He was alarmed by what had happened. He had succeeded in reaching through to the Soul of the World, and now the price for having done so might be his life. It was a frightening bet. But he had been making risky bets ever since the day he had sold his sheep to pursue his Personal Legend. And, as the camel driver had said, to die tomorrow was no worse than dying on any other day. Every day was there to be lived or to mark one’s departure from this world.
Everything depended on one word: “Maktub.”
Walking along in the silence, he had no regrets. If he died tomorrow, it would be because God was not willing to change the future. He would at least have died after having crossed the strait, after having worked in a crystal shop, and after having known the silence of the desert and Fatima’s eyes. He had lived every one of his days intensely since he had left home so long ago. If he died tomorrow, he would already have seen more than other shepherds, and he was proud of that.
Suddenly he heard a thundering sound, and he was thrown to the ground by a wind such as he had never known. The area was swirling in dust so intense that it hid the moon from view. Before him was an enormous white horse, rearing over him with a frightening scream.
When the blinding dust had settled a bit, the boy trembled at what he saw. Astride the animal was a horseman dressed completely in black, with a falcon perched on his left shoulder. He wore a turban and his entire face, except for his eyes, was covered with a black kerchief. He appeared to be a messenger from the
desert, but his presence was much more powerful than that of a mere messenger.
The strange horseman drew an enormous, curved sword from a scabbard mounted on his saddle. The steel of its blade glittered in the light of the moon.
“Who dares to read the meaning of the flight of the hawks?” he demanded, so loudly that his words seemed to echo through the fifty thousand palm trees of Al-Fayoum.
“It is I who dared to do so,” said the boy. He was reminded of the image of Santiago Matamoros, mounted on his white horse, with the infidels beneath his hooves. This man looked exactly the same, except that now the roles were reversed.
“It is I who dared to do so,” he repeated, and he lowered his head to receive a blow from the sword. “Many lives will be saved, because I was able to see through to the Soul of the World.”
The sword didn’t fall. Instead, the stranger lowered it slowly, until the point touched the boy’s forehead. It drew a droplet of blood.
The horseman was completely immobile, as was the boy. It didn’t even occur to the boy to flee. In his heart, he felt a strange sense of joy: he was about to die in pursuit of his Personal Legend.
And for Fatima. The omens had been true, after all. Here he was, face-to-face with his enemy, but there was no need to be concerned about dying—the Soul of the World awaited him, and he would soon be a part of it. And, tomorrow, his enemy would also be a part of that Soul.
The stranger continued to hold the sword at the boy’s forehead.
“Why did you read the flight of the birds?”
“I read only what the birds wanted to tell me. They wanted to save the oasis. Tomorrow all of you will die, because there are more men at the oasis than you have.”
The sword remained where it was. “Who are you to change what Allah has willed?”
“Allah created the armies, and he also created the hawks. Allah taught me the language of the birds. Everything has been written by the same hand,” the boy said, remembering the camel driver’s words.
The stranger withdrew the sword from the boy’s forehead, and the boy felt immensely relieved. But he still couldn’t flee.
“Be careful with your prognostications,” said the stranger.
“When something is written, there is no way to change it.”
“All I saw was an army,” said the boy. “I didn’t see the outcome of the battle.”
The stranger seemed satisfied with the answer. But he kept the sword in his hand. “What is a stranger doing in a strange land?”
“I am following my Personal Legend. It’s not something you would understand.”
The stranger placed his sword in its scabbard, and the boy relaxed.
“I had to test your courage,” the stranger said. “Courage is the quality most essential to understanding the Language of the World.”
The boy was surprised. The stranger was speaking of things that very few people knew about.
“You must not let up, even after having come so far,” he continued. “You must love the desert, but never trust it completely.
Because the desert tests all men: it challenges every step, and kills those who become distracted.”
What he said reminded the boy of the old king.
“If the warriors come here, and your head is still on your shoulders at sunset, come and find me,” said the stranger.
The same hand that had brandished the sword now held a whip.
The horse reared again, raising a cloud of dust.
“Where do you live?” shouted the boy, as the horseman rode away.
The hand with the whip pointed to the south.
The boy had met the alchemist.
NEXT MORNING, THERE WERE TWO THOUSAND ARMED men scattered throughout the palm trees at Al-Fayoum. Before the sun had reached its high point, five hundred tribesmen appeared on the horizon. The mounted troops entered the oasis from the north; it appeared to be a peaceful expedition, but they all carried arms hidden in their robes. When they reached the white tent at the center of Al-Fayoum, they withdrew their scimitars and rifles. And they attacked an empty tent.
The men of the oasis surrounded the horsemen from the desert and within half an hour all but one of the intruders were dead. The children had been kept at the other side of a grove of palm trees, and saw nothing of what had happened. The women had remained in their tents, praying for the safekeeping of their husbands, and saw nothing of the battle, either. Were it not for the bodies there on the ground, it would have appeared to be a normal day at the oasis.
The only tribesman spared was the commander of the battalion.
That afternoon, he was brought before the tribal chieftains, who asked him why he had violated the Tradition. The commander said that his men had been starving and thirsty, exhausted from many
