The garden occupies an area of ??500 acres, divided into many small gardens in the shape of circles or stars. Small streams of water carved into curlicues flow inside it and everywhere there are scented orange blossom trees that women in love often collect hoping for a marriage full of luck and love. During the day you find many people walking or sitting on the grass and chatting, on the contrary, at night only the cats go walking freely, playing and hunting in the bushes. In the early morning, however, when the sun has not yet risen but its faint glow begins to lighten the horizon, it is possible to find someone enjoying a solitary walk or doing gymnastic exercises.
Fawzi, as usual, had woken up early to train. Even away from his home he couldn't help but keep fit and since he had arrived in the city he had continued the routine, carrying it out, especially in those hours when there was no confusion. That morning, however, he had had to give up his usual ritual, forced to slow down due to an annoying pain in his back that had been tormenting him for a few years now. But a habitual individual like him finds it difficult to sit still, rather than resting as suggested to him, he still decided to go out and at least enjoy the silence of the garden with a simple walk.
One slow step at a time he enjoyed the quiet of that green rectangle, listening to the growing chirping of the cicadas that were slowly waking up and the delicate gurgling of the ornamental rivers; the scent of fresh grass pleasantly stung his nose and he observed the birds going back and forth between the branches of the trees and the earth to catch the fat worms they were greedy for. In his head, meanwhile; he worked out the future of the Sand Masters.
At the beginning, he had rejoiced like a child at the thought of the improvement it would bring to his category, but now that the official presentation was approaching, he felt agitated.
He thought about how to present his invention, the speeches he would make and the careful answers he would have to give to his colleagues who, surely; would have asked questions of skepticism towards the instrument. What worried him, however, was not how his Yasirpipe prototype would be received, but how their world would change if, at best, it were accepted with support. What kind of consequences would the replacement of the instrument have brought? What would have been the positive and negative implications? He had asked himself those questions from the beginning of the project and rather than dwelling on the most certain answers - both positive and negative - he had continued to give himself hypotheses that did nothing but cause him a thousand worries.
There were many things to do, it comforted him to know that he wouldn't be alone in managing them. He knew he could count on the support of many friends and having the prince also on his side was an extra reassurance.
Suddenly he realized that the cicadas had stopped singing.
You didn't have to be a master to know something was wrong.
Despite everything, he continued walking, keeping pace with the same pace. They were following him, his well-trained ear had detected the silent footsteps of one or perhaps two people. He tried not to show any reaction to his noticing them. He tried to understand if they were thieves who wanted to rob him or thugs who just wanted to attack him for fun... he answered no: if that were the case, they wouldn't have wasted ten minutes of rare opportunities to jump on him.
Fawzi thought the worst. Maybe they were murderers.
He stopped at a fountain pretending to have to drink: out of the corner of his eye, meanwhile, he spotted them and thought of a plan on how to save himself. He had made himself an easy target at the time, but they did not attempt to; this meant that they intended to act in a different area. So, they were waiting for it to arrive somewhere where they wouldn't have the risk of encountering possible witnesses.
Fawzi was a creature of habit, he had always followed a specific path since he began to frequent the garden: what could it be, then; the best point for them to implement their plan? As far as he knew, there was more than one area on his route suited to the horrible purpose. He reflected: if they had studied his movements, changing direction was out of the question because they would have understood that he had noticed them, thus forcing them to anticipate their moves... He couldn't even run due to his back problem, but even if he could it would still have resulted slower than them.
He had to act with cunning and luck if he wanted to save himself.
Too bad he didn't bring his new instrument, he thought regretfully. Defending himself would probably have been easier. He started walking again, forcing a calm pace. At every step, he wondered what would be the last and what would become of him. While he thought about a solution, all those natural sounds that he had appreciated before now irritated him, even the calm sound of water.
The water.
Of course! The water!
Here's the solution!
Fawzi's route included a stretch where all the various rivers dotted around the garden met and joined together to form a large circular lake. On the banks and all around there were floating blue tropical water lilies and marsh plants whose roots twisted under the water with elegant braids, while small frogs rested on the large floating leaves and the fish were on the alert to catch the insects that buzzed on the surface of the water.
The lake could be crossed via a covered white wooden bridge, accessible from four entrances arranged in a cross. Inside the gurgling of the water could be heard very loudly, part of the structure alternated with closed and open sections while in the center of the cross, a small gazebo had been built which joined the paths.
Fawzi stepped onto the bridge, his silhouette appearing and disappearing between the openings. The assassins decided that this was the time to intervene, it would have been impossible for the man to escape from there and no one up there would have noticed anything.
They entered running, the thuds caused by their steps made the structure creak and tremble.
They ended up reaching the center of the lake… realizing that their target had suddenly disappeared.
They looked around in disbelief. Only a few minutes had passed since he had climbed onto the bridge and there was no way he could have reached the other banks so quickly as to disappear, even on the bridge itself it was impossible to hide as it was too narrow and if he had thrown himself into the water they would have heard for sure. They discussed it for a long time wondering if it was the work of witchcraft or a well-worked trick, before deciding to split up to look for it.
Their assumptions about Fawzi's sudden disappearance were all correct, except for one.
He had jumped into the water... but not diving to make a noise, he had entered it slowly passing through an opening in one of the closed sections of the bridge. The day before he had noticed that a part was broken and had not yet been repaired. A big stroke of luck for him.
Hidden under the bridge, camouflaged among the water lilies; he had listened to the conversation of the strangers and waited for them to leave. Staying afloat without making a sound hadn't been easy, especially with the frogs curious about his presence walking all over him. He emerged from the damp hiding place only when he was truly certain that they would not come back, dragging himself towards the exit with his clothes heavy with water. He was only able to run thanks to the adrenaline, his back protested in pain but he ignored it, focused on escaping the danger without a name or a reason. The sky was much clearer, people had certainly begun to wake up and merchants to opened their shops, finding someone to help them would have been simple, once out of that innocent plant trap.
When the exit appeared before him he thanked all the Gods.
He never thought he would be moved by something like this.
Between him and salvation, there was only a distance of 20 meters to divide them, very few steps that would have made him a safe man, but death that day had chosen not to be merciful with him and lowered his scythe without any mercy. Fawzi hadn't thought that there might be a third assassin waiting for him right there, hidden among the plants like a lion ambushing a gazelle. It revealed itself only when he overcame his hiding place and taking him from behind, was able to carry out the task for which he had been paid. The dagger's blade flashed briefly as he slashed the Master's throat without a hint of uncertainty or hesitation, tearing it with such ease as if skin and tendons were made of paper. Fawzi barely had time to flinch for a second, then only a strangled gasp came out of his throat that suffocated him as much as the blood that was leaking from both the wound and his mouth.
The killer could have stopped there too if he wanted, in a few minutes the man would have bled to death.
But he wanted to make sure he had no chance of survival; therefore, he stabbed him in the back and stomach seven times in total to eliminate all odds. Only a being without mercy in his heart could succeed in such an evil undertaking.
<< Oh, good morning Basim, we haven't seen each other for a while. >>
<< Good morning to you Master Emir, can I disturb you? >>
<< Of course. Seeing a friendly face is always a pleasure, especially these days. To what do I owe this visit of yours? >>
<< I came to bring back the instrument you lent me. Sorry for the delay, but... >>
<< I know, work and the curfew prevented you. Yes, I understand you, my boy. >>
Basim, with his passion for music, had become a great friend of the luthier Emir, a man defined by some as a bit eccentric only because he did not dress traditionally and wore many colored bead bracelets, he had a beard and long dark gray hair with thin shades of white so thick and messy it made him look a bit like a dog and his teeth were large and sparkling.
His shop was located north of the city, in the old quarter. Since the area is very far from the lively hub of the city and the crowded entrances, the surrounding structures were not as fascinating as in other parts and the modest dimensions of the houses resembled large earthen bricks, for the most part. Middle-class people lived there and those who could afford small-time activities, it was a quiet neighborhood where the inhabitants all knew each other and the doors could be left open to allow the children to play in the street, occasionally sparking an argument between neighbors.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Then, there was the assassination.
News of the brutal murder of the Sandmaster Fawzi had spread throughout the kingdom.
There was no recent news that could compare with it and it was unlikely to be forgotten anytime soon. In the days following the discovery of his poor tortured corpse, hundreds of people including ordinary citizens and prominent figures of society had reached the capital to pay condolences and tributes to the family understandably destroyed by grief, even the Sultan himself had abandoned royal obligations to participate at the funeral ceremony. Needless to say, he was also furious that such a deplorable act had taken place in his kingdom while he was away.
The Sultan's orders had been clear: that the investigation into the murder should not stop until it was resolved. Whoever did this was to be arrested and executed.
Meanwhile, the fear of being the next victim hovered among the people.
Baharmis, although declared as a perfect place, was not free from crimes: thefts, assaults, scams... Baharmasians were used to this, not blood crimes.
<< That poor man… how could someone commit such an atrocity? >> said Basim, finding himself talking about the subject with the man.
<
<< Revenge? In what sense? >>
<< That they killed him out of spite. >> he replied, lowering her voice further. << Maybe he had wronged someone and they wanted to make him pay. >>
<< No, it's not possible. Everyone knows that Master Fawzi was the kindest and most honest person in the world. >>
<< True, but he was also a Sand Master. Heavy rivalry reigns among those people and they do everything to assert their prestige. I have heard many times of arguments that broke out between these people for the most absurd reasons. >>
Basim knew that Emir's observation was motivated by his low opinion of the subjects in question.
As important as they were, not everyone admired the Masters.
Whether it was out of envy of their fame or fear of their abilities to command the Sand, many people frowned upon them and even considered their abilities a gift from the devil. Talking badly behind their backs was easy and denigrating them was almost a pastime, but doing it in person was a completely different thing when you considered the possible repercussions.
Basim, for his part, had no negative opinion about it and did not believe that another Master could commit such a vulgar act.
<< Did you know that that guy lived next to me? >> Emir suddenly said.
Basim looked at him without understanding who he was referring to.
<< The Master. He had rented the room above my shop. >>
<< Seriously? >>
The man looked up at the ceiling: the room was right above them. Even his cripple dog seemed to have a worried expression.
It was clear that he was feeling regret for having hosted on his property an individual of whom he did not think highly. Now that he was also dead, he feared that he might also bring bad luck to him. If he hadn't had too many chores to do, he would have taken that time to burn some incense and sprinkle some salt.
<< Oh yes. I had no idea who he was until they displayed the poster with his face in the square. >>
<< By the Gods! And have you ever seen him do anything…? I mean, did he have the Sand with him? >>
<< No, no. He never did anything like that while he was at home. Indeed, in the short time he lived here, he was a good neighbor. And now that I think about it… >>
<< What? >>
<< He was very interested in my work. He asked me a lot of questions about how instruments are built and tuned. >>
<< Oh, then he was a music lover. >>
<< Yes. Maybe... Listen Basim, could you help me do something? >>
Above the shop, there was an additional floor which the luthier used mainly as a warehouse, storing work materials, instruments to be repaired and many other odds. Emir rented it as accommodation very rarely, especially when he needed to supplement with money.
To access it you had to exit the shop and enter an alley on the left, where a stair allowed you to go up to the upper floor. The two men hesitated for a long time before deciding to open the wooden door, wasting time between various prayers.
As expected, inside there was a great confusion of tools and musical instruments, in the only tidy corner there was a small bed and a desk. Everything else was a combination of chaos, dust, and darkness, as the four small windows that allowed light and air to enter were partially blocked by wooden beams. Emir wanted to take Fawzi's personal belongings and bring them to his relatives while they were in the city, not so much out of kindness but rather to get rid of something "inconvenient". He immediately pointed to his bag and threw in the few rags that he found neatly folded on the bed, Basim instead paid more attention to the corner with the desk, noticing the presence of numerous notes on subjects that he couldn't understand no matter how many times he tried to read them, except for sketches of how musical instruments were made and even papers with pentagrams scribbled on them. Emir had told the truth; the Master had been interested in the world of music. From the looks of it, however, his work resembled a real study on the subject, rather than a pastime.
He tried to point this out to the luthier, but he didn't want to hear anything about it.
Basim, out of respect, didn't touch anything, but he was very intrigued by that collection.
<< Basim, give me a hand. There's some heavy stuff I can't bring up. >>
From under the bed, the man dragged out a large, heavy, rag-wrapped object, almost as tall as they were.
Another thing to get rid of, Emir said annoyed. Basim, on the other hand, thought it was peculiar.
They lifted it without realizing that the ties had not been tied properly and the contents slipped out, landing on the dusty floor with a thud that frightened them.
<< Good heavens, what is this thing? >>
The sight of Fawzi's Sitar hypnotized the duo who remained with their heads down for a long ten minutes, trying to understand what that peculiar guitar was, why it was so big and why it had been built with so many strings... and above all why it had a shape so bizarre.
<< Did he build it? >>
<< No way, how could he? He was an expert in the sand. >>
<< But you said that he asked you a lot of questions about how to build an instrument. >>
<< If this is his result, then he did a terrible job. Look! Who would ever use such a bulky contraption? I bet it doesn't even play. >>
<< Let's try. >>
<< No! no! It belongs to a dead man! Do not touch it! >>
Basim picked up the instrument and tried to hold it up like when he played the oud, only managing to tire his arms. Then he sat up and held the instrument close to him, holding it like a broomstick.
The number of strings made him uncomfortable, which ones should he pluck first? Was it already tuned, or did he have to think about it?
He took courage and made the first two strings vibrate; the sound didn't particularly impress him.
He then dared the beginning of a melody he knew, quickly plucking the strings as he knew how. The brief particular harmony that came out made him let out a small “wow” of surprise. Then he could play it, he thought. Inspired, he continued the tune this time much more slowly and without hesitation, appreciating with growing pleasure the unusual way in which the sound was reproduced by that very alien object. He made a few discordant sounds and several bars were difficult to reproduce compared to the traditional method used with the oud, but as a music lover, he was happy to approve.
<< Basim! Basim! There is the devil! >> Emir suddenly shouted.
Basim jumped up in fear, dropping the instrument to the ground again.
He followed Emir's trembling finger pointing at the bag, which until a moment before had been in his hands, writhing on the ground like a snake whose head had just been cut off. Basim was petrified, his mind had already escaped from that room but his body had remained stuck there, without will... quite the opposite of the other man who had instead fled like a camel frightened by a scorpion. Basim remained alone in the room for half an hour, staring motionlessly at the bag that now lay still a few centimeters from his feet. It didn't cross his mind to check what had moved it, much less to think about pushing it away.
At a certain point, he heard someone climbing the stairs and Emir reappeared, this time vibrant with anger and brandishing a broom with a very thick handle.
<< Die cursed Ghul! Die! >> he screamed at the top of his lungs as he hit it.
He stopped only when he ran out of breath. The bag remained motionless, swollen in a deformed manner and even a little frayed, but the man was still satisfied, if there was a demon inside, it was unlikely that he was still alive.
<< Ah! No demons haunt my property! >> he said full of pride.
Now that he felt safe, he picked up the bag and emptied it onto the bed, always keeping the broom at hand: the contents consisted mainly of clothes, a book, medicines and a purple cloth bag. Nothing else. None of those objects could have the autonomous ability to move. Emir, however, didn't trust it (who assured him that there wasn't a shape-shifting demon in the middle there?) And there he hit everything with the expectation that at least one would react. It was the purple bag that attracted his suspicions, due to the particular noise it made when it was shaken. It was a familiar noise… recognizable enough to give him goosebumps again.
<< Basim… l-look what's inside… >> he asked stammering.
Basim complied with the request with trembling hands, removed the string that sealed the fabric and immediately sand slipped out of the opening which fell onto his hand with an almost crystalline hiss. It was smooth and warm to the touch, a bright mustard color that shone in the sun like the gold of coins or jewels. Basim didn't know what to think, it looked like very common desert sand but the color and consistency were decidedly different from it.
<< But it's sand. >>
<< No! Not sand! The Sand! >>
<< Yes, exactly what I said. >>
<
<< Oh?... Oh! >>
Basim's eyes sparkled like the Sand in his hand.
It was it, the authentic one!
Not a copy or one of the poorest quality... but the one capable of composing very tall towers or creating armies of tireless warriors.
It was the first time he had seen the Sand in its almost perfect state, being able to hold something so precious made him feel a bit like a chosen one and it was instinctive for him to move carefully as if he were holding delicate glass. Now he understood what had moved the bag: it was that; which meant that that bizarre "guitar" was a kind of Yasirpipe. That's why the Master had asked all those questions to the luthier: he had invented a new instrument to animate the Sand... starting from a musical instrument.
Basim was incredibly excited; he couldn't even help but giggle.
Emir, for his part, had a completely different opinion, the Sand scared him.
Probably, if he had decided of his own free will to open that bag and touch its contents, he would instinctively have thrown it away, scattering it all around, and then cleaned himself as if he had touched the most disgusting thing in the world. According to him, it was unnatural for it to be able to move and it didn't matter to him if it was useful for some work, it was still an enchanted object that could also cause damage. He could bear to enter a dead man's room or touch his belongings… everything, but not that.
He begged Basim to take everything and take it out of his house. To give it to the relatives of the deceased or anyone interested in it.
<< No, we can't. It does not work like that. >>
<
<< The families of the Masters cannot inherit the properties that have had to do with their profession. Both the Sand and the Command Tool must be returned to where they were first delivered. >>
<< Back where? >>
<< To Al Haimat. >>
Even a wimp like Emir knew what Al Haimat was, but he didn't understand what it had to do with it.
Basim explained that there was this rule that if a Master was overtaken by death, any possessions related to their title would have to be sent back to the school of the Sand Masters. This also included documents, projects, and work notes, if applicable. This rule existed because the great scholars of the school, according to them; did not want to run the risk of these precious assets falling into the wrong hands or being lost, given their importance.
<< But how do you know all these things? I thought you were afraid of the Sand, almost more than I was. >>
<< I'm not afraid of it, but I fearfully respect it. >> Basim said annoyed. << In any case... We have to follow the rules: these things belong to the school and we will bring them back to them. >>
<< “Us?” Oh no! I don't go to that place of sorcerers! >>
<
Emir let out a shocked gasp – it was the most unreasonable thing he had ever heard Basim say.
<< Don't talk nonsense! Al Haimat is very far away, hidden in the mountains, and you have a business to run! >>
<< I like traveling and there is no problem if I close the shop for a few days. >>
<
<< Oh, they... there's no need to worry them. I will say that I am absent for work reasons. Yes, that way they will be calmer. >>
<>
<< I understand your doubts Emir, but this is the right thing to do. >>
Emir couldn't stand Basim's interest in the Sand Masters, he treated that matter too lightly when instead; he would have done better to let it be handled by more expert hands and heads. Even though he knew he was making a mistake, he couldn't find the right words to reply, silenced by his enthusiasm for being able to leave the city walls and see for himself a place considered by many to be almost legendary.
Of all people, why should he have been interested in the Sand?
<< If that's what you want... then I hope your journey is blessed with safety and luck, my friend. I don't understand why you would go to this length for something so unnatural, but it reassures me that your intentions are honest. I'll get you everything you need, no expense spared. >>
<
<< I trust you. It's this damned Sand that I have a thousand doubts about. >>