Chapter 2
The Way of the Musafirin
“To reach the skies, the hawk must take flight
To journey the sands, Musafirin, follow the guidance of Light
Gather your might, stay the path, and dare not stray
Find rest before night; your only faithful companion is day
O Musafirin, has Light not guided your path?
Has it not shared its shining pearls of wisdom in darkness
When the desert dulls your sword, and you lose your way
Does it not gift your mind reason and blade sharpness?”
-Book of Aldawi XI
Alard's deserts are treacherous. Many dread venturing into the endless sands, fearing its mercilessness. Mirages, heat, barren wastes, predators, bandits, and lack of basic necessities are among the many dangers one must face when journeying the realm. The few brave hearts who dare journey alone across the scorched seas are known amongst Alardians as Musafirin. These men & women rarely share a common goal, birthplace, culture, or kingdom, and their circumstances are almost always unique. However, they all possess a shared trait: their belief in the guidance of Light. They believe that Light will guide them from oasis to oasis, the only places of respite in the vast deserts. And so they venture forth, navigating the kingdom of parched lands with Light’s guidance.
The main street that shoots through the town and bazaar and ends at the town square was very crowded. Villagers were flocking to the different trader stands. Buying, talking, selling, laughing, and sometimes even yelling; the marketplace was quite busy and lively. The sun was parading directly above the village. Still, carpets and veils hanging from building to building shaded the marketgoers from the harsh sunlight.
The mysterious man had just arrived at the market section of the street. He proceeded through the bazaar at a moderate pace to avoid standing out, gently pushing his way through when needed. His black attire did not alert anyone, albeit his tall stature occasionally caught the attention of curious onlookers. The unrest had left most of the townspeople present, inattentive to this strange man. As he walked, the man eyed the different stands. He noticed that most food vendors had a surprisingly empty stock. Devoid crates, quarter-full baskets, and torn sacks. However, he was particularly attentive to those selling linen and footwear. I could use a new pair of boots and a scarf... If only I had the coin, he thought. The man didn't get to contemplate it for long as an otherworldly fragrance filled his nostrils and derailed his thoughts. It smelled of lamb, onions, cumin, and other aromatic spices. Tajine? He wondered. He had arrived at the edge of the marketplace, where the long street merged with the town square. Several taverns, eateries, tea houses, and inns embellished the facades surrounding the plaza. Hungry, thirsty, and fatigued, the man reached for a minor skin purse under his cloak. It was very light. Inside were three squarish silver coins. I hope one's enough, he thought, moving toward a small eatery at the source of the savory scent.
The place looked relatively small from the outside, and the short wooden tables out front were all occupied. Still entranced by the scent, the man pulled back his hood and entered the eatery. An older woman in a beige kaftan behind a polished wooden counter was arguing with a younger woman in a light blue djellaba. The man, lowering his scarf to speak, approached the counter. The two women did not fail to notice the menacingly tall figure closing. Pivoting to face the man, the older one hesitated momentarily, then smiled.
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"Greetings, what can I help you with, Musafirin?" she asked.
"I'm no Musafirin," The man replied abruptly.
"Strange," said the older woman, "you're not Musafirin, but you don't strike me as someone who's been here, in Nisra, for lo—."
"Is this enough for a tajine?" the man interrupted, uninterested in her inquiry and opening his hand to reveal one of the squarish coins.
"I'm afraid not," She said, visibly annoyed by his interruption. The man held her gaze momentarily, then turned around to walk back out of the establishment.
As he walked, the woman exclaimed, "If you don't mind eating there, I could make an exception!" she gestured to a small table under a staircase in the corner of the eatery. The table and seat looked fine, but the space was cramped and dimly lit. The man nodded and handed her the coin.
"Lamb?" she asked.
"Lamb," he replied. The younger woman escorted him to his seat and placed a carafe and mug on the table. She started pouring from the crystal carafe into the clay mug. Her piercing green eyes caught his attention. Hypnotic, he thought. While she put the carafe back down, the two locked eyes briefly. Although her eyes were breathtaking, he felt something hidden behind her stare. Uneasiness. Why does she seem anxious? He thought.
As she disappeared behind one of the doors to what looked like a kitchen or pantry, he lifted his hand to his face, softly caressing the scar on his left cheek. He looked around. The eatery was small and cozy, with decorative carpets on the floors and walls, paintings above the counter and a single bronze chandelier hanging in the middle of the room. Under the chandelier, was a low to the ground circular table with a glass and copper tea set resting on embroidered red linen. Three middle-aged men were sitting on the carpet around it. He knew they had discretely been eyeing him out ever since he entered. Unbothered, the young man looked down at his mug, closed his eyes, and began listening to their conversation.
"I don't know," one of the men wearing a white djellaba said.
"Why don't you?" the bearded man to his right asked.
"Leaving Nisra to find somewhere safer," added the third man, whose graying hair made him visibly older than the two others, "It may be a wise decision if the rumors are true."
"What are you on about? Nisra is safe," the bearded man said, pouring tea into his small glass.
"How is it safe?" asked the man in white, "Have you not heard the rumors of a shadow ravaging northern Bardaria?"
"We're not in Northern Bardaria," said the bearded man, "where did you hear these rumors?"
"But we're close to the north," said the man in white, "I heard it from a newly arrived Musafirin."
"Musafirin? Do you trust the word of those lunatics now?" said the bearded man, "All they're good for is getting from one place to—"
"They're hardly lunatics or deranged, Askal," the older man interjected while shooting a quick glance at the young man, "Light guides them, after all."
"Ah, of course, and Light guided me to put on my slippers this morning! Does that make me Musafirin ?" the bearded man said while grinning,
"You jest," the older man responded with a look of contempt. Mildly aggravated by his conversation partner, he glanced attentively around the room before his gaze locked back on the young man seated with his eyes closed.
The bearded man lifted his glass to smell the tea’s minty fragrance, and took a small sip before putting it back down. He looked the white clad man in the eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh before saying, "I fear traveling the desert more than any nonsensical rumor of a shadow."
A shadow ravaging northern Bardaria... The young man repeated in his head. As he opened his eyes, he saw the door to the kitchen open. The young woman was carrying a flat rimmed clay dish with a tall cone-shaped lid, accompanied by a little girl holding a loaf of bread. The woman placed the dish before the man and removed the lid; a burst of aromatic fragrance and steam escaped the stew dish. The girl, looking down, handed him the loaf with stretched-out arms before darting away. Thank you for your guidance, Aldawi, he whispered before plunging a small piece of bread he tore from the loaf into the thick broth.