigorously again saying: << Let the show begin! >> Basim entered the stage to warm applause. A moment earlier he had had a moment of hesitation, but the desire to play that instrument had made him overcome any reluctance. He was cleaned from head to toe, his hair had been washed and combed until it was soft as lamb''s wool and his body had been perfumed with fruity oils; they had made him wear an elegant moss green tunic with black stripes, embellished with beaded necklaces. He felt uncomfortable, he wasn''t used to being so elegant, and he preferred to wear more modest clothes. Before sitting on the ground in the center of the room, he made a deep bow to the noble audience, while in the meantime some servants lined up behind him five tall and massive vases, plus four smaller ones, all decorated with floral motifs. No one noticed the tiredness that transpired from his face, the dark circles under his eyes slightly camouflaged by a light layer of make-up and the slight trembling of his hands. Everyone just wanted to see him play and maybe judge him at the first simple mistake, especially the Masters. The days of preparation had been torturing for poor Basim, who had even had to give up part of his night''s rest to be able to finish the project on time. Even if everything was fine, now he just had to hope that his strength wouldn''t fail him in the middle of the performance. There was already silence in the audience, but when he began to play, it seemed to increase, as if even people''s thoughts had been silenced. After a first minute of simple soloing, the magic of the Yasirpipe began to act on the Sand, which slowly began to come out of the vessels following the intensity of the notes. Basim heard the surprised murmurs of the spectators, but also the barbs of those who found nothing exceptional in it. Let them criticize too, he thought. It was just the beginning and that evening he was determined to leave everyone speechless. From that moment the performance was a crescendo of music, emotions, and spectacularity. He managed to make the Sand move in all the required ways by simulating fights, dances, battles, and even the fiery puffs of the fire eaters and the movement of the flames, all accompanied by insistent music and an engaging rhythm. Basim had managed to create a magical atmosphere. His performance was something never seen before and even the envious Masters who watched had to admit that he deserved praise. They, who were experts, had understood that Basim possessed a particular gift, perhaps unique to him, that is, becoming one with the instrument; no one had succeeded until then. The best Sand Masters had achieved over time an exceptional technique for making the keys of the instrument vibrate but had never managed to establish such a direct connection between it and their mind to be able to master the Sand so much as to be able to make it "alive".This was the real secret. And Basim, without realizing it, had succeeded. Meanwhile, Basim, totally immersed in his performance, did not notice that the audience, including the Caliph, had interrupted the thunderous applause, and was watching astonished in an almost religious silence. Every time the Sand interacted, the audience followed it with their eyes without being able to utter a word, even the Caliph followed the show with his mouth open. Basim was so involved in playing the instrument that he didn''t even feel the pain in his fingertips which were now dug with grooves so deep that they tore his flesh. There were no more pauses, the music was frenetic and the Sand seemed crazy in its twirling. Suddenly a noise interrupted that magical atmosphere; the Caliph, without realizing it, had dropped his hookah. For Basim, it was like a rude awakening, but it came at the right time because sitting down to play for a long time had tired him like never before. He was given the signal to resume, and with a deep sigh, he picked up the instrument again, ready to finally perform the last act of the show. The lights were gradually turned off until a muffled twilight was created. While Basim played a softer and slower melody than those previously sung, a strangely shaped tree was brought into the hall via a walkway whose wheels creaked softly. Without leaves and with sharp branches, it was left in front of the perplexed spectators who tried to understand what was unusual about it. On a higher note, Green sand mixed with glittering golden dust spread over it, and the secret was revealed: in reality, the tree was composed of the artistic union of the joined bodies of ten beautiful girls. All of them had their bodies dyed gold, even their hair. It was difficult to understand where the line was between skin and fabric, creating the illusion of full nudity. Their faces were completely hidden by a thin veil embellished with small, thin discs like coins, and on their fingers, they had fake nails so long they looked like claws. Now that their human features were revealed, they looked like statues given life by magic. Following the music they began to move sinuously, very gracefully imitating the movement of the branches of a tree during a gust of wind. Suddenly the composition melted, "blooming" like a flower that opens its petals to the sun. One of them, until then hidden by the others, remained at the center of the scene. She slowly lifted her veil revealing a beautiful face and a hypnotic gaze. She wore a dress of ocher color on her body and emerald green along her arms, which left only her curvy hips exposed; on her head, a crown of golden leaves intertwined with drops of diamonds, she kept her long jet black hair gathered. For a moment the music stopped and the Sand settled softly on them, giving each a new shade of soft green color. When the melody resumed, all of them, making their bellies sway harmoniously, moved away, while the girl in the center, now left alone, joined her hands simulating the face of a snake, the same one that the Sand seemed to give shape to with its movement. The girl and Sand began in unison a dance made of rhythmic and sensual movements; a choreography that made one think of a queen being courted by a creature enchanted by her beauty. There was not a man or woman in that room who was not observing the scene with rapt attention. It was the sudden irruption of the palace guards with the captain in the lead who, calling loudly for his master, broke that magical atmosphere, causing shocks and dismay. The dancer remained motionless with her hands clasped at her chest and Basim risked breaking a string of the Yasirpipe due to his fright. << Captain! For what absurd reason do you burst in like this?! >> exclaimed the Caliph, upset by the interruption but also because the hat had slipped from his head, disheveling him and making him very embarrassed in front of his guests. << Your Highness, it pains me to interrupt the celebrations, but I must inform you that we have just arrested an intruder in the palace; he could be a simple thief but also a dangerous hitman. >> The caliph became livid with anger. << An intruder in my house! Who dared?! >> he exclaimed furiously. << This rat here. >> replied the captain, pointing to a prisoner in chains dragged by two guards. Basim couldn''t believe his eyes. It was Sadin.

Two days before the party¡ì

Sadin finished making notes in his ¡°interesting business¡± notebook. The writing was so small as to be almost illegible, also due to the multitude of omnipresent scribbles that partly covered the words. And even if he lost the notebook, he had created his secret code to prevent anyone who could leaf through it from stealing its secrets. Since they had arrived, he had spent his time taking notes on the most interesting places in Shagreb for him which were certainly not the temples, the pools, or the gardens, but the sumptuous homes and shops. The golden city had sparked a perverse interest in him; seeing so much wealth at your fingertips was literally for him, as for any other malicious person, a wedding invitation. He immediately understood that he could carry out the theft that would change his life. He then began to develop a very specific plan. However, Sadin was not naive, despite having a thousand opportunities at hand, he immediately ruled out having to act in one of those beautiful buildings that he had seen in the city; they were all far from the royal palace where he would be staying and not knowing the place well, he would have had enormous difficulty getting around; furthermore it would have been very difficult to leave the building without being noticed and above all to re-enter, given the enormous presence of guards who would certainly have stopped and searched him. And then he had also spotted something better. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. During his stay at the palace, with the excuse of having to be absent to help Basim with the show, he had noticed something that had stimulated a certain interest in him. One day while wandering the corridors of the Eastern area, he ended up entering the royal family''s quarters. The furnishings were more luxurious than in the other wings of the palace, the jade green walls were illuminated by large chandeliers with hanging crystals, a long soft blue carpet wound like a river through the entire area and the purple curtains on the windows had a delicate mint scent. At the end of one of these corridors, Sadin had noticed three beefy soldiers standing guard in front of a door sealed with a large padlock. ¡°Why keep a door locked like that and with three guards on top of that?¡± he asked himself curiously. It was clear as day that there was something inside that the Caliph cared about. ¡°Something worth coming in for¡±, he thought, smiling mischievously. He knew that this area would remain unsecured during the party because all the guards were busy ensuring the safety of the guests, which would give him time to pick the lock and enter the mysterious room. He then waited for the party to begin and, making sure that most of the guards were away, he excused himself from his companions to carry out his plan. He was determined in his intent, he only hoped to find something truly precious. As he had predicted the place was unguarded; the lock wasn''t a difficult opponent to break down, he managed to unlock it in a short time and finally open the door. A majestic rainbow of colors revealed itself before him. It was a rich and original collection made up of precious gems, all neatly arranged on shelves, inside small wooden boxes. Rubies, agates, turquoises, and emeralds glittered in the torchlight; a spectacle for his eyes not only for their value but also for the particular cut that made them similar to drops of water or flower petals. "Victory! This is truly a rich loot!¡± Sadin exclaimed mentally. He began to carefully collect them, putting them in his bag, sometimes undecided about which to take and which not to take, aware that he couldn''t take them all away. While he was busy making his selection of gems, he felt something cold, metallic, and sharp rest on the back of his neck and immediately afterward a voice telling him to raise his hands. The guards had returned earlier than expected and caught him in the act. The dream was already over for him. Now the trouble began.
Basim had always compared Sadin to a cat, but perhaps it would be more appropriate to call him a magpie. Sadin caught red-handed, was in a very bad situation. The Caliph was furious, in the large hall his voice thundered as he railed against the boy and it was not unlikely that it could also be heard outside, the servants, despite their professional impassivity, shivered knowing full well how dangerous the anger of their master, while the guests murmured among themselves annoyed that the evening had been interrupted at the right moment. They all looked with contempt at Sadin, on his knees with chains on his wrists and with his face swollen probably from a punch perhaps given to him by a guard. From every part of the room came insults, contemptuous comments, and suggestions on the punishment to be given. Even in that situation, however, Sadin showed his bold and arrogant nature, trying to downplay the big trouble he had gotten himself into but, every time he opened his mouth, he was silenced with a slap. Basim wanted to shout at him to stop with his attitude so as not to make the situation worse. How could he be an idiot even now that his freedom and perhaps even his life were in jeopardy? The situation seemed to take a turn for the worse when the idea dawned on the Caliph that it wasn''t just Sadin responsible for the affair but that his companions were also implicated. Pointing his ringed index finger at them in a motion that seemed to cut the air, Ghaali el-Meer also blamed Basim and the other boys for the attempted theft and ordered them to be arrested as well. << Your Majesty, we are innocent! We have nothing to do with the theft! Our attention was always paid to the preparations for the show! We never thought of robbing you! You must believe it! >> one of the boys said scared. << And what evidence can you provide to demonstrate that you were not involved? >> <> said Basim, hoping that his testimony was sufficient. The Caliph did not seem convinced but remained silent, then Zafeer, trying to give logic to the previous statements, added: << Sadin was the only one to leave saying he wasn''t well. After a while, not seeing him return, we became very worried and asked the guards to look for him. Think about it sire, we would have been idiots to do all this if we had been involved in the theft. >> That speech seemed to light a light in the mind of the Caliph who, after reflecting for a while, and after listening to the guards who confirmed what the boys said, admitted that Zafeer could be right and therefore, convinced of their innocence, he left them free, but towards Sadin the decision was different. << Throw him in prison for now. >> he ordered. << Make sure he is checked visually, as rats are good at escaping. I''ll make a decision tomorrow after I finish taking care of my guests. >> With those words he took leave of those present, apologizing for the unfortunate incident. The party had ended with a twist, but not in the way that the protagonists of the evening had imagined. And although the night, with its calm and silence, seemed to take away all the discomforts and fatigue of a long day, the end word had not yet been written for that story.
The new dawn came early for those who had felt too restless to sleep. The crowing of the rooster did not bring a happy awakening for those who now had to face severe judgment and hope that this would not end in a heavy punishment. Ghaali el-Meer was considered by his subjects to be an authoritarian and vain ruler, someone who liked to lead a life of comfort and luxury, he was not cruel, but seeing himself disrespected in his own home and in the presence of important guests had infuriated him. He was sure that after that incident he would become a source of gossip not only among many of the nobles but also among his subjects and he could not accept this, his reputation as ruler and organizer of the most sumptuous parties in the realm was being damaged. He said he had accepted the innocence of Basim and the other boys but, when they were brought before him, they feared he had changed his mind. His serious gaze scanned each of them as if he wanted to peer into their souls. His hostile and annoyed expression hadn''t changed, and this made the quintet apprehensive, and they didn''t dare say a word. Basim was very worried; the boys were scared and were collected in silence with a sad and resigned expression. Even though their nomadic life had exposed them to many experiences, perhaps they had never found themselves in such a situation. They were young but he didn''t consider them irresponsible, on the contrary; they had shown themselves to be altruistic and always very diligent in helping their people; he didn''t think the same as Sadin, but he hoped there was at least some leniency for him. << Don''t worry, I won''t do anything to you. >> began to say Ghaali el-Meer. << Even if I am disappointed with how the party ended, I realize that you are, in your way, also victims. Therefore, I will only retain part of the promised reward, as compensation for damages. >> The boys looked at each other in amazement and made no objections. Better to have less money than be denied freedom, they thought. << There is only one thing I don''t understand... >> said the Caliph at a certain point. << There was a thief among you. Didn''t you know? >> They knew it very well, however, and Basim understood it from how they reacted to the question, not responding immediately, perhaps searching for the right words. He wanted to know more too. He knew nothing about Sadin and there had never been a time since he had known him that he had allowed him to tell something more, and he had never given him the impression of being a scoundrel. He just considered him a weirdo and nothing more. Zaafer took a step forward and stammered: << Everyone in the village knows that Sadin is a no-good, someone who gets into trouble without considering the consequences of his actions. Stealing, lying, taking advantage of other people''s naivety... for him, it is both a game and a lifestyle. Very often this way of doing things has gotten not only himself into trouble but also those around him. Every time he messed up, it was his uncle who had to beg for forgiveness and pay out of pocket to compensate for the damage caused. >> Zaater felt pity for the chieftain Zaka, a good and honest person, forced to have such shame in his home. Others in his place would have already abandoned that dishonorable nephew, regardless of the blood relationship. With each arrest, he swore that it would be the last time, that he would never do it again but, as always, that solemn oath dissolved like grains of salt in a jug of water. How big was that man''s heart to always be able to forgive him! But Sadin was like that, and no one could do anything about it. <> said Zaafer. <> murmured the Caliph. << We are not thieves. We come from honest families who shed blood and sweat every day to make us grow. Life was hard but, that didn''t mean we were ever tempted to steal. And I can say the same about Master Basim. He is not a nomad, he does not belong to our people, he is helping us to get the money necessary to revive our fortunes although, I admit, he was forced to do so because Sadin promised to take him back to his home only if he made an effort to work for us. But after what happened last night, I''m starting to believe he would never have kept his word. This is all I can tell you, my lord. >> After Zaafer finished speaking, a heavy silence fell in the room. It was so deep that you could have heard the beating of the hearts of every person present. << Well, this explanation was more than enough. >> began the Caliph after long minutes of waiting. << If your chief asks about his nephew, tell him that, after what he did, putting him in chains was an act of benevolence. I hope he understands. If he still wants to talk to me, he will be welcome. Now gather your belongings and get ready, my guards will take you back to your camp and you will be free to return to your people. >> << If I may dare, my lord... I would like to see Sadin for the last time and tell him that we are leaving without him. >> said Zaafer. << Granted. But only for a minute. Not more. >> The boys said goodbye and hurried to collect their luggage, happy to be able to return home. Basim also wanted to go home, but his house was far away and now he wasn''t sure if he would be able to go back. He took a few steps before stopping again, called by the Caliph who had signaled him to come closer. << About yesterday''s show¡. The performance was undoubtedly flawless, but I hated the interruption. >> he told him, while he played with his moustache. << For this reason, I want you to prepare another one just for me. >>
The prison cells of Shagreb were sad, narrow rectangles of stone where light was desired as much as a crust of fresh bread and clean water. The dust danced in the air, it could be seen pirouetting near the luminous reflections of the candles and torches that illuminated the pressing darkness of the building, before settling on every surface covering it with a gray veil. The spiders and scorpions had taken over the facility for a long time now and were walking around indifferently, showing no interest in the presence of those few human ¡°roommates¡± who sat silently in the cells. Only the mice, curious by nature, went to visit them, not to give them support in the solitude of captivity, but to steal those few crumbs of their stale leftovers. Many of the prisoners were condemned to suffer the same fate as their food: to rot. For the most serious crimes the sentence was the death penalty, but even for the less serious ones, being put in those cells was a heavy punishment; those narrow and suffocating environments became for many the new world in which to live, a limbo in which it was impossible to understand when it was day and night, where contacts with other humans became rare events and the person''s humanity was slowly consumed until it didn''t just remain an empty shell. You never got used to it, the only way out was resignation. Sadin immediately felt that sensation of isolation. He had already experienced imprisonment but the jails he had been in were certainly not comparable to that gloomy prison he found himself in now. He had always been in large, cage-like rooms and with other people. He now found himself in a cell, without company, and could only peek through a tiny window located in the solid wooden door. He was starting to feel like he was walled in alive, and that feeling was unbearable. << Sadin? >> Hearing a call, he jumped, finally a human presence. Since he had been locked up, he had not seen or heard from anyone, so much so that he was convinced that he was the only guest in the entire prison. He looked out of the little window, it was so narrow that he could hardly see who was outside and, at that moment, he could only see part of Zaafer''s head. << Zaafer! My friend! You have no idea how happy I am to see you! The service here is terrible: breakfast is not included and the bathroom is not clean. >> << At least this once could you avoid saying stupid things? Don''t you realize you''re really in trouble? >> << Oh, that''s nothing new to me. At most, I''ll stay for a few days and then they''ll release me, as always. >> << Really? The Caliph was very angry at your stunt. >> << He''ll get over it, I just have to talk and explain to him that it was a misunderstanding. In the meantime, do me a favor, warn my uncle and tell him to come...>> << No. >> << Don''t joke, I need your help to¡ >> << I''m not joking. This time no one will help you. >> Sadin realized that Zaafer was not joking and at that very moment, perceiving the gravity of the problem, he lost his irony. Zaafer, without hesitation, repeated to Sadin everything he had said to the Caliph. He also told him what he thought of him, of the annoyance caused by his dishonest nature, and that the time had come to pay severely for his sins and that he therefore had no intention of helping him. << Maybe now you will learn to become honest. >> << Ayreh Feek!^[1]>> Sadin shouted furiously. He couldn''t believe what he had just heard, to be betrayed like that by someone he considered a friend. He punched and kicked the cell door, screaming contempt. << Don''t you think about my uncle?! How will he react when he doesn''t see me coming back?! >> << I''ll tell him that you ran away and left us in trouble. Maybe this will finally make him accept how much of a lost cause you are. >> << Don''t you dare lie to my uncle! He doesn''t deserve this! >> << But he finally deserves to be free from a scoundrel like you. He is a good and honest man¡ the best leader our tribe could have, while you are just a chelb^[2]. >> Zaafer narrowly dodged Sadin''s hand, as he stuck his arm through the hole to try to grab him. His furious voice echoed throughout the prison; the boy had said what he wanted. Without another word, not even a cold "goodbye", he quickly walked away. He promised himself not to look back even for a minute or risk regretting it. He didn''t want to feel any remorse, because it was right for him to go that way. Chapter 13: Half-Blood The courtiers continually checked whether music was still coming from their lord''s private living room. For days their master had done nothing but listen to it continuously; even without Sand in the spotlight, those notes that continued to vibrate had bewitched him. However beautiful and pleasant it was, it was creating several problems for them; in fact, they were unable to bring the Caliph back to his commitments as sovereign. Ghaali el-Meer was not a lazy man and did not usually neglect his duties towards the kingdom but, in this case, it seemed that the only thing that mattered to him was listening to that haunting melody. Probably anyone at court would have done as he did everyone tried to pass by that door to be able to listen even for a short while to that fascinating music. Ghaali el-Meer, despite the abrupt ending to his party, had been lavish with praise towards Basim and the other nobles had also been impressed by the new musical star and still wanted to see that young man with extraordinary talent playing the Yasirpipe and twirling the Sand harmoniously with the grace of a dancer but even stopping to listen only to the music was a special experience. It certainly was for the Caliph who couldn''t seem to break away and was happy that Basim remained. Only the court Sand Masters were not at all happy; for them that show with music did not exalt the virtues of the Sand and offended the dignity of their rank. In their category, the contempt for the Road Masters was so strong that they had no scruples in denigrating them or even attacking them to destroy their tools and take possession of their supplies of Impure Sand, relying on the protection of the law. Only the pride with which they displayed their title offset such aversion. What was happening at court with Basim was testing their patience and making their resentment grow enormously. They couldn''t let someone as low-ranking as him have all that popularity, and they also didn''t want to run the risk of people forgetting what a true Sand Master was. The only way to stop the potter''s rise was to make his tool disappear which, despite being a Yasirpipe, they considered it an ignoble distortion of the traditional tool that they had to eliminate together with the owner. Despite their bad intentions, however, they had no intention of compromising themselves personally, it was better to entrust the task to someone else. It was important to avoid being discovered and, in any case, if something went wrong, there would always be someone to blame. This way, no one would suspect them, and they would get away with it. <> Sadin asked them. << Don''t you want to take revenge? You said you were the one who launched the Sand Dancer''s career... and how does it repay you? Sending you to prison. >> << Technically it was your lord who did it. >> << But that boy didn''t defend you when the Caliph accused you. He spent not a word to lighten your sentence, thus allowing our lord to let you age in here for the rest of your life. We could set you free instead. >> << Oh, it''s not so bad: I have free room and board, the neighbors are quiet, and I also have a lot of pets. >> << Do you also like whippings? >> Sadin didn''t respond to the barb, hiding the still-bleeding red furrows on his arms and hands under his sleeves. The conversation was being held in great secrecy in the interrogation room, a bare room in which there was only an old wooden table and two crooked stools. Sadin was chained to the wall by his wrists, and the chains were so short that he could raise his arms just above his pelvis¡ªan additional suffering for the condemned but which guaranteed the safety of the jailers and guests. After a long consultation, the choice of the four Masters of the court of Shagreb had fallen on him because he seemed the perfect pawn for the job, as well as an excellent scapegoat. If he had been caught in the act and tried to justify himself, no one would have believed him given his record and, in any case, they could easily give the order to have him killed at any time. Those Masters, with their proverbial arrogance, were certain that Sadin would accept the proposal, in particular Tanzim, the Master who led them and who was talking to him. From his appearance he seemed more like a rich squire of the country than a scholar of the Sand; he was tall and thin, his skin was so clean as to be shiny, his hair and beard tied in a small braid were smooth and fragrant, his robes were almost as sumptuous as those of the caliph and he sported showy rings on all his fingers. He boasted to everyone that he was a great Master, but in reality, his abilities were limited; he played terribly and therefore could not properly manipulate the Sand. He was an arrogant individual, one who exploited his title to get everything he wanted; he denigrated and belittled all those he considered inferior, he was very cunning and tried to deceive with all possible means anyone he could exploit for his ends. He thought he knew how to treat people like Sadin, which is why he had carefully chosen the words to fuel the flame of hatred and the desire for revenge in the boy, convinced that he would succeed. << Let''s pretend that the proposal interests me... >> the boy began to say. << What do I gain? >> << We would ensure that your sentence is annulled. >> Tanzim replied to him. <> <> << Simply put, he pays you to kiss his butt. >> << Be careful what you say, boy! We can even convince him to toughen the sentence if we want! >> another Master said indignantly. << Of course... and thus you would lose the only person in the whole kingdom capable of implementing your plan. >> << Don''t boast, brat. We can find a thousand more like you. >> << Maybe ¡°like me¡±, but certainly not better. I''m the only one who can get close to the prey without arousing suspicion. >> Sadin said with an ironic smile. The Masters remained silent, almost embarrassed to have to admit that Sadin was right in that case. If they had had a whip at hand, they would have been happy to use it, those arrogant ways towards them were truly unbearable; it was very clear that with such an individual it was better to be cautious: he was smart, perceptive, and too sure of himself... prerogatives that make a scoundrel very difficult to manipulate. But given how high the stakes were, even if unreliable, he was the only person who could carry out the task and they couldn''t back out. << In short, do you want to accept the proposal or not? >> Tanzim asked impatiently. Sadin, more serious than ever, motioned for them to come closer. The small group approached but remained at a safe distance, to listen to the answer. After a few seconds of waiting, a loud fart was heard. << This is my answer, gentlemen. >> Sadin said smiling. Outraged and wounded in pride, the Masters called the guards to leave, ordering them to give the prisoner a just punishment for the offense suffered, and then walked away trying to ignore Sadin''s loud laughter. << What do we do now? >> asked one of them << Shall we look among the other prisoners? >> << No, we have to convince him. If the plan goes wrong at least we have the certainty that the blame can be placed on him. >> << But he will never accept. >> << Let''s give him some time. A week without food will change his mind. >> Sadin''s new "life" began. For seven days, he was subjected to severe physical and mental torture. During the day, under the scorching sun, they forced him to carry out backbreaking work with very short breaks and they also looked for any opportunity to give him whips and shower him with insults. In that prison, the punishments left indelible scars on the inmates both in the soul and in the body. Tears and pleas were of no use, and it was lucky if they made it to the end of the day alive. With the older prisoners they turned a blind eye but, for Sadin instead, who had youth on his side, was different, and was ordered to perform tasks beyond his means. With that treatment, he didn''t have the strength to complain, nor to make his usual jokes, he was just trying to save his breath to be able to survive all that. Following the orders of the Masters, he was the only one who did not receive a fair ration of food, he was only given a few sips of water and a piece of stale bread, just the minimum necessary to prevent him from dying. They even made sure that the other prisoners did not try to share their meals with him, keeping him aside and forcing him to watch while everyone consumed the meager nourishment that was distributed to them. His stomach rumblings accompanied by cramps became loud and even persistent from the second day onwards; Sadin knew how to resist, however, he knew well the burden of suffering from hunger. He had already had to skip meals in the past, especially during the periods of famine that had hit his tribe when little food there was distributed mainly to children and the elderly. On that occasion, Sadin was suffering but he was resting to save energy while now, inside that prison forced to work continuously, he was rapidly losing his strength. ¡°This time I''m in really bad shape.¡± he thought worriedly. Perhaps he would never emerge from that prison, and if the doors ever opened one day, it would be either as a dead man or as an old and gray-haired man. Prospects that he rejected both. There was the Sand Masters'' offer as an alternative but, that was a deception. He had immediately understood that they would never let him go free and he also knew that they would return sooner or later to convince him to accept and, if he refused again, they would certainly make his sentence more painful. Sadin, tired and prostrate from the pangs of hunger, dropped onto the miserable bed trying to sleep. The cot was an uncomfortable wooden board with a blanket placed on it, nothing like the comfortable bed at home which, when he wanted, he could move outside to sleep under the stars. When could he see them again? His cell had no windows and they only let him out during the day, to bring him back in at sunset. Having the stars as a roof was one of the many thoughts that began to pass through his mind and remind him of Uncle Zaka. ¡°Who knows how he is and what he is doing now.¡± He thinks. Zaka was the only person in the tribe that Sadin truly cared about. The only one who had shown him affection by giving him a roof over his head and helping him grow, the only one who considered him part of the family. Half-breed or bastard were the only words everyone used to describe Sadin. He was born between the illegitimate union of the daughter of one of Zaka''s brothers and a good-looking stranger from a distant land. No one knew who that man was or how he got there; he spoke little about himself but spoke emphatically about the great deeds that he said he had accomplished in his homeland, fascinating everyone. This was how he had stolen the heart of Zaka''s niece and from that love, Sadin was born. Then one day suddenly the man, just as he had arrived, without saying a word, had gone away and the desperate woman, still madly in love, had abandoned the tribe to look for him, leaving little Sadin to the family However, he ended up being welcomed only by the charitable arms of his uncle Zaka. Since he was a child, Sadin had demonstrated strong intelligence and a very open mind, he paid attention to his surroundings and was very curious and enterprising. Already at the age of five, he understood that he lived in a different situation from other children, whom he saw pampered and loved by their parents from morning to night, while he only had his uncle. He also realized the difference in how he was treated or looked at by everyone. One day he asked his uncle why he didn''t have a mom and dad like other children. To protect him from the truth, Zaka replied that his parents had left on a long journey and that one day they would return. Sadin liked the idea of ??having explorer parents and when he thought of them, he imagined them visiting fantastic places. But, as time passed, and not seeing them return, the doubt crept into his little heart that the story was all a lie. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Meanwhile, as he grew up, his particular character began to take shape. He soon demonstrated that the humility of the farmer and the patience of the shepherd did not flow in his blood, and it did not take long for his aptitude for deception and lies to emerge. The thefts began almost as a joke, as a sort of personal challenge to demonstrate how good he was at deceiving people without them realizing it. He soon found it satisfying to take what belonged to others and, if they were arrogant rich people or cheating merchants, the pleasure of robbing them was greater. Sadin''s skill, which was such that he was very rarely caught red-handed and, in that case, always with that peculiar sarcastic smile of his, justified himself from the accusations by stating that stealing from thieves was legitimate. ¡°This isn''t stealing, it''s doing justice¡± he always used to say. If the tribe already did not look favorably on that child for his birth, his behavior was even less welcome. Although Sadin didn''t care much about other people''s opinions, the constant negative comments, the distrustful looks, and the covertly hostile way in which he was treated still caused a certain resentment in him. What right did they have to judge him, since they had never given him the chance to be one of them? They had always considered him a stranger, only his uncle had made him feel at home, only he had worked hard to take care of him, even when even the other relatives had told him to leave it alone; only he had truly loved him. Who needed a father or a mother when Uncle Zaka was enough to fill that void? He had always been there, even when he had gotten into trouble with the law. Sadin did not feel tied to the tribe and had no reason to help them but, if he was committed to finding the money it was only because he owed his uncle a debt of gratitude. But now? How would he handle the lie about him running away? Would he believe the boys'' lies? That he had run away, abandoning them in their time of need? He was certainly not naive. Sadin may have been a no-good but not enough to commit such an infamy, and his uncle certainly knew this. Or at least, he hoped he thought so. The doubt, born so suddenly, took possession of Sadin like a demon. He was no longer able to send him away, making him agitated, taking away his sleep and his breathing. There was a moment when, in desperation, he tried to open the cell door by punching and kicking it until he had the strength. He wanted to go out and run to his uncle, show him that he hadn''t turned his back on him and that he could still do the right thing, but above all to tell him that he was sorry for always worrying him and to tell him that he loved him too. He had to get out of there, no matter the cost.
As expected, the Masters returned to see him a week later. He was emaciated and tired, but he didn''t want to give them the satisfaction of being seen in pain; therefore, he welcomed them with his usual smile, struggling to stand despite his now weak legs. They were left speechless by his attitude despite his appearance showing otherwise; only Tanzim was not impressed and had no intention of wasting time on his antics. << How was your week? >> he asked him with a grin. << Excellent. I did a lot of exercise and a little diet. It was a nice experience. >> Sadin replied in kind. << Good to know. I hope it also helped you think. >> << Oh yes, I''ve thought about it a lot. >> Now Sadin was serious and stared straight into the Master''s eyes, sustaining an intense duel of awe from which he would not emerge defeated. <> << Very true. Finding unfortunates like you is easy, so consider yourself lucky that you are the first to whom we make this offer. So, do you accept? >> Sadin had already done enough thinking. As Tanzim had said, if he had not accepted, surely someone else would have taken his place, someone who probably would have had no qualms about cutting Basim''s throat before taking the instrument from his hands. He was the only one who could prevent this from happening, even if he would have had to take great risks to do so. But Sadin, despite everything, would never abandon a friend in difficulty, and as for taking risks... well, that was his daily bread! <> he said finally. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Basim let his hands emerge from the bottom of the basin after having kept them immersed in the cold water for an hour. Finally, he felt relief. After playing non-stop, his fingers had reached the limit level of tolerance and with spasms and pangs, they made him understand that they would not play another note for the rest of the day. He had to convince the Caliph to reduce the duration of the concerts, he could not continue to play as he was doing. He was tired and discouraged, he considered being hired as a court musician neither an honor nor a stroke of luck, just another obstacle that prevented him from returning home. << Basim, do you really don''t want us to stay with you? It will be hard to work alone. >> << Don''t worry guys, after all, it''s me who the Caliph wants, it''s me who has to play, you don''t need to stay, think about reaching your families who will surely be worried, don''t worry about me, I somehow, I''ll get through it. >> Having taken on a new job, Basim had thought it wasn''t right to force the boys to stay with him. At least they could go home. The boys would leave; everyone except Sadin, unfortunately. Basim was worried; How would the tribe react to the news of his arrest? Certainly, his uncle would have tried to mediate for his release, but he doubted that the Caliph would listen to his pleas. Zaater had said nothing of what they had said during his prison visit, and it was worrying not to know how it had gone. He had asked the Caliph many times for permission to go and see him, at least to find out if he was well and if he could do something for him, but every time his pleas fell on deaf ears, he replied that his only concern had to be to make dancing the Sand. << However, know that we will anxiously await your return. >> said the boys << And when this happens, we will have a big party in your honor. >> << Don''t exaggerate, I still owe you a lot afterward, I will never forget the welcome I received in your village. >> << We owe you the same for helping us. >> Basim felt flattered by those words that made him feel important, more than the nobles of Shagreb could. << When you return, we will take you home. The Caliph''s reward has repaid your debt. >> << I''m just sorry that it''s less than promised. >> << We''ll figure something out. We are nomads, and working hard is part of our lifestyle. >> << Oh, I believe it. I don''t think I''ve ever seen more determined people than you in my life. Many people should take you as an example. >> The conversation would have lasted much longer but the soldier who would guide the boys called them impatiently, ordering them to hurry, and, after another minute of greetings, the small group was finally able to head home. Basim looked forward to returning to them soon, for he would finally realize his wish to return to Baharmis. Unfortunately for him, however, the Caliph had no intention of letting him go anytime soon. Ghaali el-Meer wanted to still strut his stuff with his performances and be able to boast of being the discoverer of such a great talent. ¡°I feel honored to have a new Master at my court,¡± he said proudly. In all sincerity, Basim was not happy to be compared to a Master, he had lost a lot of respect towards the Sand Masters. Since he had started practicing the Yasirpipe and performing, he had repeatedly witnessed attacks on the Street Masters by them. So much violence towards those people who were just looking for a way to survive shocked him. He realized that they were not people of noble soul as they tried to show themselves in public and that many of them, behind smiles and many words of wisdom, hid arrogance and wickedness. Therefore, no. He didn''t want to be considered a Sand Master. Enraged, he kicked a bag of Sand that, for the first time in his life, he couldn''t bear to see and, for a moment, he was tempted to scatter it in the wind, so no one would force him to handle it anymore. He left the palace to get away from that golden prison at least for a while, but even walking in the royal garden, in that state of mind, wasn''t relaxing. He didn''t have a friend to talk to and certainly, no one else had the intention of becoming close to him. The Sand Masters in particular hated him and would have incinerated him with just a glance if they could. He approached a small aviary, one of many scattered in the garden, with some nectarines[1] inside with iridescent green plumage and tails as long as ribbons. He paused to listen to their chirping and watch as they continually hopped from one perch to another, stopping only to feed with their long, thin, curved beaks. Who knows if those little animals also felt like prisoners, he thought with a sigh. The cage door had neither a lock nor a padlock; all he would have needed to do was open it a little and allow them to escape and regain the freedom they deserved, at least. << You should change your name, what''s the point of being called ¡°Basim¡± if you rarely smile? >> Basim jumped when he heard himself called from behind, especially since he knew the voice well. << Sadin?! >> he exclaimed in disbelief. <> There was no doubt that it was him, even as dirty and emaciated as he was. He was so surprised to see him again that he started asking him question after question without waiting for an answer, even stopping mid-sentence to ask more questions and confusingly overlapping the words. << Hey! Hey! Slow down, friend! I''ve already had my share of interrogations, so give it a rest. >> << But you...? But how¡? >> << I''m enjoying some fresh air if that''s what you want to know. You know how it is, you get bored of being stuck inside all the time. >> << Have you escaped...? >> <> << Sadin, you were already in trouble, do you want to make the situation even worse? >> <> << I''m serious. The Caliph still hasn''t gotten over his anger at your attempted theft and does nothing but complain as soon as someone mentions it. >> << Well, I wouldn''t have ended up in this situation if someone had given me a hand. Nice thing friends, right? Especially when they stab you in the back. >> << Look, I''m sorry about what happened to you; I didn''t know what to do or what to say, I was taken by surprise and... >> << Come on friend, it''s certainly not your fault that I ended up in chains. But you could have come to visit me sometime. But it doesn''t matter, because now the two of us are leaving here. >> Sadin uttered those words with his usual sinister grin while, with slow theatricality, he revealed a dagger kept hidden until then behind his back and a bag of coins. Basim had not yet lost his fear of sharp blades and the sight of that weapon brought back bad memories, triggering a tremor of fear that grew with the beating of his heart. << Hey, I''m joking. I do not want to hurt you. >> he hastened to tell him the boy. He immediately put the dagger away and began to explain the real reason for his presence. << Listen friend, you are in more danger. Those treacherous Sand Masters want to destroy your Yasirpipe. >> << What? What are you saying? >> << Yes, and they asked me to do the dirty work. That''s how I got out of prison. >> << Why would they? It''s a tool to move the Sand, something they should preserve. >> << It''s the way you''re using it that they don''t accept. Have you forgotten that for people you are not just a musician, but a Street Master? >> << Yes, but is it just for this reason? Or is there something else? >> << It''s also because they are jealous of your success. And if you want to know, their intentions are not only to destroy the instrument but, they would also like me to be able to get rid of you. You know... in the sense that... >> Sadin made the throat cut sign to better convey the point. Basim, struck by those words, stopped to reflect. He was undecided whether to believe Sadin or not. He knew that the Sand Masters of Shagreb had no respect for him, but could they really commit such a crime? The boy, sensing his state of mind, handed him the Yasirpipe, intact and without a loose string. << Why do you give it back to me? You might earn a few coins by selling it to a vendor of oddities. >> << Are you kidding? A deal like this is difficult to sell. >> In reality, for Sadin, such an important object needed to be protected, not destroyed, and he did not consider it as such for its magical prerogatives, but rather for the well-being it had brought to his tribe. He considered it almost like a good luck charm and for this reason he had immediately put it in a safe place, rather than destroying it. << Do you really think they can hurt me too? >> Basim asked him, while he caressed the instrument. << Unfortunately, yes. >> << Well, then I can say that my career as a street musician is over. >> << Just interrupted, my friend. We just need to take a break. >> Basim sighed, finally accepting what he had just been told. He asked Sadin if he had a plan to escape, and he replied in an almost offended tone: << Of course I have a plan. It''s my specialty. Behave and maybe we can leave unnoticed. >> Basim, being part of the court, could walk around undisturbed without fear of being stopped. He could go anywhere, from the stables to the kitchens and, above all¡ the exit. Sadin walked at his side, wrapped in an elegant and colorful women''s veil, trying to hide his masculine features as much as possible. They proceeded together towards the exit of the building, trying to maintain a normal pace that did not arouse suspicion. Only a few meters and then freedom, which at that moment seemed almost unattainable both due to the slowness with which they moved and due to the worry of arousing suspicion from the small patrol of soldiers coming from the opposite side. As the guards passed by, marching noisily, they both held their breath, keeping their gazes down trying not to meet theirs. << One moment! >> Someone suddenly shouted. The two stopped in surprise. A patrol guard, the last in his line, had moved away from the formation and was slowly approaching with the typical expression of someone who had some doubts. << Where are you going? >> he asked them. Basim couldn''t say a word, his mind was in turmoil, and he couldn''t move his mouth. Sadin, on the other hand; accustomed to finding himself in that kind of situation, promptly responded in falsetto, pretending to be a court lady: << His kindness, the court musician, is accompanying me for a walk. His Royal Highness could not accompany me, and it was a shame to stay in the palace on such a beautiful day. Don''t you think so, soldier? >> << Yes, it''s a beautiful day. >> the man replied uncertainly. << A question: would you be one of the Caliph''s courtesans? >> Sadin, perhaps too caught up in his role, gave the soldier a resounding slap while his companions, from afar, giggled in amusement. << Of course I am! What kind of question are you asking me? Rude! I will report to the appropriate authorities! >> he screamed, taking Basim''s arm, while acting offended they left the building. The guard did not dare call them back. He felt stupid for having doubted a lady; after all, he knew well that his lord had strange tastes in women. Luckily for Sadin, he hadn''t noticed his dirty and ruined shoes peeking out from under his dress, decidedly unsuitable for a lady of high rank. Basim, on the other hand, was surprised by the success of the performance, so much so that he managed to whisper in a low voice: << You''re crazy. >> << Many people tell me this. >> Chapter 14: On the Run Hazma, General Jabar, and the small force arrived at Shagreb in the dead of night. They were tired, sweaty, and sunburnt, disappointed and annoyed that they still hadn''t gotten any results after so many days of searching; some rest was really necessary and there in that friendly city, it wouldn''t have been difficult to find a place to sleep. A patrol stopped them, ordering them to identify themselves. <> The soldier at the head of the group of guards, in the presence of those two significant figures, apologized for his abrupt behavior and offered to act as an escort to the royal palace, knowing full well that the Caliph would have gladly accepted their arrival even at that late hour. When a courtier woke him up to announce the arrival of those personalities at court, he didn''t protest and didn''t even waste time making himself presentable. He did not wait to be announced, nor to be escorted, he quickly went alone to the living room where the two important guests were waiting for him, while waiting they were served food and a very aromatic hot tea. << Your Highness. General Jabar. It is an honor to have you as a guest in my home. >> Ghaali el-Meer said excitedly. <> << Don''t bother too much, right now all we need is a good bed. >> <> << We are the ones who must apologize for disturbing you. I hope you can forgive us. >> <> Sleeping was the only thing they needed after that exhausting journey across the length and breadth of the kingdom. Jabar, knowing he had an important mission to complete, wanted to make just a short stop, but everyone else was exhausted, and not even he could resist the tiredness for long. An overheard conversation between two guards outside the room about the disappearance of someone at court set off alarm bells in him. His intuition told him to investigate that news and he was rarely wrong. He then asked the Caliph, with feigned nonchalance, what interesting thing had happened in Shagreb recently. Ghaali el-Meer began to tell him, with his usual emphasis and abundance of detail, all the events that had happened in the city in the last few days, boring Jabar and the prince who listened while forcibly holding back their yawns. When he was about to conclude the story, he remembered to add another episode: the mysterious disappearance of the court musician. At those words Jabar jumped, the alarm bells in his head ringing wildly. << Wait a minute... did you just say that your musician played with the Sand? >> << Oh yes, and with great style. I had heard of this Street Master capable of making the Sand dance in a particular way and so I thought of having him come to court to cheer up my parties and at the same time make me make a good impression on my guests. >> << Yes, yes. But how exactly did he do this? Was it all a trick? >> << No, he could do it with music. >> << Music? >> << Exactly. Playing a strange instrument I had never seen. It resembles an Oud but is much larger and emits a sound that I can define as not from these lands. >> Jabar and Hazma exchanged a mutual glance. The musician was their man: Basim. Hazma seemed to go mad. After days of useless searches, after talking to people who knew nothing or pretended to know with the sole aim of making money from it, they had now finally found a trace. He was giving his all in the pursuit of the Yasirpipe to live up to both his father''s and his late Master''s expectations and now he was one step away from doing so. He wanted to search for Basim immediately, search Shagreb himself, and even raid homes if necessary. << Your Highness, calm down. Let''s not get carried away right now, we could compromise the mission. >> <> <> Jabar had difficulty calming the prince, as he was agitated. But if he had managed to command the royal army, he could also tame that rebellious kitty. In his head, meanwhile; one detail in the Caliph''s speech had taken root: Basim had learned to play the instrument. It was not a detail to be underestimated at all, this made the young man even more important than he already was. He imagined the annoyance this news would cause Daysam. << My sire, why does the situation of my musician disturb you so much? >> asked the Caliph a little confused. << The instrument that the boy has with him belonged to the Honorable Fawzi, the Master who was killed not long ago. >> << Good heavens¡ do you think he is involved in that horrible murder? >> << No, on the contrary. We are certain that he is innocent. We know that he attempted to bring the instrument to Al Haimat, but the Rector sent him away without knowing what he had with him. They were waiting for him in Baharmis, but he never arrived. Instead, we fear that he is fleeing from the real culprits. Whoever killed Fawzi is perhaps looking for him to kill him and take possession of the instrument. This is why we want to find it: to protect it. >> << By the Gods, what an incredible story! If it is a helping hand you need, you will have all my help in your search. >> << Thank you, Caliph, it will be a pleasure. >> << So what will you do now? >> << We''ll go to sleep, that''s what we''ll do. >> said the General. << We can continue this conversation tomorrow when we are all rested. >> << Sleep? Seriously? >> Hazma replied. << It''s been a long day and you, your Highness, are the one who needs to rest the most. Then we could better organize the next move. >> << Okay... but I want to be woken up early. The sooner we start, the better. >> And with that decision, everyone was finally able to go to sleep and indulge in the much-desired restful sleep. Peace fell again in the palace and in the silence of the night you could only hear the chirping of the cicadas and the rustling of the plants caressed by the light breeze that brought coolness. But some persisted in staying awake¡ªsomeone who had too many worries that didn''t allow him the luxury of rest. The figure came out of the secret room from which he had until then spied on the entire conversation, reaching on tiptoe the only room where the light of a candle still shone. << Were they the General and Prince Hazma? They came looking for the boy, didn''t they? >> Master Tanzim asked him in a worried tone. << Yes, unfortunately. >> he replied to him. At that news, the four Masters felt a strong lump in their throats. It was still very calm in the palace as the night continued its course but, to make sure that no one heard them, they locked themselves in their study, a very luxurious room for a place of work, full of precious objects and rare books. They were there waiting, like mice waiting in their burrow for the cat to go away. They had done everything over time to get into Daysam''s good graces and be part of his group of collaborators. Their devotion had not gone unnoticed by the Rector, who had decided to use them as his informants on everything that happened in the Caliph''s court. Unfortunately, however, envy and hatred towards Basim had made them forget to warn Daysam about the boy''s presence at court and the Yasirpipe. << This is bad... what if they found out everything? >> << Don''t talk nonsense. There is no evidence of our involvement. >> <> << Blackmailed or corrupted. None of them will speak. >> <> << Only the devil could do that. I repeat to you that nothing will happen. >> Tanzim pretended to be confident but, in reality, he was just as anxious as the others. The arrival of Jabar and Hazma had come at the worst time, and it was not appropriate for it to be discovered that Basim had disappeared because of them. The presumption of being able to control Sadin and his betrayal had put them in a bad position. It was therefore necessary for them to find the boys first and until then they had to make sure that the General did not discover the truth, especially because, if it had also reached the ears of the Rector, it would have unleashed his anger towards them. They had to hurry, there wasn''t much time left. They thought of hiring someone capable of quickly killing the thief before he was found by the General and the prince; a hitman or a corrupt guard or, whoever was able to do it, in short; and they also thought of eliminating Basim, certain that by now Sadin had made him aware of their plans. Tanzim, however, eager to gain greater prestige in the eyes of the rector, thought of organizing himself to solve the problem.
The next day Jabar, the prince, and his men, accompanied by some of Ghaali el-Meer''s guards, began searching for Basim in the city. They intended to search every corner of all the neighborhoods of Shagreb and to meticulously interrogate the population, also providing a precise description of the man. The Caliph was quite annoyed because the General had asked him not to interfere too much in that operation and to leave it to him and his men. It was his city, and this didn''t make him happy at all but, since these were the people closest to the sultan, he had reluctantly accepted, putting his pride aside. The first place they went to was the nomad camp suggested by the Caliph, hoping that Basim had taken refuge among those people. They inspected every tent and possible hiding place, ignoring the tribe''s protests over the sudden invasion. They questioned everyone, even using threatening tones, but the result was only to generate great concern for Basim and to hear continuously from those people how much respect they had for him after what he had done for them. ¡°Well, we made it clear that he helped those people. Optimal. Perfect. What a good person..." the prince thought annoyed. He didn''t care what he had done, he just wanted to find him and get the Yasirpipe back. That''s all. He shook his head vigorously; he was getting emotional again. He had to stay focused and think. ¡°If no one saw him leave Shagreb, then he is surely still hiding in the city. He''s a big, tall guy, a boy like that doesn''t go unnoticed. Probably someone is helping him, perhaps the same person with whom they saw him leave the building.¡± He examined the map of Shagreb with the General and they agreed that the only possible hiding place could be in the poor neighborhoods that were to the east, on the edge of the city, a spot well hidden in the facade splendor of the small kingdom. These were made up of numerous miserable hovels, all low, hidden by the large golden buildings as if trying to hide a degradation that they did not want to admit. The area was vast and the number of houses to be searched was very high; it was therefore impossible to establish how long the inspection would take. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. <> exclaimed the prince. Knowing he was so close to the Yasirpipe and still not finding it made him very nervous. From the corner of his eye, he observed the General repeatedly running his hands through his hair, an unusual gesture for him, he was probably almost as whipped as he was. Jabar looked at his hands and realized that they were stained black. Not wanting to let anyone know about his habit of dyeing his hair, with the excuse of having to update the Caliph on the situation, he took his leave to return to the palace and walked away, urging the horse in the crowd. Hazma let out a chuckle, ¡°So the rumors that she dyes her hair are true.¡± Sadin narrowly dodged General Jabar''s horse which was about to overwhelm him. His first reaction was to rail at that arrogant knight, but he stopped himself; in the situation, he found himself in, he didn''t want to cause a stir, there was the risk of being recognized by someone, therefore, he turned his back and went down his street, cursing under his breath. The slums were the opposite of the shiny part of Shagreb: they were sad, dirty, and degraded¡ but the only refuge for those who could barely afford to survive. The food was always insufficient and even the moldy bread on those poor tables was considered a luxury. Most of the houses were made of mud bricks mixed with straw and wooden beams on which patched sheets were stretched as a roof; the children born there were considered unlucky by the parents themselves who felt guilty for having brought them into the world in that miserable place. Where the only possible toys were small bags of dirt. Sadin had no sympathy for the people of his tribe but, faced with so much misery, he considered himself lucky to have been born in a more dignified environment than the one he was experiencing. He had stolen some coins since he had escaped from prison, and he decided to distribute them among those poor people, not being able to help everyone he felt his heartache. << You''re finally back, what happened to you? >> << Were you worried about me, darling? >> << Be serious, you stayed out all night. >> <> << More? Seriously? >> << Here I am! And it seems there''s someone else looking for us too. The situation is getting serious. >> Basim had hoped for better news but, in their situation, it was lucky they hadn''t found them yet. They were looking for them everywhere, but not in the right way and place. While everyone thought they were hiding in poor neighborhoods or outside the city, in reality, they were holed up in the cellar of a beautiful, uninhabited house in a downtown area. It was one of the houses that Sadin had noticed during his patrols, it had been child''s play to sneak in and remain quiet all that time, without the worry of being discovered. Sadin''s idea was to remain in the shadows for a few days until whoever was looking for them had concluded that they had now moved away from the city and were already very far away. It seemed to be working, but the arrival of another garrison to enhance the search now forced them to change their plan. << This is the right time to get away. >> << Well, it''s about time. I was tired of hiding like a mouse. Do you already have a plan in mind on how to escape? >> << Of course, what questions! You always have to have an escape plan when you''re in trouble and I - not to brag - I know about certain things. >> << You wouldn''t think so, given your recent arrest¡. >> << Are you making fun of me? >> << Forget it and tell me what''s on your mind. >> << We will pass ourselves off as travelers and tiptoe out of the city. >> << Is that all? Is this the plan? >> << OK, I admit it. I couldn''t think of anything else, but it''s better than having nothing in hand. >> << In practice the success of this escape will depend entirely on luck, then? >> << If we want to put it this way... yes. We have no alternatives; we have to leave as soon as possible. >> << Okay, let''s do it. It''s worth taking a risk. >> <> <> That''s right, the two prepared to escape. They carefully disguised themselves and set off, trying to resemble poor travelers as much as possible. Escaping during the night would have been the most logical choice if the patrols had not been so frequent; therefore, they decided to move under the sunlight, even though they felt exposed like sheep moving into wolf territory. As they walked along the main road, the same one they had taken days before upon their arrival, their hearts beat in unison like drums and despite the lightness of their clothes, they sweated profusely. Properly disguised, they walked with bowed heads through the crowd as tense as violin strings without speaking or looking at each other; now and then they looked up to look for Shagreb''s exit gates or to make sure no one was looking at them suspiciously. They passed many guards along the way. Passing by two of them they heard part of the conversation about someone they would have to find at any cost. <> << Stop with this story. You''re exaggerating, Sadin. >> << Exaggerating? Surely, they want me dead or something. I''m telling you; they''ll break my neck like a chicken if they catch me. >> << Stop it, the Caliph is not bloodthirsty. Arrogant and lazy without a doubt but far from violent. >> <> << Sadin! Careful! >> A moment of distraction almost cost Sadin a head-on collision with a wagon. He leaped to the side to avoid being trampled by the horses. While dodging the beasts, however, a part of his tunic got caught in the wheel of the chariot which slowly began to pull him towards him. He fought with all his strength until, fortunately, the fabric tore up, just before he ended up strangled by his clothes. Even though it was a random accident, Sadin thought that some entity was mad at him. He met an alarmed look. Not that of Basim who meanwhile, standing next to him, continued to ask him if he was okay. It was the look of a royal guard who had witnessed the scene, standing in the middle of the crowd curious about the small incident. The man was very tall and this came in handy on his patrols, because he could see everything from a higher perspective like the hawks in the sky. He was not among the brightest of soldiers and for this reason, the tasks entrusted to him mainly concerned traffic control. He had witnessed the scene and only thought about how lucky Sadin had been to come out of that accident unscathed. The faces of the two boys told him nothing, unaware of their identities and of what was happening in those days right under his nose. When he walked in their direction he didn''t intend to arrest them, but only to make sure they were okay... but Sadin couldn''t know this and interpreted his approach as a danger. He looked at Basim and thought about what trouble he would get into because of him. What would they do to him if they started to think that he was the one who broke him out? The Masters would find a way to frame him and he could not allow this injustice to happen. His strong point was improvisation, so he already knew what to do to avoid the worst for his friend. << Stop! Don¡¯t take another step! >> Sadin shouted at the guard, pointing a dagger at Basim''s throat. The sight of the weapon forced the man to draw his sword and call for reinforcements. << What the hell are you doing?! Do you want to kill me?! >> Basim asked him in a whisper. << No, I don''t want them to think we are accomplices. Pretend you''re scared. >> Sadin replied seriously. << I''m really scared! >> << Shut up or this will end badly! >> Basim didn''t need to feign concern while he had a dagger at his throat. Four soldiers stood in front of them a few steps away, but they did not dare to approach so as not to risk the situation degenerating. Behind them was the small wagon that had stopped, loaded with large bags and with the horses pawing. << Go! Go! Jump on! >> Sadin shouted, pulling Basim by the hair, forcing him to get on while he took the reins. At the snap of the leather bridles the animals took off at a gallop but, before their race got too fast, two guards managed to grab hold of the cart and jump on. << Basim, you take the reins while I try to get rid of these intruders. >> Sadin said. As the wagon careened through the streets of Shagreb, the three men on board tried to fight but were more focused on maintaining their balance than trying to hit each other. The slashes and lunges were imprecise and ineffective, it was easier to hurt oneself than to hit the opponent, all accentuated by the risk of falling badly. Sadin, thanks to his agility, managed to get rid of a guard almost immediately, throwing him off the wagon after stabbing him in the knees. He had rarely been forced to use a weapon, but he had learned, for his defense, which weak points to hit without having to be forced to kill. The second man managed not to get hit and threw himself at him, seeking a hand-to-hand fight that seemed unequal, given the different builds of the two contenders. The rhythm of the blows continued rapidly and Sadin tried to protect himself as best he could. He had received many in his young life but those of his opponent were just as hard as boulders. He was almost overpowered when Basim, realizing that he had the whip that is usually used to whip horses next to him, took it and, turning with a quick move, hit the guard full in the face, making him lose his balance and allowing Sadin to use that moment to push her down. The soldier grabbed one of the bags and held on to it so as not to fall. Looking up he noticed the mischievous smile Sadin had on his lips as he brandished his dagger towards him. With terror, he thought that his time had come and begged him to stop, but Sadin did not hit him, instead, he cut the fabric of the sack, and a waterfall of cereals flowed down from the cart together with the man. The chariot was able to gain speed. But the two young men didn''t even have time to breathe a sigh of relief when suddenly a dark noise echoed behind them. And then they saw something coming. <> <> << If you wanted, would you be able to ¡°ride¡± the Sand? >> << An expert Master would be capable of it. Why? >> << Because we''re in a bit of a mess. >> A red wave was reaching them, flooding the street with its violent flow. It wasn''t the water of a raging river that was chasing them, but powerful magical sand. The roar produced by the moving Sand was frightening, it seemed as if the roar of a hundred lions had merged with a storm of thunder and lightning, thus generating that deafening noise. Incredibly, there was someone on board a sort of octagonal table finely decorated like a fine carpet, who seemed to be riding that wave of sand. Basim knew what it was: it was a Sandrider. It was a wooden structure that the Masters wanted to be transported by the Sand. A simple but very particular tool, with special retractable hooks that anchored it to the sand below when it was moving. The hooks were connected to the table through a mechanism built to cushion any shocks and allow the Maestro located on the platform to continue playing without the difficulties caused by the jolts. At the edge of the table, Master Tanzeem was vibrating the keys of his Yasirpipe and one could read in his eyes the ardent desire to capture them. From the beginning he had decided to find the two boys personally, he couldn''t allow others to find them with the risk of his shady dealings being discovered, he had to solve the problem his way and that is, eliminate them before they could talk. Perhaps his skills as a Sand Master were average, but what he was able to do, he could do very well, especially when he was enraged like in this case. He created a menacing golem from the shapeless mass of Sand that rushed towards the two with his arms wide open to try to grab them, and even if he crumbled into pieces in that mad rush, crashing into the buildings, the magic of the sound instantly recomposed him, allowing him to continue his journey. Tanzim smiled sarcastically as he made that sinister sound that brought the monster to life, eager for it to grab them and crush them in its hands like grapes, especially that disgusting little rat Sadin. With such an arsenal, it was no wonder that the Masters had become a legend on the continent of Iazaresh. How could one deal with such a weapon? But above all, how could you escape from it? There was nothing that could stop the Sand, let alone a wave or a golem made of it. << Basim! Basim! You are the expert on the subject! Do you have any idea how the Sand stops?! That stuff has a weakness, doesn''t it?! >> Sadin asked agitatedly, unable to take his eyes off the creature that was getting closer and more threatening. <> Basim stammered anxiously, while he tried to remember. << The water! Yes! If the Sand gets soaked in water it doesn''t work! >> he exclaimed at a certain point. << Sand, by absorbing water, becomes a heavy lump that crumbles easily and, however special, cannot escape certain effects that make it practically useless. >> << Good to know! We have plenty of water here! Hand me the reins, I have a plan! >> Sadin said, again with a flash of light in his eyes, spurring the horses to gallop faster. Basim hoped he had a really good idea, otherwise they were doomed. There was certainly no shortage of water in Shagreb; there were fountains, swimming pools, and many public baths but none of them were what they needed. Lots and lots of water was needed¡ an entire river, to be precise. Sadin smiled as he recognized the shimmer of the Shams River in the sun''s rays, right in front of them; he headed straight towards the shore praying to the god Isin, divinity of good luck, to assist him and not abandon him at that moment. What he intended to do was a very risky move with a high probability of failure, but he had no alternative. Basim held his breath, thinking that Sadin wanted to throw themself into the water with the entire cart and horses. Instead, with careful calculation, he jumped the horses aboard a barge that was moving away at that moment from a small pier along the shore. The force of the jump pushed the boat out to the river, making it slide and sway on the surface of the river, quickly moving it away under the astonished eyes of a small crowd who had witnessed the scene in disbelief. Master Tanzim realized too late what was happening and didn''t have time to stop his golem who threw himself headlong into the river with an energetic dive. The golem immediately dissolved in the water and the Sand dispersed, even if they managed to recover all of it, separating it from the mud at the bottom of the river, it would have taken a very long time before it could regain its power. In the worst-case scenario, it would no longer be of any use. Tanzim was devastated, he couldn''t believe he had failed because of two kids. Sadin could see his disappointed expression and considered it his victory. Feeling safe at last, he tinkered with the barge to reach the opposite side of the shore and asked Basim to lend him a hand. In response, he punched him in the face. << Why the hell did you do that?! >> << Because you''re a rowdy madman! We could have died! >> << ¡°Died¡±, what a big word. It was a calculated risk; I knew we wouldn''t get hurt. >> <> << In any case, we are finally out of the city. After everything that has happened to us, we need a nice holiday to recover our energy. >> << A holiday? It''s precisely by thinking like this that I ended up in this mess. And where would you like to go, just to know? >> << Oh, I was thinking of a quiet place like Abu Wasaa. >> << Abu Wasaa?! But that''s¡! >> << It''s the best hideout in the world. >> << That''s not the point! You know there''s that desert nearby! >> << Trust me, we will be safe there. >> << The word ¡°safe¡± does not apply to Abu Wasaa at all. Have you ever been there? >> <> <> Chapter 15: Abu Wasaa << You put a dagger to my throat! >> <> <> << I''m a good actor, okay? If you only knew how many times I''ve gotten out of trouble this way. >> << Oh really? Were they ¡°trouble¡± like the one we ended up in in Shagreb? >> << No, not really... they were more of a situation like... Oh! Look''! We have arrived in Abu Wasaa! >> Abu Wasaa. Just the name made Basim tremble. And not only him, but everyone knows its name. Because Abu Wasaa was not just any city where travelers stopped... it was the only human outpost erected on the borders of the ¡°Sahra'' alsamt¡±, the Desert of Silence. The destination was still far away but very clear, in the form of a mountain range with a faded silhouette and an imprecise serrated shape that seemed to tear the milky white sky due to the great heat emanating from the sun. When they were almost at the foot of it, they stopped to observe the landscape that stretched out for kilometers with no apparent end. The structure of the stone was the same as that which made up the peaks of Gilnora, with the only difference that the iron veins emerged with the ominous appearance of dark gray scratches, almost as if to warn of what lay behind. In fact, beyond the mountains lay the Sahra'' alsamt, the largest desert expanse of Riakesh, as well as the arid heart of the region itself... and above all, the only source in the world from which sand could be collected. That''s right, every grain that the Masters use comes from there. You could call it its home. Without it, their caste could never have been born. People naively think that Sand is easily collected, being readily available to anyone who wants it, but it wouldn''t be special sand if it took so little to get it. Collecting it is a dangerous and often deadly mission, due to its instability towards any source of noise which, it is said, can easily drive it crazy. In its natural state not even one, a hundred, or a thousand Yasirpipes can control or tame it; for this reason, it is not a place to visit lightly. The beginning of the Abu Wasaa border was officially marked by a large boulder on which a brief, but severe warning was engraved: ¡°Here the Sahra'' alsamt begins. In its kingdom silence is law, and speech is crime. Be silent when the wind blows and keep your distance among the waves of the sea of ??sand.¡± << Maybe it wasn''t a good idea to come here... >> Sadin muttered uneasily. <> Basim asked him in the same mood. <> They weren''t exaggerating when they talked about the tranquility of that area. One thing was certain, it didn''t feel like being in Riakesh anymore. The constant gray gave an alien air to the territory which conveyed a continuous sense of unwelcome. The path leading to the only city was steep and slippery, the horses repeatedly risked breaking their legs and, despite this; they emitted faint whinnies to limit communicating their discomfort, as if they were following the warning engraved on the boulder. Not being able to see them suffer like that, they decided to free them and continue on foot, tackling the tiring climb on their own legs. It took a moment for Basim and Sadin to realize the unusual atmosphere that hovered around them; everything was incredibly calm, but not that usual quiet of nature that is appreciated and relaxes the spirit. It was a¡ forced silence. Stressful. Which made me anxious. At some point, halfway up the climb, they finally arrived at the human settlement. The name Abu Wasaa not only indicated the mountain range but also the city. Seen from afar it was difficult to notice it because, as for Al-Haimat, the houses with small and narrow windows had been carved out of the rock and therefore blended in perfectly with the environment, but unlike this one they had not been sculpted with beautiful details but left with a shapeless and lumpy appearance. On the walls were carved what would normally be shop signs or street signs, some of which were highlighted with black dye to be better read, while very tall weathervanes[1] and flagpoles were erected on the roofs of almost all the houses. Some "structures" served as butchers or greengrocers, yet for some reason no crops or pastures could be seen nearby, not even a chicken was scratching around the streets pecking at the blowflies that annoyed passers-by. There must have been at least a hundred souls there, busy with typical activities seen in any country, but lacking in vigor. They moved slowly and spoke in such a low voice that you could almost not hear them, they all dressed the same in dirty and creased clothing without any decorative frills on them, making it difficult to distinguish between men and women. Despite the slow movements, the eyes were alert and penetrating, almost inquiring... Sadin and Basim felt the weight on them, and it was not easy to ignore it as they moved in search of an inn to rest. <> << According to what I heard, yes. Here people don''t care who comes, as long as it doesn''t bother them. They speak little and don''t like foreigners who ask questions, regardless of who they are. So, no one should snitch on us. >> <> << Let''s not get noticed and everything will be fine. It seems like a quiet place, after all. >> Suddenly the sound of a distant horn rang out from the mountains. The people stopped suddenly to listen to that distant call and before the echo had ended everyone rushed into the houses, closing shops and barring doors and windows; if someone was carrying heavy objects, they abandoned them on the street without hesitation at the mercy of the dust. <> Sadin asked a passerby, grabbing him by the arm. << The wind is coming! Take cover! >> he replied frightened, freeing himself with a tug. The city was depopulated in an instant, leaving the two shocked newcomers alone in confusion. Why were they so afraid of the wind? They both wondered. The answer came soon. Slowly the wind began to blow in warm waves, and as it gained strength the growing creak of the weathervanes began to be heard as they rotated in sync, accompanied by the increasingly agitated dance of the flags. Usually when the wind blows it produces a distinct sound similar to a howl... but on those mountains, the noise was reminiscent of human cries, a cry that became more and more energetic together with the invisible force of the air, more and more agitated. Basim and Sadin almost couldn''t stay standing as the current pushed them, trying to suffocate them with heat and blind them with dust. They knocked on doors to ask for asylum, but no one opened the door to help them. << The wind is increasing, and the storm will soon get worse. >> someone suddenly said. They both gasped, a man had appeared behind them without them realizing it, a mouse gray cloak wrapped him completely, revealing only his feet which were wearing worn shoes held together by strips of fabric. << Come with me. You are not safe here. >> said the stranger again. << Coming where? Who are you? >> Basim asked him. The man waved at him, pointing to one of the streets. <> << Well, it''s better than staying here eating dust. >> Basim and Sadin decided to follow the individual, who took their arms to guide them, with a strong but gentle push. That type of support was especially welcome at that moment when the earth, due to the gusts, had begun to obscure everything in a sort of fog. They were led inside a house that looked like the stub of a melted candle, there wasn''t much difference in light between inside and outside and they stopped just beyond the threshold, not knowing how large the space was. << I''ll shed some light. >> said the man, in the darkness. The flame of a match lit up tiny and weak in the wrinkled hands of the person who delicately guided it inside an oval object. After a few minutes of waiting, a reassuring orange light spread through shards of colored glass. One after the other, many small colored lamps lit up together, brightening the atmosphere with their shapes and colors which suited the interior of the house, which turned out to be well furnished. << Welcome to my home. I hope you will feel comfortable as long as you are my guests. >> Abu Wasaa was a gray town subjugated by the fear of the wind, but apart from that detail, life inside the stone houses was anything but uncomfortable, unlike what the external appearance made it appear. Over time, by digging and sculpting the easily malleable rock, the inhabitants had created comfortable and safe places to live in, which did not make them homesick for the outside world. The presence of caves in the area had certainly been a useful presence for the inhabitants who thus did not find themselves in need of wood or bricks to keep their homes standing. Over time they got used to carrying out any recreational and social activity in there, even when the wind wasn''t blowing, preferring the safety of closed places to open ones. From inside the houses and caves, however, when the disturbances forced them to remain closed inside with the windows and doors sealed, it was difficult to interpret the passage of time. Only with the help of a special hourglass, designed with an arrow that moved with the flow of sand along an arc that precisely marked the minutes and hours, could it be understood whether it was still day or already night. In the following hours in which the storm swept through the territory around Abu Wasaa without restraint, Basim and Sadin had the pleasure of relaxing in the safety of the home of Elamin, the man who had brought them to safety. Having taken off his large cloak, he revealed himself as an old man with a thin but athletic build, a beak nose, a shaved beard, hair as thick and dry as an old bush, and eyes as large as those of an owl. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. The old man''s house was larger than it seemed, divided into three levels, two of which were underground and far from dark thanks to the lamps that looked like pieces of a rainbow. All the furnishings had been arranged to be welcoming and lively, with many cushions in colorful fabrics and frescoes of natural landscapes on the walls, essential oils removed the musty smell with relaxing fragrances, and painted wood flowers gave that touch of nature that the territory was stingy. Elamin embodied the kindness and hospitality typical of the people of Riakesh: he offered food and drinks to his new guests, helped them clean themselves, and even prepared a room for them to sleep in. He did all this quickly and above all in silence. Yes, because despite his fragile appearance he moved in such a way as not to make a noise, causing constant fear to the boys who either realized they were speaking into space or were frightened by his sudden disappearances. Elamin apologized every time - albeit using few words - saying that he couldn''t do anything about it as he had been used to moving in that way for years... and like his fellow citizens, for that matter. Basim asked him why this unusual behavior and his response was: "so as not to make us hear from the Sand". << Excuse me, but are you by any chance a Sand Collector? >> Basim asked him at a certain point. The man just nodded his head, triggering his excitement. The question arose in the presence of a particular leather bag and what looked like a cauldron to which a long chain was attached. The two objects reminded Basim of stories he had heard from some travelers who had been to Abu Wasaa about people who had the courage (or madness) to enter the desert to collect Sand on behalf of the people of Al-Haimat. A work famous in the environment more for the number of deaths than for the type of undertaking itself. <> he said in his calm voice. << You don''t find many young people who want to follow tradition, they are afraid of the desert and honestly, they are not wrong. >> <> Sadin asked doubtfully. << Really Sadin? Haven''t you ever heard the terrifying stories about the Sahra'' alsamt? >> << Only that no one wants to come there and that you can find the Sand. That''s all. >> << ¡°That''s all¡±? The issue is more serious than you think! A matter of life and death! >> << Your friend is right: collecting sand is not a game for children. Also, for this reason, they teach us to follow the law of silence. >> The old collector explained that since the city was the closest, as well as the only one, to the Desert of Silence, it was easily subject to its bad mood. Often not even the mountains could stop it from hurling waves of sand that fell downhill with the weight of their magical energy and on the worst days it even caused minor earthquakes that could produce landslides. It''s all this, sometimes, for a simple breath of wind. It was the noise''s fault that the desert became bad, anything that produced a sound was a threat to people''s safety. Over the years, with the fear of causing involuntary misfortunes even with a strong sneeze, a light breath, or the clapping of the hands, people had learned to be as quiet as possible, following strict rules that were taught with heavy severity. << So, this is why people locked themselves at home first? >> << Yes. For us, the wind never brings good things. >> <> << Because Abu Wasaa is not a city inherited from families who grew up among these rocks. Its inhabitants are all people who have lost something in life or who have been betrayed by it and come here to live because they know that there is no longer a place for them in society. Among these mountains, with the excuse that they are always looking for collectors for the Sand, they have an opportunity to survive, albeit miserably and sometimes not for as long as they would like. >> << Wow¡ it''s more complicated than I imagined¡ >> << This is life here in Abu Wasaa. >> Suddenly the front door creaked ominously, for a moment the wooden surface cracked inwards making the occupants believe it was about to break. Elamin, in his usual calm manner, approached and lowered two thick wooden beams to reinforce the closure. << It''s still early to go out. We have plenty of time to prepare a good dinner. >>
Sleep easily subdued the boys thanks also to the contribution of the soft beds and the complicity of tiredness. A lamp with blue glass, with small white oval patterns placed behind a dark fabric curtain, attempted to reproduce the soft light of the moon and the night, watching over the two sleepers in such a way that the darkness of the underground did not make them too uncomfortable. Basim awoke when the hourglass indicated that it was past midnight outside, his throat begging for a drop of water. He tried to move slowly in the stone house so as not to make any noise, groggy from sleep he couldn''t wait to get back to it. His search for water was interrupted by the faint sound of peeling paper and gentle candlelight. One of the rooms housed a small library whose shelves had been created by digging out the rock, occupying the entire wall except for a series of spaces on which wooden decorations were instead hung. Elamin sat with his back to the door, intent on reading a book that must have been as old as himself as the paper was yellowed and the edges were torn in several places, the ink was slightly faded and the cover gave the impression of falling apart from one moment to the next. << Can I help you? >> Elamin asked suddenly without turning around. Basim jumped, surprised that he had noticed him even though his back was turned, and he hadn''t said anything yet. << How did you hear me? >> << We collectors have very developed hearing; we can even hear the footsteps of an ant walking under a stone. But you, boy, are as loud as a drunken camel. >> <> << By my standards, no. >> << Wow¡ amazing. >> << It''s nothing that special. >> Basim was enraptured by such skill, he asked with admiring curiosity for more details on the job of the Sand collector, losing sleep and thirst. Elamin explained his questions without boredom, limiting himself on that occasion with short but clear answers, spending a few more words to tell anecdotes of his past spent in that dangerous arid land. His voice changed tone as he spoke about the desert, further lowering the volume of his speech more than it already was, as if he wanted to avoid being heard by the desert itself... or, to hide the sadness that emerged while he spoke of his comrades who fell on the work. << Can I ask you something? >> he asked at a certain point, changing the subject. <> Basim realized he was referring to the Yasirpipe. A little uncertain, he complied with the request, bringing him the instrument. He expected the usual reaction of curious surprise, but instead, the man remained impassive without frowning his thick eyebrows. <> he commented. << Master Fawzi built this. >> Basim''s heart sank, it was the first time in a long time that he had heard someone say the Master''s name. And in what sense had he built it? << Did you meet him? >> << Oh yes, I also helped him tune this strange contraption of his. I don''t like the shape of it, but it has a nice sound. >> <> << One question at a time, boy. Just like I said, he made this tool. He became my friend. But how come you have it? >> <> << No. What? >> Basim told his entire story up to the moment he brought him to Abu Wasaa... but in particular, he told, sparing the most impressive details, of Fawzi''s unfortunate death. This time Elamin''s big eyes expressed the sadness the poor guy was feeling, saddened by having lost another friend. The most important news that happened in Iazaresh rarely reached those parts, practically the people of the town lived in ignorance of what was happening far away from there and only rarely, through those travelers who passed through there, did they learn of the gossip or scandals of the kingdom. Elamin would have preferred not to know that news, at least to continue to delude himself that one day he would meet again that man with whom he had established a respectful friendship even if for a short time, anxiously waiting to be able to talk about the world and life, about his past and of what little future they both had left... or at least of his, which he had always taken for granted that he would finish first. <> said the collector regretfully. << he didn''t deserve to be killed. >> He quickly wiped away a fleeting tear, he was ashamed to be seen as weak; despite his thick beard, you could see his trembling lip as he tried to repress his tears. << If I had known before, I would have attended his funeral... I could have given him a final farewell... I always thought the opposite would have happened. That man is¡ he was smart; he wasn''t arrogant like his colleagues. >> He delicately caressed the instrument; he imagined it as a son who had lost his father. << I''m not surprised that they didn''t accept it in Al-Haimat, Fawzi hadn''t told anyone about his project. >> <> << He told me that he was afraid that they might prevent him from completing it, he knew many people who were not used to changes. They have been using those out-of-tune plates for centuries with the excuse that only the best can play them, while he instead wanted to simplify it. >> << Using music? >> <> <> << Yes... but someone didn''t agree. This is probably why he worked on it alone, without confiding even in his closest colleagues. >> Basim was appalled by the thought that the reason behind Master Fawzi''s murder was disagreement. People killed themselves for a lot of reasons, but was that a ¡°reason¡± to take the life of a living being? Basim was a mature boy, but about some aspects of life, he was still very naive, especially about the evil nature of human beings. He remembered a conversation he had with his friend Emir shortly after the crime, hypothesizing that the motivation that had moved the murderer''s hand was due to revenge... could it therefore also have been a Master of the Sand who was the culprit? Then he thought about what had happened to him in Shagreb and didn''t think it was so impossible. The old man randomly plucked the strings of the instrument. He chuckled at the sound, seeing how bizarre it was. When Basim told him that he had learned to play it he invited him to demonstrate it. He acted confident. He now felt in control of that object, but the old man had a different opinion. <> commented the man, interrupting him. Basim looked at him astonished. It was the first time he had been criticized for his playing and it wasn''t the only evaluation he received so bluntly. A little offended and irritated, he asked him how he could be so sure of those mistakes; Elamin touched his ear, replying that he had very fine hearing. By moving and staying silent, the locals had developed a particular sensitivity and attention to noise; in Elamin''s case his "musical ear" was formed simply by listening to Fawzi play and learning some basic notions of music from him. This situation had been more useful to the Master than to the Collector, thanks to whom he had been able to tune the new Yasirpipe. The attention to the details of the sound had helped him to harmonize the Sand with the vibrations of the instrument thus decreasing the percentage of errors in the notes, a not at all trivial job in the construction of a Yasirpipe. << You''re doing well, but you''re still far from being able to define yourself as good. >> <> << And you wouldn''t have found anyone even if you had. Not in this land, at least. Fawzi created the instrument based on an object seen in a distant realm where music is treated as a means of speaking to one''s gods. You''re not as good as him, but I give you credit for how quickly you learned; he admitted that it took him three years before he was able to play alone. >> << By the Gods¡ this story has become even more incredible. >> <> <> << Play it. >> Basim glared at the man thinking he was mocking him. But Elamin was serious: << Practice. Play as much as you can, whenever you can. If you don''t have the time to do it, find it anyway. You get good at anything by doing it repeatedly. You''re already in the right direction, keep going. >> <> << Well¡ Fawzi said there was another method. But I won''t tell you what it is, you have to figure it out for yourself. I''ve already given you my advice. >> Basim huffed in annoyance, at least for once, wasn''t there an easier way to do things? Why did everything have to be complicated? Couldn''t they just help him? He looked at the Yasirpipe and for the first time was angry at Fawzi for building it. He naively blamed him for his own death, wondering how things might have turned out if he had not been killed or if he had exhibited that object ahead of time, as he had probably conceived. He certainly wouldn''t have ended up in so much trouble, he wouldn''t have left home, and would have continued to shape vases in the family workshop, continuing to lead a boring, but certainly peaceful and safe life. And then why wasn''t it enough to just play that Yasirpipe? What did he have to do that was so special to consider himself and become truly competent? It was a musical instrument, period. There wasn''t who knows what other technique, he refused to believe there could be. Suddenly the stress rose all at once and like water in his lungs it began to suffocate him, the tears flowed out all at once, blinding him and his chest seemed to explode as he tried to calm his heart which was overflowing with strong emotions that had until then been kept under control. He was tired and frustrated; he didn''t want to continue like that anymore. Basim was ashamed to cry so suddenly, but Elamin didn''t let him mind. He let him vent as long as he needed until he felt better. He told him that everything would be fine and that he would get through it.
Chapter 16: There, where sound is death Master Tanzeem could not look either the prince or the General in the eye. Instead, he desperately looked for help from his master, but he continued to stare at him angrily in the same way as the other two men. The Master was pale and trembling, how long had they been interrogating him? He wondered. How much longer did they intend to keep him with them? It seemed to him that an eternity had passed since they had locked themselves in the Caliph''s study, for a moment it seemed to him that they wanted to remove the handle to prevent him from escaping. << Your acolytes have spoken. >> said the prince at a certain point. Question time was over. << You''re in big trouble, ¡°Master¡±. >> Tanzeem tried to deny everything, to convince them that he had misheard and misrepresented their words, but a threatening "Shut up." to stop him. Prince Hazma continued; the other Masters had confessed everything: the plan to destroy the Yasirpipe, the involvement of a prisoner, the intention to kill Basim... everything, in short. And then there were also civilian testimonies of his unauthorized pursuit of the suspect, improper use of the Sand in a public place, and transgression of a royal order. <> <> << Absolutely not. You already caused enough problems. And with the authority with which I am invested, I decree that all privileges at your disposal, including goods and properties, be taken away from you. >> << Your Highness, this is not right! I don''t deserve that much for¡! >> << So I have decided, so it will be. >> The Master trembled at the harsh voice of the prince, for a moment he thought he saw the Sultan himself and this took away all strength from him to protest. Then His Highness said again: << Do you find my sentence unfair? So let''s hope that in Al Haimat they are more lenient than me. >> << Wh-what do you mean? >> asked the worried man. It was the General who responded, cold on the outside, but furious inside. << A statement has been sent to Rector Daysam about the recent events, in which we explain in detail what happened. Since as Master of the Sand we cannot put you on trial, it will be up to the Council to decide what to do with you. >> <> << Yes, we informed the Rector of your idiocy. >> "No! Everything, but not this!¡± the Master thought in panic. The Rector''s wrath was feared for good reason and he did not want to be the next to suffer it. On his knees he clung to the Caliph''s robes, desperately asking him to do something and not be sent to Al Haimat, but the latter chased him away without speaking to him. Tanzeem continued to plead as he was taken from the room by the guards, he would continue to scream to the prison. Prince Hazma sighed, they were so close... and because of that man, he had missed a great opportunity. << Get used to failures, Your Majesty. You can''t always win. >> Jabar told him. <> replied the nervous prince. ¡°Oh, I know that well.¡± Jabar thought, equally restless. Compared to Hazma though, his fury was as intense as a storm. He wanted to smash everything, to set fire to everything around him, and above all to crush the skull of that idiot who had put a spanner in the works. What had he said before? That he didn''t deserve that punishment? At that moment he wanted to tell him that he had to look on the bright side because he would have punished him much worse. He rubbed his hair as usual when he was nervous, if he had foreseen that he would have to work so hard to get that damn Yasirpipe, he would have just stolen it. But Daysam had stopped him from trying, telling him that it would be like trying to pull the teeth of a still-alive lion. He sighed heavily, his breathing for a moment resembled a soft roar, he hated the unexpected. And speaking of unexpected events: who was this Sadin that the Masters had told him about? During his investigation he had heard different opinions: on the one hand, they defined him as a thief who took advantage of others; on the other side instead; they spoke of him as if he were a misunderstood boy who hid a heart of gold under his tough exterior. The contradictory opinions had not helped Jabar to frame it adequately, and not finding it important for his plans he had finally decided to forget about it. He was just a thief, so there was no point in him worrying about it. Now, where could he continue to look for Basim? The wagon in which he had escaped had left no traces, so it could have gone anywhere. If the destination had been another big city, then he would have taken precautions this time. Jabar could not magically double himself, but he could count on many associates scattered throughout the kingdom who necessarily became his eyes and his ears, and it was precisely on them that he rested his hopes, after having made sure to send them warnings via traveling birds. Jabar hoped that the boy would come to one of them, sooner or later. ¡°I''ll find you; you won''t run away from me forever.¡± The man thought.
The wind stopped after three days, but it did not reassure the small people of Abu Wasaa who were still wary of walking through the streets of their village. Only after another day had passed did they have the courage to leave the houses. The calm in those mountains was viewed with suspicion, the ear was always alert ready to escape at the first new breath of wind, a reason that slowed down the return to the strange "normality" to which they were accustomed. Abu Wasaa was not a very active town and the little entertainment that helped the natives to distract themselves from the monotony of the same days were the barter markets that took place every quarter. Punctually, every three months a modest caravan of merchants passed through the area, stopping for half a day on the slopes of the mountains to do business with those locals who needed new clothes, tools, or simply news of the world. The carts were arranged in a semicircle and welcomed customers in a false welcome embrace; the business was done by the sellers, who, knowing how much those people needed their goods, charged them dearly. The Abuwasians knew that the merchants raised prices on purpose, but unfortunately for them, they did not have the luxury of being able to complain. Even far from the city, they maintained the habit of speaking in a low voice, in this way the hoarse and ringing voices of the sellers dominated, forcefully dominating any sensible negotiations. Among the products that were sold or exchanged, it was interesting to see how Sand was also marketed. Basim wasn''t too surprised by this, having frequented other Masters of the Street he had discovered that this was how they managed to obtain it for their shows. The black market knows no limits when it comes to selling what is considered illegal, which is precisely why it is labeled as precious. The Masters of Al-Haimat would surely have gone into a rage if they had learned that it was the same people from whom they obtained the Sand who were placing it in the secret market, thus allowing the people they despised so much to come into possession of it, regardless of poor quality. He and Sadin had also come down from the country both to change the landscape and to see if there were possible good deals for them too. Those who came from the city recognized at first sight the poor quality of the products and in general nothing was interesting worth buying. Basim became nostalgic for the beautiful markets of Baharmis with their colorful range of products, the liveliness of the people, and the scent of meat and fruit coming from the stalls; He especially missed walking among the crowds and casually meeting friends to chat with. <> Basim began to say thoughtfully. << We won''t earn much, but at least it will keep us busy. I could model some vases and you could take care of the sales. >> << Don''t you have something more interesting in mind to propose? This place is so boring, nothing interesting ever happens. >> Sadin replied bored. << Did you want a quiet place? You have been satisfied. >> << It''s true, I said it. But I didn''t expect this level of "tranquility". >> << As far as I''m concerned, I''m fine with it. After what we went through, it was just what I needed. >> << Listen, how about we play something? In my opinion, a little music will cheer up this morass of a village. >> << Play? I don''t know... it seems to me that noise isn''t much appreciated in these parts... >> <> Sadin wasn''t entirely wrong, perhaps music would have been an excellent excuse to lift people''s mood, given that they were always on tenterhooks due to the changing weather. And then, hadn''t Elamin told him that he needed to practice playing the Yasirpipe better? In this way, he could combine business with pleasure. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Returning to the village, he took the instrument and sat in the street. As usual, everyone moved silently without paying too much attention to their presence... but as soon as he began to play, simultaneously like a herd of gazelles that sensed the presence of a predator they turned towards him with wide eyes. It was too late to react with words, at the highest notes the sand spread on the ground and tossed a couple of individuals into the air like poor helpless leaves. Basim immediately stopped playing but the damage was done and that was enough to trigger panic: the more people screamed, the more they were hit by the Sand. How was it possible, by the way, that there was so much of it scattered around the street? It took all the goodwill and cold blood of those in command to be able to restore calm. As soon as silence reigned again, the residents "attacked" Basim with a low and contained scolding, the effect of which managed to make him feel more uncomfortable than guilty. <> Elamin reproached him, having learned of the accident. <> <> << It''s instead ¡°does¡±. I told you that noise in all its forms is taboo here; therefore, never make such a mess again, if you don''t want to be kicked out. >> <> Sadin protested at that moment. <> <> << You mean to say that every time the wind blows... it fills up with Sand? But didn''t you tell us that you collected it in the desert? >> <> << How much Sand are we talking about? It can''t be that bad. >> The fuzz of Elamin''s eyebrows hid his frowning expression, thus preventing Sadin from understanding the annoyance of the words he spoke. He glanced at his fellow citizens who were carefully trying to sweep away the Sand, picking up every grain, muttering in fear to be careful. Seeing them, he thought it was a good time to give the boys some more lessons about Abu Wasaa. Among those trying to reopen their businesses and those simply wanting to enjoy fresh air, many natives instead headed towards some caves far from the village whose entrances emerged from the ground like the mouth of a fish. The interior had been converted into warehouses where they stored supplies of water, food, and other raw materials, cataloged and stored in special ravines that kept them fresh for long periods. Many of the supplies came directly from the adjacent caves, cleverly used as covered pastures for livestock and poultry which had the freedom to roam wherever they wanted in squares of moss and fresh grass, or in plantations where tomatoes, pumpkins, cabbage and other vegetables were grown in abundance. Thanks to the peculiar climate, the inhabitants prevented the heat and dust outside from ruining their products. Stock checks occurred very frequently. But it wasn''t just to contain food for which the caves were exploited: in a deeper area protected by improvised guardians, there was also Sand. Lots of Sand. Contained in large, carefully sealed jars (at least a hundred at a quick count), the precious merchandise was kept safe while waiting to be shipped to Al-Haimat. The Masters always needed to stock up on Sand, but they didn''t waste a drop of sweat collecting it themselves, so they tasked others with getting it. No one in Abu Wasaa liked being on guard over that dusty treasure, forced shifts had to be established so as not to leave it unattended at any time of the day or night and even though the containers had been specially shaped to soundproof the inside from the outside, many feared that it might break free and kill everyone. << Okay, that''s an exaggeration. >> <> Sadin looked at the old man with an incredulous expression after hearing that story. A couple of men standing next to them nodded vigorously. Sadin, for his safety; moved away from the vases. << It''s true, Sand can also be used as a weapon to kill. Many nobles enroll their sons in courses to become Guardians because they think they are more prestigious than normal military training. >> << You are a very knowledgeable, musician. >> <> Basim counted and recounted the jars, trying to get an accurate estimate of how much Sand was packed into them. Sadin asked them why they continued to collect it since they hated it so much. Elamin replied bitterly that they could not help it or the Sand Masters would punish them and come up with something to make life for the country even harder. It happened more often than it seemed; it was a way of asserting their dominance. They were all outcasts there, so no one outside the country would care about the injustice they suffered since they didn''t even know what was happening. << Sure you have a lot of it stored away... >> << Don''t let us notice. We can''t wait to get rid of it. But this is nothing compared to the desert, which is next door. >> << How is sand collected? >> << Curious that you asked: a collection group is about to leave right now. And you will come with us. >> << What? Are you joking? >> << No, I''m not joking at all, kid. I want you to understand the importance of our lifestyle so that you don''t make any more messes. Consider it a sort of official "welcome". >> The desert. In that time Basim had almost forgotten its existence. It was over the top of the mountains, closer than they could imagine. Even if the distance deceived them into thinking the opposite, even if hidden behind a wall of thick rock and high pinnacles, this did not prevent it from crossing the border and the inhabitants knew this very well. As much as he didn''t want to admit it, curiosity was burning Basim. Both he and Sadin followed Elamin and his team along the only path that led to the desert. At a certain point, the road forked, and without hesitation, the group took the direction that went up the slope of the mountain, obviously always in rigorous silence. The route penetrated the mountain for many meters which were also uphill, at times so steep that they needed the help of ropes anchored to the walls, breathing gradually became an effort that was not easy to sustain, and the head was spinning with constant dizziness. After an endless climb, they finally emerged at the highest part, inside an empty turret. The fact that the structure was carved into the rock like the village did not surprise the new visitors at all and not even the height at which they found themselves gave them a reason to gape... what surprised them instead; was silence. A forced, omnipresent, pressing silence. For a moment Basim thought he had suddenly gone deaf, the sudden drop in noise disoriented him until he lost his balance. He had to lean against a wall, meanwhile, as both body and mind tried to get used to the anomalous change, Sadin on the other hand seemed on the verge of having a panic attack, unusual for someone like him who knew how to maintain control very well. Elamin approached the two with a small blackboard in his hand on which he had written a message: << It''s normal to feel uncomfortable the first time. Take a deep breath and it will pass. >> The old collector and the other men who had accompanied them communicated with each other in a completely different way, gesturing with their hands and fingers. They looked like magicians casting spells, Basim thought as he watched them "talk." They were gesticulating very quickly, he wondered if it was something easy to learn or if it was difficult, it was certainly a strange thing that he had never seen before. He examined the turret more closely. The structure must have been ancient, the floor had remains of a faded Girih[1] mosaic while the ceiling featured a typical Muqarnas[2] decoration, there were traces of frescoes on the walls but the drawings were now lost and were the piles he saw on the ground perhaps remains of statues? If that was the case, why build it in such a place? What could it have been originally? He struggled to find the strength to look out of one of the thin windows, attracted by the unusual brightness that shone through... The ¡°Sahra'' alsamt¡±, finally. The largest stretch of sand in Iazaresh. Basim couldn''t believe he was finally seeing Sand''s home and being blinded by its splendor. The landscape seemed just a "normal" expanse of light orange dust dotted with dunes... but he knew it was a dangerous feint. Not a movement, not even a slight tremor. Everything was strictly still to make people believe that nothing risky was hidden among those motionless waves, ready to swallow up any living being that decided to set foot on them. His hands were shaking, even though on top of a mountain he could feel the energy that came out of it... and it was scary... powerful. Strong enough to increase the dizziness still lingering in his head. He, like everyone in Riakesh, had always wondered where the Sand came from. There were a thousand hypotheses, ideas, and stories about it, but none that brought collective opinion into an agreement, not even the possibility that it was a "gift from the gods" found common agreement because according to many a god would never have given up to such power. But who knows, perhaps it was precisely because of its abilities that the gods had decided to give it away. To the east, about four miles away from his position, he noticed the presence of a large stone bridge emerging from the dunes and continuing straight to the horizon where the view was lost. It wasn''t something that resembled a bridge or functioned as such, it was a structure built by human hands made up of two rows of perfectly sculpted arches. Who and how had managed to build a structure of that magnitude in such a place? Did it exist before the Sand appeared, predicting what it would be used for? Who knows if the Masters had the answer to this mystery among their knowledge? At one point the collectors fiddled with a rusty pulley and slowly lowered a bucket down the mountain until it touched the ground. Around the bucket there were very noisy bells attached which, as they got closer to the Sand, made it agitate to the point that it entered by itself, thus allowing it to be filled. It was a very long and tedious process, but ultimately fruitful as well as safer, unlike setting foot directly in the desert. The Sand they collected had a beautiful orange color and under the sun it shone even more intensely, with every noise it splashed like water, and from time to time white particles emerged sparkling giving the impression that small diamonds were immersed in it. He scooped up a handful: what incredible energy, Basim thought in shock. For a moment his hand seemed to explode, as if he had reached for a piece of coal still engulfed in flames. Now he understood why many considered it more precious than gold. << The purest sand is found in the center of the desert. >>Elamin wrote to him on the slate. << That bridge is the only way to reach it. Not many pickers make it back, unfortunately. >> Basim asked him by writing how many had died. The man replied with two words: << Too many. >> Basim dared not ask further on the subject. Those six letters conveyed the full weight of the subject. One of the men pointed emphatically to the mountainside, an old male lion was carelessly entering the desert. It sniffed the air and looked around cautiously, perhaps in search of prey lost during the hunt, it jaws open from which the flesh-tearing teeth could be seen. Everyone stopped to watch it, anxiously waiting to see what it would do. The beast, sensing the abnormality of the territory it had carelessly entered, let out a roar, as a result, the Sand leaped at it with a violent dive. Confused, the lion continued to roar and growl at the enemy invisible to it, each time instigating it to attack with shapeless whirlwinds and waves. Luckily death was not ready to take it away and it was able to escape from the diabolical trap, disappearing with long leaps among the meanders of the mountain. The men breathed a sigh of relief, happy that the animal had escaped death. Once again, the Sand had reminded them that one should not enter here recklessly. Basim stared at the horizon of the desert, wondering what secrets and dangers that immense expanse still hid, or how many bodies were buried there whose tormented ghosts had long been trying to find the exit to finally reach the pastures of paradise. << Look carefully at the desert... >>Elamin wrote to him. << ¡This is your future. You have become a Sand Master. >> Chapter 17: The sound of your emotions << You make me laugh by doing this. >> << Shut up, you get me out of concentration. >> << Can you play also invisible drums? >> << Sadin, if you don''t stop, I swear I''ll get angry. >> << Okay, I''ll let you "train". Be careful not to twist your fingers. >> Basim muttered in annoyance, willing himself not to lose his temper. It was already difficult to learn to play an instrument, then learning without strings was practically madness. Yet, Elamin had told him that he could do it. ¡°Play it like they are there.¡± he had told him with conviction. ¡°Remember the sound it makes and try to reproduce it.¡± He also added. But how could he improve without hearing the notes or seeing how to place his fingers on the strings? Every time he assisted him in that absurd exercise, he stared at him silently and intensely with his owlish eyes and only occasionally intervened to correct the position of his hands, wasting the usual four words. He forced him to perform that task at least three times a day every day, regardless of whether he was tired from working in the fields or because he didn''t feel like it, using the excuse that practice makes perfect. Basim was sure it was a pretext - or a punishment, as he saw it - to stop him playing after the incident in town, and three months had passed since then! And people still sulked at him. There was another thing that worried him: Elamin had said that he had now become a Master of the Sand. When he saw it written he was dumbfounded. Why tell him something like that? Yet, he knew that he was not a student of Al Haimat, nor even an intern... so how had he decided that he deserved that title? He had asked him once they got home, but he had never answered him. At a certain point, he had to stop, tired of randomly gesturing his hands on the Yasirpipe''s case. He lay down on the floor and stared at the ceiling trying to clear his mind. He didn''t want to think about anything. He didn''t want to fixate on anyone''s thoughts. If he could, he would have wanted to go out like a candle. << Is everything okay? >> a worried Sadin asked him. << No. >> Basim replied, continuing to lie down. << I''m tired. I want to feel like a normal person again. >> << What''s interesting about normality? If you had stayed in Baharmis, you would have missed all the fun we are having together. >> << Fun? Ever since I touched that Yasirpipe, I''ve been haunted by bad luck and... oh, what am I complaining about? You can''t understand how I feel anyway. >> << Try telling me about it, before saying I don''t understand you. >> << No, forget it. Pretend I didn''t say anything. My grandfather always told me that I complain about nothing... and he was also right about how dangerous the world was. >> Basim had been mulling over those thoughts a lot lately, and Sadin knew it because he always heard it when he started to grumble about it. Basim did nothing but repeat that if he had met his relatives at that moment, they would not have wasted time in scolding him for the foolish things he had done, speaking at the same time as they were wont to do. He grabbed his hair and threw it in his face, trying to hide from the world. Sadin dug through it to find his face. << You know what? You are unpleasant when you are in a bad mood. >> he told him. He forced him to stand up and pulled him away with him. When Basim asked him what he was doing, he just told him to just follow him. Sadin forced Basim to walk a few miles to a rocky area dotted with boulders of the most bizarre shapes, some of them larger than a house and with ravines deep enough to climb into. It wasn''t easy to walk, the uneven surface of the area constantly made you stumble, and if you hadn''t been careful of the cavities camouflaged among the stones you could have run the risk of falling into them and hurting yourself. The stone was hot to the touch, which was much appreciated by the lizards who lounged on the flatter surfaces, ignoring the predatory birds that could catch them at any moment or the strangers who passed by them. <> Basim asked tiredly. He had asked him all the way, the third time Sadin had stopped answering him and continued marching to his destination. Now that they had finally arrived, he responded¡ giving him a vigorous shove. << Hey! Are you dumb?! >> replied Basim taken by surprise. The young nomad gave him another push¡ and another each time he got back to his feet and tried to move closer, ignoring his requests to stop. The last push knocked him to the ground, he was getting more and more nervous, and at any moment he would lose his patience. << Do you want to stop it or not? >> he threatened him, clenching his fists. << Come on! Get up! React! >> The boy replied presumptuously, making a gesture with his hands to come at him. << Didn''t your grandfather teach you how to ¡°Slum Dance¡±? >> Basim threw himself at Sadin like an angry bull, the petty thief was not at all intimidated by the difference in size between the two because in the past he had faced people much bigger than him. Trips and simple evasive moves were enough to continuously send him to the ground every time he tried to charge him; he was practically playing with him without even trying. However, his arrogance backfired on him at a certain point when Basim managed to grab him and throw him to the ground with him. It was at that point that a real fight started between the two boys with repeated punches, kicks and even hair-pulling. Basim, gentle by nature, had rarely raised his hands with anyone... but this didn''t mean that he couldn¡¯t put up a fight. On the contrary! The advantage of being more robust allowed him to better withstand blows and his hands knew how to hurt as much as they were skilled and delicate in modeling or playing. After a while, he managed to block Sadin and sat on him until he called for surrender. <> << Yes yes, you are a good dancer. But now get it out of the way that you''re also a heavy dancer. >> At the end of the fight, both were covered in bruises and scrapes, Basim had a black eye while Sadin''s nose was bleeding. Despite the beatings he had taken, the nomad smiled at him and patted him on the back, complimenting him on his wrestling skills. << How''s it going? Do you feel better? >> << Yes... actually yes. But don''t do it again. >> << There''s nothing better than a good fight to let off some steam, right? >> Basim was about to reply with an insult when, just then; he realized that he had done it on purpose to instigate him. Sadin''s expression is so cunning that he finds it so ridiculous that he starts laughing. Infected, Sadin also began to howl with laughter, falling to the ground again unable to contain himself. What had happened was so absurd to him that he wasn''t even angry anymore. << Did they tell you that you''re a huge bastard? >> << Yes, it is my greatest asset. >> << Couldn''t you think of something less exaggerated? >> << If I had directly proposed to hit me you would have refused. Even though when we ran away you had no qualms about punching me. >> << Well, that time you gave me a scare and you deserved it. >> << There are many things I deserve, but I prefer to avoid them, thank you very much. Rather, what will you do now that you are calmer? >> << I''ll start playing again immediately. But I''m tired of doing it without music, it''s a useless exercise. When we get home, I''ll get the strings back and put them back on the Yasirpipe. >> << Oooh! You''re becoming a scoundrel like me! I like! >> << Hey, I''m not stealing anything. I only take back what is mine. >>
The inhabitants of Abu Wasaa had two types of "alarms" to identify what suddenly came to their village: the first was the sound of the horn of the lookouts on the mountains used to warn of rising winds; the second instead was a simple cowbell that alerted the arrival of a Sand Master. Although the second category did not represent a danger, the natives became worried when they heard it. The sound of the metal bell was jarring and annoying, perfect for representing what they hated most after the wind. Abu Wasaa was indeed a refuge for outcasts, but it was first and foremost a property of Al Haimat and the Sand Masters. They had the freedom to go there whenever they wanted to check the state of the settlement and whether the accesses to the desert were open, to collect supplies of Sand, and whether there was a need to find new Gatherers to send to their deaths among the dunes. They rarely cared about local problems unless they were concerned about the safety of their precious element. That day a Master Architect from the South decided to go to those parts in need of escort. In the southern areas of the country, the urbanization of the territory was slowly advancing after the recent discovery of a new gold mine, the offer of work and income had attracted crowds of men attracted by a possible prospect of better fortune, and some of they had brought their families with them. The small settlements had thus begun to grow and increasingly take on the appearance of cities, with houses and shops, bakeries, and public baths. Where manpower was not enough for the expansion, the Sand Architects intervened and, with their skills, made up for the problem. The Master Architects were those who worked most in contact with ordinary people. Their construction skills were extraordinary, thanks to the power of the Sand they speeded up jobs that would normally have taken long months to complete, and with its strength, it could even replace the work of a hundred men. The construction sites were protected by high fences and supervised by guards to prevent access to outsiders, but even without the need to spy it was possible to see the Sand rising into the sky during the construction of a tower or a temple. Because of this, Sand''s demands had increased. The Master visiting that day, a certain Ayad el-Gad, was escorted by a small group of bodyguards made up of six rather rough-looking men. They entered with a controlled march into the stone village, respecting the strict rule of silence, even if some did nothing but spit phlegm repeatedly. They were not part of any important kingdom; they were mercenaries hired with the sole purpose of protecting the client probably for a couple of silver coins. Everyone stopped to look at them, the usual grim and suspicious looks had been replaced by anxious glances. Their presence weighed as much as that of an entire army, especially where the Master was concerned. The arrival of one of them was never a good sign: it could be the beginning of a problem that could involve the whole community or not. Everyone began to pray in their heads, hoping that his visit would be short. Ayad, an extremely tall man dressed in a black robe, with thick dark eyebrows and hair sticking to his head with sweat, said he needed a large amount of Sand to collect. It was ordinary administration, however, Elamin carefully observed the newly arrived subjects and immediately noticed that the Master was annoyed, he did nothing but snort and repeatedly adjust the voluminous bag from which the edges of rolled parchments were sticking out, probably tired from the journey he had had to Do. The mercenaries, on the other hand, were bored and had the look of someone looking for trouble, they always kept their hands on their swords and looked disdainfully at everything around them, two of them were carrying a large bundle and the old man hoped that it wasn''t what he thought. ... They didn''t nickname him "the desert owl" by chance. In addition to being shy and silent like this animal, he is also attentive to how the living beings around him move. Understanding the behavior of an animal is important for one''s survival, the situation is the same with human beings: if there is even the slightest trace of danger, it is good to be ready to defend oneself. They were the many small details, normally imperceptible to a normal person, to reveal to him the nature of people such as body posture, way of speaking, direction of gaze... things that he had learned to decipher over time and with a lot of experience. He had tried to teach others his system until he realized that it was best to keep certain knowledge to himself. At that moment he wasn''t particularly worried, but he didn''t see such an important person in a bad mood as a good sign. The man was escorted into the caves and the old Gatherer tried not to think about it anymore. As he got older, he took too many things into account, he thought. A person with a bad mood certainly couldn''t represent a problem; therefore, he went home with plans to rest. Having entered the house, he immediately stopped hearing the voices of the boys speaking in whispers from the next room. Very strange, he thought. Why whisper at home? He crept closer and saw them fiddling with his old friend Fawzi''s Yasirpipe, Basim had put the strings back on it and was trying to tune them with the knobs. << What are you doing? >> he asked in a loud but flat voice. They both shouted taken aback, but it was Elamin who was most surprised when he saw the state they were in. <> << No, we just exchanged a couple of opinions as good friends. >> << It would be better for you to explain to me from the beginning what you have done and remove those strings immediately. You''re not ready to start playing again yet. >> << Mr. Elamin, your method is absurd. I can''t improve if I don''t hear the music. >> << It''s not the sound you have to concentrate on, but the technique with which you perform it. This is how Fawzi became familiar with the creation of him. >> << I''m not Fawzi, so I don''t understand why I must do exactly like him. We don''t have the same hands, so why... >> Suddenly someone called Elamin in agitation, a fellow Gatherer begged him to follow him because a problem had arisen with the Master. The old man rushed out of the house at a brisk pace and thought how annoying it was that his sixth sense had been right again. Sand Architect Ayad, like many of his colleagues in the same category, was very meticulous in his work. Maybe even too much. Over time he had developed an obsession for details and precision, so serious that it also influenced him in the choice of materials to use, the quantity he needed, and a lot of other aspects that were sometimes quite useless so to speak. He had arrived in Abu Wasaa intending to collect a specific quantity of Sand, but when he was told that it was not possible, as a percentage had to be sent to Al Haimat, he immediately became irritated. He repeated with increasing insistence that they had to give him what he asked for, it was his right to take as much Sand as he wanted, but the Abuwasians were more afraid of the wrath of the entire school than of a single individual. Even though the caves in which Sand''s supply was crammed were not large enough to allow the echo to reproduce, the voice of that arrogant individual slightly echoed everywhere. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. << If that''s how you put it, then I''ll give you half of what we agreed on. >> Ayad began, tapping his foot on the ground like a spoiled child. A collective chorus of protest arose, no one could believe their ears. << But that''s practically nothing. >> said Elamin, intervening in the discussion. << It''s your fault, you should have collected more Sand. >> << This month alone we have collected more than 100 kilos, before now we had never managed to get that far without losing a single man. We deserve to be paid fairly for this achievement. >> The people around Elamin echoed him, saying he was right, their work was risky, and they should be compensated for the danger they faced. Unfortunately, by law (unjust and instituted by the Masters) the Gatherers were forced to sell the Sand at the price the Sand Masters wanted. Almost everyone, including the Rector, played on this to be able to give the bare minimum, demonstrating a certain stinginess as well as outright injustice. Even when the promised wages were high, they were rarely kept, also showing how much swindle those poor people had to endure. But Ayad was deaf to the protests and had no intention of giving up. << It''s not you who decides whether the price is too high or low. It''s our money that allows you to survive, you should be grateful that we pay you regardless. >> << Then we won''t give you any gram of Sand until you give us the right amount. >> This time the Collector didn''t want to give up, he wouldn''t put the lives of his men at further risk to satisfy a whim. He had seen people die too many times... and for what, then? To try to collect some more Sand. For a moment the others felt a slight spark of independence... but what the Master did, who smiled meanly with an ace up his sleeve, nipped that feeling in the bud. He nodded to his escort and within seconds his Yasirpipe was placed in front of him, baring it almost theatrically. The small crowd of Abuwasians moved away as if a demon had manifested itself in front of them, only Elamin managed not to retreat, but only because surprise had blocked his legs. You could see on his face that he was just as scared as the others, his gaze jumped between the Master and the tool, who was already playing with the sphere to make the plates vibrate, juggling it with his fingers as if it were as light as a soap bubble. He couldn''t believe that he would go so far as to play his tool to get what he wanted, but from the amused laughter of the mercenaries, he understood that he had done it before and therefore had no scruples about it. That bastard didn''t need to order his men to draw their weapons when he knew he could be deadlier than a sword. << Your lack of respect towards me is also equivalent to offending all the Sand Masters. >> he said haughtily. He hit one of the plates and orange Sand came out of his sack, slithering at his feet like a snake. <> A series of short blows to the plates and the Sand formed a large hammer that fell with all its weight on Elamin, who found himself in its path. The Sand, however, did not hit him, a foreign sound altered its stability, blocking it before it could harm him. The Architect was stunned, what had made the Sand go crazy? Then his ear noticed a sound that he hadn''t noticed immediately: ¡°Music? In this place?" He thought perplexed. His eyes searched the semi-darkness of the cave for an answer, and it took him a few minutes to locate Basim, placed at a distance where no one could immediately notice him. His fingers were still partly resting on the strings of the instrument from which the last feeble musical echo was coming to an end. Nobody noticed but he was holding his breath, he had played instinctively without knowing if the melody of his version of the Yasirpipe could influence the sound of the original version... and incredibly it had happened, luckily for Elamin. <> Ayad asked Basim. << I... I am a Road Master. >> was all he said, starting to breathe again. Even he couldn''t explain why he decided to give that answer, he just thought it was more appropriate. The Master looked him up and down with a grimace of disgust, involuntarily starting to grip the metal sphere tighter. << Do those of your kind now also infest this place? >> The man spoke to Basim as if he were a dog of an impure breed. << This place can only get worse. >> << Apologize immediately to Mr. Elamin. >> Basim exclaimed loudly. Ayad started laughing as if he had just been told a joke. << Excuse me? Young man, I have been disrespected. These louts refused to follow an order and deserved to be punished as a result. >> << Using Sand to harm is wrong. You are a Master, why do you act like a bully? It''s not a noble act. >> << Don''t meddle in matters that don''t concern you. Stay out of it if you don''t want me to get you caned. >> The Architect emphasized his words by cracking the Sand like a whip, above all to demonstrate that his were not empty threats. Basim didn''t bat an eyelid, he was inexplicably calm and this didn''t go unnoticed either by Sadin who was hiding behind him, or by Elamin who was trying to find an excuse on how to defend him. << You have nothing to say, huh? Good, that''s what you need to do: shut up. People like you should keep their heads down and just obey orders. But wait, you said you were a Road Master... in your case, it would be better to eliminate yourself like the rats that infest the cellars. I hate people like you, you are nothing but beggars who mimic the true Masters. You think you are artists, and you make fun of the rest of us who use the Sand for truly noble purposes and not to make others dance or laugh. Besides, why do you worry about what happens to these poor people? You always find people like them, they''re like pack animals: when they die, you just need to replace them. >> The silence that fell in the cave weighed and hurt as much as the words that had just been spoken with such contempt. Everyone felt small and defenseless at that moment, they knew they didn''t deserve so much contempt but they didn''t have the determination to defend themselves, not with the fear of being so easily punished and after a brief, yet illusory, hope of being respected, the will to holding one''s head high was further diminished. The music sounded again, louder this time and not as a faint hum. Basim plucked the strings one after the other forcefully as if wanting to mark the notes. Even though his eyes were shiny and tears peeked out slightly like small raindrops, his expression was serious and his sparkling blue eyes did nothing but stare at the Master who was starting to feel discomfort from his steady gaze. Elamin was the first to realize that Basim''s Yasirpipe was starting to vibrate and glow faintly with a white aura, with his fine hearing he realized that the chords were becoming more and more vigorous like the beginning of a hurricane coming preceded by a mild warning wind, which triggered a shiver of alarm that made all the hairs on his body stand on end. ¡°Something''s about to happen.¡± He thought anxiously. He reached Basim and tried to stop him by calling his name, but he ignored him and continued to play undaunted even when it was The Architect Ayad who shouted at him to stop. At one point the music became so loud that it echoed both inside and outside the caves, perhaps even across mountains. Elamin was no music expert, but he could swear to the Gods that at that moment Basim''s melody was transforming, no longer imprecise and out of tune, but something¡ strongly emotional. It was as if he was representing what he was feeling. The strings of the Yasirpipe seem to scream along with him, demonstrating his rebellion against injustice. His guitar, or whatever the thing was called, was becoming a means of expressing the emotions he couldn''t put into words. But that anger that was burning inside him was not only listened to by the men whose meaning they did not perceive, the Sand also listened to it... and responded to his call. The vessels in which the Sand was contained exploded, destroyed by their contents. They had been built to resist any impact or pressure, not even a steel club could have cracked them, much less the Sand itself, but at that moment a new strength pervaded the grains, and this freed it from its narrow and closed prison. A glittering wave of orange, white, and red dust invaded the cave like a river that had overflowed its banks, the men found themselves at the mercy of the sandy current trying with difficulty to stay afloat. They screamed for help, but their voices were drowned out by Basim''s music. Sadin and Elamin pulled him, called him... they tried everything to get him out of that state. But the boy remained indifferent to their presence as he continued to play, his gaze lost in who knows what deep thoughts. At a certain point, Elamin was forced to use extreme means to get Basim out of that catatonic state; he took his makeshift knife and with a quick gesture, trying not to use too much force and apologizing, cut the back of his left hand. The shock caused by the wound managed to "awaken" Basim, who stopped to scream in pain. The Yasirpipe fell in front of him with a deafening thud whose echo slowly faded, immediately, at the same time, the Sand calmed down, suddenly lying lifeless on the ground. While the other men tried to emerge from under the Sand, Elamin took Basim and the instrument away: he had to hide them. Whatever witchcraft had just happened, the Master would make him pay dearly, he was sure of it. And if he hadn''t acted himself, he could have bet his soul that he would have called his colleagues to help him, spreading the word about what had happened. He could hope that they wouldn''t believe him, after all the thought of Sand moving to the sound of music made him laugh; but with those people, you never knew. << Wh-what happened? >> Basim stammered confused. Clarity had finally returned to his eyes, but suddenly he looked haggard and even pale. << You gave us a shock! Here''s what happened! >> exclaimed Sadin, on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. << How the hell did you manage to do that thing with the Sand? I''ve never seen you do anything like that until now, you could have killed us! >> <> <> << Evidently, he wasn''t conscious when he started playing. Which explains why he ignored us. >> Elamin hypothesized. << How can someone be unconscious if their eyes are open? >> Sadin protested skeptically. << I can''t explain it, but Fawzi told me that the priests of the country he visited, during their rituals ended up in a state called "trance" when they performed music to communicate with their deities. They behaved exactly like Basim: they were physically there, but their minds were elsewhere. >> << Seriously? What kind of witchcraft is this? >> <> << And I hoped we weren''t up to our necks in poop anymore. >> << Curious and apt choice of words, boy. >> Elamin took the two boys to a peripheral area of ??the village where there was a large closed well, near which numerous empty and dirty buckets had been left. As soon as he lifted the lid, a nauseating stench came out that made both sick to their stomachs. It was a well where the villagers threw their waste, the only one where no one would have thought of looking for them. << Like hell I''m going in there! >> Sadin protested in disgust. << Don''t worry, it''s empty. >> Elamin reassured him. << It doesn''t change the fact that it sucks! Isn''t there a better hiding place? >> << No, there isn''t. And there isn''t even time to look for it. I''ll come back to get you tonight, you don''t make any noise and don''t go out until I get back, do you understand? >> << If we don''t die of asphyxiation first. >> << Stop whining and jump in. And pray to the Gods that they don''t find you. >> Reluctantly Sadin entered the well, trying not to vomit, Basim followed shortly after, being, unlike him, more in control of his nausea. Elamin saw that he still looked lost, his eyes seemed to be trembling or something, but there was no time to be able to ascertain his condition. As he closed the well, he hoped that Basim would not shock him with another surprise.
The peace of Abu Wasaa was shattered by an intense yet silent manhunt. It was as if the events of Shagreb were repeating themselves, with the only difference that instead of saving Basim, the intention in this case was to kill him. The architect Ayad, shocked by the accident in which he had risked losing his life, ordered the mercenaries to find him and execute him, but above all to destroy his diabolical instrument before he had the opportunity to carry out other dangerous sorceries; while he packed up to reach the first decent human settlement and warn Al Haimat of what had happened to him. If the occasion had been different, it would have been fun to tease him as he tried to disguise his escape behind the excuse of having to notify the Master''s school. The mercenaries rolled up their sleeves to earn their pay, but their zeal would not be rewarded. The silence of the Abuwasians did not help them in any way in the search and the lack of collaboration put their patience to the test, even under threat they refused to cooperate in finding the boy; a couple of times they even entered the houses, and ransacked them, but the effort was to no avail. The locals had learned that the less involved they were in certain matters, the better it was for them. Little by little the men expanded their searches outside the town, but without a precise direction, they wandered in vain among the rocks, exploring every opening that seemed suspicious to them, a long and useless job that kept them busy until nightfall. With the danger of getting lost or getting hurt, and above all too tired after a whole day of exhausting search, they finally decided to give up and return to their refuge where they finally collapsed from exhaustion. It was then that Elamin implemented his plan. He retrieved the boys from the smelly hideout and prepared them to leave. Abu Wasaa was no longer a safe hiding place. They moved away from the town through the narrowest streets, so anyone who happened to meet Elamin made the gesture of silence and, with a simple nod of his head; they promised each other not to say a word. Basim seemed more alert, Elamin noticed; However, he didn''t want to bet with complete certainty that he was still fine. He couldn''t help but gaze at his hands, composers of a melody that had come close to being lethal. << Don''t underestimate the power of music; it can become something more than a banal art or a pastime. >> He thought back to a conversation he had with Fawzi when they first met. By now they had become good friends and it had become a habit between the two to spend the evening drinking Latay under the stars. It was during one of their last nights that he asked him why created a Yasirpipe that used music. << Because I like music more than the sounds produced by the Masters when they command the Sand. >> replied the Master. Elamin could only laugh at the response. << Seriously? Is this the real reason? >> he asked him. << Well, ¡°music¡± certainly can''t be defined. >> << Really, what inspired you? >> Fawzi refilled his cup of tea, the smell of mint was still very strong, and it perfumed the air intensely as soon as the container was full. << One day, during a trip, I came across a street show. There was a very good player who was singing a song that made the whole crowd dance. The song was simple and cheerful I would say, but for some reason, it managed to involve everyone who listened to it, and involuntarily everyone managed to dance almost in sync. At that moment I imagined those people as if they were grains of Sand... and that''s when I had an epiphany: if music is capable of making people move, what could it do with Sand? >> << Isn''t your instrument enough already? >> << As I said, those sounds are anything but pleasant. Furthermore, the Yasirpipe is far from perfect. Normal people don''t notice it, but when you play it, the control is imprecise and very difficult to maintain, this is because you use "sequences of sounds". Mind you, I don''t mean them as "musical notes", but rather vibrations of different tones. Instead, music, with its scores and musical scales, guarantees perfect and precise performance. Starting from this detail and studying the topic better, I realized that my intuition could work: the "power of music" could become a reality. >> Fawzi spoke with such excitement that it almost took his breath away. The enthusiasm of his research even seemed to rejuvenate him and Elamin could only remain involved and continue to listen enthralled. Even though he was a poor old sand collector, he was still a man who still managed to be curious about the world. << But how effective is this new power? >> << Let''s put it this way: that musician would have been an excellent Master, if he had been able to move the Sand with equal control, much better than us Masters who manage to make surgical and discordant sounds. Doing some experiments myself, I understood that the looser and more harmonious a Master is, the better the control of the Sand. Furthermore, these more pleasant sounds are the ones that better control the Sand, compared to the current ones. >> << It almost sounds like you''re saying that Sand likes music. >> << Yes, we could say that this is the case. And this tool is proof of that. >> Fawzi began to play his new and personal Yasirpipe. They had spent almost two months tuning it together and the result was more than satisfactory. He knew that noise was forbidden in these parts, but he had such confidence in his abilities that he knew it wouldn''t cause any trouble. He put on a great display with his strange contraption, calling to him the Sand scattered nearby who gathered above him, circling like a flock of birds. Elamin watched breathlessly as Sand obeyed his friend, moving with extraordinary grace. He would never have imagined that he could have a harmless side after he had spent years seeing only the most devastating side of it. As he watched Fawzi play, he finally realized how much better that instrument was compared to the current Yasirpipe; it was like comparing a pack donkey to a thoroughbred battle horse, and Fawzi''s gadget was the horse. And all this while watching a street musician. << Will you allow them to use it for the Guardians too? >> Elamin asked him, highlighting an obvious perspective. << If this makes it easier to use the Sand, it will mean that they will also be able to fight us better together. >> << Never. >> Fawzi replied indignantly. The Sand disappeared behind them, diving into a narrow, low chasm hidden among the undergrowth. << The kingdom already has too many weapons to kill. My intentions indeed are to facilitate the command of the Sand, but I hope that my colleagues realize that I created this object intending to help our people in aspects such as rescue, construction, or transportation. I''d rather destroy it than see it used to kill. >> Elamin had forgotten for a moment how much Fawzi detested violence. He had never explained why, he just knew that he hated everything that had to do with it, especially war. That was the only time he saw him truly angry. However, he was right: Iazaresh already had enough weapons, so there was no need to increase their number. The sound of breaking wood shook Elamin from his past thoughts. They had arrived at the edge of the town, the same one he had traveled with the boys sometime before to introduce them to the desert personally. During the day, as he thought about how to protect the two young people, he could think of only one safe route by which they could leave without being chased, the only one that no one would have dared to take regardless of being ordered to. << Grandpa, why did you bring us here? >> Sadin asked him, staring at the familiar path. << Guys, those men will turn the whole Abu Wasaa upside down to find you. There is only one way to make you disappear: enter the desert. >> << The desert?! Are you crazy?! First, you say you want to help us and then you want to throw us into the sands of death? >> <> << It''s suicide! The slightest noise will kill us! We are not silent like you! >> << If you are careful, nothing will happen to you. >> << It''s crazy! Basim, tell him too! >> << Elamin¡ are you sure that there is no other way? >> <> The two boys exchanged a reciprocal indecisive look. They had no reason to doubt him, but neither could they deny that it was truly absurd to try to pass unscathed through an area famous for its mortality. Despite everything, they knew they had no choice if they didn''t want to end up having their throats cut instead. The three headed towards the entrance to the desert, proceeding safely inside the passage without guards. All along the trail were signs warning fools to turn back before they regret it, threatening certain death and more horrible nightmares. As they got closer to the exit, the old man gave quick lessons on how to behave once inside the forbidden territory, just enough (and hopefully) to survive. A light breath of warm wind welcomed them. The disheartening silence alone made them understand how unwelcome they were in that land of death, which should have been enough to convince them to retrace their steps. As much as they wanted to, they couldn''t, unfortunately. Entering the house of the Sand was the only escape route. The stone bridge seen from the tower lay before them, wide and cracked with corrosion, it was a relief that they didn''t have to walk across it. Instead, they turned left, remaining between the rocks, entering a small road that could barely be seen. The route was located perfectly between the mountain and the desert as if it were a sort of borderline that officially divided the two different territories. Danger could come from both sides, but all the attention was more on the desert which was scarier than anything else. At any moment the wind could blow and then the desert would be transformed into a stormy "sea" that would overwhelm them without mercy. According to Elamin, at that point, he should have avoided the worst. They crossed their fingers, since this would be the hardest trip of their entire lives. Chapter 18: Escaping through the sand Daysam put his hands on his head nervously. In that last period, nothing was going the way he wanted; Jabar''s latest messages were far from encouraging and he was now beginning to think that they would never be able to realize their ambitions. Without telling Jabar, he had attempted to produce alternative plans to see if other ways didn''t necessarily involve Fawzi''s Yasirpip¡ and technically speaking it was feasible, but the implementation time was too long. They needed that tool. They had to have it. Tired of staring at paperwork without accomplishing anything, he threw everything away and left his office, ignoring professors and colleagues who greeted him or tried to stop him for advice. He didn''t want to talk to anyone, he needed to be alone. There was only one place in the entire school where he could be sure of not having to interact with another human being, and that was the "Silent Rooms". Among the most important rooms in Al Haimat, those were important in how the Sand was granted in there. Not all the new Sand arriving at Al-Haimat was ready for use, much of it was shipped which still needs to be adjusted. So that its power reacts only to the vibrations of the Masters'' instruments and not to any noise as happens in its natural state, the process is only possible within these places, whose particular internal structure isolates any external noise, creating a space of absolute silence in which, if you are alone, you can even hear your heartbeat. In there, we can say, the Sand is tamed. They are located in the deepest area of ??the school, where only high-ranking Masters can access, where studies and experiments on the Sand are carried out. There was a lot of activity in those caves converted into offices or laboratories, despite the cold and humidity that exuded from the stone walls and the darkness that only the light of a thousand torches could illuminate. Some spaces were open and you could peek inside to watch the experiments, while others were closed by thick doors. It''s not easy to describe most of the things that were done there, the fact is that it was imperative not to disturb. The entrances to the Rooms of Silence were closed by narrow doors carved from the rock. Externally it was difficult to notice them because they were easily camouflaged with the rest of the stone, only the presence of large steel handles, connected to a particular mechanism that allowed them to be opened, revealed their presence. The devices made a lot of noise when active, but it was only with them that the heavy doors could be moved which otherwise required the strength of two people. Daysam slipped through the narrow opening, entering a large oval room with walls covered in a mineral whose colors resemble amethyst stone. Even though it was a closed environment, an intense natural light filtered in from a non-visible point on the ceiling, high and narrow as if you were inside a well, the unusual color of the rock and the slight sparkle of the crystals gave the illusion of being floating inside a piece of sky and the calm of isolation was already palpable like a strong current of air. As the ear got used to it, faint sounds like fingers rubbing together or even breathing became loud. Daysam let himself be locked inside. As soon as the thud of the door confirmed that he was isolated from the rest of the school, he immediately began to feel a little better. That place gave him serenity, it was a refuge where he could briefly hide from responsibilities, but above all where he could meditate and make decisions more calmly. He took deep breaths, the air he expelled from his lungs echoed like the wind that crossed the canyon inside which the school was hidden, the light humidity gave him a slight shiver that made the hairs on his body stand on end. There was no evidence that he showed that those purple crystals had magical properties, but perhaps, beyond their ability to absorb sounds; they also managed to suck in negative influences, Daysam was almost convinced of this because, when he locked himself in there; it was the only moment in which he felt like he no longer had any ailments. He had a Yasirpipe brought in, at that moment he felt the need to occupy the time. The vibrations produced by the plates passed through him from head to toe with an intense force, the palm of his hand seemed to burn as he moved the sphere to perform the "Song of a Hundred Warriors". It was a very intense and threatening sequence of sounds, something that made one imagine the march of an army ready to fight. Although long and complex to perform, he had played it so many times that he knew it by heart and when he performed it, he made it look easy. Suddenly there was some sort of explosion behind him, something hit him in the back interrupting him. He fell to the ground, covering his head, instead of immediately getting up, he had the foresight to remain still where he was, feeling a violent presence above him slam from one side of the room to the other, making the crystals resonate. It took five or ten minutes for the force to subside, falling on top of him and making him think for a moment that he was about to be crushed. He peeked cautiously, Yellow Sand and fragments of a vase were scattered around him. Daysam hadn''t realized when he entered the room that there was an open jar containing Unstable Sand behind him, perhaps forgotten by someone. It was forbidden to leave Sand unattended inside the "Rooms of Silence", someone could steal it or take it and use it thinking it was already harmonized. It was no surprise, therefore, that it had "attacked" him at the sound of the song, luckily for him, he had not been hurt but if the Gods had not protected him, he would now be mortally wounded. Therefore, furious at this foolishness, when he came out of there, he wanted to know who it was, shouting so loudly that he gave himself a sore throat. << Honorable Daysam, it was just a slight oversight. >> said the manager, once found. He was a high-ranking Master like Daysam and had been working for years in Al Haimat precisely in that research area; therefore, someone who knew the rules and the importance of following them carefully, but the way he lightly treated the problem made the Rector nervous. <> << Don''t leave things half done! Not in this school! >> thundered the Rector. The colleague tried to justify himself, but this time he wasn''t in the mood to listen to excuses. << The rules are for everyone, even for you. >> he said grimly, pointing his finger at all those who had gathered around him. << Just because you are Masters does not mean that you are above the rules... on the contrary! You should be the first to lead by example! And you! You¡since you have not been able to follow the example, you will set an example. >> Half an hour later, the echoing of the hissing ¡°slaps¡± stopped. The entire school, from the first-year students to the entire teaching staff, was astonished by the spectacle they had been forced to witness by order of the Rector. The Master guilty of not having completed his work lay unconscious and, on his knees, tied to a pole placed on the teachers'' stand, his back now completely red with blood that continued to drip from the wounds. In the great hall, a large room with a beehive roof and on whose central wall the symbol of the Sand Masters was carved, a heavy and tense quiet reigned. Among the students sitting on stone benches, some were crying, but they were so shocked by what they had seen that they hid their sobs, trying to repress them by pressing their mouths. They had the unreasonable fear of being the next to end up tied up and whipped¡ and it was more than justified, after what they had seen. They, as well as their teachers, did not understand why Rector Daysam had done such a barbaric thing. They had all been called in there with the lie of an important communication on the rules of the school, but when they had arrived, they had been greeted by the pleas of that man who tied like a beast to that pole placed scenically where everyone could see it, begged for the Rector to have mercy on him. Daysam stood beside him until the room filled. Then he spent a few words on the importance of the rules and why they had to be respected in the letter. Anyone who didn''t do so would face a new type of disciplinary report. Thus, after the weeping Master was presented as a "disciplinary example", Daysam began to flog him. Each scream, amplified by the harmonic structure of the hall, corresponded to a blow inflicted on the naked and defenseless back. Amid the terrified screams of the children and the horrified gasps of the adults, someone had tried to intervene, but the Rector had threatened to make anyone who dared to get in the way suffer the same fate, or even worse. Fear... but above all the fiery gaze of the man, had calmed every intervention. << This is what will happen from now on to anyone who doesn''t respect the rules. >> announced Daysam at a certain point. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! His voice was devoid of humanity. While he spoke, he continued to hold the bloody whip in his hand, getting his hands dirty without being disgusted by it. <> he asked. There was no response. << Well, I hope you all keep this in mind from now on, otherwise you have seen what the consequences are. I am the Rector and as such I must correct those who break the rules. >> he concluded, cold as rock. Once the demonstration was over, he left the hall, ordering the workers to clean everything up before the next meeting. He had to admit one thing: although his colleague Master had made him angry, once the punishment was over he was able to relax. It was a more than pleasant sensation, he almost hoped that someone else hadn''t learned the lesson, he thought to himself, because he wouldn''t have minded having to correct someone else like that.
<> << Yes! Just stop ask me! >> Sadin pressed the chalk so hard that it let out a soft whistle. Writing on the blackboards was almost more annoying than having to be constantly quiet, but there was little to grumble or chat about as long as they had the desert near them. Basim checked the horizon of the rock path, there was still no sign of the exit Elamin had mentioned. How much longer did they have to walk among those sharp rocks before they considered themselves safe? The very safe step was anything but easy, many areas had been blocked by previous landslides and they had to climb the unstable piles of rock to be able to pass, At other points the path disappeared buried under the sand, leaving exposed islets of rock on which to jump safely. They were on their third day of travel in the confines of the Desert of Silence, the strangest he had ever undertaken. Not being able to speak was a bizarre experience, he had never been a talker by nature but in those days the pressing need to communicate became as tempting as thirst, even just making a sound he felt would make him feel better later. But the Sand was always alert, with its grains ready to react to the slightest noise. One day he had coughed and although he had covered his mouth to muffle the noise, the sand had rippled the surface of the dunes. He and Sadin were almost going crazy¡ and thinking that it was normal for the Gatherers instead. Incredibly, Elamin was managing to move without making a sound. He was as if he were walking on air, graceful as a ghost. When the boys walked too fast, he grabbed them by the shoulders forcing them to slow down, but if they made too much noise, he punched them lightly on the legs. He knew everything about the desert, during the time they lived together he had taught them some survival techniques typical of those parts, what to do and not to do if, for an unfortunate reason, they ended up in the desert and a thousand other lessons. It was lucky that they had him by their side, without him they would surely already be dead. Elamin often used hand signs to communicate, he had taught him simple gestures to memorize to indicate words such as "attention", "rest" and so on. They used the blackboards only to communicate more complex or more important thoughts, such as health status. The old man often did this to ask the boys if they were okay, aware of how hard that experience was for them. <>Basim had asked one day. Elamin shook his head. On his whiteboard, he had written three reasons why it was a bad idea: ¡ãToo steep ¡ãDanger of landslides ¡ãSilent killers Both Sadin and Basim pointed to the third option by asking what the ¡°Silent Assassins¡± were. The man drew a camel spider whose size was, compared to the little man he added next to it, almost as big as a dromedary, perhaps even bigger. The boys were speechless and insistedently asked Elamin if he was making fun of them. The ¡°no¡± in large letters made them look at the mountain walls with fear. It was a common belief that there was no animal life in that arid land, and instead incredibly "something" lived there and like the Sand wanted to kill. At sunset they set up camp, even though they were in a hurry to get out of there, it was not wise to face the cold long night; However, even sleeping required attention and maximum safety such as preparing a shelter among the rocks or setting traps in case of the arrival, albeit unlikely, of some nocturnal visitor. They took turns keeping watch, it was appropriate for someone to stay awake while the night passed slowly and silently, illuminated by a segment of the moon. Basim took the second watch that evening, the next day he would alternate with Sadin who at that moment was sleeping soundly, albeit with a frowning expression that did not give the impression that he was resting well. Elamin always took the first shift, as well as the longest. If he could have stayed up all night but as a guide, he too had to rest, to be clear and alert the next day. The fire kept Basim company with its warmth. Now and then he shook his head, realizing that he was hypnotized by the light like a moth. In those moments his mind began to wander to thoughts and memories and he only realized it by chance when something like the crackling of wood distracted him. He tried to stay as focused as possible, but it wasn''t easy when your mind is your only company; and it was trying to talk to him about things that he didn''t want to face at that moment, both out of cowardice and to deny reality. He looked at the scar on the back of his hand, sooner or later he would have to deal with what he had done to Abu Wasaa. The next day the journey continued at first light. As the sun rose into the sky, the heat also increased, quickly taking one''s breath away. The trail didn''t get better, it was certainly better than crossing the desert directly. That day, however, something new and different happens. They had stopped to eat, and as Elamin drew a rough map of the likely area they were in on the blackboard, Basim''s gaze was caught by something on the horizon, close to where the heat emanating from the ground made it shiver. It took him a few seconds to realize it was a person. It was tall and wore a very light-yellow tunic, it had long hair that partly fell over its shoulders and was almost the same shade as the dress, just darker, he couldn''t tell if it was a man or a woman from the distance, but he saw its smiling expression very well and was waving it hand in greeting. Basim reported this to Elamin... pure terror appeared on the man''s face. He haphazardly collected their things; his hands were shaking so much that everything kept falling off. He didn''t bother picking them up, he was in such a hurry to get ready to leave... or perhaps it was better to say run away. He pushed the boys so that their backs to the figure and grabbed them by the chin every time they tried to turn to look at ¡°it¡±, trying to tell them with their eyes not to do so. With trembling hands, he wrote sketchily on his blackboard what he knew: <>he began to say desperately. He knew they were mentally asking him "who" he or she was, but "what" was more of the term. << I don''t even know what it is, whether a mirage or a ghost. I only know that many of the pickers who saw it never returned. Those who lived to tell the tale only said it felt like dying. Now that I see it, I think I understand what they meant. It usually appears closer to the center of the desert; I''ve never heard of it appearing here in the borders as well. >> With the sleeve of his clothes, he erased and rewrote, his eyes never stopped staring at that mysterious presence that continued to smile and greet. << From now on I will proceed behind you to make sure you don''t turn around. Ignore it as much as you can, pretend it''s not there! Think about something else, focus on anything else! But never turn around to look at it! Tomorrow we should reach our destination, but if by tomorrow morning the "mirage" has not yet disappeared and is closer to us, we are in trouble. >> Even without speaking, Elamin''s behavior had terrified the boys. Which monster took the form of a person with a friendly smile to kill? The more they tried to explain it, the more anxiety ate them from the inside like a termite devouring wood. At that point, they wanted to run and get away from that thing immediately, but he had to continue to keep a careful pace so as not to make any noise. Elamin had told him to think about something else, but it wasn''t easy to distract their mind at a time like this, but they forced themselves to do so for their sanity. Sadin began repeating the tribe''s nursery rhymes and songs, playing with the threads of his clothes or touching his hair. Basim instead hugged the Yasirpipe and, despite the weight of the instrument, pretended to play it, moving his fingers on the invisible strings. For the rest of the journey they did nothing else, but curiosity was a really strong temptation to resist, sometimes it seemed that the head was moving by itself but Elamin was always ready to stop them. He was the only one who dared to pay attention to the mirage, but only to make sure it stayed away from them. It was always there, behind them, even if he never saw it move it was always at the same distance, never too close... and unfortunately never too far away, always and in any case at their heels. Cursed demon, may the Gods strike him down. A moment of panic came when Sadin, exasperated, turned to throw a stone at him and nearly shouted profanity. Elamin blocked him with all his strength, begging him in desperate whispers to calm down and not let his emotions get to him. The exit was close, he had to hold on a little longer. When night fell again, none of the three could sleep. The being''s presence made them too uncomfortable to allow them to rest properly, but then again, how could they know they could be killed at any moment? With the fire lit, they wondered if by throwing the embers at them it would go away and leave them alone... but they didn''t dare to make this attempt. The next day, the miracle: the exit! If only they could shout, the happiness would have echoed to the top of the mountains. They were safe, soon they would abandon that infernal desert and its dangers, finally heading to a safe place where they could make all the noise they wanted. At that moment Elamin, distracted from comforting the boys with energetic pats on the back who were trying not to cry too loudly, realized out of the corner of his eye that something was moving. His heart stopped for a moment and all his hair stood on end: the mirage was approaching. It didn''t run, he only walked quickly, it was still a threatening stride that repelled an attack and that was enough for Elamin to make him break the rule of silence. << Run. >> he said terrified. In that brief moment when both Basim and Sadin realized the situation, they did as told, spurred by a sudden new vigor. As they ran, they made a lot of noise which the Sand didn''t like and began to unleash high waves that wanted to fall on them. At that moment nothing around them mattered, the survival instinct only screamed at them to think about running and not to dare stop until they had passed the gap. The echo of their race resounded deafeningly as the rock walls surrounded them, defending them from the desert that grew further and further away behind them and hopefully also its deadliest inhabitant. Only once they had passed the gap, once again in territory belonging to man, did they dare to stop. They were breathless, full of pain, and with their hearts exploding¡ for the last time, they risked a look behind them. The mirage was no longer there. << A-are we s-saved? >> stammered Basim, speaking for the first time in a long time. Elamin nodded, smiling at him. Chapter 19: Breeze of Freedom Jabar downed the wine in one long gulp, and the servant at his side immediately refilled the cup as soon as it was within reach again, meanwhile, two young slave girls were massaging his back and feet in an attempt to relax his tired muscles. The man was making a great effort not to lose his temper. Certainly, ranting and screaming would have been very useful to let off steam and release the tension, but he wouldn''t have given him that realistic help in finding Basim. Baharmis was filled with the calm aura of the evening, illuminated by the delicate colors of the sunset that were beginning to fade from warm to cold hues. Both he and Prince Hazma had been forced to return to the capital for reasons of state, the season of Arnanoth was near and both were needed to prepare the city to face one of the most delicate periods of the year. When he received the communication, it was like receiving a slap in the face, this meant interrupting the search. At a certain point, he chased away all his servants, their presence had become annoying to him. In the solitude of his house, he muttered between continuing to drink, polishing his sword, or exercising. He opted for the third option, considering how strong the desire was to have to do something. But for a guy like him, physical exercise at that time was taken into consideration differently. Baharmis was the pinnacle of order and legality, but it too had its little dark side which, however minimal, certainly did not disappoint in terms of offering more or less legal goods and services. For those who wanted something in particular that could not be obtained normally, one had to go to the center of the most humble neighborhoods, dotted with hidden alleys and invisible shops of which not even the Baharmasians themselves knew the existence: drugs, slaves, brothels... they were there were many "special" offers hidden in the shadows of the capital and were often more tempting than those exposed to the sunlight. Among the various ways to earn money, when you have no goods or material goods, is to sell yourself. There are various systems with which you can market your body and none of them are painless. In the city, in that case, the highest-paid activity of the category concerned clandestine struggles. The matches take place in the cellars of the houses or even in the animal stables, in spaces that are so narrow that the opponents often risk ending up on top of the screaming spectators who praise the violence, bewitched by the euphoria of that violent fun. Fights rarely end with a death and when this happens the evidence of what happened is eliminated without too much disappointment... there is never a shortage of contenders, even if you try not to run out of them. Jabar liked the meetings but rejected their aim for the sole gain of money. According to him, it was not honorable: he defined it as a form of prostitution for men. It was depressing to see promising young men having to stoop to the level of chickens. Why should they waste their manhood like that? Why not join the legion then? ¡°Oh yeah, they can''t.¡± He thought annoyed. ¡°There is not enough money to recruit new soldiers.¡± He sat in the audience for a short time, annoyed by the jostling and constant shouting in his ears, before deciding to participate in the contest as planned. Unlike those poor wretches, he competed for the joy of fighting rather than for the paltry money at stake. Despite his military ranks, he had no opportunity to engage in real battles, in training he always had to go slowly whether they were recruits or expert soldiers, whereas here, in that small arena where only the victory of the strongest counted, he could let off steam as much as he wanted. The moment his body began to move, pounding into the hot, sweaty flesh of his opponents, hearing bones breaking and teeth falling out¡ oh, what excitement permeated him. With every punch and every kick the stress was decreasing and his pleasure, at the same time, grew and warmed his blood. The kind of fervor he was feeling at that moment was similar to what he felt during sex or when he was drunk, a feeling of intense gratification that made him ask for more and more. After the first three matches, many of those present began to place bets on him. But before the stakes could reach a figure high enough to be considered important, the challengers were already finished. Only Jabar remained standing and unharmed, barely breaking a sweat. He was amazed and annoyed, it couldn''t have already ended like this before he could even define himself as satisfied! He was still thirsty for a beating! Of moans of pain! But as much as he tried to incite new adversaries with heavy insults to manhood, no one strong or courageous enough accepted the gauntlet. Jabar left the arena in frustration, his growl momentarily resembling that of an enraged dog. If the human body had been capable of radiating light in response to emotions, the General would probably have shone like a torch. It wasn''t difficult to imagine his head engulfed in the flames of anger, one look at his face was enough to understand how frustrated he was, and that made it clear that it was better to stay away from him, at least until his fists stopped shaking ready to spring at any moment. He had almost reached home when a servant ran towards him, waving a letter that had just arrived by traveling falcon. Jabar showed no enthusiasm for the message that had just arrived, assuming it was yet another useless piece of news. His greenish eyes read the paper without blinking, after a few seconds, without realizing it, he began to giggle with a cheerfulness that his servant found disturbing. It wasn''t a normal laugh from him, it was pure joy. The message read: ¡°I found your man. He is in Tura.¡±
Basim couldn''t help but tell himself how amazing the sea was. He had never seen so much water in his life, it was as if there could be nothing else beyond the blue horizon that sparkled animatedly under the sun, the smell of salt that rose at certain hours was strange but not annoying, certainly it was more pleasant than that of the fish which was caught abundantly every day. Tura was certainly an interesting city, especially given how it had developed on the side of a hill that descended in levels almost to the coast; but its port was the real jewel. He had never seen so many ships gathered in one place, some of them larger than a house and at times even intimidating with their decorated hulls, almost all of them had flags or sails on which magical symbols were embroidered, but which indicated their belonging to overseas cultures. The port occupied a large part of the flat space, where there were no ships docked for loading and unloading goods there were shipyards where they built them; each new docking was always greeted by energetic shouts of exultation and the comings and goings of the sailors became as frenetic as that of an anthill. Talking about diversity, the people themselves were also a reason for curiosity. Tura was the nautical crossroads of different ethnic groups. How could a group of people of different races be defined? If there was a term, he didn''t know it. He could only say that it was incredible that there were people with different features than him... much more bizarre than Sadin''s, which people had been so amazed by. Already since his arrival, he had crossed paths with people with skin as light as milk or hair as golden as straw, or even red as saffron; he had to admit that he was afraid of white-skinned people because they seemed like ghosts to him. The difference did not stop only in appearance, the way of dressing and speaking was also another prominent element, there were men on whose arms strange animals or symbols were drawn, and tall, muscular women with a proud bearings who dressed in heavy armor. How varied and curious the world could be, Basim thought. << One day I too will travel the world. I''ve dreamed of going on one of those ships since I was little. >> << Really? But then wouldn''t you feel homesick? >> << The only thing I would miss is my uncle, after all, the rest never mattered much to me. >> <> << In the northern countries without a doubt! I have heard of a land much colder than ours, with animals like camels but with large horns and where solid white rain falls. >> << Solid... rain? Come on Sadin, this is a lie. >> Basim and Sadin had settled in Tura for a month now. For now, it seemed that luck and tranquility were on their side. In reality it was also due to the commitment to keep a low profile, more than they had attempted to do in Abu Wasaa. This time the boys didn''t share time in the city, Sadin had already been to that town a couple of times in the past and knew only too well how talkative and nosy the people there were. No missteps this time, whatever happened they shouldn''t be noticed. For Sadin, it was an easy game thanks to all those years spent evading guards and civilians like a shadow, but for Basim, who didn''t have senses as refined as his, he always had to be on alert, aware of not having to attract the be careful, sometimes he was so restless that his shoulders would stiffen to the point of pain. Once a week they met in different places to get updates from each other. An appointment that Basim always looked forward to. This time the meeting point was in a caravanserai[1]on the border between the port and the city proper. Many merchants stopped there before resuming their journey by sea or land, or to comfortably conclude various types of business in the small rooms furnished with cushions and carpets. Part of the clientele was also made up of foreign explorers who, partly because of the alcohol, didn''t exactly have the good sense to have a conversation in a low voice regardless of whether their language was understandable to others or not. <> he said thinking of the Collector. << Surely yes, Grandpa is a smart guy. When I get old, I want to be like him. >> Sadin said with admiration. << Do you think that one day we will be able to return to Abu Wasaa to repay him for the help he gave us? >> << Who can say? Maybe if you become a true Sand Master we may or may not succeed. >> << Are you going to do it now too? I don''t want to become a Sand Master. >> After leaving the desert and accompanying them to the first human outpost, Elamin retraced his steps to return to Abu Wasaa. He had tried to convince him to stay with them, that it was risky to return after what had happened, but he had replied that he couldn''t abandon the other unfortunate people of the town just to save his skin. Even if no law or blood bond was uniting them, they had always helped each other out of respect. << Speaking of serious things, how is it going so far? Have you had any problems? >> <> << Notice anything unusual? >> << Yesterday I saw some foreigners who, while speaking, waved their hands convulsively. They reminded me of the Sand Collectors, but their way of moving seemed like that of a madman. >> <> This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. << Then apart from this, there is nothing else. >> << That''s good. We were lucky to end up in these parts. There are so many foreigners that no one pays attention to us. >> << Yes, but we can''t stay here forever. Sooner or later, we will have to return home. >> << You''re right my friend, but I''m still thinking about the next move. Honestly, I don''t know what we should do from this point on. I''m a little out of ideas. >> The boys were in a stalemate, after so much time spent running away, now they didn''t know what to do. The only thing they agreed on was that neither of them had any intention of putting down roots in Tura and they knew that sooner or later they would have to settle the Yasirpipe issue once and for all. <> proposed Basim. Sadin gave a sort of ironic laugh. << Why not? So they throw both of us in jail. By now the Masters of Shagreb will have fed the royal family a load of bullshit. And don''t forget about that Master Architect in Abu Wasaa. >> << Well, we could try to talk to the prince first. Everyone at Baharmis says that he is someone who always listens to his subjects before judging them. >> << Yes, and donkeys fly. >> << Look, the prince is not like the nobles we have known until now. I have always heard good things about him... certainly more than his father... and above all for how he always did his utmost to help the people. Who knows... maybe he could give us a hand. >> << Bah! It seems impossible to me. >> << Come on, he could be the person we need. It''s still an idea, right? >> << Okay, okay. I''ll think about it and let you know. Happy? >> Basim would only have been if that idea of ??his had worked. At least it was something to work towards, rather than having nothing in hand. With that agreement, the two boys concluded their weekly meeting. They walked together for a few minutes in the port before taking different paths, to the displeasure of Basim who by now felt a sense of abandonment in his solitude. He went up the hilly city to its third level, the three-storey white and gray houses had been built with precision next to each other and all faced the sea, but the residents, looking out of the windows or balconies, were taken from chatting loudly to each other rather than admiring the view which, at least for him, was worth more than gossip. He arrived at the inn where he was temporarily living, recognizable by the effigy of a fish carved into a wooden disc that hung above the entrance. The place was not sumptuous, but it certainly tried to be comfortable both for those who had to stop for just one night or a week, the food was not bad even if it often permeated the adjoining tavern with a not exactly pleasant, combined aroma of onions and fish and, it seems, stocked up on wine as quickly as they ran out of it. He counted the coins in his wallet, he could afford to stay there for another week, then he would have to look for another place to stay. ¡°Maybe I should have asked Sadin for money¡¡± he thought regretfully. ¡°No, I have to manage on my own. I can''t always rely on others.¡± He reiterated to himself. He had proven to himself that he could do it on his own, so he had no reason to worry. And if he had to sleep on the streets¡ well, there was no problem, after all, he had slept near the most dangerous desert of Iazaresh. << Hey, welcome back kid. >> When Basim entered, the owner welcomed him with his deep voice. He was sweeping the floor with an old broom whose straw bristles scattered on the ground making the work quite useless. The man reminded him a bit of his grandfather, he was short and bald like him, only with fewer years on his shoulders, as well as physically fitter. Both on his muscular arms and his shaved head there were scars whose size went from being as thin as a thread of string to as wide as two of his fingers, he had a crooked nose and a cut lower lip, all wounds probably due to past fights... but despite the menacing man ran the inn like a perfect businessman, solved every unknown with iron calm and was even able to communicate with foreign customers in their native language if necessary. He was a good man, just a little too attached to money. << Come here for a while. I need to ask you something. >> he told him, gesturing with his hand. << If it''s for the rent, I''ve already settled the bill with your wife. I swear. >> he hastened to tell him Basim. << That''s not what I want to know: I just wanted to ask you a favor. >> <> <> << Play? >> Basim''s attention lit up when he heard that word. << Yes, exactly. The musician I hire has usually been feeling ill and I have no one tonight to entertain the customers while they eat. >> << I... unfortunately I don''t know anyone. I''m sorry... >> said Basim. He paused and then added: <<... but I''m doing quite well. >> << Can you play? >> the innkeeper asked him surprised. << Yes, sir. >> << You''re not kidding me, are you? >> << Absolutely not, I swear. >> << Prove it to me. If you can put two decent notes together, I''m even willing to pay you. >>
At the first whiffs of food, the customers gathered in the tavern and less than a minute the confusion was already such as to force the owner to scold the most undisciplined. The ability of some to be able to speak and eat at the same time without choking was surprising. In a corner, someone had decided to hold a drinking contest for which a winner could not yet be established, and the smokers'' pipes had formed gray mists around their tables. In the general chatter and drunken laughter, someone managed to pay attention to the background music and applaud the skill of the musician who was entertaining them. Basim bowed to every praise, now and then he glanced at the innkeeper and when he gave him a satisfied smile, he knew he was doing well. He had missed performing, and even though it wasn''t his usual large audience, the few who gave him attention were more than satisfying. Although he seemed to be ignored by most of the guests, in reality, they always had their ears alert and demonstrated it the moment he played something they knew, starting to sing and dance accordingly. He found it very funny how men as hard as rock and cold as metal became as joyful as little boys after being easily softened by the alcohol. He realized that he had become better at playing. He didn''t say it out of arrogance, he noticed it precisely with the ease with which he played; he came so naturally to him now that he could no longer remember what he was like before he learned. He didn''t want to let it go to his head, but it was a great satisfaction to have finally mastered his passion. After a couple of encores and a few personal requests, it was finally time for him to eat too. He sat aside in a corner of the kitchen slowly eating a large plate of chicken and vegetables, while the cooking and serving continued around him. It wasn''t so late as to say it was time to sleep, but Basim couldn''t wait to go to bed, feeling his tiredness weighing down his eyelids with ever more perseverance. << Not bad, I thought you were making fun of me but instead you know how to strum properly. You''re even better than that other string plucker who usually comes here. >> said the satisfied innkeeper. Then he handed him a bag in which many coins jingled. << Here, you deserved it. I''d like to hear you play again, how about tomorrow? Same pay and a hot meal. >> Basim thought it was a good proposal and accepted it. Even though that money would soon return to the man''s pocket when he paid the rent, at least it guaranteed him that he wouldn''t be kicked out. The innkeeper gave him the rest of the evening free, by now they were too drunk in the tavern to pay attention to the music. Before going to sleep he decided to take one last look of admiration at the sea, enchanted for the umpteenth time by the panorama it offered him; particularly by the way the moonlight reflected on the water. He had said he didn''t want to stay and live in Tura, but he wouldn''t have minded, perhaps later in life; moving to an equally similar city where he could have the sea next to him as a sort of friendly neighbor. <> Feeling called, he turned. Basim was struck by the appearance of the man who stood a few meters from him, so tall and muscular and with green eyes the color of palm leaves. For a second, he thought it was a thief, he had neither seen nor heard him coming, and with his size, he could have easily subdued him if he had wanted to rob him; instead, he approached him with an excited voice. <> insisted the stranger. << Y-yes, it''s me... but who are you...? >> he tried to ask him in surprise before the man interrupted him by squeezing his shoulders, and for a moment he almost seemed to want to hug him. <> he told him. << Wait! Wait! How do you know my name? What do you want from me? >> said Basim, giving him a shove. He was a friendly guy but to the point of letting the first stranger he met on the street touch him. << Forgive me, you''re right, it''s just that... by the Gods, I''ve been looking for you for a long time. I have been tasked by your parents to find you and bring you home. My name is Jabar, I am the General of the kingdom of Baharmis. >> Basim was speechless, he couldn''t believe that he had the famous Jabar in front of him. He had heard many stories of his incredible abilities and how much he was admired for his excellent skills, as well as his intelligence and perspicacity. He was envied by men as much as women admired him and tried to ingratiate themselves with him to be married, as some cousins ??and aunts in his family had tried to do. In practice he had a national hero in front of him... and he had pushed him away in a rude way. In a whirlwind of surprise and emotion, the General managed to explain that his family, tormented by the nightmare that they might have lost him forever, had begged him on their knees to find him, despite knowing that his duties towards the internal kingdom were worth more than a single individual. In the face of so much anguish, he had not been able to remain impassive and had decided to help them, putting aside any military duty. His family... Basim hadn''t seen them for so long now that just hearing about them triggered a strong sense of nostalgia: his parents, his cousins, his grandparents... how were they all? How were they living those days without him? << ¡And boy, you sure were hard to track down, you had me going up and down the kingdom restlessly. It almost felt like you wanted to hide from the world. >> << I... I don''t know what to say. Did you come all this way to find me? >> <> << No, I don''t need it. I''m just surprised... and confused... and happy. By the gods, I don''t understand anything anymore. So many things have happened since I left that I''ve almost forgotten how it all started. >> << Take a deep breath, you''re safe with me now. I think it''s better if you tell me your story over a good hot tea. I, as much as your family, want to know your story. >> Unveiling a surprisingly deep and gentle voice, Basim slowly let himself be hypnotized by such courtesy that he could almost define it as angelic, even his gaze reassured him, instilling in him the confidence he needed to open up. Back at the inn, the warm infusion of tea opened him to confidence, and he told as clearly as possible his story, his misadventures, and even the Yasirpipe. He was afraid to talk about the instrument, worried that he might think of him as a thief, but when the General told him that he knew that he had tried to bring him back to Al Haimat thanks to the testimonies of its followers, it took a great weight off his shoulders. He then told him how he had to learn to play it to earn a living, how he had become a "Street Master" and the discrimination of the Sand Masters, things which came to Jabar as unclear and confusing rumors, but which fit with what was heard. After finishing his story, Basim''s throat was dry and he was trembling with excitement. He relied on the warmth of the tea to calm him down, clutching the cup in his hands like a lifeline. << You went through a lot and managed to get out of it. You are truly an amazing guy. >> <> << Don''t be modest. It takes a lot of willpower to survive for so long and with so many obstacles. You are a fighter and I admire that. >> << I¡ thank you, sir. I''m sorry that you had to come so far just for me, >> << Don''t even say it, I just did my duty. Now I guess you can''t wait to get home. >> << Absolutely! And I promise you that I will do everything to repay the debt I owe you. >> << Oh come on, I don''t need to be thanked in any way. >> <> << Since you care so much, we''ll find something. >> Basim smiled; things were finally going right. He suddenly felt dizzy, his eyelids became heavy, and he began to struggle to put his thoughts together. He felt an unusual tiredness pervade him, it had been a long day and many emotions... perhaps it was because of that, but he couldn''t think about it clearly, disoriented by the mental fog that was becoming increasingly thicker. <> Jabar asked him. His figure seemed blurry to him at that moment, so much so that for a moment it seemed like he was smiling at him strangely. No... why on earth would he? From his voice, it was clear that he was instead worried. << I... I don''t feel well. But I think it''s temporary. >> Basim replied disoriented. He tried to get up but in doing so the dizziness unbalanced him, Jabar managed to catch him before he fell to the ground, supporting him with his body. Without him realizing it, Jabar closed the secret compartment hidden under the gem of a ring that he always carried with him. << You better lie down; you could hurt yourself if you keep moving. >> <> << Don''t worry, I''ll take care of everything. You rest now, I''ll take care of the rest. >> Chapter 20: Wolves in Sheeps Clothing The shouts of the sailors that day at the port were full of insults, thanks to the strong wind and the rough sea which made docking maneuvers complicated, the ships that had already landed were swinging up and down the pier, colliding dangerously with each other, threatening damage. Luckily the storm was venting all its energy off the ocean, pouring rain and lightning away from the coast which was thus forced only to face the indomitable cold wind that had made the clouds veer a few miles away leaving a large portion of sky free over the area. In that period the storms would have been more and more frequent, and the arrival of the season of Arnanoth was imminent. Once a year, for two months, a very strong and dangerous storm front formed over Iazaresh. The intensity of the bad weather was not something that the locals took lightly, it could have lasted for a few days or weeks, raging over the territory causing flooding in the driest areas and slowing down trade activities both on land and at sea. Every year they prepared to take action, just as they wanted to limit the damage, the same went for human lives which, unfortunately, never failed to be claimed by the brute force of nature. Sadin was also worried, not because of the bad weather, but because Basim had not yet arrived at their usual appointment. That delay made him suspicious, even if on the one hand he felt he was perhaps exaggerating, he couldn''t shake the feeling that something might have happened to him. ¡°There''s no point in waiting, I''ll go look for him¡± he decided at a certain point. He hurriedly left the port and rushed to the inn, not knowing what to expect. Tura was a normal port city, but it was precisely for this reason that it also made it a den of thieves, scoundrels, and cutthroats, he knew this because he had had the "pleasure" of doing favors for that type of lords more than one time. However, it wasn''t the pickpockets or bandits that worried him in that case, but rather the slave traders who hid behind the fa?ade of fake employers; he had heard too many stories of people missing in those parts, surely forced onto one of those ships to be sold in a foreign land. He hoped that Basim hadn''t ended up in their hands¡ he tried not to immediately think of the worst until he saw the gravity of the situation. << A boy with curly hair and blue eyes? No, never had anyone like that here. >> The innkeeper told him when he asked for him. Sadin''s heart sank, his worries had just taken root. <> he told him, lying to him. << He probably gave you the name of the place wrong. There are many taverns in the city and foreigners often get confused. >> ¡°Liar, I suggested him to come here.¡± Sadin thought frustrated. He had already sensed something suspicious in that man when their eyes had briefly met, and now that he had lied to him shamelessly proved that he had been right. << Well, if he were to pass by here... when you see him, can you tell him that I''m looking for him? >> << Little boy, I run an inn, I''m not a messenger. Unless you want to rent a room, you better get out of the way, do you understand? >> Sadin glared at the man, obeying his order. The innkeeper went back to working quietly, whistling nautical tunes; he dusted, aired the rooms, stocked up on food and drinks in the kitchen, counted the week''s takings, and threatened a customer with kicking him out if he didn''t pay the rent. As a final task, he left the garbage to be thrown away, one of the few chores he hated doing. Remains of spoiled food, contents of spittoons, piles of ash, and other waste were collected inside large barrels that temporarily occupied the narrow alley behind the building, releasing their mephitic odor away from the noses of the customers, at the end of the day he would take them to an area used as a landfill where he allegedly set it on fire; if he was lucky he would be able to convince someone to get rid of that rubbish for him... better yet, he could try to pass it off as pig mash. He dragged a barrel into the alley, complaining about its heaviness. The container tipped over the doorstep and fell with all its weight onto his feet; his curses were covered by the blowing of the wind and the shutters of a window that continued slamming. With all that noise he didn''t feel the presence coming behind him, moving softly like a cat, continuing to work unaware of what was about to happen to him. Too late he noticed the swift shadow darting over him, a muffled groan escaped his lungs and the barrel he had taken so much care to empty carefully fell to the ground with a thud. With a sudden and lightning-fast blow, the attacker directed his kick at the innkeeper''s most sensitive spot; i.e. the genitals. A sob of pain came out low as a peep as he leaned forward trying to catch his breath, but the menacing silhouette of a dagger blade further knocked the air out of him. <> Sadin said seriously. He grabbed the man by the hem of his shirt and placed the blade on his neck. He pressed lightly and a drop of blood slid down from the thin cut of flesh that went slightly above the edge of the dagger. The innkeeper shivered, he wanted to scream but the pain in his lower parts was stronger than the desire to scream for help. He desperately tried to understand who the hell that kid was... he wasn''t just a brat, his gaze was as sinister as that of the bounty hunters who had stopped on his property and whom he understood it was best not to anger. But he was a kid! How could a half-breed bastard instill so much fear in him? << Speak damn it! Or it will be worse for you! >> <> << Who?! >> << Someone I work for! He pays me to give him information about the people who come to Tura! >> << Give me a name, now. >> <> << If you don''t do it, you''re dead anyway, and I assure you that I will make you suffer more than your so-called boss will. Slowly, cutting yourself off one piece at a time. >> <> << Okay, whatever you want. >> The innkeeper was overwhelmed by an intense, indescribable burning sensation on the left side of his neck, accompanied at the same time by an unpleasant sensation of wetness. He put his hands around his neck, blood dripping from all sides like the wine the customers poured into their mugs, staining his chest and arms dark red. He wasn''t mortally wounded, and he wasn''t going to die, but in that moment he felt like every inch of skin on his neck was tearing off one piece at a time with every breath and movement he made. He needed to close it or sew it up, stop that unusually hot gushing at any cost. He saw Sadin raise the dagger to the sky, there was no emotion in his eyes. That blank stare was the most terrifying thing he had ever seen in his life. << The general! The guy I work for is General Jabar! >> he suddenly shouted, before the weapon could stab him. Sadin stopped, looking at him in disbelief. <> he asked, thinking he had misunderstood. Even a wandering nomad like him knew who he was and how famous he was. << Yes! Yes! He told me that he was looking for your friend and when I saw him, I informed him immediately! He didn''t tell me the reason, but he paid me very well! He had recommended that I keep an eye on him until he came to get him! >> <> << No, he¡! I only know that he was looking for it, but not on behalf of the kingdom...! I think it''s because of his secret "business"... >> << Are you kidding me? What kind of business would that be? Look, if you''re lying to me, I''ll cut your balls! I swear! >> << I''m serious! And I don''t know anything else about it! I limit myself to being his informant! I don''t know his plans! >> Sadin was more confused than before, what did General Jabar have to do with Basim now if justice wasn''t involved? He racked his brains, trying to find meaning in that confession until a terrible suspicion came to him. <> << Yes, exactly. >> << Everything? >> <> Sadin cursed, perhaps he understood why Jabar was so interested in Basim. It was just a hunch, but his sixth sense was rarely wrong. The innkeeper was threatened with keeping his mouth shut if he valued his tongue as well as his life; he walked out of the alley. He ran through the streets of Tura laboriously climbing the slope, all the while thinking of a plan on how to save Basim. However, he found it difficult to think about what to do, his thoughts overlapped with each other, and it seemed that even the bad weather wind, which at that moment had reached the peak of its strength, was throwing his ideas into turmoil like a pile of helpless sheets of paper at the mercy of an air current. And suddenly the first problem immediately arose: where had they taken Basim? Standing in the middle of an intersection, where each route led to a different part of the city, he wondered which way he should go. North? South? East? West? He had no idea what the right direction was and if he had unfortunately taken the wrong one, he would have ended up moving away from him, rather than closer. Uncertainty assailed him, it was a horrible sensation that he wasn''t used to and that the fear and confusion amplified. He had been in many places, even here in Tura and he could say that he knew it quite well... but in that moment, the way he felt, it seemed as if he was lost in an unknown place and in which he did not recognize anything familiar. He felt like crying, and even though he managed to hold back his sobs, he was unable to chase away the cold, numerous tears that clouded his vision. Luckily there was no one on the street, if someone had seen him in that state, he would have been very mortified. ¡°Get a hold of yourself, you idiot! This is not the time to be a baby!¡± he said unconvinced to himself. As much as he blamed himself for that moment of weakness, he just couldn''t calm down. He thought of his uncle, who would immediately do his utmost to reassure him and help him, as he always had done¡. and from whom he now missed the warm and tight hugs that he had always considered excessive. ¡°Catch your breath. Use your brain. What can you do to find Basim without running around wasting time? You can ask for information¡ see if anyone has noticed anything, for example. But who to ask? If the General is involved, and they all act like the innkeeper, I will likely find a thousand mouths sewn shut." He reflected further, aware that no one would speak if the threat of such a powerful person weighed on their shoulders. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. The information that Sadin had on the General was the same that everyone knew, but perhaps he was one of the few who had realized his threatening importance for the empire... and if he also had dark secrets that made him act without the awareness of the kingdom, then there was reason to worry. What had that man said? That he was looking for Basim for certain "business". He certainly knew about the Yasirpipe if anything had been taken out of his room. <> he said to someone out loud. << It''s not an impossible mission. I escaped from prison, after all. I just have to behave as I always have: be smarter and more careful than others. >> He dried the last tears and looked around, even though there continued to be different roads around him, this time he knew which direction to take. He walked back the way he had come, this time running with confidence and with a precise idea of ??what to do. His fear was still there, but he kept it under control and intended to face it head-on, giving him the motivation to overcome the challenge he was about to face. The slums of Tura, in addition to being a receptacle for shady deals and crime, were also the best source of information. Sadin, despite being a regular visitor to that environment, knew he had to be cautious. He was still a kid and some people would have no qualms about hurting him. He meticulously searched for people to ask about the General or unusual movements in and out of the city. He didn''t have much luck at first, everyone he questioned said they didn''t know anything and, in some cases, it was clear that, instead; they knew something but chose to remain silent to preserve their safety, not even the incentive of money was able to make them open their mouths. Despite the lack of news, his purse slowly emptied, as many of his coins ended up in the lying hands of those who took advantage of them. On another occasion he would have immediately kicked those bastards, he didn''t like being made fun of, but now he didn''t have the time. After every interrogation he looked over his shoulder; In those parts, they didn''t like people who asked questions, and if he had asked the wrong person there would have been big trouble for him. The evening fell like a black veil over the neighborhood, the wind had stopped blowing some time ago and the silence that followed made the atmosphere eerily quiet. Sadin, with the hood of his cloak pulled down, walked cautiously through the dimly lit alleys, trying to move stealthily so as not to arouse suspicion. The few passersby on the street looked at him for a second and then ignored him, but for Sadin, tense as he was; those looks weighed like boulders. For all he knew, anyone could jump on him at any moment and cut his throat. Suddenly a group of people from a tavern laughed out loud, Sadin''s heart sank and he immediately tightened his hand on the hilt of the dagger, flattening himself against a wall, investigating the origin of that loud laughter. He remained hidden until his heart calmed, regaining his composure. He had no memory of being as nervous as he was then. Finally, after a day and a half, his research bore fruit: someone spoke about the General. The source told him that he had seen a man who looked like him renting carts that had been filled with supplies to distribute to poor villages on the road back to Baharmis, but he said the quantity was too small to satisfy the number he had given, so there was something behind it. Sadin asked the informant several times if he was certain that he was going toward Baharmis, he confirmed it repeatedly until he became angry. And so, using up his last savings, he bought a sturdy horse and set off in pursuit. He didn''t take the time to prepare adequate supplies or find other sources that confirmed the indication received, he relied on luck and instinct while he made the beast gallop day and night to reach his goal; at that moment nothing could have stopped him, not even sandstorms or ambushes by raiders. There were so many days'' distance between them, that he allowed his steed and himself few stops unless they were near villages in which to ask for news of the caravan. Finally, one day he managed to reach them, luckily it had stopped near a village and they didn''t seem about to leave again anytime soon. ¡°Hold your enthusiasm, old boy. We still must make sure it''s him," he said to himself, trying not to get caught up in the heat. Sadin entered the village cautiously, moving on tiptoe between the stone houses. A huge oddity immediately caught his eye: there were no women or children, they were all adult men whose appearance was anything but that of poor, starving peasants. Another strange fact came from the houses which had a dilapidated appearance typical of a place abandoned for a long time and for people who needed supplies, wheat fields and game didn''t seem to be lacking in those parts, much less water. ¡°It''s all a sham, these are not real poor people.¡± thought Sadin, as he remembered the informant''s statement about Jabar''s so-called noble gesture of wanting to help the poor. He was increasingly suspicious of the matter, starting to think that perhaps there was something much bigger behind it than just Basim''s kidnapping. There were six large, covered wagons outside the village, watched by soldiers walking around them. A little too excessive in terms of control, if it was only about food. Sadin, the volcano of ideas that he was, had already thought about how to distract them; the houses in the village were so old and worn that some were supported by large wooden poles aimed at the external walls or internal ceilings. You didn''t have to be an engineer to understand that if those supports were removed, they would collapse in an instant, and that was precisely what he hoped would happen when he began to remove them from a building in which a small group of men were playing dice. After a lot of work and a lot of fear of being discovered, the small building collapsed on its occupants, raising a lot of dust and above all a lot of confusion, his favorite combination. Everyone set out to help them or just see what had happened, allowing Sadin to inspect the carts one after the other. And finally, he found him: Basim. The blue eyes of both met in a long moment of emotion and amazement, sparkling like freshly carved sapphires. Sadin had to keep himself from screaming with happiness, biting his tongue forcefully. Basim was fine, thank goodness, but he was chained like an animal hand and foot with chains and his mouth was gagged with a filthy dark yellow cloth. He jumped in and took it from him, he couldn''t wait to know how he got into this mess. << You have no idea how happy I am to see you, but you must leave immediately. If they find out they''ll kill you. >> he told him, worried for his safety. << You''re crazy if you think I''ll leave you alone after all the effort I put in to find you. >> he replied, while he tried to free him. The padlocks turned out to be tough nuts, no matter how hard he tried he couldn''t get the locks to click, only managing to break his burglary tools. Basim begged him to stop, warning him that even if he managed to free him, he would not be able to run, due to a medicine that made him so sick that he could barely move. <> << Jabar himself said it, it''s a precautionary method in case I manage to free myself and I assure you it''s powerful stuff. The next day my head felt like it was going to explode. >> <> << He lied to me. He said he had come to save me but he wanted the Yasirpipe... and like a fool, I told him that I learned to play it and now he wants to force me to teach it to some Sand Masters who work for him. >> <> Suddenly there was another collapsing sound and more shouts, outside they were still dealing with the disaster caused by Sadin. Which meant a few more minutes. <> <> <> << Man, if that were the case it would be shocking. Have you heard anything else interesting? >> <> Two men''s voices approached the cart, arguing animatedly. Before Jabar, his face partially covered by a frayed veil could peek inside, Sadin had already put the gag back on Basim and was hiding among the crates that occupied the rest of the space. Sadin could not see him, but he knew that such a famous and probably dangerous man was there near him, one step away from being discovered; he made his heartbeat. The man didn''t seem to suspect anything and went back to talking to the other stranger, resuming the lively discussion which was of importance to both. << You are certain that we would not have problems at the border. >> the stranger asked the General. He had an accent different from theirs, which did not belong to any area of ??their region. << You have no reason to worry, it will be like mowing a wheat field. >> replied the General with a slightly annoyed tone. <> <> << In three weeks I think, we have to get around the desert first. >> The two boys exchanged a worried look, they didn''t like the meaning of the speech and where it was going. << Remember, it must be a strong attack that does as much damage as possible. I don''t want you to waste your time raiding or kidnapping women. >> << Eh, what kind of raid would it be without taking something? >> << Do what you want, but if you don''t make it to the set date, I will make sure that the vultures feast on your entrails while you are still alive. >> << Of course... we will be on time. >> The boys shuddered at the tone the man had used to utter that grotesque threat. << There is one thing I don''t understand; why do you want your kingdom to be attacked? >> <> << Yes, I said it. But now I''m curious. >> <[1], just follow my orders instead of meddling in my business. >> << You call us barbarians, but you are the one who gave us the information to attack your people. Who is the real barbarian among us? >> Jabar didn''t answer, who knows if it was because he was looking for the right words or if, instead; it was because he was contemplating cutting their throats. After a few minutes, he answered: << It is the winners who decide who the barbarians are, therefore; try to win for your good. >> and then he walked away, shouting to someone what state the injured in the collapse were in. Basim and Sadin were shocked, in disbelief to their ears. There was no trace of error, it wasn''t a misunderstanding, they had exactly understood the terrible meaning of that speech. Those people intended to attack the capital and the General would have allowed them to do so, apparently without a valid reason. ¡°They want to attack my house.¡± Basim thought in shock. The bloodiest fantasies formed in his mind, horrible prospects if that plan succeeded. His family, his friends... without the full army there was no escape for them, nor for the rest of the inhabitants who would have found themselves at the mercy of ruthless brigands who would not have been satisfied with just raiding the jewel of the kingdom. Once the frenzy clouded their senses, making them numb to guilt and pity like an exciting drug, they would turn Riakesh''s most precious oasis into a lake of blood. He was crazy! Why did Jabar have to let him invade the kingdom? Basim just couldn''t understand it, had he perhaps gone mad? Had an evil demon possessed him? He couldn''t find an explanation for that unless he had something supernatural about it. <> Sadin asked him in a faint voice. They were both trembling, for the first time they felt small and insignificant in the face of the gravity of that situation. Basim thought about it and only one solution came to mind: << Prince Hazma. He is the only one who can help us. >> << Still with this story? >> <> <> << No, I''m sure that his highness has nothing to do with this plan. I know we''re going to Baharmis, somewhere on the edge of the kingdom, and he''s worried the prince might find out. I think he wants to hide in those parts, even if I don''t know where. I heard him mention a fort or something in passing. >> << Great, it will be even harder to find you this way. I don''t want to do it... but I will listen to your plan. But sorry, what proof do I bring him? >> << The Yasirpipe is behind me. Take it. >> Sadin''s eyes widened and he shuddered. Hesitant, he picked up the magical instrument, still in good condition. Basim told him to remove the bridge^[2] and then put it back so that it didn''t look like it had been touched. He was sorry to have to break the instrument, it was an important object and perhaps he risked never making it play properly again. Sadin asked him if he was sure that that rectangular piece would be enough for the purpose, he insisted he was more than certain. << Go now, before they find you. >> <> << They will do more to many people if we don''t intervene first in some way. Do as I tell you Sadin; run towards Baharmis and warn Hazma of the danger. You''re the only one who can do it. >> Sadin wanted to protest, to try once again to free his friend, but Basim would have none of it and urged him to do the right thing. Reluctantly, he had to abandon it and escape before the barbarians discovered him. With his heart crushed by guilt, he galloped anxiously towards Baharmis, not knowing what the future had in store for him, for Basim, and the entire kingdom unaware of the danger looming over his head. Many thoughts ran through his head, trying to connect them to what he had just discovered to make logical sense of the story. This time it was no longer a question of fleeing or hiding, but of fighting and surviving. Chapter 21: Objectives Baharmis was truly a fascinating city, Sadin thought. It''s a shame that the weather was a bit cloudy, only the sun was able to enhance the splendor of the local architecture and its beautiful gardens, whose branches and ferns made noise with a constant rustling due to the wind that was blowing intensely that day. Despite the gray weather, there were many people on the street carrying out errands, sometimes the spiteful wind blew away the keffiyehs and fezzes of the men who had to run to retrieve them. Sadin pulled his cloak tighter around him, even though it wasn''t cold he was trembling perhaps out of anxiety at being aware of the bad omen that it weighed on the capital. His stomach twisted at the thought that any day it could be destroyed by the barbarians. Who knows where they were now, wondering if they were still hopefully far away or dangerously close already. Throughout the journey he had looked over his shoulder, afraid of seeing himself chased by the barbarian horde. He hoped he was still in time, now his final destination, the royal palace; wasn''t far away. The determination to deliver the message of danger was stronger than the pangs of hunger, he would have eaten a whole ox but he had to speak to Prince Hazma as soon as possible, and perhaps only then would he have allowed himself a sumptuous meal, provided that his highness was willing to listen to him. As expected, obtaining an audience was impossible and he only partially believed the justification that it was due to political commitments, Sadin did not miss the look the courtier gave him as he "kindly" asked him to come back another day, even if it sounded more like having to get out of the way. ¡°They can''t wait even half a day.¡± Sadin thought frustrated. Since following the rules didn''t work, he would do it his way, and that is, he would go and speak directly to His Highness. But that was easier said than done. He studied all the accesses to the palace, looked for blind spots, and calculated the changing of the guard shifts without finding, unfortunately, no point in sneaking in through. He had to admit, he was well protected, it didn''t surprise him that no one had ever tried to break in; this meant that he would be the first to achieve the record of intrusion. ¡°I''m joking, but I really don''t see how I can get in here.¡± He thought disheartened. He continued to walk around the edges of the walls, muttering to himself various ideas about how to get in and then criticizing himself about how stupid they were. Wandering he ended up moving away from the palace, entering the city again until he arrived near one of the canals that branched out inside it; he was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost fell into it and taking an unscheduled bath was the least of his needs. That canal was the only one that flowed near the outskirts of Baharmis the only boats that ferried there were mainly for the transport of goods and the water was slightly dirtier. Too bad there wasn''t even a stream passing inside the castle, Sadin thought; it would have been very easy to enter. ¡°Wait a second, maybe there''s a ride.¡± An idea popped into the boy''s mind¡ a hypothesis more than anything else. He walked along the canal inspecting it cautiously. After a while he found what he was looking for: it was a partially submerged sewer pipe. The water that came out was much dirtier and sometimes even foamy, the smell in that precise spot was acrid, and various rubbish floated around it before being carried away by the current to be collected by street cleaners. Sadin had remembered when, a few years ago, he had heard about this innovative system for disposing of human waste directly from the latrines, through a structure of ducts installed between the walls of the palace and then passing underground to the cesspools or directly into the rivers, without having to empty them by hand with buckets. Once he had stopped to observe the construction site, what had particularly struck him was the size of the tunnels... wide enough to allow an adult person to pass through. That''s how he would sneak into the building, he would go through the sewers. But, as decisive as he was, he was not at all enthusiastic about his idea and he had his good reasons. <> he commented nauseated. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hazma stared at the ceiling while the water still dripped on him, he was so tired he could have fallen asleep in there, on the warm tiles of the bathroom. The work of administering the kingdom was not something new for him, usually, he could carry on for a whole day without a complaint, but the mental tiredness of the last few months caused by a thousand worries and anger had undermined his resistance. There had been days when he had not wanted to get out of bed, sometimes he had lost his appetite and he had even lost his temper for no reason towards innocent servants. The doctors had recommended him to slow down his work pace and rest as much as possible, but it was by working that Hazma managed not to think about the things that irritated him, including the frustration of not having yet recovered the Yasirpipe. He hadn''t given up on the endeavor yet. If it had not been for the needs of the kingdom and especially the imminent arrival of the season of Arnanoth, he would have continued to hunt Basim. If it had just been rain and wind, he wouldn''t have even considered returning home, but a monsoon is not something to be taken lightly, especially that of Arnanoth. A cold shiver gave him the urge to get up and dry himself, he still had a lot of work to do, and lazing around wasn''t allowed. It was at that moment that he heard strange noises coming from the latrines. He investigated it curiously, wondering if what he felt wasn''t due to some filling or to yet another mouse that had gotten under there by mistake. The noises gradually became more and more intense and suspicious, he wondered what the hell was going on down there to cause such a commotion. Suddenly, ¡°something¡± emerged from the toilet hole. It was a vaguely humanoid mass of slimy dirt that climbed out of the hole, mumbling like a pot on the stove, and then stood upright on the ceramic floor, leaving a trail of disgusting juices in its wake. A nauseating odor filled the room, so pungent that the prince had to fight to keep his stomach under control. The creature shook itself, throwing gobs of dirt everywhere around it, and that''s when it noticed Hazma. Two human eyes, barely visible beneath the filth, stared at the terrified prince, who took a step back, skidding across the wet floor as the demon¡ the monster¡ or whatever it was turned towards him. At that moment the prince was so shocked that he could not utter a word, not even to call the guards or ask for help - when he tried, all that came out of his mouth was a pathetic stammer similar to the gasp of a dying man. However, even in this state, Hazma was no coward, and his survival instinct spurred him to act. Quickly rising to his feet, the prince looked around, looking for something he could defend himself with. There were no weapons nearby, only an old broom forgotten near the door, he held it as if it were his sword and prepared to charge a body aimed at the "creature''s" head. << Stop! I''m not an enemy! >> exclaimed the creature, moving back. His voice was human, which made the prince calm down a little, and he stopped his assault - while keeping the broom between himself and his interlocutor. Looking at him better now that the surprise had subsided, Hazma realized that the one in front of him was neither a demon nor a monster, but simply a man covered in filth as if he had taken a bath in the sewers... which was very likely, given the place from which he had crawled out. << W-who the hell are you?! >> asked the prince, who had finally managed to recover his voice. << Someone who just wants to talk and I assure you it is for a valid reason. >> << Is this ¡°reason¡± supposed to justify the fact that you crawled out of my toilet? >> << Yes, as absurd as it is. The thing is, I have to¡ wait, did you say your bathroom? >> The man took a quick look at the room, immediately noticing the sumptuousness that characterized it with the mosaics on the walls, the towels folded in a corner, and the expensive soaps placed next to each other. His gaze lit up when I connected all those details to the person in front of him. <> he exclaimed. << Guys, what luck! I needed to talk to you! >> The man who came out of the toilet tried to approach the prince, opening his arms in a sign of peace, but Hazma stopped him immediately, holding the broom as if it were a pike. Even though he had more or less ascertained that the stranger was human, that didn''t mean he wasn''t a threat. And above all, the idea of ??having that mass of sewage approaching him was so disgusting that the prince refused to even consider it. << Stay Back!>> He threatened him. << Stop where you are! Don''t you dare take another step towards me!>> << Hey¡ calm down! I do not want to hurt you! I have a good reason to be here!>> <> << No! No! Listen to me! I didn''t do it to hurt anyone or steal! I just want you to help me save a friend! He is in grave danger... in fact, we all are! >> << It''s not by talking nonsense that you will avoid prison. At least have the dignity not to lie. >> << But I''m not lying! We are really in danger! General Jabar is in league with barbarians who will attack the city and he has no intention of stopping them and¡! >> << What? What does the general have to do with it now?! Up to this point, you intend to talk nonsense! Guards! Guards! >> Sadin cursed silently. If they sent him to prison, there would be no escape for Basim and Baharmis. << Please, prince, listen to me! It doesn''t cost you anything, and someone who crawled through two sewer miles just to talk to you must have something important to tell you, right? So, I implore you, let me speak before you call the guards! If you do not do so, your life and that of many of your subjects, as well as that of my friend, will be in grave danger! >> Hazma did not want to listen, at that moment Sadin''s pleas fell on deaf ears. Sadin then remembered the piece of the Yasirpipe and Basim''s recommendation to show it to the prince. He took it and showed it to him, telling him that this was the proof that he was telling the truth; that is, that Jabar, in addition to being ready to betray the kingdom; had Fawzi''s magical instrument and was keeping it hidden for evil purposes. Hazma, however, only gave a fleeting glance at that small rectangle, replying that it could have come from any instrument and therefore was worth nothing just like his words. Sadin didn''t give up, he slid the bridge towards Hazma begging him to take a closer look. The prince had no intention of touching anything that had been in contact with that boy, but the curiosity to see what made that useless piece of wood so important prevailed. He picked it up with his fingertips, examining it carefully without apparently finding anything that important... when suddenly he realized that hidden under the bridge there was actually "something". It was a writing; it was so small that it was difficult to notice it immediately and only from a certain angle could it be read. Hazma had to bring it very close to his eyes to be able to read the engraved words that said: ¡°Curiosity is the first sign of intelligence¡±. He read the words in Fawzi''s voice, it was a phrase his Master always used to say. He remembered very well the first time he had heard him say it, the very first day he had been hired as his teacher, Hazma had always been a curious individual since he was a child, and this had not escaped Fawzi who had highlighted it as a positive prerogative. Hearing him say it made him feel special, which is why he had put a lot of effort into his studies, to satisfy himself and make his dear Master proud of him. << Did you know there was a writing? >> Hazma asked Sadin. Sadin looked at him confused, not understanding what he was referring to. He could have taken advantage of it and told him with a lie that he knew about that detail. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. He realized, though; that in his position lying to him could be counterproductive and at that moment he had to demonstrate to the royal scion that he could be trusted. <> << If you touched the Yasirpipe, why didn''t you take it and bring it here directly? >> << If I had done so, I would have put my friend Basim''s life at risk. >> Basim? The potter turned musician? So, had Jabar found him? But why hadn''t he warned him, then? Confused by what Sadin had said he asked: << What do you mean? >> << Jabar has taken him prisoner. He wants him to teach Sand Masters who work for him. I don''t know why, but I''m sure it''s nothing good. As I''m trying to tell you, he''s planning to make a mess of enormous proportions. >> Hazma stared at Sadin for a long time, scrutinizing him with an expression so serious that it made him resemble his father; in that layer of dirt, he finally began to see the person underneath it. << If you''re desperate enough to get out of my bathroom, then no liar with any intelligence would do that, so you''re honest. >> << Thank you! Thank you, Your Highness! Cancel all your commitments because I have a lot of stuff to tell you and we have very little time. >> << Take five minutes to take a bath. >> -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- At the borders of the kingdom, in an isolated area where no road connected directly to the kingdom of Baharmis converged, an ancient fortress stood. First used as a prison and then a military post, it was definitively abandoned for many years without a new use being found, being forgotten over time. Jabar had claimed it as his property, turning it into a sort of secret lair where he organized projects regarding the kingdom and how to direct them behind the back of the royal family. Far from the eyes and ears of the Sultan, the General had obtained a low and intense control over the territory without his knowledge, having learned that it was often the actions carried out in the shadows that were most capable of influencing the opinions of the people and pulling the strings of politics. Sometimes, to revive the glories of its original use, they brought prisoners to be interrogated, mainly enemy spies and inconvenient political rivals. One of his faithful soldiers warned him of the approach of a carriage; checking from one of the still intact turrets Jabar saw a cloud of dust heading towards the entrance door. He chuckled amusedly; he knew who it was. He couldn''t wait to see his face and hear what he had to say, thinking it would be a fun sight. Daysam, aboard the wagon, was yelling at the coachman to hurry up. He wanted to get down as soon as possible and face Jabar, in his hand he still held the letter that he had sent to him, now almost reduced to a shapeless ball and at any moment he would see for himself his authenticity. When he had read the contents, he had immediately thought of a stupid joke on his part, perhaps designed to dilute the dark mood on which he had recently made many comments. He had almost begun to tear up the letter when he stopped to think carefully and told himself that he couldn''t be so foolish as to waste time with such games... and only then did he assimilate the meaning of the words: he had recovered the Yasirpipe and the boy. From the moment he decided to leave and throughout the journey, the doubt persisted in his mind like a thorn stuck in the skin that torments you relentlessly. << Jabar! Jabar! >> shouted the Rector once he got off the wagon. His voice boomed loudly like thunder within the great inner blanket of the fortress, the stone walls vibrated with the loud sounds and could only be noticed by touching them. << My friend, welcome. How did the trip¡? >> << Is what you wrote true?! Did you seriously find it? >> Daysam was so impatient that he didn''t give the General a chance to speak, shaking him by the shoulders as his eyes searched for answers. No doubt trembling with impatience, Jabar thought it would be too cruel to make him wait any longer. He led the way inside the structure, which was full of the most loyal guards, the gloomy rooms often lit only by small torches were organized to be, for example, armory rooms where armaments, including foreign ones, were collected or meeting rooms with maps that reported the movements of allies and spies. Many different things were done there, many of which were not understandable to the Rector. Daysam had been in there a couple of times and had always been surprised by the way Jabar had organized, being able to manage such a place despite all the commitments he already had on his hands and without being discovered was admirable. As they entered the heart of the fortress, the air began to become filled with dust and the sense of confinement became more oppressive, the outside world seemed to become further and further away with each step they took... perfect for isolating everything that was brought into that specific area. The old prison was still intact, even if most of the cells no longer had doors to bar the rooms and inside the few that could be closed the remains of the old "occupants" could be found. From the ceiling the light entered through a shapeless opening perhaps opened after a collapse, the pale beam of light illuminated the center of the hall which at that moment fell perfectly on a small group of Sand Masters intent on debating in front of the Yasirpipe. Daysam pulled them aside abruptly so he could see the infernal contraption with his own eyes. It was exactly as he remembered it: unusual. The amazement, however, was the same as when he saw it for the first time in his school. He should never have doubted that Fawzi was behind the construction of such a strange object. If he were still alive, he would have had no qualms about putting him under pressure to have his secrets revealed and what absurd ideas had inspired him to such a project. He picked it up, and they both almost fell to the ground. It was heavy, yes, but for Daysam, who was weak due to his illness, it was like lifting a boulder. << Watch out! Do you want to break it right now? After all the effort I put in to get it back? >> Jabar scolded him. << Has anyone already tried to play it? >> Daysam asked the Masters present. The group shook their heads, stating that it wasn''t safe to handle something they didn''t know. << Nonsense! It''s like a musical instrument! What must be dangerous about it? >> retorted Daysam. << Listen to your colleagues, it is not safe to handle something you don''t know. >> A voice stopped him. Daysam looked up, realizing that there was someone alive in the cell in front of him. It wasn''t unusual for Jabar to bring people in there to interrogate them or make them disappear, but the "guest" in question was important to his interests too. <> the Rector said surprised, approaching the cell. <> Even though so much time had passed, Daysam had not forgotten about Basim. The boy sat on the ground just behind the rusty bars, his hands and feet bound to prevent him from moving. It was him without a doubt, even if he looked more mature than the first time they met in his school as if he had lost that naive childishness and mediocrity on which he had judged him. Daysam wasn''t intimidated by just any look, but the way the boy was staring at him made him nervous as if there was something behind those eyes that questioned his authority. And this made him angry. << Oh? Do you already know each other? Well, then I don''t need to introduce you. >> Jabar said ironically. << Although, my dear friend, you should know that now the boy is no longer a potter, but your colleague. >> << What idiocy! >> Daysam exclaimed indignantly. << You don''t become a Master just because you have an instrument! >> << But he learned to play it, and from the rumors I heard he also became very good at it. >> The Rector widened his eyes, his astonished expression was a small trophy of triumph for Basim who, unseen, smiled smugly. He was not aware of the boy''s evolutionary path as a Master, he had purposely ignored all that important information and only the news of his capture had interested him; for this reason, Jabar was very annoyed, given that he had done his utmost to provide him with all the possible news day after day. << It''s absurd, what does a potter know about how to play a Yasirpipe? >> << That''s not a Yasirpipe like the others. >> said Basim, interjecting into the conversation. The two men looked at him, curious to hear what he had to say. He went on to say that Fawzi had created a completely new thing that had nothing to do with the old tools; it represented the future of tradition. Daysam protested that it was not possible that a musical instrument could not work so well in commanding the Sand, stating that music was unsuitable with its changing vibrations, and he could say this because he had tried with a thousand or more experiments. Basim reproached him by saying that he was wrong to devalue it only for its appearance as a musical instrument and remarked that, if he had failed to emulate the project, he probably had not found that vision which had instead allowed his colleague to succeed in the so-called mission impossible. << Fawzi just had luck. >> The Rector interrupted him, vibrant with anger. << This object has no future as you say. It''s too¡ different and complicated. >> << Then why were you so desperate to find him? From the way you cared, it seems to me that you could have a chance for success. And if that''s the case, I assure you it will be the first step that will make you old-school people useless. >> Daysam kicked the bars of the cell, the echo of the iron briefly echoing inside the structure mixing with the man''s frustrated growl. If that hadn''t been separating them, he probably would have kicked him directly in the face. << Why is he still alive? >> he asked the General at a certain point. << We finally have what we need, we don''t need him. >> <> << How? >> <> << Are you saying I can''t do it? >> << Daysam, it''s the best solution. Swallow your pride for once and compromise, okay? >> << Hey, I''m still here. And I have no intention of teaching you anything at all. >> <> Jabar sighed irritably, running both hands over his face. He didn''t want to waste time with useless bickering and took matters into his own hands. He made it clear to Daysam that he would learn from Basim how to use the Yasirpipe and would do so without complaint... and Basim, whether he wanted it or not, would share his knowledge with the other Masters. The first grumbled a half-hearted "okay", while Basim continued to refuse his collaboration. Jabar, at that point, knew he had to use a different approach with him. He sent all the Masters away and they were left alone. They didn''t speak, amid the silence you could hear the wind blowing in low drafts through the thin cracks hidden in the walls and the creaking of the stone from the slow erosion of the structure. The creaking of the hinges of the cell being opened made much more noise than when Daysam had kicked it, Jabar stepped in and knelt before Basim, staring him straight in the eyes. He had a serious but not evil expression, he was more impatient than anything else. Without ever raising his voice and using a calm reproachful tone, he told him that his reticence to help them was not good for their plans and that for his sake he had better start cooperating. Basim replied that his lips were sealed, Jabar shook his head in disappointment. <> With a quick gesture, he grabbed Basim by the hair and drew his dagger near his ear. The boy''s cry remained imprisoned, like himself, within those abandoned walls. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hazma compared the maps and official documents several times with the information given to him by Sadin and every time everything matched: the border garrisons south of Baharmis were discovered. They were not exactly undefended, but as they were mainly made up of soldiers who were not yet well trained, the security level was very low compared to the other outposts that protected the territory, thus leaving the area without a solid defense. A good army would be able to prevent access to the enemy by hindering it, but inexperienced soldiers who most likely did not even know how to exploit the territory to their advantage and without even having a good guide, would have collapsed immediately. Even the position itself represented a disadvantage in the event of an attack, at least in that condition. The militia was located on top of a small mountain range which, arranged like a shield, faced external invasions... but if it was overcome, stopping the enemy horde would have become almost impossible and it would have flowed downstream like a river in flood. This prospect was terrifying. How had such an important detail remained hidden? Not so much for him but for the other captains under the General''s command. Someone should have noticed that mistake. As a prince, he knew that Baharmis had many enemies who would dance for joy to see it capitulate, but it had never occurred to him that one day they might be in danger of being invaded. Now that the possibility was becoming dangerously real, he felt incredibly stupid for not having noticed. << And despite everything you can''t arrest the General?! >> exclaimed Sadin. << There is no actual evidence to show that it was organized by Jabar. >> The prince replied to him. <> << The outposts carry out a periodic changing of the guard and it would not be the first time that groups of novices have formed. I could point out this problem, but it still wouldn''t be enough to make a charge of treason. >> Even though Sadin had proven himself to be sincere, Hazma tried to find an excuse to justify the General. He couldn''t believe that he had sold himself to the enemy... and for what reason? Money? Candies? Vengeance? << So what do we do? >> <> <> Hazma double-checked the open paper in front of him. On the map, every detail of the territory had been faithfully reproduced with a very fine line of ink and with vivid colors that made it almost a sort of work of art, but he had no idea where to place his eyes as far as finding Basim was concerned. He had told Sadin that he was somewhere close to the kingdom but exactly how ¡°close¡±? If it was a question of keeping it hidden, without staying too far from the city, it had to be a specific place that perhaps not many people knew about. He also mentioned a fort, right? Yet he didn''t know that there was anything like this outside the city. Hazma tried to remember what the drawing looked like in reality, wondering if there was such a place. << It will take some time before I get an idea. The directions you gave me are very vague. >> << Time? That''s exactly what we don''t have! We must find him now before they kill him! >> << Calm down, I''m sure they won''t do anything to him. >> <> << Where did all the boldness with which you snuck in here go? You don''t seem like someone who loses his temper easily. >> << Oh, well! You too would be on edge if you knew that you could be invaded by a horde of barbarians at any moment or that your friend had been kidnapped and might be undergoing the worst tortures. Let''s say I''ve reached my endurance limit! >> Hazma gently grabbed Sadin by the shoulders, encouraging him to calm down: <> <> <> Sadin laughed at that strange compliment, it was the first time anyone had called him a hero. << Instead of a medal, can I get permission to kick the General''s ass as a reward? >> << We''ll talk about it again. But aren''t you nomads supposed to be peaceful people? >> <> Chapter 22: Project of revolution The rain had stopped, and the sky showed some patches of blue, but the mass of inky black clouds looming on the horizon suggested that this respite was only temporary. The storms that had raged up until that moment were just a taste of the approaching monsoon season of Arnanoth. The inhabitants, aware of this, taking advantage of the temporary improvement in the weather, organized themselves to face the impending typhoon, reinforcing the banks of the rivers and the locks, repairing any damage to the roofs, and putting the animals in the stables. The children, forced to stay indoors, spent their time playing games, telling stories around the fire and taking long naps under the watchful eyes of the elderly who, now unable to do heavy work, remained at home and prayed, invoking the gods'' protection. That year, however, the monsoon was not the only danger looming over the people of Riakesh. The barbarian army advanced undisturbed rapidly, raiding and killing, leaving behind only ruins and corpses. But even during the raids those ruthless warriors never stopped more than necessary, only taking short breaks at night to sleep, aware that it was essential to reach Baharmis as soon as possible. Those barbarians from the South were used to adversity, not even the storms were able to stop them, they continued to advance despite the rain and the mud, aided by light equipment, consisting of leather armor, spears and small shields, which allowed them to move without too much effort. Following the path that had been indicated to them, they continued towards Baharmis without being intercepted by the patrols of the Kingdom and, only in sight of the city, they would be spotted, but at that point, any alarm would have come too late. Another week and they would have reached their destination. They could only hope that in the meantime Jabar would keep his promise. Even if he had promised that there would be no impediments, it was difficult to trust completely; after all, the general, although a warrior worthy of respect, had already betrayed and could betray again. However, for the barbarians, this was an unrepeatable opportunity because for them it was not a "simple" raid, but an opportunity that would bring to their kingdom not only wealth but also honor and glory. Their land was not green and rich in water like the Iazaresh, it was a concentration of mountains and granite valleys where numerous tribes and clans fought bitterly among themselves for the control of the few available resources. Despite their division and the absence of large cities, the people of the South had their own culture, traditions and ancient legends. Life was hard in those areas, and the fact that the people of the Iazaresh lived in opulence and despised them as rough people had aroused a strong resentment in them. They were proud people of brave warriors, and to be treated like this was something they could not bear, but they were forced to do so, because even the bravest of their fighters were completely helpless before the power of the Sand. The barbarians hated the Sand, considering it a dishonorable weapon and those who wielded it as cowardly sorcerers, but at the same time they craved its power. For centuries now this grudge had been simmering in their hearts, and they eagerly awaited the day when they could take revenge and that day, perhaps, had finally come. Just before sunrise, the leader of the horde gave the order to continue the march; the men obeyed promptly. As they prepared to move on, the leader glanced at the map and noticed that two small villages were marked on the route, only a half-day''s march apart, in a perfect spot to take another break. ¡ì¡ì¡ì¡ì¡ì¡ì Daysam closed the book on the theory of sound that he had been leafing through until that moment and put it aside. His head was bent over the volume, but his gaze was fixed on the void, his mind at that moment was lost in a vortex of a thousand thoughts that did not allow him to concentrate. The moments in which he managed to do so were brief and unproductive, every time he tried to get back to work he ended up distracted immediately after a few seconds. He looked at the Yasirpipe, placed in front of the desk on a sort of pedestal. ¡°What the hell are you?¡± asked him on more than one occasion. He was almost convinced that it was a living being and not a wooden construction. He still had not found the words to explain this impression of his, it was just a feeling ... an annoying feeling, among other things. It seemed that the instrument was deliberately hiding its secrets, otherwise, how could one explain that a brilliant mind like his had not yet managed to reveal them? When he and other Masters began to examine it, they were convinced that it would be easy to understand how it was structured and how it worked. At first glance, it seemed like a classic Yasirpipe, but it did not take long to understand that its functioning was much more elaborate; it did not depend only on the harmonization of the strings, but also on the type of material used for its construction, the size of the model and a thousand other details that emerged with each new examination and that still eluded their understanding. In short, that object was a real puzzle. << How the hell did Fawzi manage to build that? >> Daysam said out loud, addressing the object as if it were a real person. The first time he had done it, he had felt quite stupid while now he didn''t care anymore. << So far none of my fellow Masters have tried to pluck these strings. They say they are afraid of ruining you but, perhaps, they are afraid that something bad might happen to them. >> he told it. But he hadn''t tried it yet either. Then, tired of the doubt that tormented him, he decided to try, taking advantage of the fact that he was alone. <> he said arrogantly. His presumption was almost fatal to him; as soon as he played the first and only wrong note, a small pile of red Sand transformed into many tiny, sharp arrows that shot at him. Daysam was old and sick, and his physical and cognitive faculties were not at their best, but fortunately, at that moment, they were sharp enough to allow him to dodge the danger by throwing himself to the ground. One more second of delay and he would have been pierced. Daysam was shocked, in all his years of experience and use of the Sand he had never had it turn against him. He had always considered it a faithful ally. He raised his eyes, involuntarily holding his breath, and saw the marks left on the wall by those small darts. Thinking that they could have killed him if they had hit him, made him tremble. Was this, then, the secret potential of the Sand with the help of music? He had no wounds on him, but the experience had somehow wounded him... and all because of a single musical note. He didn''t tell anyone what had happened, he was too proud of himself, but the accident had upset him, and he could barely hide it.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. From that day on, he was never the same. His mind, already in turmoil from fear and, perhaps, also due to the illness and the medicines, began to play strange tricks on him. There were moments when he thought he saw Fawzi in place of the instrument. Not as a shadow, a mirage or something fleeting that could be seen out of the corner of the eye, but him in person. Every time this happened, his heart began to beat hard in his chest, making him hurt. He knew that his colleague was dead, yet he really thought he saw him there, always staring at him with the same angry look, and this put his nerves to the test. Then, like a child, he closed his eyes. ¡°He¡¯s dead. He¡¯s dead. He¡¯s not really there. He¡¯s dead.¡± It was repeated. << Daysam? Is everything okay? >> asked the General, immediately noticing that something was wrong, but since he pretended to be indifferent, he understood that it was something the Master did not want to talk about and did not insist. <> Daysam asked, without answering his question. <> Jabar announced. << Oh, perfect. >> Daysam replied with cold enthusiasm. <> << I''ll tell you, I respect him for that. I like it when I meet young men with such determination. >> Jabar said, wiping blood from his hands. Daysam noticed him and said: << Did you at least have the good sense to leave him in a position to be able to talk? >> << One night''s rest and tomorrow it will all be yours. >> Suddenly a thunder struck the air, making everything vibrate like a slight earthquake. The two men looked out the window in silence. The heavy rain began to fall again in a crescendo that was becoming more and more intense, the drops pattering on the stone walls with a constant hypnotic rhythm. There was something different in the air than on other days¡ as if this time the bad weather had brought them that ¡°something¡± they had been waiting for so long. << You feel it too, right? >> << Yes, the monsoon has arrived. >> Another thunder broke from the sky as if to dramatically emphasize the men''s words. They exchanged a look of serious understanding and went to the large table where a large map of the kingdom was spread out, hanging out from the edges. The drawing on it was very simple, almost a draft, on which were written the names of villages and cities and notes on the territory. They placed colored wooden pieces on it, some near the southern border where a very large city called Al Ghilaga was indicated, others instead to the north, very far from Baharmis in a place called Dirusan, less important than the first. They began to review the details of their project. To achieve their goals, by stirring the collective conscience of the population and, above all, the support of the royal family, they had to prove their theory of poor defense. A small raid would not have alarmed the authorities and especially the Sultan; they knew well that they could count on both the Masters and the General''s ability, but what would have happened if both had made themselves unavailable and if there had been a real invasion? The answer was simple: chaos. General Jabar, as skilled a strategist as he was, could not continue to defend the kingdom with a limited number of good soldiers, and even though this gap was filled by the Masters who, with the Sand, formed an insurmountable defensive shield; often, however, they also found themselves with a limited amount of Sand and, therefore; without it, they could not exercise their magic. Sooner or later, the neighboring kingdoms, envious of the riches of Baharmis, would notice these weak points and exploit them to their advantage. The project was precisely to demonstrate the existence of these defensive flaws. Jabar wanted more to be spent on the army so that it would be able to attack and defend without having to resort to the Sand which, although powerful, was not always sufficient and Daysam was more than aware of this. The supplies were increasingly limited and as much as they could force Abu Wasaa''s collectors to plunder the silent desert of its treasure, the quantity had never been enough. Another point they wanted to focus on was to try to be the first to conquer the neighboring kingdoms so they could impose their will and prevent any future rebellions. That was the right time to implement this plan and it was the only one because the sultan, convinced that Baharmis was impenetrable and invincible, had no intention of financing new military expenses for the defense and expansion of the kingdom. It was absurd to think that his Highness Hussam, the "great leader" of Riakesh, did not understand how important this strategic aspect was. To work, the plan had to follow a very specific pattern. During the monsoon season, the kingdom became more vulnerable, so Jabar had arranged for a strong attack at that time of the year, certain that it would be successful. This surprise attack would be a shock to the population and he, with the support of some politicians with whom he had secretly agreed, would start a strong political campaign to force the Sultan to accept his conditions. Hussam could not ignore them and if that happened, it would give the nobles a reason to stage a coup to overthrow him. In this case Jabar would not hesitate to ask for his son to take his place, considering him a better successor, but also young enough to be influenced by his advice. In any case, Jabar had to stop the invasion without the damage becoming so severe as to be irreparable. He had promised the barbarians to let them escape after the incursion, but from the beginning, he had never intended to keep such a ridiculous promise. He would annihilate them all and look like a hero. << Have all the Sand supplies been secured yet? >> << Yes, down to the last grain. No Master of Baharmis will be able to use it during the attack and the few who might have it¡ well, you already know that the rain makes it ineffective. >> << Good. I have just received word from my men that the planned attack on the opposite side of the kingdom is imminent. I will leave tonight with the Sultan and if my calculations are correct, on the sixth day of our absence the army in the South should cross the border. >> Jabar spoke excitedly about what they were about to do, seeing an idea he had only imagined coming to fruition sent him into ecstasy. << You''re taking a big risk with this plan, Jabar. >> Daysam said. << If you make a mistake, your reputation will be at stake, as well as your head. >> << Nothing will happen to me. Everything will go as planned, I feel it. To make peace reign in our land, it is a risk I am willing to take. >> Daysam knew Jabar''s determination and knew he was truly willing to risk everything to get what he wanted. He had no idea if this behavior was the result of his military training or if it was instead the result of a particular event in his past, regardless, he knew he would not give up until his project was completed. Having finalized the last details, Jabar set off to return to Baharmis, galloping in the pouring rain, heedless of the thunder and lightning that followed one another repeatedly above him, and of the cold wind that seemed to want to slow down his ride. Daysam, who remained in command of the fortress, followed him with his gaze until he could no longer distinguish him. He wrapped his cloak tightly around himself, he had begun to tremble and his teeth chattered, his sick body felt the cold more intensely and this made him suffer a lot. He would have preferred to return to Al Haimat rather than stay there, the stone castle of the Masters of the Sand was certainly more welcoming than that old prison, as well as warmer, and perhaps, even safer, not from people but from thoughts. Now that he was alone again, he felt dark presences hovering around him, ready to insinuate themselves into his mind, but he had had enough of thinking, now he needed a hot tea and a good sleep and possibly, a few hours of serenity. Cautiously he turned to the Yasirpipe. The instrument was there, in its place. << I''ve had enough of you for today. >> she told it, locking it in a small, narrow cell. The double lock gave him a certain security, making him think that being locked in there could do him no harm. He left the room starting to think about the questions he would ask young Basim the next day, and between one thought and another, he remembered the book he was reading and turned to go back and get it. It was at that moment that his heart threatened to stop forever. Fawzi was in front of him, staring at him with glassy, ??cadaverous eyes, with white skin that no longer had blood flowing, worn clothes on which worms and spiders were crawling. Daysam fell to his knees screaming for him to go away and leave him alone. He was crying in terror while covering his face so as not to look at him. There was no one there with him, it was only his sick mind that was producing that image that tormented him. At that same moment, he seemed to hear the Yasirpipe playing a kind of melancholic melody. Maybe it was just the hiss of a strong current of air¡. Chapter 23: Lets Save Him! A loud knocking on Hazma''s bedroom door suddenly woke Sadin, who rolled off the sofa where he had fallen asleep. The boy barely managed to mumble a "what?" as he tried to emerge from the torpor of sleep, staring with his eyes still half closed at the prince who in the meantime gave permission to enter. A guard entered and in a solemn tone said: << News has just arrived of an enemy attack on the distant northern borders of the kingdom. The Sultan and the General have already left with part of the royal army to stop the advance. Your Majesty, you are in command here. We await orders. >> Those words completely woke Sadin who, without realizing it, had begun to shake like a leaf and his heart, which seemed to have stopped for a moment, had started beating fast again. Unlike him, the prince, maintaining absolute calm, gave a series of precise and detailed orders to secure the country. The guard took note of everything and quickly left. Left alone, Hazma turned to Sadin and said: << Didn''t you say the barbarians were coming from the South? >> The boy nodded; the events of those days had particularly tested him. He had conspicuous dark circles under his eyes and a neglected appearance despite all the attentions the prince had given him by the servants. << This is the worst thing that could happen. Another invasion is the last thing we need. The city is currently bare of soldiers and if even those who attacked us from the North, were to arrive here, we would be in a real mess. >> << By the Gods! We didn''t need this! >> << Yeah, that was not needed. >> thought Hazma. Of course, it was an unfortunate coincidence that two enemy forces decided to attack them on two different fronts at the same time. One of them had certainly made an agreement with Jabar¡ but the other? Was it pure chance? ¡°No, Jabar couldn¡¯t have gone that far. What man would plan something like that?¡±he thought, trying to explain everything that was happening. He prayed to the Gods that his father would be able to stop the invaders and that at the same time the new, stronger and more organized garrison would arrive in time to replace the soldiers at the southern border before the arrival of the other barbarian faction. << Sadin, I think I figured out where your friend is. >> Hazma began, placing his index finger on an empty spot on the map, far from the city and the main communication routes. He explained to him that in that area there was an old, abandoned fort that almost no one knew about; he had remembered seeing it only once as a boy, during a horseback ride with his father and, precisely because it was in the middle of nowhere, like a sort of inexplicable mirage, it had remained imprinted in his memory. Even though he had not been in those parts over the years, now and then, the thought of that building resurfaced from the well of memories, and now, that memory could contribute to giving a turning point to Basim''s search. << Are you sure this is the right place? >> Sadin asked him, perplexed. Hazma still found it strange how the boy addressed him directly, without using the usual royal terms he was used to. << Absolutely. >> he replied determinedly. << It''s the only place that fits the description he gave you. I have no doubt that it is there. >> << So what are we waiting for? Let''s leave immediately! >> << Hold back the rush, we must first prepare ourselves properly. We cannot leave like this, without a plan. >> << Your Highness, with all due respect, we are not going for a walk, but to save a person. The more time we waste, the less likely we are to find him alive. >> << This is precisely why we need to organize ourselves first. Think about it: if the fortress is really Jabar''s secret hideout, he will surely have adopted a security system to keep curious people and intruders away. >> << Like? >> << Well, if he were to use it for illegal purposes, as well as to hide people, it is likely that at the first sign of danger, those who work for him will certainly make sure to erase any evidence that could implicate him. >> << And they could even kill Basim? >> << I''m afraid so. >> This answer disturbed Sadin even more and he asked: << What can we do to save my friend as soon as possible? >> << Had you already infiltrated other places before making the attempt in my house? >> Sadin, hesitant, replied: << Yes¡ a couple of times. Why? >> Hazma handed him an old, yellowed plan of a building, the ink very faded making it difficult to tell if some spaces represented entrances or if it was just the lack of color. Sadin didn''t understand what that piece of paper represented until the prince explained it to him. ¡ì¡ì¡ì¡ì¡ì¡ì << Slowly. >> said Basim, scolding the Maestro who was trying to play Fawzi''s Yasirpipe. The man, hesitant, tried to repeat the operation more delicately, but he was so tense that his fingers had become stiff and he ended up plucking three strings at once instead of one. The mistake cost him an immediate reaction from the Sand, which reacted by forming a compact block that hit him in the face, breaking his nose. <> Basim commented indifferently. Some colleagues took him away to treat him as he moaned in pain, covering his bloody face. << Whose turn is it now? >> asked the boy, turning to the few remaining. No one dared to approach the instrument; they were terrified of what had happened and feared what might happen to them if they played it badly. ¡°Playing¡± the classic Yasirpipe, even if a mistake was made, the Sand never reacted so violently towards the player, but in this case, after four consecutive rather serious incidents, the common thought was that the instrument was possessed by the devil and that no one else but the boy could control it. Between that and Daysam¡¯s evil look, the Masters reluctantly chose the first solution. Three days had passed since they had begun to study the Yasirpipe in depth and thanks to Basim''s forced collaboration, some points were starting to become clearer. Learning to play aside, the real treasure, amid that work, were the original construction plans for the instrument, signed by Fawzi himself. Basim had kept with him the notes and research that had led the brilliant Master to give life to his project; they were annotations of technical details mixed with personal reflections, observations on the cultures from which he had drawn inspiration, and the experiments carried out over time before managing to arrive at the final product. In those writings, you could perceive the commitment and passion that the man had put into his work; in the parts where he let himself go to his own thoughts, feelings of frustration or joy for what he was doing transpired, interrupted at times by doubt or the fear of making mistakes. ¡°So even you were afraid of making mistakes.¡± Daysam thought, reading those private thoughts, pleased that his old colleague had also felt that sensation of frustration before dying. << Don''t you want to try playing it? >> Basim asked him at one point, distracting him from his reading. The Rector tried to appear uninterested in the proposal, still mindful of the accident that had nearly killed him. << For now, I am more interested in the technical part; rebuilding it will be challenging. And anyway, when you address me, call me ¡°Master¡±. >> Basim had no intention of calling him by that title, for him, only Fawzi was worthy of it, he would rather let Jabar torture him again that label Daysam with that. Speaking of which, he wasn''t in a good shape. His right earlobe was completely missing, he had lost a tooth from his lower jaw, his left eye was swollen so much that he could barely open it, and he had burns from hot metal on his chest and back. Jabar had been very heavy in forcing him to cooperate; however, every torture he had inflicted had not been intended to kill him, but only to make him suffer terribly until, as expected, he had given in. He had only spared his hands simply because they were necessary to demonstrate how to play the Yasirpipe, otherwise, he would probably have chopped off his fingers too, if necessary. Even though he had to give up and cooperate, Basim hoped in his heart that someone would come to save him. He knew that once the Masters learned how to use the tool, they would immediately eliminate him. He tried to gain time by teaching what he knew very slowly; the Sand proved to be a precious ally because thanks to its excessive reaction to mistakes and even to a small lie told about the possibility that it could even explode, it increased the fear to the point of forcing them to be extremely cautious. << Is that okay? >> one of the Masters asked him, to see if he was playing the right way. << Yes, that''s fine¡ if you want to give the end of your colleague. >> Basim replied. The man threw the instrument away in fear and Daysam punished him by kicking him in the back. << If you break it I will send you straight to the deepest recesses of the Sohmos underworld! Get lost now! Come back when you are less incompetent! >> The little group ran away, scattering like a pack of hares. << Are you having fun? >> he asked Basim, hearing him chuckle behind him << A lot. >> the young man replied, smirking. << Be thankful that Jabar isn''t here; I would have already asked him to punish you. >> << Why? I am doing what I was asked to do, it is you people who are not capable of learning. >> << It''s your fault that you don''t know or don''t want to give the right explanations! >> << No, it''s you who persist in not understanding. Playing a stringed instrument is not like making metal plates vibrate. Your fingers must be much more flexible in their movements and yours are as rigid as wooden planks. >> << Masters are not musicians. >> << It means that you will become one, otherwise you will never be able to use Master Fawzi''s Yasirpipe. >> Daysam, grumbling to himself, returned to Fawzi''s plans. He examined them thoroughly, trying to find some important detail that he might have missed in the description of the construction phases of the instrument. Many of the materials used were strange, and the assembly procedures were not those used in the local tradition. He thought that if he tried to replace many of those elements, he could still obtain a satisfactory result. Up until that point, he had worked blindly by trial and error, but now that he had a concrete starting point, he felt much more confident, even if he had the annoying feeling that something was still missing. << Are you really trying to teach us how to play this instrument? >> he asked Basim. << That''s what I''m doing. >> the boy replied dryly. << But there''s still something you''re not hiding from us, right? >> Daysam fixed him with a penetrating gaze, it seemed as if he was trying to read his mind. << To control the Sand, it is not enough to just learn to play¡ >> Basim began to say, reluctantly. << There is an important factor to be considered: emotions and the way to infuse them into the music during the performance. It is also thanks to them, as well as knowing how to play the notes, that one can give a new kind of strength that far exceeds the current one of the magical element. >> << How can something like this affect an object or even the Sand? >> << This is how it works; it is not easy to explain it in words. Only when you learn to play the music of the Yasirpipe you will be able to understand it. >> << This is all ridiculous. >> << Emotions are not ridiculous, especially in this case. >> Basim scolded him with unusual firmness. << They profoundly influence our character and our judgment, and the same action is played in music. Especially in this one. I have experienced it myself and can say with absolute certainty that it is a valid connection. >> << Connection? Everything you say is nonsense. The Sand never needed this¡ this¡ nonsense! >> << You''re wrong. You really need it. >> Daysam growled in frustration, he hated being questioned. He grabbed his Yasirpipe, which he usually handled carefully, taking care not to damage it, but now he almost dropped it several times. He began to vibrate the metal plates vigorously, the vibration could be clearly felt even through the floor, even the small pebbles on the ground shook with each note; the Sand inside each jar that had been brought at his request came out rumbling and surrounded him forming a whirlpool. In the din of the combined noises of the Yasirpipe and the Sand, Daysam shouted at Basim asking him what he thought of his strength. He told him that it came from years of study and exercises performed day and night, a result achieved with great effort and application that had nothing to do with emotions... on the contrary; he asserted that whoever let themselves be carried away by them, would end up abandoning their career. << The Sand needs individuals with a strong and cold personality just like it! >> the man also stated with conviction. << If you are so sure of this, why don''t you prove it to me by trying to play Fawzi''s instrument? >> Basim challenged him, during his "show of strength". A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Daysam inadvertently interrupted the execution and the Sand, falling to the ground, formed a perfect vortex around him as if it wanted to imprison him. He squeezed the balls with which he had hit the plates intensely, giving the impression that his old fingers could break at any moment, while he thought about what justification he could use to not have to play. At that moment, he could not think of anything; his mind had emptied itself into a blank sheet. He tried to stammer something, but his lips were sealed as if wax had been poured over them. << Come on. Take it. >> Basim urged him. The boy was not stupid, he understood that Daysam was afraid of the instrument. He could have mocked him and gained a lot of satisfaction in that moment of weakness, but he realized that encouraging him to demonstrate something he didn''t know how to do was worth more than a thousand sneers. His proposals fell on deaf ears and the Rector, telling him to go to hell, decided to leave. As soon as he was alone again in that large and silent prison, Basim breathed a sigh of relief as if a great weight had been lifted, then suddenly he was shaken from head to toe by shivers that made the pains that had tormented him for days worse. Pretending to be strong was difficult, but at that moment, it was important to stay alive and be able to stand up to those who held him prisoner. He knew he was important at least as long as they needed him, and, for this reason, he tried to buy time. But more than anything else, he hoped that at least Sadin had managed to raise the alarm about the barbarians and that the invasion could be stopped. ¡°Almighty gods, I pray you, save my house and my people. Take my life as a pledge, if it can save the lives of my people.¡± Basim prayed, hoping the deities were listening. ¡ì¡ì¡ì¡ì¡ì¡ì The sky had become so black that it seemed to have disappeared because of a curse, only the lightning, with its glare, revealed the distorted shapes of the clouds from which the rain was pouring down. Sadin liked the rain; he found the sound of the drops falling to the ground or on the fabric of a tent relaxing, but that day, instead of considering it pleasant company, it annoyed him. He had the impression that it, as if on purpose, wanted to hinder him as he rode at breakneck speed across the Baharmis plain, but his determination was strong, he felt he could accomplish any feat, not even a barbarian horde could stop him and with the Prince galloping at his side, together with his bodyguards, he had the feeling he could save Basim. He jumped in emotion when Hazma gave the order to stop, announcing that they were almost there. In the darkness it was difficult to see the fortress, not even with the light of the lightning could it be seen, but Hazma assured them that they were close enough to begin implementing their plan. << I don''t know if they''ve noticed the light of our torches yet. Sadin, from now on you have to continue alone; in the meantime, I''ll wait for a while and then, I''ll head to the fort asking for shelter from the storm and if they ask me why I''m in the area, I''ll say that we''re doing an inspection tour of the territory. In the meantime, you go in and look for Basim; Are you sure you can do it alone? >> << If I entered the royal palace without being discovered, this will be a piece of cake. >> He didn¡¯t need to be told what to do again, he remembered everything very well: he would sneak into the prison, start looking for Basim, and then wait for Hazma to come and get him out. Going alone was risky, but it would certainly give him the advantage of being able to intervene quickly if anyone tried to make Basim disappear. They weren¡¯t sure what the reaction would be to seeing the Prince, so it was important to be prepared. << You must be very careful; if there are guards inside, they will surely be good fighters. Jabar always chooses the best men when he organizes something. >> << And I''ll show them that I''m even better than them. >> Hazma was once again amazed by the boy''s determination, he wasn''t sure he had ever met someone so young with such spirit. << Sadin, one more thing. >> said the Prince, handing him some small black spheres. << If you find yourself in great difficulty, use them, they will be of great help to you. They are a novelty brought from the East that not even the General knows about. They have fire and thunder inside; you just have to light this thread that comes out of the hole and throw them towards the enemy. >> Sadin took them, then did not wait for them to wish him good luck; he immediately broke away from the group and continued alone towards the prison. When Hazma arrived at the fort gate, he shouted: << Open up, I''m Prince Hazma! >> << Your Highness! What are you doing out here in this weather? >> asked the guard, when he saw Hazma cross the door and open it to let him in. << We''re doing reconnaissance in the area. >> he lied. << We were about to go back, but the storm caught us by surprise. I remembered this place and we headed here, looking for shelter. >> It wasn''t true, but they wouldn''t have dared to doubt his word. Feigning a bit of sickness and tiredness, he managed to force Jabar''s men to take care of him and his escort. He noticed some secret confabulation, probably to decide how to behave and, possibly, prevent him from discovering what was hidden in that place. Hazma tried to gather information without appearing too curious, especially to understand how many guards were manning the fort in case it was necessary to fight at the moment in which Sadin, hoping that he would not be discovered before, would give the signal to intervene. He was nervous, he felt betrayed by Jabar, everything was proving that the conspiracy was real. He was confused and disappointed, there was always that ¡°why?¡± that repeated itself endlessly in his head and to which he wanted to hear the answer directly from the General''s mouth. It was the day he met Sadin that he had that fixed thought, and if the General had not died first, he would have forced him to tell him the truth. << Your Highness, can we arrange an escort to take you back to the palace? >> asked a guard, introducing himself as the head of the garrison. He addressed him kindly, but his intentions to send him away were obvious. Hazma had no intention of leaving any time soon. << No, with this storm, it is too dangerous to move. We will wait until the weather conditions improve. >> Meanwhile, Sadin was making his way into enemy territory. He had memorized the building''s plan, infiltrating that old place would surely be very easy. The only thing that worried him was the state in which he would find his friend. Even if Hazma had told him that they would not hurt him, considering his ability to play the Yasirpipe, it was still a guess and he only trusted certainties. The darkness helped him get closer without being seen by the guards on the lookout, and the sound of rain and thunder covered the sound of the stone rolling down as he opened a path at the base of the west side where, according to the map, there should be an old abandoned mess hall. Sadin was only half lucky: the place was abandoned, but it wasn''t a messy hall, but a latrine. ¡°Again? What is this, a persecution!¡± he thought, annoyed. He had entered; now he had to face the hardest part: finding Basim. The Prince''s instructions on security were correct; the fortress was not manned by the usual guards he had always managed to escape from, but by individuals who looked much more dangerous; there was something sinister about their appearance and his instinct told him to be extremely cautious. Reaching the cell area was more difficult than expected; there were few corners to hide in and a single misstep, even the slightest noise, would have alerted those guard dogs. It was very cold in there, but Sadin was sweating profusely, the tension was great, his hands were shaking, and his breathing was labored. Suddenly he heard music. Even though it was faint, he only had to listen to the notes carefully to recognize it. ¡°The Yasirpipe! Basim!¡± he exclaimed mentally. His friend was close by, he was just a stone''s throw away. ¡°Keep your enthusiasm, old man! Don¡¯t do anything stupid now. You have to find a way to reach him without being seen.¡± He thought as he looked around. << Hey, be quiet here. Prince Hazma is at the entrance. >> exclaimed the guard who alerted the Masters. << You must remain silent and avoid any noise until he goes away. These are the orders. >> The Masters exchanged alarmed glances. For Basim, however, that unexpected announcement ignited in him the hope of salvation, so much so that he began to ask for help, screaming at the top of his lungs. The Masters tried to silence him, but he continued to scream. A guard then entered the cell and punched him in the face so hard that he lost his balance. His vision blurred, while he was on the ground, the soldier prevented him from getting up by pressing with his foot on his throat. << You others go and hide, I''ll stay here and watch over him. >> The Masters hastily departed, leaving behind anything that might slow their escape, even the Yasirpipe. Ah, if only he had been able to catch it! It was there, just outside the cell, right in front of Basim. If he had been closer so he could have grabbed it and play it, he would surely have been able to free himself and escape from that horrible place. He tried to fight back, but at each attempt, the guard pressed his throat, suffocating him. He felt like he was going to faint when suddenly the pressure was relieved and, following a thud, the man collapsed to the ground next to him. << Damn, this one was really thick head. >> said a familiar voice. Basim raised his head, his eyes taking a few moments to make out the person who was shaking him to life. << Sadin? >> he managed to mutter. As he spoke his name, his eyes seemed to regain their sight, and Sadin''s frightened and tearful figure immediately became clear. << Where are you coming from? >> <> << You''re late though¡ >> Sadin could barely contain himself from laughing. << I''m glad you still have the breath to be ironic, but save it for getting out of here. We need to go, and fast. >> << So, get me out of here¡ I can''t stand this dump anymore¡ >> << Whatever you want, buddy. Hey, if you want everything to be torn down, try asking the prince. Maybe he¡ >> Suddenly, Sadin was jerked backwards, the guard having regained consciousness. Despite the serious wound on the back of his head, from which blood was gushing out, the man attacked him, determined to make him pay. He fell to the ground with Sadin and stabbed him in the shoulder, fortunately missing his aim, aiming directly at the heart. The boy screamed, a piercing pain left him almost breathless. Basim tried to pull the attacker away from his friend, but the latter was as heavy as a boulder and could not move him an inch. Sadin managed to slip the dagger from his belt and with a lightning-fast movement, he tore the man''s face, who recoiled screaming while a crescent of blood irrigated him, recoiling as he was stunned with wide-open eyes before screaming in pain. The boys took advantage of that moment of confusion to run away, but the man''s screams had already alerted the other guards, who were arriving quickly. << No! Everything was going well! >> Sadin exclaimed in frustration. He drew the sword that Hazma had given him, but since he was not used to handling that type of weapon, it felt useless and heavy in his hand. Basim rushed to take the Yasirpipe, trying to play it right away, but his numb and painful fingers could not pluck the strings properly, thus not obtaining the desired result, indeed, he risked that the Sand would turn against him. They exchanged a worried look, aware that neither of them would be able to face a direct fight; the only possibility was to run away and hope to reach the exit quickly. << Start running. >> said Sadin. As they ran down the corridors, they heard the guards behind them trying to catch up with them, yelling for them to stop. They looked like a herd of buffalo, fortunately, they got in each other''s way as they ran down the narrow corridor, slowing down the pursuit. The boys finally arrived in the atrium of the fortress where, unfortunately, there were other armed guards and even some Sand Masters with large vases overflowing with Sand. Hazma, with his garrison, were beyond the entrance gate, well closed beyond the enemy defense line, even if they had screamed they would have heard them, thanks to the pouring rain that covered every noise. The Masters, armed with their instruments, were ready to make them vibrate¡ But Basim also had a Yasirpipe. A sharp note interrupted the last threat that one of those men was angrily pronouncing, The Sand hit him violently, throwing him to the ground and leaving the Masters shocked by such a quick reaction of Basim. In the eyes of the boy shone a strange but familiar light of determination; you could understand that he had no intention of giving up. Without any signal to announce what was about to happen, the duel began. Basim''s fingers began to pluck the strings with incredible speed, producing a sound that drowned out the vibration of the plates. The Masters tried to stand up to him by showing off their skill, moving their hands in sync, blending the vibrations of their instruments into one sound. The strength of their execution transformed the Sand they controlled into warriors who moved with equal precision, demonstrating how the old technique was still valid. Basim, even though he was alone, was no exception, and the intensity of his music, with which he had transformed his Sand into a giant with fists like hammers, proved it. At that moment, he became one with the Yasirpipe and the music reached the highest level, as in Abu Wasaa. Most likely, if it were not for that intimate connection he had established with the instrument, he would not have been able to stand up to his opponents. Even if he did not speak, he seemed to be able to hear in the music the words he wanted to shout. There was no record in the history of Sand of such a shocking event, and yet it was happening right there, right now. The combination of the two executions created a deafening symphony, if it could be called that, that not only shook the walls of the prison but also made every human being present stagger, affecting them accordingly. The two forms of Sand, as if possessed by a demon, fought against each other violently. Many guards ran away, others instead, paralyzed by fear, threw themselves to the ground trying to protect their ears with their hands, showing obvious signs of giving in. In Sadin''s case, the intense pain in his shoulder allowed him to remain lucid. Being able to observe what was happening, at that moment he understood the reason why many used to call the sounds of the Yasirpipe as the "music of the devil". In the most difficult circumstances, Sadin had the virtue of keeping his cool, and this had often saved his life. It was the same now; he realized that he had to do something immediately. Basim was doing well, but how much longer could he resist against four Sand Masters? Only one solution came to mind. He took the black spheres he had brought with him and, with shaking hands, managed to light the small fuses that quickly burned out inside the holes. He dropped them to the ground and they, thanks to the intense vibrations, rolled across the floor as if with their own will, leaving a trail of smoke behind them. << Basim! Hold your breath! >> he shouted, as he threw himself at the boy with intense effort. Immediately after, the spheres exploded. The metal fragments flew in all directions like arrows that inevitably hit those who were near the point of the explosion. A thick dark smoke quickly enveloped the entire room releasing a strong and acrid smell, the music suddenly stopped being replaced by coughs and sneezes that followed one after the other without pause. People moved in a heap, unable to see beyond the curtain of smoke that burned their eyes. Basim and Sadin, crouched on the ground, slowly crawled towards the exit, trying in the meantime to hold their breath and avoid being trampled. Suddenly the smoke was sucked away, carried away by a cold current that cleaned the room with fresh air, Prince Hazma and his escort had managed to force the door after many threats against the guards who, until the last; had refused to let them pass. << Freeze! In the name of the crown of Baharmis! >> Hazma shouted. Everyone stopped immediately and the guards dropped their weapons. One of the Masters attempted to play his instrument, but Hazma ordered him to obey his orders, holding his sword to his throat. Sadin, seeing this, wanted to shout ¡°it¡¯s about time!¡±, but he simply breathed a long sigh of relief. << What the hell happened in here? For a moment, we thought demons were fighting. >> Hazma said to the boy. << It was very close, Prince, luckily no real demon, but I almost lost my skin. >> Sadin replied, pointing to the wound on his shoulder. <> << Your Highness, I''m suffering enough already; at least spare me the scolding. Instead of worrying about me, let''s think about my friend who is in a bad way. >> Hazma turned to Basim and, for a moment, felt his breath catch. Finally, he was face to face with the long searched boy. At that moment, a thousand thoughts crossed the mind of the Prince, surprised by that long-awaited meeting, that he could not decide what to do. Just when it seemed he was about to say something, a large group of soldiers led by Captain Rashad arrived. Hazma was surprised, he had not called for reinforcements nor had he informed the captain of his plan. He went to meet Rashad with a bad feeling, further reinforced by the latter''s rather anxious attitude. << Your Majesty! Thank goodness I found you! >> << Captain, how did you know I was here? >> << There is no time for explanations, you must return to Baharmis immediately! We are in danger! A soldier has just arrived at the palace with the news that a horde of barbarians has just crossed the borders to the south of the kingdom! >>