<< 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.
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<< I beg you, Your Highness! It was a misunderstanding! Allow me to repair the damage! >>
<< 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. >>
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<< 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.
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“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.
<< I was thinking that we should start a business too, while we're here. >> 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... >>
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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.
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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.
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<< 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. >>
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<< 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? >>
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<< 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. >>
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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. >>
<< I liked the topic, once. >>
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 mosaic while the ceiling featured a typical Muqarnas 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. >>
[1]Girih tiles are a series of five tiles that were used for creating tessellation patterns for the decoration of Islamic architecture buildings. The term Girih refers specifically to the lines that decorate the tiles. In most cases, only the lines (and other minor decorations such as flowers) are visible, without the edges of the tiles themselves. Girih are broken lines that cross the sides of the tiles in the center at an angle of 54°.
[2]The Muqarna? is a decorative solution typical of Islamic architecture, originating from the subdivision of the surface of the corner niches connecting the circular impost plane of the dome with the basic square or polygon, into numerous smaller niches; more simply, it can be defined as a set of honeycomb stalactites.