Fire In The Desert, Pt. II
In which Hugo gets his last chance to pass the sandstorm test, and Jean-Marc shows his other face.
This is my third short story from the HugoVerse.
Previously: Hugo failed his second test, learned a few lessons and had a discovery during meditation.
He was almost through. This time, he really found himself at the perfect spot between surrender and focus, going with the flow and maintaining awareness. But he had to be aware not to gloat internally about how good he was, as this would mean beginning to think.
So he just went with it.
He sensed a tiny little change in the temperature and direction of the air current that would anticipate a larger-scale, rapid change. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there – visible to the focused mind. He steadied his flame and prepared for the change.
But this time, he didn’t focus on what’s obviously coming into him. He maintained a widely cast awareness around the entire field.
But then, wait! What is it? A tiny counter-current?
Yes, with hot air.
And cold and hot air clashing together create a very unstable situation.
What the fuck!
Hugo braced himself for what’s coming. What he knew from his basic Air elemental training, is that he should expect a vortex-like effect, and moreover, it might destabilize his flame in extreme ways – it could either create a fire tornado from oxygen feeding the fire or snuff out the flame entirely due to erratic movement. It will be very, very hard to manage.
His only way out of this was to position himself at the center of the vortex – like the calm eye of the hurricane. The problem was that it was hard to predict where the two currents meet and create this center.
He had to become extremely mindful of the two currents’ behavior while trusting he can correctly adjust the flame. By extending the field of his consciousness a bit more, he tried to understand the patterns of the two oncoming streams. He got a sense of where they are heading, and thus where they might begin their circular movement. It was still a wild guess, but Hugo had no choice.
He slowly began moving towards that spot, while holding his flame leaning towards a vertical position, ready to be moved in any direction.
The two air currents were growing stronger, and Hugo had a feeling he found the right low-pressure point around which the vortex might begin. The flame seemed stable enough – manageably enough – so it seemed he guessed correctly.
And the whirlwind began to form. Currents of air, dancing with each other, in a crazy, accelerating manner, like forming a circle of devilish dancers around him. At least now, he had just one thing to focus on – how the eye of the vortex would move.
For it would move. Hugo needed to watch for subtle shifts in air pressure – they would indicate where the eye would go next.
And also, the eye would expand and contract. Hopefully, it would not contract too much to disrupt Hugo’s flame. but for now, the flame was steady – it was absolutely quiet in the center.
He began another dance – with the eye of the vortex. Feeling into the pressure changes, he began to move accordingly.
Yet, there was something strange about the steadiness of this vortex. Yes, it was contracting and expanding in its power, but it was bizarrely regular. But now was not the time to think about it.
After two minutes of this dance, not much changed.
Would this ever stop?
Hugo began to feel exhaustion slowly creeping in. This went well beyond his former trial. He forced himself to maintain his focus and summon his reserves. There’s no fucking way he fails this test!
Suddenly, after another minute or two of Hugo riding the vortex, something began to destabilize. The rotational pattern of the vortex, smooth and predictable so far, became wobbly and erratic. Something has changed.
The eye of the vortex began contracting. Hugo begin to feel chilly, as if cold air began to dominate. The vortex was collapsing. Hugo knew this would create gusts of directional wind rushing in from unpredictable places.
This required going back to his previous strategy of protecting the flame from unpredictable gusts of wind, but in much more dynamic and even more erratic conditions.
But in the end, the vortex would either explode or implode. It would be complete maelstrom where maintaining the flame would be almost impossible.
The entire situation began changing in milliseconds. It was total mayhem. Somehow Hugo managed to protect the fire amid all this, but after ten seconds or something when Hugo fought hard, suddenly a gust of cold swooshed into where he was standing, as if sucked into a vacuum, collapsing the vortex.
This killed his flame.
Hugo fell to the ground, exhausted, breathing heavily, feeling a bit dizzy from the constant swirl of the vortex. His senses were frazzled. He felt nauseous.
And then this thought. He failed again. Damn. So is this how it ends? He would have to go back to Warsaw, not having accomplished anything.
But a part of him just didn’t care. All he wanted to do was get into his bed and rest.
After a while, he saw Master Malik approaching him. He seemed unusually worried.
‘You passed. Let’s go back.’
And without offering any explanation, he turned abruptly and strode back towards the school.
What? How?
But Hugo was too exhausted to feel anything. He just dragged his feet following Malik back to school.
*
It was getting a bit chilly, a welcome relief after the heat of the day. Hugo was lying on the roof of the school, looking at setting sun, taking rest, exhausted from the trial, waiting to be called for dinner.
There was a lot to process. Hugo closed his eyes for a moment.
‘Félicitations, bien joué.’
This cocky, arrogant voice meant one person only. He opened his eyes.
‘Oh, you didn’t expect un paysan polonais to cope with this?’
‘Come on. You didn’t think that was for real?’
Now that caught Hugo off guard. For a moment, he did not know what to say. A strange sensation. Did he got all worked up before because of a mirage?
Well, other people’s opinions. Mostly an illusion, as it turns out.
‘Congratulations on your acting skills then.’
‘Thank you. May I?’
‘Sure.’
‘It’s part of this training. Believe it or not, but it’s my second time here. I got expelled before for failing one of the tests,’ Jean-Marc explained.
‘Seriously? You seem so…’
‘Cocky? Yeah, I know how people perceive me.’
‘Very French,’ Hugo added, ironically.
Jean-Marc laughed.
‘Oh, are we now going to go into all those national clichés?’
‘No. But to be honest – I like it.’
‘That’s because you can’t complain about not having it in spades yourself.’
Hugo couldn’t protest.
‘And just to set it straight. I have nothing against your country. And I like you. You’re one of the few really smart people here. Actually, that’s why I’m up here.’
That was an unexpected compliment. It piqued Hugo’s interest.
‘But first, what happened on the testing ground? When you came back, Master Malik called off all the subsequent trials.’
‘He did?’
That was strange. Hugo recapitulated everything that happened.
‘Wow. And you maintained the flame for so long? Amazing.’
‘I—I don’t know, I just followed what I learned in the morning. I was quite surprised myself, to be honest.’
‘Interesting. You should ask Malik later about that. Anyway, that was all very unusual. There was no vortex on my trial. I don’t think it’s part of the curriculum. At least, not to such an extent. Maybe Master Malik wanted to specifically test you for some reason, but I doubt it. He’s unusually fair. Something else is going on.’
‘Are you suspecting foul play? From a student?’ Hugo asked.
‘Or someone outside the school.’
‘There was a moment during my trial when I thought – now I remember this, it was all happening so fast – how strangely stable the power of the vortex is. Now when you mention it – it’s logical someone was feeding a constant supply of hot air into the testing ground.’
‘But why? Why would someone want to sabotage your test?’
‘And first of all – against whom it was directed? Me or Malik?’
‘Do you have enemies in Jordan?’
‘Not that I know of. But my family might. You never know. I think they might have been here in the 20s or something. I would have to check it.’
‘Oh I know those issues pretty well. You know, us French being in Syria and so on. I wonder how many skeletons in the closet my family has.’
‘Surely more than one. I know the feeling. The burden of centuries.’
They both smiled, with mutual understanding of two people coming from the same circumstances in spite of all the differences in language, country of origin and historical circumstances.
‘Anyway. Going back to why I’m here. When you came back, Malik closed himself in his office. I heard him speaking in an agitated manner on the phone.’
‘Malik? Agitated?’
‘Exactly,’ Jean-Marc said. ‘I think we should talk to him. Not that I believe he would tell us anything.’
‘I was in danger this afternoon. I think I have the right to know what the fuck was going on.’
‘You’re right. Let’s go.’
*
When they reached the main hall, there was unusual commotion there. People were talking in groups, confused and anxious.
Hugo and Jean-Marc approached one of those groups, asking what was going on.
‘Master Malik called off the evening class and left the school,’ said one of the students.
‘Yes, he was unusually agitated. He even shouted at one of the assistants,’ added another student.
Hugo and Jean-Marc looked at each other. They seem to both agree what they were supposed to do.
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