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billieonmars · 6 months ago

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The Dreams of a Shepard

Notes: This was something I wrote for a creative short story assignment in school. It's basically an Alchemist fanfiction twisted to fit the theme of 'following your dreams'. Anyways, hope you enjoy (it's kind of ass lol). Also I'm well aware that the 'omen' stuff is nothing like it is in the book, it would just be a lot to fit in a short story so I changed it around.

The slow pace of the camel is sending Santiago mad. He needs it to pick up its speed and run straight for the pyramids. But the road's path is long, harsh, and full of thieves. He must be patient. The village they are crawling towards is a small, homely place of families. It is a common pitstop for travelers like him and the rest of his band as it saves them from the unwavering heat of the day and the bone chilling cold of the night. The heat is why he wears the scarf around his head and the long fabric around his body. But still he can feel the rays of sun beating down on his face, warming the tanned skin and forming a red, sore, hue. It is midday now, the sun is at its peak and there is no shade for miles to save them. Slowly, another camel strides next to him, an old man sits upon its back. His eyes are squinted against the sun with his bushy, white brows blocking the yards of sand from them. Just like his own, the poor creature is saddled with bags. But Santiago knows they are strong, he had seen one defending itself from a jackal not two days ago. The old man also wears a scarf around his head, but his is a green that matches his tanned skin. Eventually, the man speaks.

“The heat is unbearable, and the cold leaves nowhere to escape. This place wants no man to walk its sands and yet here we are.” He glances at the young man and smiles. “Why are you here from where you are coming, traveler?” The old man could tell he isn’t from the desert.

“I wish to see the Pyramids.” He knows it’s barely a reason, something so small that it was ridiculous that he would come all this way. He’s used to the confused looks people give him when he tells them. But the old man merely smiles and looks forward.

“That’s all? The Pyramids are something to behold. They are grand and powerful but you may find the trouble wasn’t worth it.” Santiago tells him.

“I’m from Spain. I worked as a shepherd for my father sense I was young. It took me to places around the world, yes, but not the places I wanted to be.” He takes a moment to sigh. “So I sold my sheep and used the money to travel here. I had an omen, one that you remind me of. An old man who claims to be a king, he sent me here to follow my dreams. And here I am.” He felt himself reminiscing on the memory. It only happened a month ago and yet it feels like he is looking through another man's eyes, watching another man’s memories.

“I hope this omen serves you well. You must have interesting stories of your travels, coming all the way from Spain. Tell them to me as we ride, the heat makes my head clouded and I need a way to stay awake.” So Santiago settled into his camel and began to tell his story.

When Santiago first stepped into the sandy land of Egypt he felt his spirits rise. Despite the blistering heat on his skin and sand in his eyes, he stood proud as he felt one step closer to his dream. The Bazaar stood in front of him with many merchants and shoppers all trying to bargain. His Spanish clothes wouldn’t cut the desert environment, so his first stop was a clothing merchant. The woman sold scarves and long tunics, some colourful and some the colour of the sand between his toes. He paid her well for a red scarf and a brown tunic; she told him they were called a kaffiyeh and a galabia. He wrapped the scarf around his neck and continued on his way.

While browsing other merchant’s tables, Santiago heard a call. The man calling to him was standing a little outside of the market. He was dressed as all the other Egyptian men but he held a strap of a camel's headstall. He spoke in Arabic, but Santiago only spoke a few words. He approached the man and replied in Spanish.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Arabic.” The man’s eyes lit up and he smiled.

“Don’t worry, brother. I speak little Spanish but enough.” His words were broken and hard to understand under his accent, but the sentiment was understood by Santiago. “Why are you in Egypt, my friend?” He told the unknown man of his dreams. “The road to the pyramids is tough and long. Won’t you need a camel? I have one here, it will suit you well.” He hadn’t thought about that; he was too excited to actually see the pyramids that he didn’t think about how he would get there.

He took out his bag of coins and got ready to pay. He didn’t know how much a camel would cost, but he didn’t think it was his entire coin bag.

“That’s a lot for a camel. I don’t think I will need one, I will catch a ride with a caravan.” The smile on the man's face dropped, and his hand went to his pocket, pulling out a jagged knife. The man took his money and anything else of value, which wasn’t much as he sold most of his belongings to get to Egypt. The man left with his money but not the camel.

By the time he finished his story, the old man was looking unfazed, it wasn’t his first time hearing such a tale. Their camels continue at their slow, rhythmic pace. The village was now visible and closer than ever, Santiago only thought of laying down out of the heat.

“I’ve heard tales like yours many times. People come to Egypt for wonder and adventure, but they don’t realize people here are starving as well. They need food on the table, they get that however they can from foreigners who don’t know better.” They didn’t speak for a while until they came upon the entry of the village.

“I will see you again, friend. Thank you for keeping an old man awake on a long journey.” Santiago nodded his head in reply and said goodbye.

The village is small but comfortable, as is his shelter for that night. The journey from their last stop took all day, now the heat from the red sun flew away and the cold from the grey moon surrounded the air. He falls into a rough sleep; his mind races until his eyes shut closed and he has dreams of terrible things.

He first dreams of thirst, terrible, unquenchable thirst. He dreams that an oasis is only feet away from him but his tired body drags itself across the sand and can move no longer. Secondly he dreams of a group of men all armed with knives and some with swords. They yell in a jumble of muffled Arabic which he cannot understand. And lastly, Santiago dreams of never getting to the pyramids, of dying a short journey away; so close but so far.

He wakes early, the sun hasn’t yet risen but he knows he needs to go. He has a feeling so deep in his stomach. If he does not leave now he will never see the pyramids, and he will never return home. So he moves quickly, shoving food and water into a bag which was given kindly by the village. He leaves his tent and finds his camel close by. He jumps on its back and they start moving by themselves; no other travelers.

It’s dangerous to travel alone, that he knew. But something spoke to him that night. He knew it was his omen; the old man. The camel’s feet sunk over and over into the hot sand. They traveled far from the village and Santiago felt the chill turn to heat over the past few hours. His camel moved more slowly than before. It is tired as is he from the heat. His water is already low; he was never good at rationing. He still has food, but he knew better than to eat it. It will feel like plaster mixing with his saliva, gluing his tongue to the top of his mouth. The food will not help anyways, water is the only thing that can make him last.

Two hours after midday; the worst of the heat is behind him but its effects weigh heavy on his shoulders. His head hangs low and his eyes shut. He had already taken the keffiyeh from his head and put it around his hands that were rubbed raw from the camel’s leads. His water is gone, his food fed to his camel. The poor thing has eaten it as if it was his last meal. It probably was. He has to make a decision now, he is still close enough to the village to last the journey back for more supplies. Does he go back or continue? He can’t wait. Santiago didn’t wish to sustain himself any longer. He needed his lasting energy to get him to the pyramid and he could fall asleep, never to wake again.

Once the chill of the night has set in, Santiago is in and out of consciousness. His body has gone past the need for shivering as he lays motionless to the cold air. He has nothing to shield himself from the cold with. He’s left open and exposed to the moon’s misty stare. His eyes are open, but they are lined with sand. With every blink he can feel the sand shift under his eyelids and drag across the expanse of his eyeball. His breathing is ragged, almost unnoticeable under his clothing. With each expansion of his lungs, his ribs cry in pain. But despite his condition, the camel went on. Its steps are wide, covering as much distance in each spurt of energy as it can.

The sky turned pitch dark and the air turned below freezing. Santiago shut his eyes and allowed the camel to continue.

Without his knowing, the camel stopped with the weight of hunger, thirst, and Santiago. Before falling to its knees and succumbing to the night, the camel tipped Santiago off and into the sand. Its eyes shut and the both of them lay under the blanket of stars and on the bed of sand.

Santiago is awake before he opens his eyes. At first he believes they were glued shut, then he remembers the day before. The sand rings his eyes, crusting over the lids and he has to use all of his energy to pry them open. The sun is beginning to rise, casting an orange glow on the sands. The thirst is unimaginable, he needs water. He suddenly remembers his dreams; thirst, hunger, and failure. They had all come true. With the weight of his dreams crushing him, he stands.

Pulling himself to his feet took 30 minutes. The pain plagued his body as it protested. “lay down and be done with it,” his muscles whispered to him. Something fueled him, something he has never known before. Once he is up, he sways with lost balance. The camel lays next to him. It had never opened its eyes again. Santiago looks around. All around was sand, sand, sand. Nothing but sand. What could he do? Was there anything to do? The questions blurs his mind and his eyes. Nothing feels real; not the sand between his toes, not the faint wind blowing in his hair, and not the heat touching his exposed face. He has failed.

Before long he is on his knees, just as the camel is, losing all the hard work of standing just moments ago. The heat waves blurs around his eyes, blinding him to what lay before him. All he can do is wallow in his pity. His father was right; he was born a shepherd, he should have stayed a shepherd. In this moment he wished for the touch of the sheep; of soft wool and a barnyard stink that came with them. It is almost funny how when he was with the sheep, he wished to be in the desert, and now that he’s in the desert, he wishes to be with the sheep.

Suddenly he lifts his head. He hears a noise that is human. It’s not the noises he heard earlier of hyenas laughing or of tumbleweeds skipping in the sands. It’s voices. The heat waves blur his eyes. Is that real, what is in front of him? His eyes strain, needing to know if what he is seeing is a mirage or not. It can’t be real, he is seeing things that aren’t there. He is tempted to turn to the right, expecting to see a pink leopard rolling around like a house cat and playing with a ball of yarn. He needs to see another hallucination, to confirm it’s not real. Nothing is there.

He can’t stop himself, he needs to know if it is real. He needs to touch it. He uses his arms to drag his body across the grains of sand. He leaves a trail behind him as if someone is dragging a dead body to bury it. He might be a dead body soon enough. He doesn't allow the thought to linger. All that matters is the sight in front of him. His hands slip across the sand as the small pieces slip between his fingers, not allowing him a good grip.

As he comes closer his speed picks up, his legs start working. A rush of energy flashes through him as if someone connected two wires in a circuit. He grunts and groans as his body protests the movements but his mind keeps him going.

He comes closer. It is real. It is real, he is sure of it now. As his hand touches the rough, grainy surface a spark runs from his fingertips, through his arm, and into his heart. He has done it. He didn’t fail, he has made it to the pyramids. His head falls, touching the ground and his hands reach in front of him as if he is bowing to the large structure.

The tears fall fast, pouring from his eyes like the current of a river. The sand soaks them up, appreciating the wetness opposed to the dry heat. No sobs come from his mouth, the tears are silent under the stare of the three pyramids. He sits in front of the smallest; the Pharaoh Menkaure, son and grandson to the larger pyramids of Djoser and Khafre. Even the smallest, towers over his head, casting a long shadow to the left of him.

As his tears continue to fall, a hand is placed on his shoulder. It is heavy and fatherly as it belongs to an old man. Santiago looks up from his weeping, surprised at who stands above him.

“Omen… I’ve made it.” His voice holds the weight of his long journey; quiet and raspy. The old man smiles down at him.

#the alchemist #original story #fanfiction #santiago #omen #desert #egypt #the pyramids

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