<< You put a dagger to my throat! >>

  <>

  <>

  << I'm a good actor, okay? If you only knew how many times I've gotten out of trouble this way. >>

  << Oh really? Were they “trouble” like the one we ended up in in Shagreb? >>

  << No, not really... they were more of a situation like... Oh! Look'! We have arrived in Abu Wasaa! >>

  Abu Wasaa. Just the name made Basim tremble.

  And not only him, but everyone knows its name.

  Because Abu Wasaa was not just any city where travelers stopped... it was the only human outpost erected on the borders of the “Sahra' alsamt”, the Desert of Silence.

  The destination was still far away but very clear, in the form of a mountain range with a faded silhouette and an imprecise serrated shape that seemed to tear the milky white sky due to the great heat emanating from the sun. When they were almost at the foot of it, they stopped to observe the landscape that stretched out for kilometers with no apparent end. The structure of the stone was the same as that which made up the peaks of Gilnora, with the only difference that the iron veins emerged with the ominous appearance of dark gray scratches, almost as if to warn of what lay behind. In fact, beyond the mountains lay the Sahra' alsamt, the largest desert expanse of Riakesh, as well as the arid heart of the region itself... and above all, the only source in the world from which sand could be collected.

  That's right, every grain that the Masters use comes from there. You could call it its home.

  Without it, their caste could never have been born.

  People naively think that Sand is easily collected, being readily available to anyone who wants it, but it wouldn't be special sand if it took so little to get it. Collecting it is a dangerous and often deadly mission, due to its instability towards any source of noise which, it is said, can easily drive it crazy. In its natural state not even one, a hundred, or a thousand Yasirpipes can control or tame it; for this reason, it is not a place to visit lightly.

  The beginning of the Abu Wasaa border was officially marked by a large boulder on which a brief, but severe warning was engraved: “Here the Sahra' alsamt begins. In its kingdom silence is law, and speech is crime. Be silent when the wind blows and keep your distance among the waves of the sea of ??sand.”

  << Maybe it wasn't a good idea to come here... >> Sadin muttered uneasily.

  <> Basim asked him in the same mood.

  << I don't feel like running away again. Might as well see what this place is like. >>

  They weren't exaggerating when they talked about the tranquility of that area. One thing was certain, it didn't feel like being in Riakesh anymore.

  The constant gray gave an alien air to the territory which conveyed a continuous sense of unwelcome. The path leading to the only city was steep and slippery, the horses repeatedly risked breaking their legs and, despite this; they emitted faint whinnies to limit communicating their discomfort, as if they were following the warning engraved on the boulder. Not being able to see them suffer like that, they decided to free them and continue on foot, tackling the tiring climb on their own legs. It took a moment for Basim and Sadin to realize the unusual atmosphere that hovered around them; everything was incredibly calm, but not that usual quiet of nature that is appreciated and relaxes the spirit. It was a… forced silence. Stressful. Which made me anxious.

  At some point, halfway up the climb, they finally arrived at the human settlement.

  The name Abu Wasaa not only indicated the mountain range but also the city.

  Seen from afar it was difficult to notice it because, as for Al-Haimat, the houses with small and narrow windows had been carved out of the rock and therefore blended in perfectly with the environment, but unlike this one they had not been sculpted with beautiful details but left with a shapeless and lumpy appearance. On the walls were carved what would normally be shop signs or street signs, some of which were highlighted with black dye to be better read, while very tall weathervanes and flagpoles were erected on the roofs of almost all the houses. Some "structures" served as butchers or greengrocers, yet for some reason no crops or pastures could be seen nearby, not even a chicken was scratching around the streets pecking at the blowflies that annoyed passers-by.

  There must have been at least a hundred souls there, busy with typical activities seen in any country, but lacking in vigor. They moved slowly and spoke in such a low voice that you could almost not hear them, they all dressed the same in dirty and creased clothing without any decorative frills on them, making it difficult to distinguish between men and women. Despite the slow movements, the eyes were alert and penetrating, almost inquiring... Sadin and Basim felt the weight on them, and it was not easy to ignore it as they moved in search of an inn to rest.

  <>

  << According to what I heard, yes. Here people don't care who comes, as long as it doesn't bother them. They speak little and don't like foreigners who ask questions, regardless of who they are. So, no one should snitch on us. >>

  <>

  << Let's not get noticed and everything will be fine. It seems like a quiet place, after all. >>

  Suddenly the sound of a distant horn rang out from the mountains.

  The people stopped suddenly to listen to that distant call and before the echo had ended everyone rushed into the houses, closing shops and barring doors and windows; if someone was carrying heavy objects, they abandoned them on the street without hesitation at the mercy of the dust.

  <> Sadin asked a passerby, grabbing him by the arm.

  << The wind is coming! Take cover! >> he replied frightened, freeing himself with a tug.

  The city was depopulated in an instant, leaving the two shocked newcomers alone in confusion.

  Why were they so afraid of the wind? They both wondered.

  The answer came soon. Slowly the wind began to blow in warm waves, and as it gained strength the growing creak of the weathervanes began to be heard as they rotated in sync, accompanied by the increasingly agitated dance of the flags. Usually when the wind blows it produces a distinct sound similar to a howl... but on those mountains, the noise was reminiscent of human cries, a cry that became more and more energetic together with the invisible force of the air, more and more agitated. Basim and Sadin almost couldn't stay standing as the current pushed them, trying to suffocate them with heat and blind them with dust. They knocked on doors to ask for asylum, but no one opened the door to help them.

  << The wind is increasing, and the storm will soon get worse. >> someone suddenly said.

  They both gasped, a man had appeared behind them without them realizing it, a mouse gray cloak wrapped him completely, revealing only his feet which were wearing worn shoes held together by strips of fabric.

  << Come with me. You are not safe here. >> said the stranger again.

  << Coming where? Who are you? >> Basim asked him.

  The man waved at him, pointing to one of the streets.

  <>

  << Well, it's better than staying here eating dust. >>

  Basim and Sadin decided to follow the individual, who took their arms to guide them, with a strong but gentle push. That type of support was especially welcome at that moment when the earth, due to the gusts, had begun to obscure everything in a sort of fog.

  They were led inside a house that looked like the stub of a melted candle, there wasn't much difference in light between inside and outside and they stopped just beyond the threshold, not knowing how large the space was.

  << I'll shed some light. >> said the man, in the darkness.

  The flame of a match lit up tiny and weak in the wrinkled hands of the person who delicately guided it inside an oval object. After a few minutes of waiting, a reassuring orange light spread through shards of colored glass. One after the other, many small colored lamps lit up together, brightening the atmosphere with their shapes and colors which suited the interior of the house, which turned out to be well furnished.

  << Welcome to my home. I hope you will feel comfortable as long as you are my guests. >>

  Abu Wasaa was a gray town subjugated by the fear of the wind, but apart from that detail, life inside the stone houses was anything but uncomfortable, unlike what the external appearance made it appear.

  Over time, by digging and sculpting the easily malleable rock, the inhabitants had created comfortable and safe places to live in, which did not make them homesick for the outside world. The presence of caves in the area had certainly been a useful presence for the inhabitants who thus did not find themselves in need of wood or bricks to keep their homes standing. Over time they got used to carrying out any recreational and social activity in there, even when the wind wasn't blowing, preferring the safety of closed places to open ones.

  From inside the houses and caves, however, when the disturbances forced them to remain closed inside with the windows and doors sealed, it was difficult to interpret the passage of time. Only with the help of a special hourglass, designed with an arrow that moved with the flow of sand along an arc that precisely marked the minutes and hours, could it be understood whether it was still day or already night.

  In the following hours in which the storm swept through the territory around Abu Wasaa without restraint, Basim and Sadin had the pleasure of relaxing in the safety of the home of Elamin, the man who had brought them to safety. Having taken off his large cloak, he revealed himself as an old man with a thin but athletic build, a beak nose, a shaved beard, hair as thick and dry as an old bush, and eyes as large as those of an owl.

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  The old man's house was larger than it seemed, divided into three levels, two of which were underground and far from dark thanks to the lamps that looked like pieces of a rainbow. All the furnishings had been arranged to be welcoming and lively, with many cushions in colorful fabrics and frescoes of natural landscapes on the walls, essential oils removed the musty smell with relaxing fragrances, and painted wood flowers gave that touch of nature that the territory was stingy.

  Elamin embodied the kindness and hospitality typical of the people of Riakesh: he offered food and drinks to his new guests, helped them clean themselves, and even prepared a room for them to sleep in. He did all this quickly and above all in silence. Yes, because despite his fragile appearance he moved in such a way as not to make a noise, causing constant fear to the boys who either realized they were speaking into space or were frightened by his sudden disappearances. Elamin apologized every time - albeit using few words - saying that he couldn't do anything about it as he had been used to moving in that way for years... and like his fellow citizens, for that matter. Basim asked him why this unusual behavior and his response was: "so as not to make us hear from the Sand".

  << Excuse me, but are you by any chance a Sand Collector? >> Basim asked him at a certain point.

  The man just nodded his head, triggering his excitement.

  The question arose in the presence of a particular leather bag and what looked like a cauldron to which a long chain was attached. The two objects reminded Basim of stories he had heard from some travelers who had been to Abu Wasaa about people who had the courage (or madness) to enter the desert to collect Sand on behalf of the people of Al-Haimat. A work famous in the environment more for the number of deaths than for the type of undertaking itself.

  << I am one of the few collectors left. >> he said in his calm voice. << You don't find many young people who want to follow tradition, they are afraid of the desert and honestly, they are not wrong. >>

  <> Sadin asked doubtfully.

  << Really Sadin? Haven't you ever heard the terrifying stories about the Sahra' alsamt? >>

  << Only that no one wants to come there and that you can find the Sand. That's all. >>

  << “That's all”? The issue is more serious than you think! A matter of life and death! >>

  << Your friend is right: collecting sand is not a game for children. Also, for this reason, they teach us to follow the law of silence. >>

  The old collector explained that since the city was the closest, as well as the only one, to the Desert of Silence, it was easily subject to its bad mood. Often not even the mountains could stop it from hurling waves of sand that fell downhill with the weight of their magical energy and on the worst days it even caused minor earthquakes that could produce landslides. It's all this, sometimes, for a simple breath of wind.

  It was the noise's fault that the desert became bad, anything that produced a sound was a threat to people's safety. Over the years, with the fear of causing involuntary misfortunes even with a strong sneeze, a light breath, or the clapping of the hands, people had learned to be as quiet as possible, following strict rules that were taught with heavy severity.

  << So, this is why people locked themselves at home first? >>

  << Yes. For us, the wind never brings good things. >>

  <>

  << Because Abu Wasaa is not a city inherited from families who grew up among these rocks.

  Its inhabitants are all people who have lost something in life or who have been betrayed by it and come here to live because they know that there is no longer a place for them in society.

  Among these mountains, with the excuse that they are always looking for collectors for the Sand, they have an opportunity to survive, albeit miserably and sometimes not for as long as they would like. >>

  << Wow… it's more complicated than I imagined… >>

  << This is life here in Abu Wasaa. >>

  Suddenly the front door creaked ominously, for a moment the wooden surface cracked inwards making the occupants believe it was about to break. Elamin, in his usual calm manner, approached and lowered two thick wooden beams to reinforce the closure.

  << It's still early to go out. We have plenty of time to prepare a good dinner. >>

  Sleep easily subdued the boys thanks also to the contribution of the soft beds and the complicity of tiredness. A lamp with blue glass, with small white oval patterns placed behind a dark fabric curtain, attempted to reproduce the soft light of the moon and the night, watching over the two sleepers in such a way that the darkness of the underground did not make them too uncomfortable.

  Basim awoke when the hourglass indicated that it was past midnight outside, his throat begging for a drop of water. He tried to move slowly in the stone house so as not to make any noise, groggy from sleep he couldn't wait to get back to it. His search for water was interrupted by the faint sound of peeling paper and gentle candlelight.

  One of the rooms housed a small library whose shelves had been created by digging out the rock, occupying the entire wall except for a series of spaces on which wooden decorations were instead hung. Elamin sat with his back to the door, intent on reading a book that must have been as old as himself as the paper was yellowed and the edges were torn in several places, the ink was slightly faded and the cover gave the impression of falling apart from one moment to the next.

  << Can I help you? >> Elamin asked suddenly without turning around.

  Basim jumped, surprised that he had noticed him even though his back was turned, and he hadn't said anything yet.

  << How did you hear me? >>

  << We collectors have very developed hearing; we can even hear the footsteps of an ant walking under a stone. But you, boy, are as loud as a drunken camel. >>

  <>

  << By my standards, no. >>

  << Wow… amazing. >>

  << It's nothing that special. >>

  Basim was enraptured by such skill, he asked with admiring curiosity for more details on the job of the Sand collector, losing sleep and thirst. Elamin explained his questions without boredom, limiting himself on that occasion with short but clear answers, spending a few more words to tell anecdotes of his past spent in that dangerous arid land. His voice changed tone as he spoke about the desert, further lowering the volume of his speech more than it already was, as if he wanted to avoid being heard by the desert itself... or, to hide the sadness that emerged while he spoke of his comrades who fell on the work.

  << Can I ask you something? >> he asked at a certain point, changing the subject. <>

  Basim realized he was referring to the Yasirpipe. A little uncertain, he complied with the request, bringing him the instrument. He expected the usual reaction of curious surprise, but instead, the man remained impassive without frowning his thick eyebrows.

  <> he commented. << Master Fawzi built this. >>

  Basim's heart sank, it was the first time in a long time that he had heard someone say the Master's name. And in what sense had he built it?

  << Did you meet him? >>

  << Oh yes, I also helped him tune this strange contraption of his. I don't like the shape of it, but it has a nice sound. >>

  <>

  << One question at a time, boy. Just like I said, he made this tool. He became my friend. But how come you have it? >>

  <>

  << No. What? >>

  Basim told his entire story up to the moment he brought him to Abu Wasaa... but in particular, he told, sparing the most impressive details, of Fawzi's unfortunate death. This time Elamin's big eyes expressed the sadness the poor guy was feeling, saddened by having lost another friend. The most important news that happened in Iazaresh rarely reached those parts, practically the people of the town lived in ignorance of what was happening far away from there and only rarely, through those travelers who passed through there, did they learn of the gossip or scandals of the kingdom.

  Elamin would have preferred not to know that news, at least to continue to delude himself that one day he would meet again that man with whom he had established a respectful friendship even if for a short time, anxiously waiting to be able to talk about the world and life, about his past and of what little future they both had left... or at least of his, which he had always taken for granted that he would finish first.

  <> said the collector regretfully. << he didn't deserve to be killed. >>

  He quickly wiped away a fleeting tear, he was ashamed to be seen as weak; despite his thick beard, you could see his trembling lip as he tried to repress his tears.

  << If I had known before, I would have attended his funeral... I could have given him a final farewell... I always thought the opposite would have happened. That man is… he was smart; he wasn't arrogant like his colleagues. >>

  He delicately caressed the instrument; he imagined it as a son who had lost his father.

  << I'm not surprised that they didn't accept it in Al-Haimat, Fawzi hadn't told anyone about his project. >>

  <>

  << He told me that he was afraid that they might prevent him from completing it, he knew many people who were not used to changes. They have been using those out-of-tune plates for centuries with the excuse that only the best can play them, while he instead wanted to simplify it. >>

  << Using music? >>

  << I was also weirded out by it, but he showed me that it worked. Who knows... maybe that's why he was killed. >>

  <>

  << Yes... but someone didn't agree. This is probably why he worked on it alone, without confiding even in his closest colleagues. >>

  Basim was appalled by the thought that the reason behind Master Fawzi's murder was disagreement. People killed themselves for a lot of reasons, but was that a “reason” to take the life of a living being? Basim was a mature boy, but about some aspects of life, he was still very naive, especially about the evil nature of human beings. He remembered a conversation he had with his friend Emir shortly after the crime, hypothesizing that the motivation that had moved the murderer's hand was due to revenge... could it therefore also have been a Master of the Sand who was the culprit? Then he thought about what had happened to him in Shagreb and didn't think it was so impossible.

  The old man randomly plucked the strings of the instrument. He chuckled at the sound, seeing how bizarre it was. When Basim told him that he had learned to play it he invited him to demonstrate it.

  He acted confident. He now felt in control of that object, but the old man had a different opinion.

  <> commented the man, interrupting him.

  Basim looked at him astonished. It was the first time he had been criticized for his playing and it wasn't the only evaluation he received so bluntly.

  A little offended and irritated, he asked him how he could be so sure of those mistakes; Elamin touched his ear, replying that he had very fine hearing. By moving and staying silent, the locals had developed a particular sensitivity and attention to noise; in Elamin's case his "musical ear" was formed simply by listening to Fawzi play and learning some basic notions of music from him. This situation had been more useful to the Master than to the Collector, thanks to whom he had been able to tune the new Yasirpipe. The attention to the details of the sound had helped him to harmonize the Sand with the vibrations of the instrument thus decreasing the percentage of errors in the notes, a not at all trivial job in the construction of a Yasirpipe.

  << You're doing well, but you're still far from being able to define yourself as good. >>

  << I am self-taught. I couldn't ask for help learning. >>

  << And you wouldn't have found anyone even if you had. Not in this land, at least. Fawzi created the instrument based on an object seen in a distant realm where music is treated as a means of speaking to one's gods. You're not as good as him, but I give you credit for how quickly you learned; he admitted that it took him three years before he was able to play alone. >>

  << By the Gods… this story has become even more incredible. >>

  << I hope this doesn't convince you to stop. >>

  <>

  << Play it. >>

  Basim glared at the man thinking he was mocking him. But Elamin was serious:

  << Practice. Play as much as you can, whenever you can. If you don't have the time to do it, find it anyway. You get good at anything by doing it repeatedly. You're already in the right direction, keep going. >>

  <>

  << Well… Fawzi said there was another method. But I won't tell you what it is, you have to figure it out for yourself. I've already given you my advice. >>

  Basim huffed in annoyance, at least for once, wasn't there an easier way to do things? Why did everything have to be complicated? Couldn't they just help him? He looked at the Yasirpipe and for the first time was angry at Fawzi for building it. He naively blamed him for his own death, wondering how things might have turned out if he had not been killed or if he had exhibited that object ahead of time, as he had probably conceived. He certainly wouldn't have ended up in so much trouble, he wouldn't have left home, and would have continued to shape vases in the family workshop, continuing to lead a boring, but certainly peaceful and safe life. And then why wasn't it enough to just play that Yasirpipe? What did he have to do that was so special to consider himself and become truly competent? It was a musical instrument, period. There wasn't who knows what other technique, he refused to believe there could be. Suddenly the stress rose all at once and like water in his lungs it began to suffocate him, the tears flowed out all at once, blinding him and his chest seemed to explode as he tried to calm his heart which was overflowing with strong emotions that had until then been kept under control. He was tired and frustrated; he didn't want to continue like that anymore. Basim was ashamed to cry so suddenly, but Elamin didn't let him mind. He let him vent as long as he needed until he felt better.

  He told him that everything would be fine and that he would get through it.