<< 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.
<
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.
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<< 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.
<
<< 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! >>
<
<< I can't believe you don't remember anything. >>
<< 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? >>
<< I don't know, but it's not important now. What matters most is to hide until things calm down. >>
<< 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? >>
<< I really won't let you cross the Sahra' alsamt. We will move along the edges, on a path at the foot of the mountains, until we reach another little-known exit. >>
<< 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? >>
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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.