They were writers, poets who delighted, in their rare spare time, inventing stories, the same that my grandmother read me. From this my name, Amir. Anagramming the word you can get “mira,” “mari” and “rami.” They used this word game to describe what, in their opinion, I would become, what they wanted me to become. Precise in what I do, with infinite resources and strong like the branches of a young tree. And then, reading my name from right to left you find a reference to the passion that my parents felt until the end.”
“I find it fantastic. I’ve never noticed the various words hidden in your name,” admitted Viktor, visibly struck by the story.
Amir bowed her head and took a deep breath. “It’s late, we must rest,” she advised soon after.
Viktor was still tired from the two days on the road and, now that he was no longer caught up in the black sorceress’s words, he could feel every fibre of his body complaining.
So, with the blanket around him to protect himself from the bitter cold of the starry night, he slipped into a deep, careless sleep.
THE DESERT CIVILIZATION
I t was early in the morning when Viktor and Amir resumed their journey through the desert. Temperatures had begun to rise again and soon the cold of the night would have been only a memory.
Toward midday, beyond a high dune, a small cluster of houses and buildings made of old rough bricks denoting decadence and misery appeared.
“People are not doing very well out here,” Amir soon explained. “Come on, let’s go,” she then urged, slipping down the sandy descent.
They entered the perimeter of civilization after a few moments, making sure that Mufàs wasn’t the mere result of an illusion caused by the scorching sun.
A group of people, talking together wrapped in white and light brown robes, stopped chatting and turned to the newly arrived strangers.
“Who are you?” one of them asked.
“They have anything but good-natured tones, eh,” Viktor muttered.
“It’s unusual for them to receive visits,” she explained.
“I’m speaking to you, over there. Who are you?” the man repeated.
“We’re adventurers, not enemies,” Amir shouted.
“Armed to the teeth?” one of the handful of men asked even more sceptical.
“We crossed wild lands to get here and the desert isn’t one of the most hospitable places in Mirthya.”
“Too many wayfarers sticking their noses in dead areas, lately. The desert doesn’t offer much, go away.”
“Too many wayfarers?” repeated Amir.
“A group of people passed by a few days ago saying they were on an exploratory mission but it was a lie. They wounded some of the villagers asking questions about a certain dark-haired boy…wait!” the man stopped staring at him.
Viktor winced.
“You’re the boy they were looking for, aren’t you? Our people were attacked because of a foolish young man?” he said aloud with red eyes and a soul full of anger.
“I don’t know who those people are, I have nothing to do with this story!” Viktor exclaimed.
“My travel companion is an apprentice, I brought him to the wild lands to help him achieve satisfactory results in a short time: he’ll learn quickly this way,” Amir explained, improvising.
Without answering, the man ran towards Viktor pulling out a long scimitar that was fixed behind his tunic.
Unperturbed, the chosen one remained impassive while the man charged him.
Before he could get to hit him, Viktor darted rapidly to the side. Siride’s metal point stopped just under the man’s nape, now harmless and dumbfounded. He looked at the scabbard in his hand, ready to attack him.
The man let it fall to the ground. “An adventurer, eh?” he asked annoyed.
Viktor was behind him, his right arm outstretched and the sword steady on the target.
Amir approached the man and took off the hood of her crimson tunic.
“I didn’t want to arouse too much curiosity but at this point I have no choice but to say that I am someone you know. Do you remember me, Sam?”
“Amir!” he exclaimed.
Viktor frowned for a moment then sheathed Siride and joined his travelling companion.
“I’m happy to see you again,” Amir said sincerely.
“You could have revealed your identity to me as soon as you arrived. Who is the boy?” he asked.
“Dark times are coming back to envelop the future; the Star has chosen once again.”
Sam was silent and looked from the girl to Viktor. “Him?” he questioned, looking at the young man with amazement all over his face.
“Him,” the black sorceress confirmed.
******
Viktor and Amir were accommodated at Sam’s small house.
The man told the boy that he had known Amir since she was very young, when she lived with her family in the desert. He also said he was in charge of the defence system in Mufàs, even though now there were more village ruins than people.
For the two travellers, finding themselves with a roof over their heads was like seeing light after being in a mazy cavern.
The door of the house was left ajar: it was the custom of the place, when you had visitors, to leave the door ajar to let the guest come in or go out when he wanted to. “A custom that is only possible in areas where thefts aren’t committed,” he observed.
“With the misery here, attacks by thieves are practically null,” Sam had replied when Viktor exposed his perplexities.
“Doesn’t greater misery lead to greater criminality?” he argued soon after.
“Well, this happens when the disadvantaged represent only a part of the apple, not its entirety. What would they steal, and from who?” Sam explained taking some more soup from a larger pot placed in the middle of the table.
“So your behaviour derives only from the fact that it is practically sure that no one would be disadvantaged,” Viktor mocked.
Sam barely smiled and Amir looked at him grimly: he realized too late that he had made an inopportune joke that could question the hospitality of the inhabitants of Mufàs.
“The soup was delicious,” he congratulated him soon after.
Sam bowed his head in gratitude, then Amir asked: “What were the people who came here, looking for Viktor, wearing?”
“They wore tunics like yours.”
“White?”
“Yes.”
Amir sighed.
“Have you any idea who they are or what they want?” Sam asked.
“They are not people who support the choices of the Star. Tomorrow morning we’ll leave before dawn, by now we’re close to our destination.”
“Where do you have to bring him?”
“To the desert hermit. He has been collaborating with the Star for centuries now and he trains those who are chosen by the Star.”
“How much time do we have?”
“By now less than a few years, I’m afraid. Goblins, ogres, trolls: these are just some of the creatures that are awakening.”
“I’ll prepare something for your journey,” Sam announced.
“There’s no need to, it will take us less than a day to get there. Thank you anyway.”
“As you wish,” Sam replied.
Viktor sipped a glass of water then Sam turned back to them again: “Tonight there will be a big bonfire in the square and all the inhabitants of Mufàs will be there to celebrate spring. Here in the desert it isn’t really different from the other seasons but it represents a way to have fun all together; we would be pleased if you joined us too…”
“It would be an honour to be with you,” Viktor answered.
“It would be. But we can’t remain long considering our departure tomorrow morning,” Amir specified.
“Understandable. Now, with your permission, I’m starting to the feast. When you want, you know where we are,” Sam said, rising from the creaky wooden chair.
The two travellers nodded.
“Think, before you say anything,” Amir retorted when she was alone with Viktor.
Viktor nodded, embarrassed.
A few minutes later the two went out into the cold night air.
They soon heard the sound of tambourines, accompanied by clapping and songs.
At the end of the road, there was a scarlet carpet of dancing light that projected the big bonfire on the sand.
They continued in the direction of the heat and reached some people in a circle that surrounded dancers, players and singers that were performing a few steps from the immense pillar of fire.
Viktor and Amir took seats among the other Mufàsians, looking at the flames and the star-quilted sky.
On the horizon, the moon lapped the surface of the high dunes immersed in darkness and the sand shone under the watchful, majestic stars in the silent, still sky.
“Boy,” the chosen one heard.
“He turned around and among the seated people he saw a man with a good-natured expression approach with a small wooden box tied to his body with two leather belts.
“You’re the wayfarer that arrived this morning in the village, aren’t you? You should try some of these, they are specialities of the desert, I don’t think you have ever tasted one,” he encouraged, pointing to the box he was carrying.
Viktor peeked in to see what was inside and, when he spotted small scorpions lying on the bottom of the wooden container, he held back a disgusted, repulsive look.
“Come on, it’s celebration day and they’re free! They’re dead, don’t worry: they won’t harm anyone!” the merchant laughed.
Amir held back a laugh, then she encouraged him touching his arm without being seen. “You don’t want to offend these people, do you?” she whispered to him.
Viktor swallowed. “Only one, I’m afraid I ate too much for dinner,” he agreed taking one from the box.
He worried when the Mufasian that had offered them remained there, staring at him.
“Come on, taste it!” he urged him.
Now trapped, the boy worked up his courage and swallowed it in a single mouthful.
“How is it?” the man asked.
“Very, very good,” Viktor answered, looking disgusted.
“If you chew it you can savour its taste better…do you want some more?”
“Oh, no, enough for me. They’re delicious, but after dinner I avoid eating again. I feel full already and then I won’t be able to sleep. Anyway, thank you very much.”
The man smiled and took his leave.
“You could have used this excuse right from the start,” Amir told him.
“I didn’t want to offend their customs,” the boy answered still disgusted.
The tambourines ceased to make room for the lyre players.
The sweet music of the lutes accompanied the flow of the night for a long time until Viktor was distracted by the arrival of Sam by his side.
“How’s the evening going?” he asked.
“Very well,” the young man assured him.
At that reply, Sam seemed relieved and found some room to sit next to him.
“Sam…,” Viktor attracted his attention. “I wonder how it’s possible that, with the sea as a border, this remains a dead land. Amir mentioned to me that the desert couldn’t be saved from its present nature, but I find it curious because of its proximity to water.”
Amir didn’t speak, but Sam began to explain: “Dwarves once lived in this area of Mirthya. They excavated these lands so deeply and with so much greed that they ended up estranged from the rest of the world. Considered selfish by elves and humans, during the War of Oblivion no one intervened in their favour. On the brink of extinction, it is said that some dwarves found a great source of energy with which it would have been possible to keep the enemy troops back, but this didn’t happen because this source was never exploited. This unknown power had to be harnessed in some way, but unfortunately the dwarf race perished before finding a way to do it. The location of this mysterious source of energy became unknown to all and the dwarves took their secret to the grave with them. Since then, the earth shook and at the end of the War of Oblivion, the peninsula on which the desert of Radaj extends died with its inhabitants. We are sure that in the underground tunnels that were once dug under the desert there are lost treasures. Who knows, if we had the means we could even find the unknown source of power in the stories.”
The sky had grown darker, Viktor listened carefully.
Sam stared into his eyes, then added: “In any case, the desert cannot be cured, it will never return the land of yore: this is the reason why not even the sea can ever heal this ancient soil, frustrated by pain.”
When Sam’s words stopped flowing from his lips, the music of the lute slowly returned to Viktor’s mind, who up to then hadn’t missed a word from the narrator.
“It’s a pity not to be able to bring the desert civilizations back to their splendour and what remains of the history of dwarves.”
“Yes, it really is a pity, boy. But now, let’s stop talking about these stories; let’s enjoy the party a little more, then it would be better if we go back home, especially you: you have a journey to carry out,” Sam reminded them, leaving a free seat beside the boy.
“Amir …,” Viktor said.
“Yes?”
“Will you tell me about the men dressed in white that were looking for me?”
“I said they were dangerous and it would be better to avoid them.”
“I know, but I’d like to know more since they were on my trail. You said they go against the Star: what do they want?”
“Not here, not now,” replied the girl cautiously.
“When?”
“When we get to the hermit, tomorrow. We’ll have a chance to talk calmly before you return to the Den.”
Viktor nodded reluctantly.
The night grew darker and when the lute sonata accompanied by ancient songs in honour of the old times ended, the chosen one was ready to return home.
THE NAME OF HOPE
T he entire village of Mufàs had gathered to say goodbye to the two travellers and, after Sam’s warm embraces, Viktor and Amir left the desert civilization behind.
Viktor’s boots sank into the morning desert sand.
The air was still fresh and that time of the day was the best to get back on the road.
The atrocious thought of the scorching heat found solace in the assurance that in a short time they would see the oasis where the hermit had built his house.
“The hermit is a very old man, he hasn’t combatted for a long time. He is old now, back from a war fought against the passing of time; but you are here to learn from his experience, the only thing that time can only increase and never erase.”
“Meeting who trained the other chosen ones before me excites me. But what does your remark mean?”
“I only said it to warn you, whatever passes through your mind. A simple motivation, to avoid the gaffes you made last night at dinner, ok?”
“Well, you’re right…” the boy smiled. “I remain, however, of the opinion that the hospitable habits of desert civilizations are conventional.”
“Think what you want,” said Amir, annoyed.
“Are you upset because you have desert origins too?” the boy taunted.
Amir smiled, she preferred not to argue with him and she swallowed an answer that she considered too mean.
The sun stood in the sky over the immense stretch of Radaj and the two ate a quick meal without stopping, eager to arrive.
They soon saw their destination.
Daylight was shadowing behind the soft haze of late afternoon.
They descended a large sand dune and saw a small wooden and brick house near the water. A figure leaned over the pool of water of the oasis and Viktor and Amir went towards him. They stopped when they arrived a few steps from the hermit.
“My senses are now weakened, but the sound of your steps on the grains of sand is clear. They can make me
understand important details, like your build. The noise of your clothes rubbing against your body, what you have with you and your smell, the need to take a bath.”
The old man’s tired, docile voice was heard more clearly when he laughed kindly.
“I’m happy to find you as I left you,” Amir said.
“No, not how you left me. Don’t make a poor old man believe that not much time has gone by since our last meeting for matters of the Star. Time has left traces on me that can’t be hid to watchful eyes.”
The hermit turned around, revealing his elven ears and completely white irises. Viktor knew he had never met an elf before, but not even the Elders had ever shown the passing of time as the hermit had.
The elf had rough, grey, wrinkled skin and it was so old and rugged that it seemed older than the earth itself. The now shrunken muscles had been of no use for a long time and with aging even his stature had reduced considerably.
Although the race of elves had always boasted about their physical characteristics as height and definition, the one in front of him was only a few feet high with a curved back and a cane to support him.
If the Elders were born with Mirthya, Viktor couldn’t stop asking himself when the trainer of the chosen ones had seen light for the first time.
His long white beard grazed the sandy ground.
Looking at him again, he only now understood the description Amir had given him. Anyone, reduced in that state by the millennia he carried on his shoulders, would have given up the hope to combat as he once did. In any case, however, considering his experience, he relied on the fact that he would help him increase his knowledge in the arts of swordsmanship and magic.
“I have little vision left, boy, but through my mind, I perceive your scepticism. Well, it’s human to be sceptical and I wouldn’t be surprised if you were the last chosen one I trained. However, I ask you to have faith. It’s one of the few things that remains.”
Viktor didn’t say a word, embarrassed by the way he had been able to scrutinize his mind.
“Amir, you will want to rest after the journey. I’m sure that my humble abode will be worthy,” the hermit said.
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