At that point, the omens will tell you that your treasure is buried forever.

“Then, sometime during the fourth year, the omens will abandon you, because you’ve stopped listening to them. The tribal chieftains will see that, and you’ll be dismissed from your position as counselor. But, by then, you’ll be a rich merchant, with many camels and a great deal of merchandise. You’ll spend the rest of your days knowing that you didn’t pursue your Personal Legend, and that now it’s too late.

“You must understand that love never keeps a man from pursuing his Personal Legend. If he abandons that pursuit, it’s because it wasn’t true love…the love that speaks the Language of the World.”

The alchemist erased the circle in the sand, and the snake slithered away among the rocks. The boy remembered the crystal

merchant who had always wanted to go to Mecca, and the Englishman in search of the alchemist. He thought of the woman who had trusted in the desert. And he looked out over the desert that had brought him to the woman he loved.

They mounted their horses, and this time it was the boy who followed the alchemist back to the oasis. The wind brought the sounds of the oasis to them, and the boy tried to hear Fatima’s voice.

But that night, as he had watched the cobra within the circle, the strange horseman with the falcon on his shoulder had spoken of love and treasure, of the women of the desert and of his Personal Legend.

“I’m going with you,” the boy said. And he immediately felt peace in his heart.

“We’ll leave tomorrow before sunrise,” was the alchemist’s only response.

THE BOY SPENT A SLEEPLESS NIGHT. TWO HOURS BEFORE dawn, he awoke one of the boys who slept in his tent, and asked him to show him where Fatima lived. They went to her tent, and the boy gave his friend enough gold to buy a sheep.

Then he asked his friend to go into the tent where Fatima was sleeping, and to awaken her and tell her that he was waiting outside.

The young Arab did as he was asked, and was given enough gold to buy yet another sheep.

“Now leave us alone,” said the boy to the young Arab. The Arab returned to his tent to sleep, proud to have helped the counselor of the oasis, and happy at having enough money to buy himself some sheep.

Fatima appeared at the entrance to the tent. The two walked out among the palms. The boy knew that it was a violation of the Tradition, but that didn’t matter to him now.

“I’m going away,” he said. “And I want you to know that I’m coming back. I love you because…”

“Don’t say anything,” Fatima interrupted. “One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.”

But the boy continued, “I had a dream, and I met with a king. I sold crystal and crossed the desert. And, because the tribes declared war, I went to the well, seeking the alchemist. So, I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you.”

The two embraced. It was the first time either had touched the other.

“I’ll be back,” the boy said.

“Before this, I always looked to the desert with longing,” said Fatima. “Now it will be with hope. My father went away one day, but he returned to my mother, and he has always come back since then.”

They said nothing else. They walked a bit farther among the palms, and then the boy left her at the entrance to her tent.

“I’ll return, just as your father came back to your mother,” he said.

He saw that Fatima’s eyes were filled with tears.

“You’re crying?”

“I’m a woman of the desert,” she said, averting her face. “But above all, I’m a woman.”

Fatima went back to her tent, and, when daylight came, she went out to do the chores she had done for years. But everything had changed. The boy was no longer at the oasis, and the oasis would never again have the same meaning it had had only yesterday. It

would no longer be a place with fifty thousand palm trees and three hundred wells, where the pilgrims arrived, relieved at the end of their long journeys. From that day on, the oasis would be an empty place for her.

From that day on, it was the desert that would be important. She would look to it every day, and would try to guess which star the boy was following in search of his treasure. She would have to send her kisses on the wind, hoping that the wind would touch the boy’s face, and would tell him that she was alive. That she was waiting for him, a woman awaiting a courageous man in search of his treasure.

From that day on, the desert would represent only one thing to her: the hope for his return.

“DON’T THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU’VE LEFT BEHIND,” THE alchemist said to the boy as they began to ride across the sands of the desert.

“Everything is written in the Soul of the World, and there it will stay forever.”

“Men dream more about coming home than about leaving,” the boy said. He was already reaccustomed to the desert’s silence.

“If what one finds is made of pure matter, it will never spoil. And one can always come back. If what you had found was only a moment of light, like the explosion of a star, you would find nothing on your return.”

The man was speaking the language of alchemy. But the boy knew that he was referring to Fatima.

It was difficult not to think about what he had left behind. The desert, with its endless monotony, put him to dreaming. The boy could still see the palm trees, the wells, and the face of the woman

he loved. He could see the Englishman at his experiments, and the camel driver who was a teacher without realizing it. Maybe the alchemist has never been in love, the boy thought.

The alchemist rode in front, with the falcon on his shoulder. The bird knew the language of the desert well, and whenever they stopped, he flew off in search of game. On the first day he returned with a rabbit, and on the second with two birds.

At night, they spread their sleeping gear and kept their fires hidden. The desert nights were cold, and were becoming darker and darker as the phases of the moon passed. They went on for a week, speaking only of the precautions they needed to follow in order to avoid the battles between the tribes. The war continued, and at times the wind carried the sweet, sickly smell of blood. Battles had been fought nearby, and the wind reminded the boy that there was the language of omens, always ready to show him what his eyes had failed to observe.

On the seventh day, the alchemist decided to make camp earlier than usual. The falcon flew off to find game, and the alchemist offered his water container to the boy.

“You are almost at the end of your journey,” said the alchemist.

“I congratulate you for having pursued your Personal Legend.”

“And you’ve told me nothing along the way,” said the boy. “I thought you were going to teach me some of the things you know. A while ago, I rode through the desert with a man who had books on alchemy. But I wasn’t able to learn anything from them.”

“There is only one way to learn,” the alchemist answered. “It’s through action. Everything you need to know you have learned through your journey. You need to learn only one thing more.”

The boy wanted to know what that was, but the alchemist was searching the horizon, looking for the falcon.

“Why are you called the alchemist?”

“Because that’s what I am.”

“And what went wrong when other alchemists tried to make gold and were unable to do so?”

“They were looking only for gold,” his companion answered.

“They were seeking the treasure of their Personal Legend, without wanting actually to live out the Personal Legend.”

“What is it that I still need to know?” the boy asked.