Khor Abagat is a city located on the banks of the Shams River, built exactly in one of its inlets. Houses and buildings are all of a single gray shade which from above makes it resemble a shapeless patch of clay, except for some bluish areas due to ponds in which reed and papyrus plants grow luxuriantly. Feluccas of all sizes move from one bank of the river to the other, some are used for the transport of people and goods, others for fishing, a very important resource of the city.

  The streets are narrow and very crowded, and it often becomes difficult to walk without colliding with other people. There aren't many references to understand which direction you're going; the almost labyrinthine shape of the streets confuses the ideas of foreigners and the residents themselves who, to orient themselves; used bizarre reference points such as, for example, a house with a broken wall or a tower that can be seen from afar.

  On the eastern side of the city, there is a large temple that can be freely accessed to pray to the Gods. It is probably the only building in the city built with quality materials. The temple is located inside a valley, a golden brick path cuts the area in half up to the entrance, including the garden in which very little grass and a few palm trees grow. The temple has a simple rectangular base; externally, the only elements worthy of note are the twelve columns on which the faces of some of the most important deities of Riakesh are carved and part of the central section of the facade on which magnificent carvings stand out. The interior is white and clean, the walls seem to be covered with sweet cream and the floor, with rhombuses enclosed in rings and spirals, is a pale grey-blue that recalls the surface of the water and the few but fascinating blue and green embellishments similar to stars, they seem to recall the river and the vegetation that grows on the banks.

  The room is divided into three long corridors surmounted by a large series of arches and the columns, one identical to the other, are entirely made of hematite so shiny that they look like metal. The prayer altar is located on the opposite side of the entrance, as soon as you enter it is immediately visible thanks to its size and a particular play of lights that illuminate it for almost all hours of the day. The pilgrims who come in large numbers from all over Riakesh, during the hours of prayer, kneel on a cyclamen-colored carpet, bow their heads and place the fingertips of both hands on their foreheads, partially covering their faces, and follow the ceremony singing songs and litanies.

  The most widespread and followed religion in Riakesh is a very ancient religion based on the veneration of a main God and dozens of minor Gods.

  The main teachings revolve around tolerance and respect toward every living creature and are often transmitted through moments of meditation and prayer. They are handed down by so-called "mentors", chosen from among the most religious and wisest, the only ones who are allowed to pass on the religious word.

  Silence was obligatory in the temple, only during celebrations were prayers recited aloud, and even those walking tried to make as little noise as possible. There was no time limit for staying to pray: there were those who stayed for a few minutes, and those for an entire day, depending on their thirst for faith.

  Every day since they had arrived in Khor Abagat, Basim, in the few free moments he had available, went to the temple and prayed to the Gods to help him return home and to forgive him for having been so arrogant as to think he could complete a mission beyond his capabilities. They were the only things he asked and repeated, hoping to be satisfied.

  Once his prayer was over, he left the temple wavering between hope and disillusionment.

  Very often he stopped to look at the sky waiting for a sign from the sky but, until now, the only thing that fell on him was the poop of a fishing bird. Like every day, upon returning from prayer, he quickened his pace remembering the phrase that his grandfather repeated: "If you have time to complain, then you also have time to work". And Basim had a lot of work to do.

  The Bazaar, located in a neighborhood at the crossroads of almost all the streets of Khor Abagat, was the scene of the biggest tough faces anyone had ever seen.

  Sellers went to great lengths to pass off their modest wares as extraordinary, top-quality merchandise, whether it was food or carpets. You could find anything and everything under the tents of the kiosks, sometimes so close together that you thought they belonged to the merchant. Pyramidal piles of spices, baskets of dried fruit that attracted swarms of midges, plenty of fish, and lots of pottery were all there. The noise was exasperating, the continuous shouting was also accompanied by the heavy bleating of some goats exposed for sale; in that commotion, everyone was shouting to promote their wares. By paying a little attention, you could notice how the sellers treated customers differently depending on whether their appearance exuded poverty or wealth, and when it came to the second category, they were all continuous smiles and incessant kindnesses.

  The bazaar area was not very large, and everyone had to make do as they could to get a seat.

  The acrobats, however, always found space to perform and it mattered little whether it was small or large, what mattered most was the result of the performance. The trick to a successful show is to start with something that captures the viewer's attention. If you can pique their curiosity and keep their attention high, success is guaranteed. The real triumph, however, comes when the artist, in addition to possessing exceptional skills, also proposes something new and special that distinguishes them from all the others.

  The boys of the nomadic tribe were doing well with their Sand theater, but ultimately it was nothing exceptional.

  All the tricks they were using were things already seen and proposed a thousand times; nothing to waste an “ooh!” or an “aah!” of wonder. Basim had seen far more engaging shows, so he remained impassive, almost bored, the entire time.

  A few coins fell into the chipped offering bowl, just enough to give those boys some satisfaction, but certainly not enough to fill the pantry.

  << Nope. That’s not good. >> grumbled a disgruntled Sadin. << At this rate we would become old and gray before we earned enough to save the tribe. >>

  << We are doing our best Sadin... but we are not familiar with the Sand. >> said one of the boys.

  << I know it's difficult, but we need to do more. We trained hard to get money and we will have money. >>

  << But will we succeed? I have seen the other “Masters of the Road”; they're really... really good. They can do incredible things and are better than you can imagine. >>

  The “Street Masters” were all those artists who used Impure Sand for street performances. Despite the title of “master”, there is no reference to nobility behind it.

  The Masters of the Road are regarded by the pure Masters as outcasts, capable only of tarnishing the art of manipulating the Sand. Their category was so despised that the deans of Al Haimat were trying to pass as many laws as possible to take away their right to use the Sand and, even, to be able to incriminate them with its improper use. But many threats had never been followed up on.

  They also had their own Yasirpipe, but it's an older variant. These are six thin flat brass plates – two small and another four large ones fixed centrally to the tops of wooden pillars, called Goll's Discs. To make the Sand move it was necessary to rub the edges of the plates with a thin metal arch, rather than doing it on the plate itself as in the case of the official Yasirpipe. It is certainly very convenient to transport because it is light and removable but with a very limited power range.

  The origin of the Road Masters dates back to a former student who, rejected by the school, passed their basic knowledge of Sand command to others who like them had been deemed undeserving of the honor they had studied for. Their identity is unknown, even their name has been erased from official history, even though their story has become a legend.

  Initially, the intention of the Road Masters was only to spite all those who, because they knew how to use the Sand, had an arrogant attitude. As time passed, however, it had become not only a job to survive but also a revenge for all those underrated people like the founder.

  << Look guys, our people are counting on us. We promised this thing would work and I swear on my life it will! >>

  << Calm down Sadin, you'll have a nervous breakdown. >>

  << Let there be exhaustion, sunstroke, and even fever! Nothing will stop me from carrying out my plan! >>

  << Maybe we should start asking the Gods for help. >>

  << Maybe the time has come to implement "plan B". >>

  There was a slight gasp of surprise among the boys.

  In Basim, however; those words sent a shiver down my spine.

  And he was right to be: he was the “plan B”.

  Sadin motioned for him to come closer with his index finger, forcing him out of his makeshift hiding spot behind a large ruminant ox.

  << Looks like your moment of glory has finally arrived, pal. >> Sadin announced with a menacing smile. << Tomorrow, you'll show us how good you are at strumming with that thing. >>

  << I don't... I don't think I'm ready yet. >>

  << Of course you are! Tomorrow everyone will be amazed: it will be a triumph! >>

  << Or a colossal disaster. Sand is not a toy, and you cannot learn to use it overnight. >> said Basim dejectedly, who, after that announcement, became more agitated.

  Since living with the nomads, he had been forced to learn to play the Yasipipe and try to refine his technique.

  Sadin had called him “the trump card” they needed.

  A rare combination like his could not be overlooked, so he had told his people with exaggerated enthusiasm. The assiduous use of that instrument - according to the boy - would have meant that Basim could become the greatest street artist history had ever known. But Basim disagreed; he had even tried to protest but, only the threat of being abandoned in the middle of the desert had forced him to comply with the orders of that boy who had imposed himself with great vehemence. Not even his uncle who was his chief had managed to change his mind.

  Basim had lost count of the time spent tuning the instrument and how many headaches he had experienced trying to accustom his ear to distinguish between harmony and out of tune... not to mention the pain in his fingers and when plucking the strings and those in the legs from sitting for too long. Learning to play an instrument is difficult in itself... if there was someone constantly breathing down your neck, it becomes an almost titanic undertaking.

  << At least with our efforts we have earned some coins, unlike you with your vases. >> Sadin said.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  << If I haven't sold even one vase, it's because you scared away customers by saying they were worthless pieces! >> Basim replied furiously.

  <>

  << Take back what you said immediately! This is an insult to my family's business! If my grandfather heard you, he would have made you eat your words! >>

  << Stop with this "family business" thing, you're an artist now. If you want to go home, from now on you must use your hands to play; put it in your head. >>

  Basim grunted angrily and impatiently kicked the basket with the few vases he had managed to forge, breaking loudly into a thousand pieces.

  If someone who knew him had seen him at that moment, they would surely have been surprised to see him so angry.

  <>

  << Business is business. >>

  <>

  <>

  << Damn, you're unpleasant when you are like that. >>

  Outside Khor Abagat, almost close to the western border, the squat figure of a small mound loomed. The slope was not too steep and with a good dose of patience, you could get to the top and enjoy the beautiful landscape of the area, even if now and then the wild goats came to look around to understand who those intruders were. The Bedouins had camped on its slopes and from the heart of the camp, set up to form a circle, a pleasant smell of burning meat and wood rose. Everyone was sitting around a large bonfire, intent on eating dinner amidst laughter and singing as they always used to do.

  Zaka felt relieved to see that everyone was in a good mood, even though they were going through a rather unfortunate period. There was a lot of turmoil and animosity, but he still managed to notice Basim's absence.

  He filled a plate with meat and vegetables and went to his tent, knowing he would find him there.

  He was there, all alone, with pages of musical scores next to him and a small, voluminous notebook with a worn cover whose yellowed pages he was lazily leafing through.

  <> he asked him, handing him the plate.

  Basim gasped, quickly hiding everything. He was about to say something, but he kept it to himself after realizing who was standing in front of him.

  << I'm too tired and I have to get up early tomorrow... >> he replied, with a somewhat altered tone of voice.

  Zaka felt a lump grow in his throat and a heavy feeling of guilt grow in his chest. He wasn't the type who liked to see people dissatisfied.

  << I'm sorry for how my nephew is treating you; the boys told me what happened. I should have been stricter with him. This payment story has gone on too long. Tomorrow I will have one of my men take you home. >>

  << No. >>

  <>

  << Because as difficult as it is... it's right that I do something for you, in exchange for the fact that you saved my life. >>

  << By golly, the help you have given us in recent days has been more than enough! You looked after the animals, sewed up the curtains, played with the children... you did so many things, even without being asked! >>

  << At home they taught me not to slack off. I was used to always doing something, even chores that could be put off until the next day. >>

  << As far as I'm concerned, you’ve more than paid off your debt. >>

  <>

  << You can call me Zaka. >>

  At a certain point, Zaka's eyes ended up on the Yasipipe, resting in a corner. Although he knew its worth, he valued it more for its peculiar appearance. Its rounded shape was captivating, and the sound was also pleasant to him.

  <>

  << After all it's not that difficult when you understand how to tune it. >>

  << Do you know how to do it? >>

  << I have a luthier friend in Baharmis who taught me to play. I like music, I wouldn't do anything else all day. >>

  << I heard you talking to my nephew in strange terms. Tell me more please, I'm very curious. >>

  The interest in the subject so dear to him put Basim in a good mood.

  Before he knew it, he was already immersed in the subject with enthusiasm. It had been a long time since he had shared his love for his favorite pastime with another person, being able to talk about it freely without fear or embarrassment, or even the fear of being told he was silly. Zaka listened carefully and asked a few questions; Basim always responded to everything with a smile that radiated joy. Now and then he interrupted himself, realizing the torrent of words with which he overwhelmed his interlocutor, who however urged him to continue.

  In a moment of extreme confidence, the man asked him why he liked music so much.

  Basim told him that it all began when he was a child and an older cousin of his had made him "escape" from his training as a potter by taking him around Baharmis, to give him an afternoon of leisure and relaxation.

  Wandering around the city was always an adventure, even when you thought you knew it inside out, and in company, it became even more fun.

  That day, a concert was held in the central square. It almost seemed like there was a party; many people were dancing and singing in an atmosphere of general joy. For some reason, he was enchanted by that music, but even more enchanted by the skill of those artists from whom he couldn't take his eyes off. He had already heard people play, it was nothing new for him... yet that group, for some reason, seemed to have something more... a sort of magical touch. The spark struck when a guitarist from the band caught his eye: he smiled and invited him to come closer. Basim did so curiously, embarrassed, and also very excited. When he was next to him, the musician started playing with more ardor, urged by his colleagues who sped up the pace to keep up with his frenetic pace; even Basim's heart seemed to quicken for the same reason.

  He couldn't take his eyes off him, he was as if he were haunted. He had never heard such an engaging musical performance before.

  From that moment, he understood that this was his world and perhaps one day he would be able to be part of it.

  The excitement of the story suddenly subsided as Basim returned his mind to the present.

  The situation he was in now chased away the enthusiasm of the past, now so distant and nostalgic.

  Yes, he could play the Yasirpipe… but command the Sand? That was a difficult task. The masters studied for years and years to be able to do it, while he, with little time available, didn't even have the basic knowledge that was taught at their school; his best achievement so far was to "throw it" in his face.

  << You know, I think you're worrying too much about tomorrow. >> said Zaka. << You are talented, and you managed to achieve such a difficult object all by yourself. How many people can boast of having succeeded in this goal? >>

  << I don't think my efforts are that worthy. And I don't even want to think about the fool I'll make of myself tomorrow. >>

  << Music means fun, right? Involve your listeners, and make sure people have fun while you play. Think of it as a party or a game, rather than a job. >>

  << Put like this, it's not a bad idea. I must admit that I like it. But… >>

  << Oh, no! No “buts”! Now focus on this positive thought and don't get caught up in anxiety anymore! Tomorrow, I want you to go to town with a clear head, okay? >>

  << O-okay… >>

  That being said, Zaka dragged Basim out of the tent and made him join the rest of the company.

  After a few seconds of hesitation, his appetite arrived and he accepted the various dishes that were offered to him one after the other, all exquisite in their simplicity.

  Usually Basim, during lunches and dinners, concentrated only on the food, glutton as he was.

  But at that moment completely new thoughts were swarming in his head, far from the pleasure of eating; still tied to the performance, but less stressful than the ones that had plagued him all day. The conversation with Zaka had made him think; involving people as if in a game... perhaps seeing the situation from a different perspective, rather than focusing on a single point of view, was precisely what he was missing.

  He imagined the ideas as if they were the clay he used for the vases and began to shape them with his imagination, giving different shapes that were beautiful and above all made sense. The ideas that didn't completely convince him he immediately discarded, while those that seemed interesting, he kept aside and, considering their strengths and weaknesses, he tried to blend them.

  With this imaginative game, he created many vessels that contained interesting ideas, inspired not only by his thoughts but also by what he saw around him, such as people talking or the dancing fire that warmed him in a reassuring embrace.

  And there is the idea! The winning one!

  He finished eating and took his leave with newfound enthusiasm. In his tent, he immediately began scribbling down different staves and tested their musicality with the Yasirpipe. Sometimes the melodies were long, other times shorter, and occasionally even accompanied by the identifiable rustling of the Sand swirling.

  The new day it arrived early and already, as usual, chaos reigned in the city. Every time citizens wake up; it seems their first thought is to create confusion.

  Sadin was already at the bazaar, tapping his foot impatiently; he had taken possession of a pitch for Basim's performance, but he still hadn't shown up. All the people who passed in front of him represented lost income and he hated missing good opportunities; To make the situation worse and increase his bad mood, the other acrobats would scold him for occupying a space without doing anything about it, but he would send them away cursing. When Basim finally arrived, without even a hint of “Good morning” or “How are you?”, he brusquely urged him to get to work immediately.

  << I hope you have prepared something special. You know that time is money, right? >>

  << Don't worry, I'm ready. >> Basim replied annoyed. <>

  << I just need it to attract the attention of those who are interested in it. Come on man, show me what you came up with. >>

  Basim didn't have to repeat it twice.

  Calmly he sat down on the ground, placing three small baskets in front of him each containing yellow, orange, and red Magic Sand, after which he placed the Yasipipe wrapped in a cloth on his legs. As he unrolled the wrapping, some passers-by stopped for a fleeting glance, intrigued by the shape of the object. He didn't need anything else; he was ready for his debut.

  The young nomads crossed their fingers, hoping that Sadin had been right.

  The first delicate notes of the Yasirpipe managed to emerge among the noises of the market, literally capturing the attention of the people around.

  Basim was concentrated on playing, his gaze alternated from the strings to the score, and he didn't waste time checking how many people were listening to him and the reactions they were having.

  The melody wasn't perfect and the pace was rather slow, but overall it was pleasant music to listen to and somehow even relaxing.

  A little girl in the crowd began to dance to the slow beat, swaying gracefully despite her young age. Basim noticed her out of the corner of his eye and took her appearance as a sign and it gave him courage to continue.

  It began to play louder and, if until then the sound had been like a faint chirping, it had now transformed into a vibrant hum. Suddenly one of the baskets began to shake and puffs of yellow sand began to swirl in the air.

  If at first glance it seemed like only chaotic movements, by observing carefully, one could realize that the Sand was faithfully following the rhythm of the music, in perfect harmony also with the little girl's movements. All three elements were in balance with each other, at least until the little girl suddenly stopped to observe the Sand, gaping in wonder.

  Basim reacted to the little girl's expression with a reassuring smile.

  << Anyone wants to try? >> he then asked the audience who had already gathered around him in large numbers.

  A murmur arose, and everyone looked at each other to see who would accept the invitation. Someone looked away, others walked away... then a man came forward and improvised a dance. Without missing the opportunity, Basim immediately started playing again, finding a tune suitable for those movements and the Sand began to twirl again with movements suited to that new rhythm. The man laughed with satisfaction, pointing to everyone at the Sand and shouting out loud how funny that show was.

  Gradually the enthusiasm became more and more engaging, attracting the attention of even those who were far away. It was mainly the younger ones who approached to take part in the show, but even the adults did not hold back to see the Sand dance. Two people exchanged a friendly handshake and started dancing at the same time. Basim instinctively sped up to keep up with them, even if his fingers were starting to hurt, he wasn't going to stop now. The Sand began to move simultaneously from two baskets at a certain point, raising a unanimous chorus of amazement.

  Red and yellow danced together, following the steps of the two improvised dancers who continued to dance excitedly in surprise. Equally amazed was Basim, who didn't expect all that success.

  Suddenly other people joined in and started dancing the Dabka. Basim was sweating, he hadn't expected to get this far and unleash such pandemonium, but he didn't dare stop at all. He continued undaunted. He was determined to give his best and not make the many days of hard training in vain. And he was pouring so much of his energies into the Yasirpipe that he didn't realize the dim glow of the strings and how the sound was changing without him knowing.

  Something about it all drove Sand mad.

  Three colored fountains rose from the baskets and performed phenomenal acrobatics. They were intense minutes of enchantment, accompanied by screams of excitement and thunderous applause, as well as lots of coins. It was the first time the people of Khor Abagat had witnessed something like this, and word would soon spread to the rest of Riakesh.

  << See? I told you the guy was helpful! >> Sadin said more than satisfied, while he watched the rain of gold overflow from the bowl.

  Basim on the other hand... to say that he was shocked was an understatement. His blue eyes stared at the now helpless baskets of the Sand and not even a hiss came out of his wide-open mouth; he was so fixed in his position that he might have been mistaken for a statue. He was the only one, at that moment, to have realized that he had performed some sort of magic.

  [1]it is a small sailing vessel (usually it can carry about ten passengers plus a couple of crew members). It can have one or two lateen sails. The mast is inclined towards the bow.

  [2]Arabic name to indicate the market

  [3]Dabka is a folk dance popular in Middle Eastern countries. The name comes from the Arabic verb yadbuk which means to stamp one's feet on the ground.