Desert Wind

Chapter 1

The sun was high above the horizon as Agira and I made our way through the crowded streets of Aram. The day was blisteringly hot, the kind of heat that seemed to shimmer in the air and press down on everything beneath it. The dry earth underfoot was covered with a spiderweb of tiny cracks. The sand crunched under my shoes and inevitably flew into the air in clouds of tiny grains. Gray and yellow dust settled unpleasantly on our lips and skin. It plastered the houses, making everything look dull and dirty. My friend and I were on one of the numerous streets leading towards the Main Square—the heart of Aram. There was a buzz of conversation around us. It seemed as if the whole city had come out. Crowds slowly poured through the narrow streets like water in riverbeds. Clods of dry earth made it difficult for carts pulled by donkeys and camels, exhausted by the heat. The tired animals, along with the oppressive heat and their work duties, struggled in the middle of the street, paving the way.    

The usually sleepy and calm city seemed especially hectic today. There was tension between people. This strange feeling had accompanied me since I woke up. It was like the sensation you get before a storm or when something bad is about to happen. My muscles were tense. I turned around nervously from time to time, trying to spot some abnormality, something or someone suspicious. However, everything looked as it always did. Intuition can be a strange yet powerful instrument, underestimated by many. If used well, it can reveal the invisible path that should be followed. Some say it is like a hidden trail in a dense forest or a sixth sense. I have heard many times that its source is closely related to, or even derived from, magic. This element is within each of us from birth until death. If we are able to trust it, it guides us and gives us direction. Or maybe it's just my imagination.

Life in Aram had become increasingly difficult over the years. There was a shortage of water, which meant there was a risk of famine and epidemics. Due to the scarcity of this priceless resource throughout the country, rationing had been announced some time ago. I glanced at Agira, but my friend seemed the same as always. She walked slowly, whistling under her breath and occasionally stopping to look at the goods on display at the stalls. She picked up various tools, colorful materials, and clay vessels. When she reached the stand with knives and daggers, she took one in her hand and started turning it over, examining the narrow blade and the carved wooden handle in the sunlight.

"How much for this dagger?" she asked, pointing the tip of the blade at the merchant. "In these parts, you rarely see a blade bent this way." She examined the object closely, turning it skillfully in her long fingers.

The blade indeed resembled a crescent, unusual in Welifour. The stout man adjusted his glasses and examined the object.

"For this trinket? Forty crowns," he roared in a low voice.

"How much?" she raised her eyebrows. She ran her finger over the slightly jagged metal and added, "Not only is it rusty, it's also dull." She snorted, turned to me, and lowered her voice to a whisper, "Just like its owner." Putting the tool back in its place, she winked at me and smiled broadly. Then, when the trader turned his back to us for a split second, Agira quickly painted a barely visible circle on the wooden leg of the stall with red dye.

"An old dagger, and in such a terrible condition," she paused. "I think I have to pass," she said, dragging me by the hand towards the end of the street.

"I want to know why you painted a sign on this stall," I asked my friend as we pushed through the crowd again. She sighed dramatically.

"You don't want to know. You know what they say—curiosity is the first step to hell, and unlike me, you probably wouldn't fit in there. On the other hand, anyone who asks doesn't make mistakes, so..."