Fire In The Desert, Pt. I
In which Hugo is taught more than one lesson.
This is the beginning of my third short story from the HugoVerse.
Jordan. Somewhere in the Wadi Rum desert. 2005.
The sand storm was getting harsher. Hugo could barely see. The sand was getting in everywhere, he had to keep his eyes almost closed all the time. He was unable to visually control the flame. All he had was his intuition.
It was his second month into the Fire magic intensive in Jordan with Master Malik al-Jamri. Things had finally gotten rough.
The point was to keep the flame going in spite of the air element trying to kill it. And fuck, this was hard. It was his second attempt. If he failed, he had one more chance, and after a failed third attempt, he would have to leave.
No fucking way.
The storm was distracting in how it attacked the body, how it created panic in the mind. Strong wind always had an uncanny impact on the psyche. Hugo remembered how he was trying to understand and manipulate the energy of the halny wind during his graduate training in the Tatra mountains. A very strong wind – every Ayurvedic practitioner would tell you that – easily triggers anxiety, which can then spiral out of control and create a panic state in the mind, which then descends into the body.
The whole point was to avoid that – to create a sufficient layer of protection against wind with grounding earth energies so that you could keep a clear mind focused on managing the fire energy.
Which was basically like trying to light a cigarette in a windy spot. Except you didn’t have a hand to protect the flame.
It was interesting how in reality nothing is separate. In order to master the fire, he had to use the understanding of the wind, feel the wind, check in which direction it was blowing and direct the flame where it wouldn’t go against the wind. And the wind direction was constantly changing, so it was a lot like a dance – and it had to be an instinctive dance. There was no space to think. Like in martial arts – when you begin to think, you get hit. Or you’re dead.
So Hugo was trying to ignore all the external circumstances, go with the blow of the wind, and focusing – while trying to block any thought that would not relate directly to fire energy control.
And this was a task in itself too. Fire, for all its destructiveness, is very volatile and delicate. If you overdo it, it will just flame out rapidly. Yes, you can reignite it, but it’s way harder with the wind blowing against you, and even if it wasn’t, this would be against the rules. He was supposed to go into the desert, create a flame, steady the outflow of energy, and then, when the sandstorm began, regulate the flow in alignment with wind blows, without really not seeing very much, just feeling the energy, which would tell him whether to add or subtract.
Now he understood all those silly dance classes in the beginning to the oud music.
Another gust of wind almost threw him out of his balance – but he reacted in the last millisecond. This actually felt good when you cleared your mind and became one with the wind. This oneness was also the goal – something hard to achieve for the average, controlling European mind. It was like knowing where the wind would go next – merging with its intent, with its essence.
Hugo was turning constantly in this flowing, easy dance. Turning his inner fire energy valve up and down according to the force of the wind. Forgetting himself, getting in tune. Losing his consciousness, dissolving into nature.
And then the wind suddenly became freezing.
And he noticed it in a millisecond too late.
The flame almost went out.
Fuck!
And then it blew in his face.
He lost it.
It was over.
And the wind stopped.
His master appeared out of nowhere. Again. To tell him his last chance would come tomorrow.
Hugo fell on his knees, began to beat the sand with his hands, furious, disappointed.
“Stop it. It’s not helping you. You’re wasting your energy. You’ll work on your presence in the afternoon. Come,” said the master, not even looking at him, going towards the school.
Not a word of consolation. Tough words, but true. He had surrendered himself too much to the elements.
*
‘It’s a paradox you must embrace,’ Master Malik was explaining things again to his students. ‘Become one without losing yourself. Dance, but be separate. Watch, but not think. Focus, but be empty. Balance. Go again.’
They were training in pairs – each wizard who failed yesterday’s test was assigned a training companion who passed it. And the successful one got a license to do anything – be as surprising, changeable, volatile, fast, slow, irritating, infuriating as he wants.
And Hugo couldn’t get a more irritating one – Jean-Marc, a French air wizard. Typically French in many ways – very aristocratic, easygoing, behaving as if the world belonged to him. He made an impression everything comes effortlessly to him. Infuriating. And obsessed with doing some ornamental flourishes with fire, which delighted everybody. Who was he thinking he was? A circus clown?
And how did he pass the sandstorm test?
But he couldn’t allow him to get under his skin. Focus! But he had to admit, he was as swift as the wind was – after all, air was his primary specialty. As impossible as he was as a person, he couldn’t get a better training partner.
Dammit! His flame went out again.
‘What are you thinking about? You must cast those thoughts aside! Take a moment to work it through,’ the master said after watching them for a while.
‘Working with this paysan polonais is really a waste of my time!’ said Jean-Marc to Master Malik. ‘Can I work with someone more capable please?’
Master Malik did not even look at him.
‘Do it again.’
And he left to instruct another pair.
‘Who are you calling un paysan polonais?’ cried Hugo, creating a fireball and throwing it at this French buffoon.
Jean-Marc swiftly evaded it, while sending a gust of chilling wind towards Hugo.
‘You really should go back to your cul-de-sac of a country instead of wasting everybody’s time.’
No. He won’t tolerate this idiot. He really wished someone would teach those French a lesson. They really could do with a kick in the ass from history. This would make them…
He didn’t even finish this though as another gust of almost freezing blow made him lose his stance and fall to the floor.
‘Stop! You,’ shouted the master, pointing at Hugo, ‘Out. Now.’
*
He thought he was brilliant. He finished the Warsaw University’s Magical Faculty and then the school of magic under the guidance of renowned master Wilk in the Tatras with honors, being the best in his class. And now he had to suffer the humiliations in this place.
‘Pride, pride, pride!’ shouted Master Malik entering his office. ‘The most common vice of the fire people.’
Hugo was too intelligent to say anything – he knew the master was right. And that the humiliations were necessary if he was supposed to become one of the best wizards in Europe. But still…
‘You must forget about yourself. You are not important. Jean-Marc is not important. Not now. The skill and the task are important. Your mission is important. On the floor. Close your eyes.’
Hugo lied down. He knew there was little sense to argue about how Jean-Marc was just unbearable.
‘Close your eyes,’ the Master went on. ‘You are dead. You lie on the ground. It’s a desert. There are skeletons of dead animals around you. Your body is being eaten, small piece by small piece, by worms. You disintegrate. Nothing is left. Your body, your mind. It’s gone.’
Hugo did as he was told. He thought it would feel horrible, but actually, there was something calming in this. He began to feel the part of the endless cycle of death and rebirth. Nothing new on this Earth. Fascinating.
‘A ball of fire approaches, and it’s purifying. There’s nothing left. Except one thing. Now, you see a shape in front of you. A gemstone. That’s what’s left. What is it?’ asked the Master.
‘Uh… I don’t know. My soul?’
‘No. Try again. You know. Empty your mind, and the answer will appear.’
He took a while. He really felt empty – eaten by worms, reduced to ashes, unimportant.
‘My legacy?’ he answered, spontaneously.
‘Good. Now, you are being reborn. Your body is becoming anew. See yourself being built from the ground up with new molecules. You are a new you. But now, you see what’s really important to you. It’s the gemstone, and it’s inside you. When you’re done, open your eyes.’
That was amazing. He never felt so fresh in his life. Like a very old himself and yet a very new himself.
He opened his eyes. His master stood above him, imperious and impervious, as always.
‘Now go and kick his ass. Someone should teach those paysans français a lesson,’ said the Master, with a twinkle in his eye.
*
‘Your country is a cul-de-sac of history. You destroyed it yourselves and then you whine and complain how you’re poor victims. Laughable.’
Nice try, Jean-Marc. Big guns.
He had been successfully ignoring all his sarcastic remarks for some time now. Something else was important – his focus, his swiftness, his mastery of the skills. Hugo felt as if he was separated from whatever came from the mouth of this Frenchman by an impermeable barrier. It just didn’t reach his mind beyond the most superficial level. He was focusing on his blows.
And he finally was able to grasp Jean-Marc’s movements and intentions. He danced with it – being fully present, and yet letting his body swiftly respond. That felt great – effortless, yet powerful.
And the best part was the more he was successful, the more it irritated Jean-Marc and the more errors he made. Slightly misdirected blows, hesitant reactions, a few milliseconds too slow.
Hugo began to feel great but he immediately corrected himself. He cast this thought aside. He knew this would make him focus on something else than the here and now – focus on himself and how good he became, which would throw him off-balance immediately.
Finally, Jean-Marc became so angry that he created a huge fireball of energy and threw it on Hugo. The problem was, though, it was too hasty, overloaded, and suddenly it exploded half-way, like an overblown balloon.
Jean-Marc lost his balance and fell to the ground. This was the end.
The master approached them and said to Hugo.
‘Good. You’re going out in the afternoon.’
And he went off to assist another student.
My last attempt, thought Hugo, leaving the training ground.
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