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 latayand 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? >>

  << I confess that it would be a pleasure for many... but I don't want to think about it now. Our meeting should be a source of joy, not of political discussions. >>

  << 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.

  << I did it. >> 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. >>

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  <>

  << I wouldn't have brought it here if it hadn't worked. >> 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.

  << I didn't know it either, but it was a nice surprise, wasn't it? >> 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.

  [1]Arabic mint tea