Contents

InternationalAcclaimforPauloCoelho’sForeword

ProloguePartOnePartTwoEpilogueAPreviewofPauloCoelho’s:WarrioroftheLightWarrioroftheLight:Prologue

AbouttheAuthorAlsobyPauloCoelhoBackAdsCopyrightAboutthePublisher

InternationalAcclaimforPauloCoelho’s

THEALCHEMIST

“Thestoryhasthecomiccharm,dramatictension,andpsychologicalintensityofafairytale,butit’sfullofspecificwisdomaswell....Asweetlyexotictalefor

youngandoldalike.”—PublishersWeekly

“Beneaththisnovel’scompellingstoryandtheshimmeringelegancewithwhichit’stoldliesabedrockofwisdomaboutfollowingone’sheart.”

—Booklist

“AsmemorableandmeaningfulasSaint-Exupéry’sTheLittlePrince.”—AustinAmerican-Statesman

“Atouching,inspiringfable.”—IndianapolisStar

“Alittlepokeintheribsfromonhigh.”—DetroitFreePress

“TheAlchemistisafabuloussuccess.”—DerSpiegel(Germany)

“Aremarkabletaleaboutthemostmagicalofalljourneys:thequesttofulfillone’sdestiny.IrecommendTheAlchemisttoanyonewhoispassionately

committedtoclaimingthelifeoftheirdreams—today.”

—AnthonyRobbins,authorofAwakentheGiantWithin

“Anentrepreneurialtaleofuniversalwisdomwecanapplytothebusinessofourownlives.”

—SpencerJohnson,M.D.,authorofWhoMovedMyCheese

“Anadventurestoryfullofmagicandwisdom.”—RudolfoAnaya,authorofBlessMe,Ultima

“TheAlchemistisabeautifulbookaboutmagic,dreams,andthetreasuresweseekelsewhereandthenfindatourdoorstep.”—MadonnainSonntagAktuell(Germany)

“TheAlchemistisanunabasheddelightandinspirationalwonder.Thisfableisaroseateamalgamofspiritualquest,existentialpuzzle,lovelysensitivity,and

deepstrength.”—MalcolmBoyd,authorofAreYouRunningwithMe,Jesus?

“PauloCoelhoknowsthesecretofliteraryalchemy.”—KenzaburoOé,winneroftheNobelPrizeinLiterature

“Amosttenderandgentlestory.Itisararegemofabook,andwillmostcertainlytouchtheverycoreofeveryheartearnestlyseekingitsowndestinyon

thejourneyoflife.”—GeraldG.Jampolsky,M.D.,coauthorofChangeYourMind,ChangeYourLife

andLoveIsLettingGoofFear

“RarelydoIcomeacrossastorywiththedirectnessandsimplicityofCoelho’sTheAlchemist.Itliftsthereaderoutoftimeandfocusesthroughabelievablyunlikelystoryonayoungdreamerlookingforhimself.Abeautifulstorywitha

pointedmessageforeveryreader.”—JosephGirzone,authorofJoshua

“Thisisthetypeofbookthatmakesyouunderstandmoreaboutyourselfandaboutlife.Ithasphilosophyandisspicedwithcolors,flavors,andsubjects,like

afairytale.Alovelybook.”—Yedi’otAharonot(Israel)

“AboynamedSantiagojoinstheranksofCandideandPinocchiobytakingusonaveryexcellentadventure.”

—PaulZindel,authorofthePulitzerPrize–winningplayTheEffectofGammaRaysonMan-in-the-MoonMarigolds

“Themysticqualityintheoddadventuresoftheboy,Santiago,maybringnotonlyhimbutotherswhoreadthisfinebookclosertorecognizingandreaching

theirowninnerdestinies.”—CharlotteZolotow,authorofIfYouListen

“PauloCoelhogivesyoutheinspirationtofollowyourowndreamsbyseeingtheworldthroughyourowneyesandnotsomeoneelse’s.”—LynnAndrews,authoroftheMedicineWomanseries

“Nothingisimpossible,suchisCoelho’smessage,aslongasyouwishitwithallyourheart.Nootherbookbearssomuchhope;smallwonderitsauthorbecamea

guruamongallthoseinsearchofthemeaningoflife.”—Focus(Germany)

“TheAlchemistisatrulypoeticbook.”—WeltamSonntag(Germany)

“Dottedthroughoutthestoryandilluminatedinapoeticstylearemetaphorsanddeepinsightsthatstirourimaginationandtransportthereaderonafantastic

journeyofthesoul.”—YomiuriShimbun(Japan)

“TheAlchemistbringstomindTheLittlePrincebySaint-ExupéryandTheProphetbyKhalilGibran,aswellasbiblicalparables.”

—GazetaWyborcza(Poland)

“TheAlchemistisabeautifulandheartwarmingstorywithanexoticflavor....YoumayormaynotagreewithPauloCoelho’sphilosophy,butit’snonethelessa

talethatcomfortsourheartsasmuchasoursouls.”—Bergensavisen(Norway)

“TheAlchemistislikeamodern-dayTheLittlePrince.Asupremeandsimplebook.”

—MiloradPavic,authorofDictionaryoftheKhazars

“AmongLatinAmericanwriters,onlyColombia’sGabrielGarciaMarquezismorewidelyreadthanBrazil’sPauloCoelho.”

—TheEconomist

Foreword

When The Alchemist was first published twenty-five years ago in my nativeBrazil,noonenoticed.Abookseller in thenortheastcornerof thecountrytoldme thatonlyonepersonpurchasedacopy the firstweekof its release. It tookanothersixmonthsforthebooksellertounloadasecondcopy—andthatwastothesamepersonwhoboughtthefirst!Andwhoknowshowlongittooktosellthethird.

By theendof theyear, itwasclear toeveryone thatTheAlchemist wasn’tworking. My original publisher decided to cut me loose and cancelled ourcontract.Theywiped their handsof theproject and letme take thebookwithme.Iwasforty-oneanddesperate.

But I never lost faith in the book or ever wavered in my vision. Why?Because it was me in there, all of me, heart and soul. I was living my ownmetaphor.Amansetsoutonajourney,dreamingofabeautifulormagicalplace,inpursuitofsomeunknowntreasure.Attheendofhisjourney,themanrealizesthetreasurewaswithhimtheentiretime.IwasfollowingmyPersonalLegend,andmytreasurewasmycapacity towrite.AndIwanted toshare this treasurewiththeworld.

AsIwroteinTheAlchemist,whenyouwantsomething,thewholeuniverseconspirestohelpyou.Istartedknockingonthedoorsofotherpublishers.Oneopened, and the publisher on the other side believed inme andmy book andagreedtogiveTheAlchemistasecondchance.Slowly,throughwordofmouth,itfinallystartedtosell—threethousand,thensixthousand,tenthousand—bookbybook,graduallythroughouttheyear.

Eight months later, an American visiting Brazil picked up a copy of TheAlchemistinalocalbookstore.HewantedtotranslatethebookandhelpmefindapublisherintheUnitedStates.HarperCollinsagreedtobringittoanAmericanaudience, publishing it with great fanfare: ads in the New York Times andinfluential news magazines, radio and television interviews. But it still tooksome time to sell, slowly finding its audience in theUnitedStatesbywordofmouth,justasitdidinBrazil.Andthenoneday,BillClintonwasphotographed

leaving theWhiteHousewithacopy.ThenMadonna ravedabout thebook toVanityFair,andpeoplefromdifferentwalksoflife—fromRushLimbaughandWillSmithtocollegestudentsandsoccermoms—weresuddenlytalkingaboutit.

The Alchemist became a spontaneous—and organic—Phenomenon. Thebook hit the New York Times bestseller list, an important milestone for anyauthor, and stayed there formore than threehundredweeks. It has sincebeentranslatedintomorethaneightydifferentlanguages,themosttranslatedbookbyany living author, and is widely considered one of the ten best books of thetwentiethcentury.

People continue to askme if I knewTheAlchemistwould be such a hugesuccess.Theanswerisno.Ihadnoidea.HowcouldI?WhenIsatdowntowriteTheAlchemist,all Iknewis that Iwanted towriteaboutmysoul. Iwanted towriteaboutmyquesttofindmytreasure.Iwantedtofollowtheomens,becauseIkneweventhenthattheomensarethelanguageofGod.

ThoughTheAlchemistisnowcelebratingitstwenty-fifthanniversary,itisnorelicof thepast.Thebookisstillverymuchalive.Likemyheartand likemysoul,itcontinuestoliveeveryday,becausemyheartandsoulareinit.Andmyheartandsoulisyourheartandsoul.IamSantiagotheshepherdboyinsearchofmytreasure,justasyouareSantiagotheshepherdboyinsearchofyourown.The story of one person is the story of everyone, and oneman’s quest is thequest of all of humanity, which is why I believeThe Alchemist continues alltheseyears later to resonatewithpeople fromdifferent cultures all around theworld,touchingthememotionallyandspiritually,equally,withoutprejudice.

Ire-readTheAlchemistregularlyandeverytimeIdoIexperiencethesamesensations I felt when I wrote it. And here is what I feel. I feel happiness,because it is all of me, and all of you simultaneously. I feel happiness, too,because I know I can never be alone.Wherever I go, people understandme.Theyunderstandmysoul.Thiscontinues togivemehope.When I readaboutclashesaround theworld—political clashes, economicclashes, cultural clashes—Iamremindedthatitiswithinourpowertobuildabridgetobecrossed.Evenifmyneighbordoesn’tunderstandmyreligionorunderstandmypolitics,hecanunderstandmystory.Ifhecanunderstandmystory,thenhe’snevertoofarfromme.Itisalwayswithinmypowertobuildabridge.Thereisalwaysachanceforreconciliation,achancethatonedayheandIwillsitaroundatabletogetherandputanendtoourhistoryofclashes.Andonthisday,hewilltellmehisstoryandIwilltellhimmine.

—PauloCoelho,2014

Prologue

TranslatedbyCliffordE.Landers

The alchemist picked up a book that someone in the caravan had brought.Leafingthroughthepages,hefoundastoryaboutNarcissus.

ThealchemistknewthelegendofNarcissus,ayouthwhokneltdailybesidealaketocontemplatehisownbeauty.Hewassofascinatedbyhimselfthat,onemorning,hefell intothelakeanddrowned.Atthespotwherehefell,aflowerwasborn,whichwascalledthenarcissus.

Butthiswasnothowtheauthorofthebookendedthestory.HesaidthatwhenNarcissusdied,thegoddessesoftheforestappearedand

found the lake, which had been fresh water, transformed into a lake of saltytears.

“Whydoyouweep?”thegoddessesasked.“IweepforNarcissus,”thelakereplied.“Ah,itisnosurprisethatyouweepforNarcissus,”theysaid,“forthoughwe

alwayspursuedhimintheforest,youalonecouldcontemplatehisbeautycloseathand.”

“But...wasNarcissusbeautiful?”thelakeasked.“Whobetter thanyou toknow that?” thegoddesses said inwonder.“After

all,itwasbyyourbanksthatheknelteachdaytocontemplatehimself!”Thelakewassilentforsometime.Finally,itsaid:“I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I

weepbecause,eachtimehekneltbesidemybanks,Icouldsee,inthedepthsofhiseyes,myownbeautyreflected.”

“Whatalovelystory,”thealchemistthought.

THEBOY’SNAMEWASSANTIAGO.DUSKwasfallingastheboyarrivedwithhisherdatanabandonedchurch.Theroofhadfallen in longago,andanenormoussycamorehadgrownonthespotwherethesacristyhadoncestood.

Hedecidedtospendthenight there.Hesawtoit thatall thesheepenteredthroughtheruinedgate,andthenlaidsomeplanksacrossittopreventtheflockfromwanderingawayduringthenight.Therewerenowolvesintheregion,butonceananimalhadstrayedduringthenight,andtheboyhadhadtospendtheentirenextdaysearchingforit.

Hesweptthefloorwithhisjacketandlaydown,usingthebookhehadjustfinishedreadingasapillow.Hetoldhimselfthathewouldhavetostartreadingthickerbooks:theylastedlonger,andmademorecomfortablepillows.

It was still dark when he awoke, and, looking up, he could see the starsthroughthehalf-destroyedroof.

Iwantedtosleepalittlelonger,hethought.Hehadhadthesamedreamthatnightasaweekago,andonceagainhehadawakenedbeforeitended.

Hearoseand,takinguphiscrook,begantoawakenthesheepthatstillslept.Hehadnoticedthat,assoonasheawoke,mostofhisanimalsalsobegantostir.It was as if somemysterious energy bound his life to that of the sheep,withwhomhehadspentthepasttwoyears,leadingthemthroughthecountrysideinsearchoffoodandwater.“Theyaresousedtomethattheyknowmyschedule,”hemuttered.Thinkingaboutthatforamoment,herealizedthatitcouldbetheotherwayaround:thatitwashewhohadbecomeaccustomedtotheirschedule.

But therewere certain of themwho took a bit longer to awaken.The boyproddedthem,onebyone,withhiscrook,callingeachbyname.Hehadalwaysbelieved that the sheep were able to understand what he said. So there weretimeswhenhereadthempartsofhisbooksthathadmadeanimpressiononhim,orwhenhewouldtell themofthelonelinessorthehappinessofashepherdinthefields.Sometimeshewouldcomment to themonthe thingshehadseeninthevillagestheypassed.

Butfor thepast fewdayshehadspoken to themaboutonlyone thing: thegirl, the daughter of amerchantwho lived in the village theywould reach inabout four days. He had been to the village only once, the year before. Themerchantwastheproprietorofadrygoodsshop,andhealwaysdemandedthatthesheepbeshearedinhispresence,sothathewouldnotbecheated.Afriendhadtoldtheboyabouttheshop,andhehadtakenhissheepthere.

“Ineedtosellsomewool,”theboytoldthemerchant.The shop was busy, and the man asked the shepherd to wait until the

afternoon.Sotheboysatonthestepsoftheshopandtookabookfromhisbag.“Ididn’tknowshepherdsknewhowtoread,”saidagirl’svoicebehindhim.ThegirlwastypicaloftheregionofAndalusia,withflowingblackhair,and

eyesthatvaguelyrecalledtheMoorishconquerors.

“Well,usuallyIlearnmorefrommysheepthanfrombooks,”heanswered.During the two hours that they talked, she told him she was the merchant’sdaughter,andspokeoflifeinthevillage,whereeachdaywaslikealltheothers.TheshepherdtoldheroftheAndalusiancountryside,andrelatedthenewsfromtheothertownswherehehadstopped.Itwasapleasantchangefromtalkingtohissheep.

“Howdidyoulearntoread?”thegirlaskedatonepoint.“Likeeverybodylearns,”hesaid.“Inschool.”“Well,ifyouknowhowtoread,whyareyoujustashepherd?”

The boymumbled an answer that allowed him to avoid responding to herquestion. He was sure the girl would never understand. He went on tellingstoriesabouthis travels,andherbright,Moorisheyeswentwidewithfearandsurprise.Asthetimepassed,theboyfoundhimselfwishingthatthedaywouldneverend,thatherfatherwouldstaybusyandkeephimwaitingforthreedays.Herecognizedthathewasfeelingsomethinghehadneverexperiencedbefore:thedesiretoliveinoneplaceforever.Withthegirlwiththeravenhair,hisdayswouldneverbethesameagain.

Butfinallythemerchantappeared,andaskedtheboytoshearfoursheep.Hepaidforthewoolandaskedtheshepherdtocomebackthefollowingyear.

Andnowitwasonlyfourdaysbeforehewouldbebackinthatsamevillage.Hewasexcited,andatthesametimeuneasy:maybethegirlhadalreadyforgottenhim.Lotsofshepherdspassedthrough,sellingtheirwool.

“Itdoesn’tmatter,”hesaidtohissheep.“Iknowothergirlsinotherplaces.”Butinhisheartheknewthatitdidmatter.Andheknewthatshepherds,like

seamen and like traveling salesmen, always found a town where there wassomeonewhocouldmakethemforgetthejoysofcarefreewandering.

Thedaywasdawning,andtheshepherdurgedhissheepinthedirectionofthesun.Theyneverhavetomakeanydecisions,hethought.Maybethat’swhytheyalwaysstayclosetome.

Theonlythingsthatconcernedthesheepwerefoodandwater.AslongastheboyknewhowtofindthebestpasturesinAndalusia,theywouldbehisfriends.Yes, their days were all the same, with the seemingly endless hours betweensunriseanddusk;andtheyhadneverreadabookintheiryounglives,anddidn’tunderstand when the boy told them about the sights of the cities. They werecontentwithjustfoodandwater,and,inexchange,theygenerouslygaveoftheirwool,theircompany,and—onceinawhile—theirmeat.

If I became a monster today, and decided to kill them, one by one, theywouldbecomeawareonlyaftermostoftheflockhadbeenslaughtered,thoughttheboy.Theytrustme,andthey’veforgottenhowtorelyontheirowninstincts,becauseIleadthemtonourishment.

Theboywassurprisedathisthoughts.Maybethechurch,withthesycamoregrowing fromwithin, had been haunted. It had caused him to have the samedreamforasecondtime,anditwascausinghimtofeelangertowardhisfaithfulcompanions.Hedrankabitfromthewinethatremainedfromhisdinnerofthe

nightbefore,andhegatheredhisjacketclosertohisbody.Heknewthatafewhours fromnow,with the sun at its zenith, theheatwouldbe sogreat that hewouldnotbeabletoleadhisflockacrossthefields.ItwasthetimeofdaywhenallofSpainsleptduringthesummer.Theheatlasteduntilnightfall,andallthattime he had to carry his jacket. But when he thought to complain about theburden of its weight, he remembered that, because he had the jacket, he hadwithstoodthecoldofthedawn.

Wehavetobepreparedforchange,hethought,andhewasgratefulforthejacket’sweightandwarmth.

The jacket had a purpose, and so did the boy. His purpose in life was totravel, and, after twoyearsofwalking theAndalusian terrain, heknewall thecitiesoftheregion.Hewasplanning,onthisvisit,toexplaintothegirlhowitwasthatasimpleshepherdknewhowtoread.Thathehadattendedaseminaryuntilhewassixteen.Hisparentshadwantedhimtobecomeapriest,andtherebyasourceofprideforasimplefarmfamily.Theyworkedhardjusttohavefoodandwater,likethesheep.HehadstudiedLatin,Spanish,andtheology.Buteversincehehadbeenachild,hehadwantedtoknowtheworld,andthiswasmuchmore important tohim thanknowingGodand learning aboutman’s sins.Oneafternoon,onavisit tohisfamily,hehadsummonedupthecouragetotellhisfatherthathedidn’twanttobecomeapriest.Thathewantedtotravel.

“Peoplefromallovertheworldhavepassedthroughthisvillage,son,”saidhisfather. “They come in search of new things, but when they leave they arebasicallythesamepeopletheywerewhentheyarrived.Theyclimbthemountaintoseethecastle,andtheywindupthinkingthatthepastwasbetterthanwhatwehavenow.Theyhaveblondhair,ordarkskin,butbasicallythey’rethesameasthepeoplewholiverighthere.”

“But I’d like to see the castles in the towns where they live,” the boyexplained.

“Thosepeople,whentheyseeourland,saythattheywouldliketolivehereforever,”hisfathercontinued.

“Well,I’dliketoseetheirland,andseehowtheylive,”saidhisson.“Thepeoplewhocomeherehavealotofmoneytospend,sotheycanafford

to travel,” his father said. “Amongst us, the only ones who travel are theshepherds.”

“Well,thenI’llbeashepherd!”

His father said nomore. The next day, he gave his son a pouch that heldthreeancientSpanishgoldcoins.

“I found these one day in the fields. I wanted them to be a part of yourinheritance. But use them to buy your flock. Take to the fields, and somedayyou’ll learn that our countryside is the best, and our women are the mostbeautiful.”

Andhegave theboyhisblessing.Theboycouldsee inhis father’sgazeadesire to be able, himself, to travel the world—a desire that was still alive,despitehisfather’shavinghadtoburyit,overdozensofyears,undertheburdenofstrugglingforwater todrink,foodtoeat,andthesameplace tosleepeverynightofhislife.

The horizon was tinged with red, and suddenly the sun appeared. The boythoughtbacktothatconversationwithhisfather,andfelthappy;hehadalreadyseenmany castles andmetmanywomen (but none the equal of the onewhoawaitedhimseveraldayshence).Heownedajacket,abookthathecouldtradeforanother,andaflockofsheep.But,mostimportant,hewasableeverydaytoliveouthisdream.IfheweretotireoftheAndalusianfields,hecouldsellhissheepandgotosea.Bythetimehehadhadenoughofthesea,hewouldalreadyhaveknownothercities,otherwomen,andotherchancestobehappy.Icouldn’thavefoundGodintheseminary,hethought,ashelookedatthesunrise.

Wheneverhecould,hesoughtoutanewroadtotravel.Hehadneverbeentothatruinedchurchbefore, inspiteofhavingtraveledthroughthosepartsmanytimes.Theworldwashugeandinexhaustible;hehadonlytoallowhissheeptoset the route for awhile, and hewould discover other interesting things. The

problem is that they don’t even realize that they’rewalking a new road everyday.Theydon’tseethatthefieldsarenewandtheseasonschange.Alltheythinkaboutisfoodandwater.

Maybewe’re all thatway, theboymused.Evenme—Ihaven’t thought ofother women since I met the merchant’s daughter. Looking at the sun, hecalculatedthathewouldreachTarifabeforemidday.There,hecouldexchangehisbookforathickerone,fillhiswinebottle,shave,andhaveahaircut;hehadtopreparehimselfforhismeetingwiththegirl,andhedidn’twanttothinkaboutthepossibilitythatsomeothershepherd,withalargerflockofsheep,hadarrivedtherebeforehimandaskedforherhand.

It’sthepossibilityofhavingadreamcometruethatmakeslifeinteresting,hethought,ashelookedagainatthepositionofthesun,andhurriedhispace.Hehad suddenly remembered that, in Tarifa, there was an old woman whointerpreteddreams.

Theoldwomanledtheboytoaroomatthebackofherhouse;itwasseparatedfrom her living room by a curtain of colored beads. The room’s furnishingsconsistedofatable,animageoftheSacredHeartofJesus,andtwochairs.

Thewomansatdown,andtoldhimtobeseatedaswell.Thenshetookbothofhishandsinhers,andbeganquietlytopray.

ItsoundedlikeaGypsyprayer.TheboyhadalreadyhadexperienceontheroadwithGypsies; theyalso traveled,but theyhadno flocksof sheep.PeoplesaidthatGypsiesspenttheirlivestrickingothers.Itwasalsosaidthattheyhadapactwiththedevil,andthat theykidnappedchildrenand, takingthemawaytotheirmysteriouscamps,madethemtheirslaves.Asachild,theboyhadalwaysbeen frightened to death that he would be captured by Gypsies, and thischildhoodfearreturnedwhentheoldwomantookhishandsinhers.

But shehas theSacredHeart of Jesus there, he thought, trying to reassurehimself.He didn’twant his hand to begin trembling, showing the oldwomanthathewasfearful.HerecitedanOurFathersilently.

“Very interesting,” said the woman, never taking her eyes from the boy’shands,andthenshefellsilent.

Theboywasbecomingnervous.Hishandsbegantotremble,andthewomansensedit.Hequicklypulledhishandsaway.

“Ididn’tcomehere tohaveyoureadmypalm,”hesaid,alreadyregrettinghavingcome.Hethoughtforamomentthatitwouldbebettertopayherfeeand

leavewithout learninga thing, thathewasgiving toomuch importance tohisrecurrentdream.

“Youcamesothatyoucouldlearnaboutyourdreams,”saidtheoldwoman.“Anddreamsare the languageofGod.Whenhespeaks inour language, Icaninterpretwhathehassaid.Butifhespeaksinthelanguageofthesoul,itisonlyyouwhocanunderstand.But,whichever it is, I’mgoing tochargeyoufor theconsultation.”

Anothertrick,theboythought.Buthedecidedtotakeachance.Ashepherdalwaystakeshischanceswithwolvesandwithdrought,andthat’swhatmakesashepherd’slifeexciting.

“Ihavehadthesamedreamtwice,”hesaid.“IdreamedthatIwasinafieldwithmy sheep,when a child appeared and began to playwith the animals. Idon’t like people to do that, because the sheep are afraid of strangers. Butchildrenalwaysseem tobeable toplaywith themwithout frightening them. Idon’tknowwhy.Idon’tknowhowanimalsknowtheageofhumanbeings.”

“Tellmemoreaboutyourdream,”saidthewoman.“Ihavetogetbacktomycooking,and,sinceyoudon’thavemuchmoney,Ican’tgiveyoualotoftime.”

“Thechildwentonplayingwithmysheepforquiteawhile,”continuedtheboy,abitupset.“Andsuddenly,thechildtookmebybothhandsandtransportedmetotheEgyptianpyramids.”

He paused for a moment to see if the woman knew what the Egyptianpyramidswere.Butshesaidnothing.

“Then,at theEgyptianpyramids,”—hesaid the last threewordsslowly, sothattheoldwomanwouldunderstand—“thechildsaidtome,‘Ifyoucomehere,youwillfindahiddentreasure.’And,justasshewasabouttoshowmetheexactlocation,Iwokeup.Bothtimes.”

Thewomanwas silent for some time. Then she again took his hands andstudiedthemcarefully.

“I’mnotgoingtochargeyouanythingnow,”shesaid.“ButIwantone-tenthofthetreasure,ifyoufindit.”

The boy laughed—out of happiness. Hewas going to be able to save thelittlemoneyhehadbecauseofadreamabouthiddentreasure!

“Well,interpretthedream,”hesaid.“First,sweartome.Swearthatyouwillgivemeone-tenthofyourtreasurein

exchangeforwhatIamgoingtotellyou.”Theshepherdsworethathewould.Theoldwomanaskedhimtoswearagain

whilelookingattheimageoftheSacredHeartofJesus.“It’sadreaminthelanguageoftheworld,”shesaid.“Icaninterpretit,but

theinterpretationisverydifficult.That’swhyIfeelthatIdeserveapartofwhatyoufind.

“Andthisismyinterpretation:youmustgotothePyramidsinEgypt.Ihaveneverheardofthem,but,ifitwasachildwhoshowedthemtoyou,theyexist.Thereyouwillfindatreasurethatwillmakeyouarichman.”

Theboywassurprised,andthenirritated.Hedidn’tneedtoseekouttheoldwoman for this!But thenhe remembered that hewasn’t going to have to payanything.

“Ididn’tneedtowastemytimejustforthis,”hesaid.“Itoldyouthatyourdreamwasadifficultone.It’sthesimplethingsinlife

thatarethemostextraordinary;onlywisemenareabletounderstandthem.AndsinceIamnotwise,Ihavehadtolearnotherarts,suchasthereadingofpalms.”

“Well,howamIgoingtogettoEgypt?”“Ionlyinterpretdreams.Idon’tknowhowtoturnthemintoreality.That’s

whyIhavetoliveoffwhatmydaughtersprovidemewith.”“AndwhatifInevergettoEgypt?”“ThenIdon’tgetpaid.Itwouldn’tbethefirsttime.”And thewoman told the boy to leave, saying she had alreadywasted too

muchtimewithhim.Sotheboywasdisappointed;hedecidedthathewouldneveragainbelieve

indreams.Herememberedthathehadanumberofthingshehadtotakecareof:hewenttothemarketforsomethingtoeat,hetradedhisbookforonethatwasthicker,andhefoundabenchintheplazawherehecouldsamplethenewwinehehadbought.Thedaywashot,andthewinewasrefreshing.Thesheepwereatthegatesofthecity,inastablethatbelongedtoafriend.Theboyknewalotofpeopleinthecity.Thatwaswhatmadetravelingappealtohim—healwaysmadenew friends, and he didn’t need to spend all of his time with them. Whensomeone sees the same people every day, as had happened with him at theseminary,theywindupbecomingapartofthatperson’slife.Andthentheywant

thepersontochange.Ifsomeoneisn’twhatotherswant themtobe, theothersbecomeangry.Everyoneseemstohaveaclearideaofhowotherpeopleshouldleadtheirlives,butnoneabouthisorherown.

He decided to wait until the sun had sunk a bit lower in the sky beforefollowinghisflockbackthroughthefields.Threedaysfromnow,hewouldbewiththemerchant’sdaughter.

Hestartedtoreadthebookhehadbought.Ontheveryfirstpageitdescribedaburialceremony.Andthenamesofthepeopleinvolvedwereverydifficulttopronounce.Ifheeverwroteabook,hethought,hewouldpresentonepersonatatime,sothatthereaderwouldn’thavetoworryaboutmemorizingalotofnames.

Whenhewasfinallyabletoconcentrateonwhathewasreading,helikedthebook better; the burial was on a snowy day, and he welcomed the feeling ofbeingcold.Ashereadon,anoldmansatdownathissideandtriedtostrikeupaconversation.

“What are they doing?” the old man asked, pointing at the people in theplaza.

“Working,” the boy answered dryly, making it look as if he wanted toconcentrateonhisreading.

Actually,hewasthinkingaboutshearinghissheepinfrontofthemerchant’sdaughter,sothatshecouldseethathewassomeonewhowascapableofdoingdifficultthings.Hehadalreadyimaginedthescenemanytimes;everytime,thegirlbecamefascinatedwhenheexplainedthatthesheephadtobeshearedfromback to front. He also tried to remember some good stories to relate as heshearedthesheep.Mostofthemhehadreadinbooks,buthewouldtellthemasiftheywerefromhispersonalexperience.Shewouldneverknowthedifference,becauseshedidn’tknowhowtoread.

Meanwhile,theoldmanpersistedinhisattempttostrikeupaconversation.He said that hewas tired and thirsty, and asked if hemight have a sip of theboy’swine.Theboyofferedhisbottle,hopingthattheoldmanwouldleavehimalone.

But the oldmanwanted to talk, and he asked the boywhat book hewasreading.Theboywas tempted tobe rude, andmove to anotherbench,buthisfatherhadtaughthimtoberespectfuloftheelderly.Soheheldoutthebooktotheman—fortworeasons:first,thathe,himself,wasn’tsurehowtopronouncethe title; and second, that if the oldman didn’t know how to read, hewouldprobablyfeelashamedanddecideofhisownaccordtochangebenches.

“Hmm.. .”saidtheoldman,lookingatallsidesofthebook,asifitweresomestrangeobject.“Thisisanimportantbook,butit’sreallyirritating.”

Theboywasshocked.Theoldmanknewhowtoread,andhadalreadyreadthebook.Andif thebookwas irritating,as theoldmanhadsaid, theboystillhadtimetochangeitforanother.

“It’sabookthatsaysthesamethingalmostalltheotherbooksintheworldsay,”continuedtheoldman.“Itdescribespeople’sinabilitytochoosetheirownPersonal Legends. And it ends up saying that everyone believes the world’sgreatestlie.”

“What’stheworld’sgreatestlie?”theboyasked,completelysurprised.“It’s this: that at a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what’s

happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate. That’s the world’sgreatestlie.”

“That’s never happened to me,” the boy said. “They wanted me to be apriest,butIdecidedtobecomeashepherd.”

“Muchbetter,”saidtheoldman.“Becauseyoureallyliketotravel.”“He knew what I was thinking,” the boy said to himself. The old man,

meanwhile,wasleafingthroughthebook,withoutseemingtowanttoreturnitatall.Theboynoticedthattheman’sclothingwasstrange.HelookedlikeanArab,whichwasnotunusualinthoseparts.AfricawasonlyafewhoursfromTarifa;onehadonlytocrossthenarrowstraitsbyboat.Arabsoftenappearedinthecity,shoppingandchantingtheirstrangeprayersseveraltimesaday.

“Whereareyoufrom?”theboyasked.

“Frommanyplaces.”“Noonecanbefrommanyplaces,”theboysaid.“I’mashepherd,andIhave

been to many places, but I come from only one place—from a city near anancientcastle.That’swhereIwasborn.”

“Wellthen,wecouldsaythatIwasborninSalem.”Theboydidn’t knowwhereSalemwas, but hedidn’twant to ask, fearing

thathewouldappearignorant.Helookedatthepeopleintheplazaforawhile;theywerecomingandgoing,andallofthemseemedtobeverybusy.

“So,whatisSalemlike?”heasked,tryingtogetsomesortofclue.“It’slikeitalwayshasbeen.”No clue yet. But he knew that Salem wasn’t in Andalusia. If it were, he

wouldalreadyhaveheardofit.“AndwhatdoyoudoinSalem?”heinsisted.“What do I do in Salem?” The old man laughed. “Well, I’m the king of

Salem!”Peoplesaystrangethings,theboythought.Sometimesit’sbettertobewith

thesheep,whodon’tsayanything.Andbetterstilltobealonewithone’sbooks.They tell their incredible stories at the timewhenyouwant tohear them.Butwhenyou’retalkingtopeople,theysaysomethingsthataresostrangethatyoudon’tknowhowtocontinuetheconversation.

“My name isMelchizedek,” said the oldman. “Howmany sheep do youhave?”

“Enough,”saidtheboy.Hecouldseethattheoldmanwantedtoknowmoreabouthislife.

“Well, then,we’ve got a problem. I can’t help you if you feel you’ve gotenoughsheep.”

Theboywasgettingirritated.Hewasn’taskingforhelp.Itwastheoldmanwhohadaskedforadrinkofhiswine,andhadstartedtheconversation.

“Givememybook,”theboysaid.“Ihavetogoandgathermysheepandgetgoing.”

“Givemeone-tenthofyoursheep,”saidtheoldman,“andI’lltellyouhowtofindthehiddentreasure.”

Theboyrememberedhisdream,andsuddenlyeverythingwascleartohim.Theoldwomanhadn’tchargedhimanything,buttheoldman—maybehewasherhusband—wasgoingtofindawaytogetmuchmoremoneyinexchangeforinformationaboutsomethingthatdidn’tevenexist.TheoldmanwasprobablyaGypsy,too.

Butbeforetheboycouldsayanything,theoldmanleanedover,pickedupastick, and began towrite in the sand of the plaza. Something bright reflectedfromhischestwithsuchintensitythattheboywasmomentarilyblinded.Withamovementthatwastooquickforsomeonehisage,themancoveredwhateveritwaswithhiscape.Whenhisvisionreturnedtonormal,theboywasabletoreadwhattheoldmanhadwritteninthesand.

There,inthesandoftheplazaofthatsmallcity,theboyreadthenamesofhisfatherandhismotherandthenameoftheseminaryhehadattended.Hereadthenameofthemerchant’sdaughter,whichhehadn’tevenknown,andhereadthingshehadnevertoldanyone.

“I’mthekingofSalem,”theoldmanhadsaid.“Whywouldakingbe talkingwitha shepherd?” theboyasked,awedand

embarrassed.“Forseveral reasons.But let’ssay that themost important is thatyouhave

succeededindiscoveringyourPersonalLegend.”Theboydidn’tknowwhataperson’s“PersonalLegend”was.“It’swhatyouhavealwayswantedtoaccomplish.Everyone,whentheyare

young,knowswhattheirPersonalLegendis.“At that point in their lives, everything is clear and everything is possible.

Theyarenotafraidtodream,andtoyearnforeverythingtheywouldliketoseehappentothemintheirlives.But,astimepasses,amysteriousforcebeginstoconvince them that it will be impossible for them to realize their PersonalLegend.”

Noneofwhattheoldmanwassayingmademuchsensetotheboy.Buthewanted to know what the “mysterious force” was; the merchant’s daughterwouldbeimpressedwhenhetoldheraboutthat!

“It’s a force that appears to be negative, but actually shows you how torealizeyourPersonalLegend.Itpreparesyourspiritandyourwill,becausethereisonegreattruthonthisplanet:whoeveryouare,orwhateveritisthatyoudo,whenyoureallywantsomething,it’sbecausethatdesireoriginatedinthesouloftheuniverse.It’syourmissiononearth.”

“Evenwhenallyouwanttodoistravel?Ormarrythedaughterofatextilemerchant?”

“Yes, or even search for treasure. The Soul of theWorld is nourished bypeople’s happiness. And also by unhappiness, envy, and jealousy. To realize

one’sPersonalLegendisaperson’sonlyrealobligation.Allthingsareone.“And,whenyouwantsomething,alltheuniverseconspiresinhelpingyouto

achieveit.”Theywerebothsilentforatime,observingtheplazaandthetownspeople.It

wastheoldmanwhospokefirst.“Whydoyoutendaflockofsheep?”“BecauseIliketotravel.”Theoldmanpointedtoabakerstandinginhisshopwindowatonecornerof

theplaza.“Whenhewasachild,thatmanwantedtotravel,too.Buthedecidedfirst tobuyhisbakeryandputsomemoneyaside.Whenhe’sanoldman,he’sgoingtospendamonthinAfrica.Heneverrealizedthatpeoplearecapable,atanytimeintheirlives,ofdoingwhattheydreamof.”

“Heshouldhavedecidedtobecomeashepherd,”theboysaid.“Well, he thought about that,” the old man said. “But bakers are more

importantpeoplethanshepherds.Bakershavehomes,whileshepherdssleepoutin the open. Parents would rather see their children marry bakers thanshepherds.”

The boy felt a pang in his heart, thinking about the merchant’s daughter.Therewassurelyabakerinhertown.

Theoldmancontinued,“Inthelongrun,whatpeoplethinkaboutshepherdsandbakersbecomesmoreimportantforthemthantheirownPersonalLegends.”

Theoldmanleafedthroughthebook,andfelltoreadingapagehecameto.Theboywaited, and then interrupted theoldman just ashehimself hadbeeninterrupted.“Whyareyoutellingmeallthis?”

“BecauseyouaretryingtorealizeyourPersonalLegend.Andyouareatthepointwhereyou’reabouttogiveitallup.”

“Andthat’swhenyoualwaysappearonthescene?”“Not always in this way, but I always appear in one form or another.

SometimesIappearintheformofasolution,oragoodidea.Atothertimes,atacrucialmoment, Imake iteasier for things tohappen.Thereareother things Ido,too,butmostofthetimepeopledon’trealizeI’vedonethem.”

The old man related that, the week before, he had been forced to appearbefore aminer, and had taken the formof a stone.Theminer had abandonedeverything to gomining for emeralds. For five years he had been working acertainriver,andhadexaminedhundredsofthousandsofstoneslookingforanemerald.Theminerwasabouttogiveitallup,rightatthepointwhen,ifhewereto examine just one more stone—just onemore—he would find his emerald.

Since theminerhadsacrificedeverything tohisPersonalLegend, theoldmandecidedtobecomeinvolved.Hetransformedhimselfintoastonethatrolledupto the miner’s foot. The miner, with all the anger and frustration of his fivefruitlessyears,pickedupthestoneandthrewitaside.Buthehadthrownitwithsuchforcethatitbrokethestoneitfellupon,andthere,embeddedinthebrokenstone,wasthemostbeautifulemeraldintheworld.

“Peoplelearn,earlyintheirlives,whatistheirreasonforbeing,”saidtheoldman,withacertainbitterness.“Maybethat’swhytheygiveuponitsoearly,too.Butthat’sthewayitis.”

The boy reminded the old man that he had said something about hiddentreasure.

“Treasureisuncoveredbytheforceofflowingwater,anditisburiedbythesamecurrents,”saidtheoldman.“Ifyouwanttolearnaboutyourowntreasure,youwillhavetogivemeone-tenthofyourflock.”

“Whataboutone-tenthofmytreasure?”Theoldman lookeddisappointed.“Ifyoustartoutbypromisingwhatyou

don’tevenhaveyet,you’llloseyourdesiretoworktowardgettingit.”The boy told him that he had already promised to give one-tenth of his

treasuretotheGypsy.“Gypsiesareexpertsatgettingpeople todo that,” sighed theoldman.“In

anycase,it’sgoodthatyou’velearnedthateverythinginlifehasitsprice.ThisiswhattheWarriorsoftheLighttrytoteach.”

Theoldmanreturnedthebooktotheboy.“Tomorrow,atthissametime,bringmeatenthofyourflock.AndIwilltell

youhowtofindthehiddentreasure.Goodafternoon.”Andhevanishedaroundthecorneroftheplaza.

Theboybeganagaintoreadhisbook,buthewasnolongerabletoconcentrate.Hewastenseandupset,becauseheknewthat theoldmanwasright.Hewentovertothebakeryandboughtaloafofbread,thinkingaboutwhetherornotheshouldtellthebakerwhattheoldmanhadsaidabouthim.Sometimesit’sbettertoleavethingsastheyare,hethoughttohimself,anddecidedtosaynothing.Ifheweretosayanything,thebakerwouldspendthreedaysthinkingaboutgivingitallup,eventhoughhehadgottenusedtothewaythingswere.Theboycouldcertainlyresistcausingthatkindofanxietyforthebaker.Sohebegantowanderthrough the city, and found himself at the gates. There was a small building

there,withawindowatwhichpeopleboughtticketstoAfrica.AndheknewthatEgyptwasinAfrica.

“CanIhelpyou?”askedthemanbehindthewindow.“Maybe tomorrow,” said the boy,moving away. If he sold just one of his

sheep, he’d have enough to get to the other shore of the strait. The ideafrightenedhim.

“Another dreamer,” said the ticket seller to his assistant,watching the boywalkaway.“Hedoesn’thaveenoughmoneytotravel.”

Whilestandingattheticketwindow,theboyhadrememberedhisflock,anddecided he should go back to being a shepherd. In two years he had learnedeverything about shepherding: he knew how to shear sheep, how to care forpregnantewes,andhowtoprotectthesheepfromwolves.HeknewallthefieldsandpasturesofAndalusia.Andheknewwhatwasthefairpriceforeveryoneofhisanimals.

Hedecidedtoreturntohisfriend’sstablebythelongestroutepossible.Ashewalkedpastthecity’scastle,heinterruptedhisreturn,andclimbedthestoneramp that led to the top of the wall. From there, he could see Africa in thedistance.SomeonehadoncetoldhimthatitwasfromtherethattheMoorshadcome,tooccupyallofSpain.

He could see almost the entire city fromwherehe sat, including theplazawherehehadtalkedwiththeoldman.CursethemomentImetthatoldman,hethought.Hehadcometothetownonlytofindawomanwhocouldinterprethisdream.Neitherthewomannortheoldmanwasatallimpressedbythefactthathewas a shepherd. Theywere solitary individualswho no longer believed inthings,anddidn’tunderstandthatshepherdsbecomeattachedtotheirsheep.Heknew everything about each member of his flock: he knew which ones were

lame,whichonewas togivebirth twomonths fromnow,andwhichwere thelaziest. He knew how to shear them, and how to slaughter them. If he everdecidedtoleavethem,theywouldsuffer.

Thewindbegantopickup.Heknewthatwind:peoplecalleditthelevanter,because on it theMoors had come from the Levant at the eastern end of theMediterranean.

The levanter increased in intensity. Here I am, betweenmy flock andmytreasure,theboythought.Hehadtochoosebetweensomethinghehadbecomeaccustomedtoandsomethinghewantedtohave.Therewasalsothemerchant’sdaughter,butshewasn’tasimportantashisflock,becauseshedidn’tdependonhim. Maybe she didn’t even remember him. He was sure that it made nodifferencetoheronwhichdayheappeared:forher,everydaywasthesame,andwheneachdayisthesameasthenext,it’sbecausepeoplefailtorecognizethegoodthingsthathappenintheirliveseverydaythatthesunrises.

I leftmy father,mymother, and the towncastlebehind.Theyhavegottenusedtomybeingaway,andsohaveI.Thesheepwillgetusedtomynotbeingthere,too,theboythought.

Fromwhere he sat, he could observe the plaza. People continued to comeandgo from thebaker’s shop.Ayoungcouple saton thebenchwherehehadtalkedwiththeoldman,andtheykissed.

“That baker . . .” he said to himself,without completing the thought. Thelevanterwasstillgettingstronger,andhefeltitsforceonhisface.Thatwindhadbrought theMoors, yes, but it had alsobrought the smell of thedesert andofveiledwomen.Ithadbroughtwithitthesweatandthedreamsofmenwhohadonce left to search for the unknown, and for gold and adventure—and for thePyramids.Theboyfeltjealousofthefreedomofthewind,andsawthathecouldhavethesamefreedom.Therewasnothingtoholdhimbackexcepthimself.Thesheep, the merchant’s daughter, and the fields of Andalusia were only stepsalongthewaytohisPersonalLegend.

Thenextday, theboymet theoldmanatnoon.Hebroughtsixsheepwithhim.

“I’m surprised,” the boy said. “My friend bought all the other sheepimmediately.Hesaidthathehadalwaysdreamedofbeingashepherd,andthatitwasagoodomen.”

“That’sthewayitalwaysis,”saidtheoldman.“It’scalledtheprincipleoffavorability.When you play cards the first time, you are almost sure to win.Beginner’sluck.”

“Whyisthat?”“BecausethereisaforcethatwantsyoutorealizeyourPersonalLegend;it

whetsyourappetitewithatasteofsuccess.”Thentheoldmanbegantoinspectthesheep,andhesawthatonewaslame.

The boy explained that it wasn’t important, since that sheep was the mostintelligentoftheflock,andproducedthemostwool.

“Whereisthetreasure?”heasked.“It’sinEgypt,nearthePyramids.”The boy was startled. The old woman had said the same thing. But she

hadn’tchargedhimanything.“Inorder to find the treasure,youwillhave to follow theomens.Godhas

preparedapathforeveryonetofollow.Youjusthavetoreadtheomensthatheleftforyou.”

Before theboycouldreply,abutterflyappearedandflutteredbetweenhimandtheoldman.Herememberedsomethinghisgrandfatherhadoncetoldhim:that butterflies were a good omen. Like crickets, and like grasshoppers; likelizardsandfour-leafclovers.

“That’s right,” said the oldman, able to read the boy’s thoughts. “Just asyourgrandfathertaughtyou.Thesearegoodomens.”

Theoldmanopenedhiscape,andtheboywasstruckbywhathesaw.Theoldmanworeabreastplateofheavygold,coveredwithpreciousstones.Theboyrecalledthebrilliancehehadnoticedonthepreviousday.

Hereallywasaking!Hemustbedisguisedtoavoidencounterswiththieves.“Takethese,”saidtheoldman,holdingoutawhitestoneandablackstone

thathadbeenembeddedatthecenterofthebreastplate.“TheyarecalledUrimand Thummim. The black signifies ‘yes,’ and the white ‘no.’ When you areunabletoreadtheomens,theywillhelpyoutodoso.Alwaysaskanobjectivequestion.

“But, if you can, try to make your own decisions. The treasure is at the

Pyramids;thatyoualreadyknew.ButIhadtoinsistonthepaymentofsixsheepbecauseIhelpedyoutomakeyourdecision.”

Theboyputthestonesinhispouch.Fromthenon,hewouldmakehisowndecisions.

“Don’t forget that everything you dealwith is only one thing and nothingelse.And don’t forget the language of omens.And, above all, don’t forget tofollowyourPersonalLegendthroughtoitsconclusion.

“ButbeforeIgo,Iwanttotellyoualittlestory.“A certain shopkeeper sent his son to learn about the secret of happiness

fromthewisestmanintheworld.Theladwanderedthroughthedesertforfortydays,andfinallycameuponabeautifulcastle,highatopamountain.Itwastherethatthewisemanlived.

“Rather than findinga saintlyman, though,ourhero,onentering themainroomofthecastle,sawahiveofactivity:tradesmencameandwent,peoplewereconversing in the corners, a small orchestrawasplaying softmusic, and therewasa tablecoveredwithplattersof themostdelicious food in thatpartof theworld.Thewisemanconversedwitheveryone,andtheboyhadtowaitfortwohoursbeforeitwashisturntobegiventheman’sattention.

“Thewiseman listenedattentively to theboy’sexplanationofwhyhehadcome, but told him that he didn’t have time just then to explain the secret ofhappiness.Hesuggested that theboylookaroundthepalaceandreturn in twohours.

“‘Meanwhile,Iwanttoaskyoutodosomething,’saidthewiseman,handingtheboyateaspoonthatheldtwodropsofoil.‘Asyouwanderaround,carrythisspoonwithyouwithoutallowingtheoiltospill.’

“Theboybeganclimbinganddescendingthemanystairwaysofthepalace,keepinghiseyes fixedon thespoon.After twohours,he returned to the roomwherethewisemanwas.

“‘Well,’ asked the wise man, ‘did you see the Persian tapestries that arehanging in my dining hall? Did you see the garden that it took the mastergardener ten years to create? Did you notice the beautiful parchments in mylibrary?’

“Theboywasembarrassed,andconfessedthathehadobservednothing.Hisonlyconcernhadbeennottospilltheoilthatthewisemanhadentrustedtohim.

“‘Thengobackandobserve themarvelsofmyworld,’ said thewiseman.‘Youcannottrustamanifyoudon’tknowhishouse.’

“Relieved,theboypickedupthespoonandreturnedtohisexplorationofthe

palace,thistimeobservingalloftheworksofartontheceilingsandthewalls.Hesawthegardens,themountainsallaroundhim,thebeautyoftheflowers,andthe tastewithwhicheverythinghadbeen selected.Upon returning to thewiseman,herelatedindetaileverythinghehadseen.

“‘ButwherearethedropsofoilIentrustedtoyou?’askedthewiseman.“Lookingdownatthespoonheheld,theboysawthattheoilwasgone.“‘Well, thereisonlyonepieceofadviceIcangiveyou,’saidthewisestof

wisemen. ‘The secretofhappiness is to see all themarvelsof theworld, andnevertoforgetthedropsofoilonthespoon.’”

Theshepherdsaidnothing.Hehadunderstoodthestorytheoldkinghadtoldhim.Ashepherdmayliketotravel,butheshouldneverforgetabouthissheep.

The old man looked at the boy and, with his hands held together, madeseveralstrangegesturesovertheboy’shead.Then,takinghissheep,hewalkedaway.

AtthehighestpointinTarifathereisanoldfort,builtbytheMoors.Fromatopitswalls,onecancatchaglimpseofAfrica.Melchizedek,thekingofSalem,satonthewallof thefort thatafternoon,andfelt thelevanterblowinginhisface.Thesheepfidgetednearby,uneasywiththeirnewownerandexcitedbysomuchchange.Alltheywantedwasfoodandwater.

Melchizedekwatchedasmallshipthatwasplowingitswayoutoftheport.Hewouldneveragainseetheboy,justashehadneverseenAbrahamagainafterhavingchargedhimhisone-tenthfee.Thatwashiswork.

Thegodsshouldnothavedesires,becausetheydon’thavePersonalLegends.ButthekingofSalemhopeddesperatelythattheboywouldbesuccessful.

It’stoobadthathe’squicklygoingtoforgetmyname,hethought.Ishouldhaverepeateditforhim.ThenwhenhespokeaboutmehewouldsaythatIamMelchizedek,thekingofSalem.

Helookedtotheskies,feelingabitabashed,andsaid,“Iknowit’sthevanityofvanities,asyousaid,myLord.Butanoldkingsometimeshastotakesomeprideinhimself.”

HowstrangeAfricais,thoughttheboy.Hewassittinginabarverymuchliketheotherbarshehadseenalongthe

narrow streets of Tangier. Somemenwere smoking from a gigantic pipe thattheypassedfromonetotheother.Injustafewhourshehadseenmenwalkinghand inhand,womenwith their facescovered, andpriests that climbed to thetops of towers and chanted—as everyone about him went to their knees andplacedtheirforeheadsontheground.

“A practice of infidels,” he said to himself. As a child in church, he hadalwayslookedattheimageofSaintSantiagoMatamorosonhiswhitehorse,hisswordunsheathed,andfiguressuchasthesekneelingathisfeet.Theboyfeltillandterriblyalone.Theinfidelshadanevillookaboutthem.

Besides this, in the rush of his travels he had forgotten a detail, just onedetail,whichcouldkeephimfromhistreasureforalongtime:onlyArabicwasspokeninthiscountry.

Theownerofthebarapproachedhim,andtheboypointedtoadrinkthathadbeenservedatthenexttable.Itturnedouttobeabittertea.Theboypreferredwine.

But he didn’t need to worry about that right now. What he had to beconcernedaboutwashistreasure,andhowhewasgoingtogoaboutgettingit.Thesaleofhissheephadlefthimwithenoughmoneyinhispouch,andtheboyknewthatinmoneytherewasmagic;whoeverhasmoneyisneverreallyalone.Beforelong,maybeinjustafewdays,hewouldbeatthePyramids.Anoldman,withabreastplateofgold,wouldn’thaveliedjusttoacquiresixsheep.

The old man had spoken about signs and omens, and, as the boy wascrossing the strait, he had thought about omens.Yes, the oldman had knownwhat hewas talking about: during the time the boy had spent in the fields ofAndalusia, he had become used to learning which path he should take byobserving the ground and the sky. He had discovered that the presence of acertainbirdmeantthatasnakewasnearby,andthatacertainshrubwasasignthattherewaswaterinthearea.Thesheephadtaughthimthat.

IfGodleadsthesheepsowell,hewillalsoleadaman,hethought,andthatmadehimfeelbetter.Theteaseemedlessbitter.

“Whoareyou?”heheardavoiceaskhiminSpanish.The boy was relieved. He was thinking about omens, and someone had

appeared.“How come you speak Spanish?” he asked. The new arrivalwas a young

maninWesterndress,butthecolorofhisskinsuggestedhewasfromthiscity.

Hewasaboutthesameageandheightastheboy.“AlmosteveryoneherespeaksSpanish.We’reonlytwohoursfromSpain.”“Sitdown,andletmetreatyoutosomething,”saidtheboy.“Andaskfora

glassofwineforme.Ihatethistea.”“There isnowine in thiscountry,” theyoungmansaid.“Thereligionhere

forbidsit.”The boy told him then that he needed to get to the Pyramids. He almost

began to tell about his treasure, but decided not to do so. If he did, it waspossiblethattheArabwouldwantapartofitaspaymentfortakinghimthere.Herememberedwhattheoldmanhadsaidaboutofferingsomethingyoudidn’tevenhaveyet.

“I’d like you to take me there if you can. I can pay you to serve as myguide.”

“Doyouhaveanyideahowtogetthere?”thenewcomerasked.Theboynoticedthattheownerofthebarstoodnearby,listeningattentively

totheirconversation.Hefeltuneasyattheman’spresence.Buthehadfoundaguide,anddidn’twanttomissoutonanopportunity.

“YouhavetocrosstheentireSaharadesert,”saidtheyoungman.“Andtodothat,youneedmoney.Ineedtoknowwhetheryouhaveenough.”

Theboythoughtitastrangequestion.Buthetrustedintheoldman,whohadsaidthat,whenyoureallywantsomething,theuniversealwaysconspiresinyourfavor.

He took hismoney from his pouch and showed it to the youngman. Theownerofthebarcameoverandlooked,aswell.ThetwomenexchangedsomewordsinArabic,andthebarownerseemedirritated.

“Let’sgetoutofhere,”saidthenewarrival.“Hewantsustoleave.”Theboywasrelieved.Hegotuptopaythebill,buttheownergrabbedhim

andbegantospeaktohiminanangrystreamofwords.Theboywasstrong,andwantedtoretaliate,buthewasinaforeigncountry.Hisnewfriendpushedtheowneraside,andpulledtheboyoutsidewithhim.“Hewantedyourmoney,”hesaid.“TangierisnotliketherestofAfrica.Thisisaport,andeveryporthasitsthieves.”

The boy trusted his new friend. He had helped him out in a dangeroussituation.Hetookouthismoneyandcountedit.

“We could get to the Pyramids by tomorrow,” said the other, taking themoney.“ButIhavetobuytwocamels.”

They walked together through the narrow streets of Tangier. Everywhere

therewere stallswith items for sale. They reached the center of a large plazawhere the market was held. There were thousands of people there, arguing,selling,andbuying;vegetablesforsaleamongstdaggers,andcarpetsdisplayedalongsidetobacco.Buttheboynevertookhiseyeoffhisnewfriend.Afterall,hehadallhismoney.Hethoughtaboutaskinghimtogiveitback,butdecidedthatwouldbeunfriendly.Heknewnothingaboutthecustomsofthestrangelandhewasin.

“I’lljustwatchhim,”hesaidtohimself.Heknewhewasstrongerthanhisfriend.

Suddenly,thereinthemidstofallthatconfusion,hesawthemostbeautifulswordhehadever seen.The scabbardwasembossed in silver, and thehandlewasblackandencrustedwithprecious stones.Theboypromisedhimself that,whenhereturnedfromEgypt,hewouldbuythatsword.

“Asktheownerofthatstallhowmuchtheswordcosts,”hesaidtohisfriend.Thenherealizedthathehadbeendistractedforafewmoments,lookingatthesword.Hisheartsqueezed,as ifhischesthadsuddenlycompressed it.Hewasafraid to look around, because he knewwhat hewould find.He continued tolookat thebeautiful sword forabit longer,untilhesummoned thecourage toturnaround.

Allaroundhimwasthemarket,withpeoplecomingandgoing,shoutingandbuying,andthearomaofstrangefoods.. .butnowherecouldhefindhisnewcompanion.

Theboywantedtobelievethathisfriendhadsimplybecomeseparatedfromhim by accident. He decided to stay right there and await his return. As hewaited, a priest climbed to the top of a nearby tower and began his chant;everyoneinthemarketfelltotheirknees,touchedtheirforeheadstotheground,andtookupthechant.Then,likeacolonyofworkerants,theydismantledtheirstallsandleft.

The sun began its departure, as well. The boy watched it through itstrajectory for some time, until it was hidden behind the white housessurroundingtheplaza.Herecalledthatwhenthesunhadrisenthatmorning,hewasonanothercontinent,stillashepherdwithsixtysheep,andlookingforward

tomeetingwithagirl.Thatmorninghehadknowneverythingthatwasgoingtohappen to him as he walked through the familiar fields. But now, as the sunbegantoset,hewasinadifferentcountry,astrangerinastrangeland,wherehecouldn’t even speak the language. He was no longer a shepherd, and he hadnothing,noteventhemoneytoreturnandstarteverythingover.

All this happened between sunrise and sunset, the boy thought. He wasfeelingsorryforhimself,andlamentingthefactthathislifecouldhavechangedsosuddenlyandsodrastically.

Hewassoashamedthathewantedtocry.Hehadneverevenweptinfrontofhisownsheep.Butthemarketplacewasempty,andhewasfarfromhome,sohewept. He wept because God was unfair, and because this was the way Godrepaidthosewhobelievedintheirdreams.

When I hadmy sheep, I was happy, and I made those aroundme happy.People sawme coming andwelcomedme, he thought. But now I’m sad andalone.I’mgoingtobecomebitteranddistrustfulofpeoplebecauseonepersonbetrayedme. I’mgoing tohate thosewhohave found their treasurebecause Ineverfoundmine.AndI’mgoingtoholdontowhatlittleIhave,becauseI’mtooinsignificanttoconquertheworld.

Heopenedhispouch to seewhatwas left ofhispossessions;maybe therewasabitleftofthesandwichhehadeatenontheship.Butallhefoundwastheheavybook,hisjacket,andthetwostonestheoldmanhadgivenhim.

As he looked at the stones, he felt relieved for some reason. He hadexchanged six sheep for two precious stones that had been taken from a goldbreastplate.Hecouldsellthestonesandbuyareturnticket.ButthistimeI’llbesmarter,theboythought,removingthemfromthepouchsohecouldputtheminhispocket.Thiswasaporttown,andtheonlytruthfulthinghisfriendhadtoldhimwasthatporttownsarefullofthieves.

Now he understoodwhy the owner of the bar had been so upset: he was

tryingtotellhimnottotrustthatman.“I’mlikeeveryoneelse—IseetheworldintermsofwhatIwouldliketoseehappen,notwhatactuallydoes.”

He ran his fingers slowly over the stones, sensing their temperature andfeelingtheirsurfaces.Theywerehistreasure.Justhandlingthemmadehimfeelbetter.Theyremindedhimoftheoldman.

“When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you toachieveit,”hehadsaid.

The boywas trying to understand the truth ofwhat the oldman had said.Therehewasintheemptymarketplace,withoutacenttohisname,andwithnota sheep toguard through thenight.But the stoneswereproof thathehadmetwithaking—akingwhoknewoftheboy’spast.

“They’re called Urim and Thummim, and they can help you to read theomens.” The boy put the stones back in the pouch and decided to do anexperiment.Theoldmanhadsaidtoaskveryclearquestions,andtodothat,theboyhadtoknowwhathewanted.So,heaskediftheoldman’sblessingwasstillwithhim.

Hetookoutoneofthestones.Itwas“yes.”“AmIgoingtofindmytreasure?”heasked.Hestuckhishandintothepouch,andfeltaroundforoneofthestones.Ashe

didso,bothofthempushedthroughaholeinthepouchandfelltotheground.The boy had never even noticed that therewas a hole in his pouch.He kneltdowntofindUrimandThummimandputthembackinthepouch.Butashesawthemlyingthereontheground,anotherphrasecametohismind.

“Learntorecognizeomens,andfollowthem,”theoldkinghadsaid.Anomen.Theboysmiledtohimself.Hepickedupthetwostonesandput

thembackinhispouch.Hedidn’tconsidermendingthehole—thestonescouldfallthroughanytimetheywanted.Hehadlearnedthattherewerecertainthingsoneshouldn’taskabout, soasnot to flee fromone’sownPersonalLegend.“IpromisedthatIwouldmakemyowndecisions,”hesaidtohimself.

But the stones had told him that the oldmanwas stillwith him, and thatmade him feel more confident. He looked around at the empty plaza again,feelinglessdesperatethanbefore.Thiswasn’tastrangeplace;itwasanewone.

After all, what he had always wanted was just that: to know new places.Even ifhenevergot to thePyramids,hehadalready traveled farther thananyshepherdheknew.Oh,iftheyonlyknewhowdifferentthingsarejusttwohoursbyshipfromwheretheyare,hethought.Althoughhisnewworldatthemomentwasjustanemptymarketplace,hehadalreadyseenitwhenitwasteemingwith

life,andhewouldneverforgetit.Herememberedthesword.Ithurthimabittothinkaboutit,buthehadneverseenonelikeitbefore.Ashemusedaboutthesethings,herealizedthathehadtochoosebetweenthinkingofhimselfasthepoorvictimofathiefandasanadventurerinquestofhistreasure.

“I’manadventurer,lookingfortreasure,”hesaidtohimself.

Hewasshakenintowakefulnessbysomeone.Hehadfallenasleepinthemiddleofthemarketplace,andlifeintheplazawasabouttoresume.

Lookingaround,hesoughthissheep,andthenrealizedthathewasinanewworld.Butinsteadofbeingsaddened,hewashappy.Henolongerhadtoseekoutfoodandwaterforthesheep;hecouldgoinsearchofhistreasure,instead.He had not a cent in his pocket, but he had faith. He had decided, the nightbefore, thathewouldbeasmuchanadventureras theoneshehadadmired inbooks.

Hewalkedslowlythroughthemarket.Themerchantswereassemblingtheirstalls,andtheboyhelpedacandysellertodohis.Thecandysellerhadasmileonhisface:hewashappy,awareofwhathislifewasabout,andreadytobeginaday’swork.Hissmileremindedtheboyoftheoldman—themysteriousoldkinghehadmet.“Thiscandymerchantisn’tmakingcandysothatlaterhecantravelormarry a shopkeeper’sdaughter.He’sdoing it because it’swhathewants todo,” thought theboy.Herealized thathecoulddo thesame thing theoldmanhaddone—sensewhetherapersonwasneartoorfarfromhisPersonalLegend.Justbylookingatthem.It’seasy,andyetI’veneverdoneitbefore,hethought.

Whenthestallwasassembled,thecandysellerofferedtheboythefirstsweethe hadmade for the day. The boy thanked him, ate it, andwent on his way.When he had gone only a short distance, he realized that, while they wereerectingthestall,oneofthemhadspokenArabicandtheotherSpanish.

Andtheyhadunderstoodeachotherperfectlywell.Theremust be a language that doesn’t depend onwords, the boy thought.

I’ve already had that experiencewithmy sheep, and now it’s happeningwithpeople.

Hewaslearningalotofnewthings.Someofthemwerethingsthathehadalready experienced, and weren’t really new, but that he had never perceivedbefore. And he hadn’t perceived them because he had become accustomed tothem.Herealized:IfIcanlearntounderstandthislanguagewithoutwords,Icanlearntounderstandtheworld.

Relaxedandunhurried,heresolvedthathewouldwalkthroughthenarrowstreets of Tangier.Only in that waywould he be able to read the omens. Heknewitwouldrequirealotofpatience,butshepherdsknowallaboutpatience.Onceagainhesawthat,inthatstrangeland,hewasapplyingthesamelessonshehadlearnedwithhissheep.

“Allthingsareone,”theoldmanhadsaid.

Thecrystalmerchantawokewiththeday,andfeltthesameanxietythathefelteverymorning.Hehadbeeninthesameplaceforthirtyyears:ashopatthetopof a hilly street where few customers passed. Now it was too late to changeanything—theonlythinghehadeverlearnedtodowastobuyandsellcrystalglassware.There had been a timewhenmany people knewof his shop:Arabmerchants, French and English geologists, German soldiers who were alwayswell-heeled.Inthosedaysithadbeenwonderfultobesellingcrystal,andhehadthoughthowhewouldbecomerich,andhavebeautifulwomenathissideashegrewolder.

But, as time passed, Tangier had changed. The nearby city of Ceuta hadgrownfasterthanTangier,andbusinesshadfallenoff.Neighborsmovedaway,andthereremainedonlyafewsmallshopsonthehill.Andnoonewasgoingtoclimbthehilljusttobrowsethroughafewsmallshops.

Butthecrystalmerchanthadnochoice.Hehadlivedthirtyyearsofhislifebuyingandsellingcrystalpieces,andnowitwastoolatetodoanythingelse.

Hespenttheentiremorningobservingtheinfrequentcomingsandgoingsinthestreet.Hehaddonethisforyears,andknewthescheduleofeveryonewhopassed.But, justbefore lunchtime,aboystopped in frontof theshop.Hewasdressednormally,but thepracticedeyesof thecrystalmerchantcouldsee thattheboyhadnomoneytospend.Nevertheless,themerchantdecidedtodelayhislunchforafewminutesuntiltheboymovedon.

Acardhanginginthedoorwayannouncedthatseverallanguageswerespokenintheshop.Theboysawamanappearbehindthecounter.

“Icancleanupthoseglassesinthewindow,ifyouwant,”saidtheboy.“Thewaytheylooknow,nobodyisgoingtowanttobuythem.”

Themanlookedathimwithoutresponding.

“Inexchange,youcouldgivemesomethingtoeat.”Themanstillsaidnothing,andtheboysensedthathewasgoingtohaveto

makeadecision. Inhispouch,hehadhis jacket—hecertainlywasn’tgoing toneeditinthedesert.Takingthejacketout,hebegantocleantheglasses.Inhalfanhour,hehadcleanedalltheglassesinthewindow,and,ashewasdoingso,twocustomershadenteredtheshopandboughtsomecrystal.

Whenhehadcompletedthecleaning,heaskedthemanforsomethingtoeat.“Let’sgoandhavesomelunch,”saidthecrystalmerchant.

Heputasignonthedoor,andtheywenttoasmallcafénearby.Astheysatdownattheonlytableintheplace,thecrystalmerchantlaughed.

“Youdidn’t have todo any cleaning,”he said. “TheKoran requiresme tofeedahungryperson.”

“Wellthen,whydidyouletmedoit?”theboyasked.“Because the crystalwas dirty.And both you and I needed to cleanse our

mindsofnegativethoughts.”Whentheyhadeaten,themerchantturnedtotheboyandsaid,“I’dlikeyou

toworkinmyshop.Twocustomerscameintodaywhileyouwereworking,andthat’sagoodomen.”

People talk a lot about omens, thought the shepherd.But they really don’tknowwhatthey’resaying.JustasIhadn’trealizedthatforsomanyyearsIhadbeenspeakingalanguagewithoutwordstomysheep.

“Doyouwanttogotoworkforme?”themerchantasked.“I canwork for the rest of today,” the boy answered. “I’llwork all night,

untildawn,andI’llcleaneverypieceofcrystal inyourshop. In return, IneedmoneytogettoEgypttomorrow.”

Themerchantlaughed.“Evenifyoucleanedmycrystalforanentireyear...evenifyouearnedagoodcommissionsellingeverypiece,youwouldstillhavetoborrowmoney toget toEgypt.There are thousandsof kilometers of desertbetweenhereandthere.”

There was a moment of silence so profound that it seemed the city wasasleep.Nosoundfromthebazaars,noargumentsamongthemerchants,nomenclimbingtothetowerstochant.Nohope,noadventure,nooldkingsorPersonalLegends,no treasure,andnoPyramids. Itwasas if theworldhadfallensilentbecausetheboy’ssoulhad.Hesatthere,staringblanklythroughthedoorofthecafé, wishing that he had died, and that everythingwould end forever at thatmoment.

The merchant looked anxiously at the boy. All the joy he had seen thatmorninghadsuddenlydisappeared.

“Icangiveyouthemoneyyouneedtogetbacktoyourcountry,myson,”saidthecrystalmerchant.

The boy said nothing.He got up, adjusted his clothing, and picked up hispouch.

“I’llworkforyou,”hesaid.Andafteranotherlongsilence,headded,“Ineedmoneytobuysomesheep.”

THEBOYHADBEENWORKINGFORTHEcrystalmerchant foralmostamonth,andhecouldseethatitwasn’texactlythekindofjobthatwouldmakehim happy. The merchant spent the entire day mumbling behind the counter,tellingtheboytobecarefulwiththepiecesandnottobreakanything.

But he stayedwith the job because themerchant, although hewas an oldgrouch,treatedhimfairly;theboyreceivedagoodcommissionforeachpiecehesold,andhadalreadybeenabletoputsomemoneyaside.Thatmorninghehaddone some calculating: if he continued towork every day as he had been, hewouldneedawholeyeartobeabletobuysomesheep.

“I’dliketobuildadisplaycaseforthecrystal,”theboysaidtothemerchant.“Wecouldplace itoutside,andattract thosepeoplewhopassat thebottomofthehill.”

“I’ve never hadonebefore,” themerchant answered. “Peoplewill pass byandbumpintoit,andpieceswillbebroken.”

“Well,when I tookmy sheep through the fields someof themmight havediedifwehadcomeuponasnake.Butthat’sthewaylifeiswithsheepandwithshepherds.”

Themerchantturnedtoacustomerwhowantedthreecrystalglasses.Hewassellingbetterthanever...asiftimehadturnedbacktotheolddayswhenthestreethadbeenoneofTangier’smajorattractions.

“Businesshas really improved,”he said to theboy, after the customerhadleft. “I’m doingmuch better, and soon you’ll be able to return to your sheep.Whyaskmoreoutoflife?”

“Because we have to respond to omens,” the boy said, almost withoutmeaningto;thenheregrettedwhathehadsaid,becausethemerchanthadnevermettheking.

“It’scalledtheprincipleoffavorability,beginner’sluck.BecauselifewantsyoutoachieveyourPersonalLegend,”theoldkinghadsaid.

Butthemerchantunderstoodwhattheboyhadsaid.Theboy’sverypresence

intheshopwasanomen,and,astimepassedandmoneywaspouringintothecashdrawer,hehadnoregretsabouthavinghired theboy.Theboywasbeingpaidmoremoney than he deserved, because themerchant, thinking that saleswouldn’tamounttomuch,hadofferedtheboyahighcommissionrate.Hehadassumedhewouldsoonreturntohissheep.

“WhydidyouwanttogettothePyramids?”heasked,togetawayfromthebusinessofthedisplay.

“BecauseI’vealwaysheardaboutthem,”theboyanswered,sayingnothingabouthis dream.The treasurewasnownothingbut a painfulmemory, andhetriedtoavoidthinkingaboutit.

“Idon’tknowanyonearoundherewhowouldwanttocrossthedesertjusttoseethePyramids,”saidthemerchant.“They’rejustapileofstones.Youcouldbuildoneinyourbackyard.”

“You’ve never had dreams of travel,” said the boy, turning to wait on acustomerwhohadenteredtheshop.

Twodayslater,themerchantspoketotheboyaboutthedisplay.“Idon’tmuchlikechange,”hesaid.“YouandIaren’tlikeHassan,thatrich

merchant.Ifhemakesabuyingmistake,itdoesn’taffecthimmuch.Butwetwohavetolivewithourmistakes.”

That’strueenough,theboythought,ruefully.“Whydidyouthinkweshouldhavethedisplay?”“Iwanttogetbacktomysheepfaster.Wehavetotakeadvantagewhenluck

isonourside,anddoasmuchtohelpitasit’sdoingtohelpus.It’scalledtheprincipleoffavorability.Orbeginner’sluck.”

Themerchant was silent for a fewmoments. Then he said, “The Prophetgaveus theKoran, and left us just fiveobligations to satisfyduringour lives.ThemostimportantistobelieveonlyintheonetrueGod.Theothersaretoprayfivetimesaday,fastduringRamadan,andbecharitabletothepoor.”

Hestoppedthere.Hiseyesfilledwith tearsashespokeof theProphet.Hewasadevoutman,and,evenwithallhisimpatience,hewantedtolivehislifeinaccordancewithMuslimlaw.

“What’sthefifthobligation?”theboyasked.“Twodaysago,yousaid thatIhadneverdreamedof travel,” themerchant

answered.“ThefifthobligationofeveryMuslimisapilgrimage.Weareobliged,atleastonceinourlives,tovisittheholycityofMecca.

“Mecca is a lot farther away than the Pyramids.When Iwas young, all Iwanted todowasput togetherenoughmoney to start this shop. I thought that

somedayI’dberich,andcouldgotoMecca.Ibegantomakesomemoney,butIcouldneverbringmyselftoleavesomeoneinchargeoftheshop;thecrystalsaredelicate things. At the same time, people were passingmy shop all the time,headingforMecca.Someofthemwererichpilgrims,travelingincaravanswithservantsandcamels,butmostofthepeoplemakingthepilgrimagewerepoorerthanI.

“Allwhowenttherewerehappyathavingdoneso.Theyplacedthesymbolsofthepilgrimageonthedoorsoftheirhouses.Oneofthem,acobblerwhomadehislivingmendingboots,saidthathehadtraveledforalmostayearthroughthedesert, but that he gotmore tiredwhen he had towalk through the streets ofTangierbuyinghisleather.”

“Well,whydon’tyougotoMeccanow?”askedtheboy.“Becauseit’sthethoughtofMeccathatkeepsmealive.That’swhathelpsme

face these days that are all the same, thesemute crystals on the shelves, andlunch and dinner at that same horrible café. I’m afraid that if my dream isrealized,I’llhavenoreasontogoonliving.

“Youdreamabout your sheep and thePyramids, but you’re different fromme,becauseyouwanttorealizeyourdreams.IjustwanttodreamaboutMecca.I’vealreadyimaginedathousandtimescrossingthedesert,arrivingatthePlazaoftheSacredStone,theseventimesIwalkarounditbeforeallowingmyselftotouchit.I’vealreadyimaginedthepeoplewhowouldbeatmyside,andthoseinfrontofme,andtheconversationsandprayerswewouldshare.ButI’mafraidthatitwouldallbeadisappointment,soIpreferjusttodreamaboutit.”

That day, themerchant gave the boy permission to build the display. Noteveryonecanseehisdreamscometrueinthesameway.

Twomoremonthspassed,andtheshelfbroughtmanycustomersintothecrystalshop.Theboyestimatedthat,ifheworkedforsixmoremonths,hecouldreturntoSpainandbuysixtysheep,andyetanothersixty.Inlessthanayear,hewouldhave doubled his flock, and hewould be able to do businesswith theArabs,becausehewasnowabletospeaktheirstrangelanguage.Sincethatmorninginthemarketplace,hehadneveragainmadeuseofUrimandThummim,becauseEgyptwasnowjustasdistantadreamforhimaswasMeccaforthemerchant.Anyway,theboyhadbecomehappyinhiswork,andthoughtallthetimeaboutthedaywhenhewoulddisembarkatTarifaasawinner.

“Youmustalwaysknowwhatitisthatyouwant,”theoldkinghadsaid.The

boyknew,andwasnowworking toward it.Maybe itwashis treasure tohavewoundupinthatstrangeland,metupwithathief,anddoubledthesizeofhisflockwithoutspendingacent.

Hewasproudofhimself.Hehadlearnedsomeimportantthings,likehowtodealincrystal,andaboutthelanguagewithoutwords...andaboutomens.Oneafternoon he had seen a man at the top of the hill, complaining that it wasimpossible to findadecentplace togetsomething todrinkaftersuchaclimb.Theboy,accustomedtorecognizingomens,spoketothemerchant.

“Let’ssellteatothepeoplewhoclimbthehill.”“Lotsofplacessellteaaroundhere,”themerchantsaid.“Butwecouldsell tea incrystalglasses.Thepeoplewillenjoythe teaand

want to buy the glasses. I have been told that beauty is the great seducer ofmen.”

Themerchantdidn’trespond,butthatafternoon,aftersayinghisprayersandclosing theshop,he invited theboy tositwithhimandsharehishookah, thatstrangepipeusedbytheArabs.

“Whatisityou’relookingfor?”askedtheoldmerchant.“I’vealready toldyou. Ineed tobuymysheepback,so Ihave toearn the

moneytodoso.”Themerchantputsomenewcoalsinthehookah,andinhaleddeeply.“I’ve had this shop for thirty years. I know good crystal from bad, and

everythingelsethereistoknowaboutcrystal.Iknowitsdimensionsandhowitbehaves. Ifwe serve tea in crystal, the shop is going to expand.And then I’ll

havetochangemywayoflife.”“Well,isn’tthatgood?”“I’m already used to theway things are.Before you came, Iwas thinking

about howmuch time I had wasted in the same place, while my friends hadmovedon,andeitherwentbankruptordidbetterthantheyhadbefore.Itmademe very depressed. Now, I can see that it hasn’t been too bad. The shop isexactly the size I always wanted it to be. I don’t want to change anything,becauseIdon’tknowhowtodealwithchange.I’musedtothewayIam.”

Theboydidn’tknowwhattosay.Theoldmancontinued,“Youhavebeenareal blessing tome. Today, I understand something I didn’t see before: everyblessingignoredbecomesacurse.Idon’twantanythingelseinlife.Butyouareforcingme to look atwealth and at horizons I havenever known.Now that Ihaveseenthem,andnowthatIseehowimmensemypossibilitiesare,I’mgoingtofeelworsethanIdidbeforeyouarrived.BecauseIknowthethingsIshouldbeabletoaccomplish,andIdon’twanttodoso.”

It’sgoodIrefrainedfromsayinganythingtothebakerinTarifa,thoughttheboytohimself.

Theywent on smoking the pipe for awhile as the sun began to set. TheywereconversinginArabic,andtheboywasproudofhimselfforbeingabletodo so.Therehadbeena timewhenhe thought thathis sheepcould teachhimeverythingheneededtoknowabouttheworld.ButtheycouldneverhavetaughthimArabic.

Thereareprobablyother things in theworld that thesheepcan’t teachme,thoughttheboyasheregardedtheoldmerchant.Alltheyeverdo,really,islookforfoodandwater.Andmaybeitwasn’tthattheywereteachingme,butthatIwaslearningfromthem.

“Maktub,”themerchantsaid,finally.“Whatdoesthatmean?”“Youwouldhave tohavebeenbornanArab tounderstand,”heanswered.

“Butinyourlanguageitwouldbesomethinglike‘Itiswritten.’”And,ashesmotheredthecoalsinthehookah,hetoldtheboythathecould

begin to sell tea in the crystalglasses.Sometimes, there’s justnoway toholdbacktheriver.

Themenclimbed thehill, and theywere tiredwhen they reached the top.Butthere theysawacrystal shop thatoffered refreshingmint tea.Theywent in to

drinkthetea,whichwasservedinbeautifulcrystalglasses.“Mywifeneverthoughtofthis,”saidone,andheboughtsomecrystal—he

was entertaining guests that night, and the guests would be impressed by thebeauty of the glassware. The other man remarked that tea was always moredeliciouswhen it was served in crystal, because the aromawas retained. Thethird said that it was a tradition in the Orient to use crystal glasses for teabecauseithadmagicalpowers.

Before long, thenewsspread,andagreatmanypeoplebegan toclimb thehill to see the shop thatwas doing something new in a trade thatwas so old.Othershopswereopenedthatservedteaincrystal,buttheyweren’tatthetopofahill,andtheyhadlittlebusiness.

Eventually, the merchant had to hire two more employees. He began toimport enormous quantities of tea, along with his crystal, and his shop wassoughtoutbymenandwomenwithathirstforthingsnew.

And,inthatway,themonthspassed.

Theboyawokebeforedawn.IthadbeenelevenmonthsandninedayssincehehadfirstsetfootontheAfricancontinent.

HedressedinhisArabianclothingofwhitelinen,boughtespeciallyforthisday.Heputhisheadclothinplaceandsecureditwitharingmadeofcamelskin.Wearinghisnewsandals,hedescendedthestairssilently.

Thecitywasstillsleeping.Hepreparedhimselfasandwichanddranksomehotteafromacrystalglass.Thenhesatinthesun-filleddoorway,smokingthehookah.

Hesmokedinsilence,thinkingofnothing,andlisteningtothesoundofthewind thatbrought thescentof thedesert.Whenhehad finishedhissmoke,hereachedintooneofhispockets,andsatthereforafewmoments,regardingwhathehadwithdrawn.

It was a bundle of money. Enough to buy himself a hundred and twentysheep,areturnticket,andalicensetoimportproductsfromAfricaintohisowncountry.

Hewaitedpatientlyforthemerchanttoawakenandopentheshop.Thenthetwowentofftohavesomemoretea.

“I’mleavingtoday,”saidtheboy.“IhavethemoneyIneedtobuymysheep.AndyouhavethemoneyyouneedtogotoMecca.”

Theoldmansaidnothing.

“Will you giveme your blessing?” asked the boy. “You have helpedme.”Themancontinuedtopreparehistea,sayingnothing.Thenheturnedtotheboy.

“I amproudof you,” he said. “Youbrought a new feeling intomy crystalshop.Butyouknowthat I’mnotgoing togo toMecca.Justasyouknowthatyou’renotgoingtobuyyoursheep.”

“Whotoldyouthat?”askedtheboy,startled.“Maktub,”saidtheoldcrystalmerchant.Andhegavetheboyhisblessing.

Theboywenttohisroomandpackedhisbelongings.Theyfilledthreesacks.Ashewasleaving,hesaw,inthecornerof theroom,hisoldshepherd’spouch.Itwasbunchedup,andhehadhardlythoughtofitforalongtime.Ashetookhisjacket out of the pouch, thinking to give it to someone in the street, the twostonesfelltothefloor.UrimandThummim.

Itmadetheboythinkoftheoldking,anditstartledhimtorealizehowlongithadbeensincehehadthoughtofhim.Fornearlyayear,hehadbeenworkingincessantly,thinkingonlyofputtingasideenoughmoneysothathecouldreturntoSpainwithpride.

“Neverstopdreaming,”theoldkinghadsaid.“Followtheomens.”The boy picked upUrim andThummim, and, once again, had the strange

sensationthattheoldkingwasnearby.Hehadworkedhardforayear,andtheomenswerethatitwastimetogo.

I’mgoingtogobacktodoingjustwhatIdidbefore,theboythought.Eventhoughthesheepdidn’tteachmetospeakArabic.

Butthesheephadtaughthimsomethingevenmoreimportant:thattherewasalanguageintheworldthateveryoneunderstood,alanguagetheboyhadusedthroughoutthetimethathewastryingtoimprovethingsattheshop.Itwasthelanguageofenthusiasm,of thingsaccomplishedwith loveandpurpose,andaspartofasearchforsomethingbelievedinanddesired.Tangierwasnolongerastrange city, and he felt that, just as he had conquered this place, he couldconquertheworld.

“Whenyouwantsomething,all theuniverseconspires tohelpyouachieveit,”theoldkinghadsaid.

But theoldkinghadn’tsaidanythingaboutbeingrobbed,oraboutendlessdeserts, or about people who know what their dreams are but don’t want torealizethem.Theoldkinghadn’ttoldhimthatthePyramidswerejustapileofstones,orthatanyonecouldbuildoneinhisbackyard.Andhehadforgottentomentionthat,whenyouhaveenoughmoneytobuyaflocklargerthantheoneyouhadbefore,youshouldbuyit.

Theboypickeduphispouchandputitwithhisotherthings.Hewentdownthestairsandfoundthemerchantwaitingonaforeigncouple,whiletwoothercustomerswalkedabouttheshop,drinkingteafromcrystalglasses.Itwasmoreactivitythanusualforthistimeofthemorning.Fromwherehestood,hesawforthefirsttimethattheoldmerchant’shairwasverymuchlikethehairoftheoldking.Heremembered thesmileof thecandyseller,onhisfirstday inTangier,whenhehadnothingtoeatandnowheretogo—thatsmilehadalsobeenliketheoldking’ssmile.

It’s almost as if he had been here and left hismark, he thought.And yet,noneofthesepeoplehasevermettheoldking.Ontheotherhand,hesaidthathealwaysappearedtohelpthosewhoaretryingtorealizetheirPersonalLegend.

Heleftwithoutsayinggood-bye to thecrystalmerchant.Hedidn’twant tocrywiththeotherpeoplethere.Hewasgoingtomisstheplaceandallthegoodthings he had learned.Hewasmore confident in himself, though, and felt asthoughhecouldconquertheworld.

“But I’m going back to the fields that I know, to take care of my flockagain.”Hesaidthattohimselfwithcertainty,buthewasnolongerhappywithhisdecision.Hehadworkedforanentireyeartomakeadreamcometrue,andthatdream,minutebyminute,wasbecominglessimportant.Maybebecausethatwasn’treallyhisdream.

Whoknows...maybeit’sbettertobelikethecrystalmerchant:nevergoto

Mecca, and just go through lifewanting to do so, he thought, again trying toconvince himself. But as he held Urim and Thummim in his hand, they hadtransmitted to him the strength and will of the old king. By coincidence—ormaybeitwasanomen,theboythought—hecametothebarhehadenteredonhisfirstday there.The thiefwasn’t there,and theownerbroughthimacupoftea.

Icanalwaysgobacktobeingashepherd,theboythought.Ilearnedhowtocare for sheep, and I haven’t forgotten how that’s done.Butmaybe I’ll neverhave another chance to get to the Pyramids in Egypt. The old man wore abreastplate of gold, andhe knewaboutmypast.He reallywas a king, awiseking.

The hills ofAndalusiawere only two hours away, but therewas an entiredesert between him and the Pyramids.Yet the boy felt that therewas anotherwaytoregardhissituation:hewasactuallytwohoursclosertohistreasure...thefactthatthetwohourshadstretchedintoanentireyeardidn’tmatter.

IknowwhyIwanttogetbacktomyflock,hethought.Iunderstandsheep;they’renolongeraproblem,andtheycanbegoodfriends.Ontheotherhand,Idon’t know if the desert can be a friend, and it’s in the desert that I have tosearch formy treasure. If Idon’t find it, I canalwaysgohome. I finallyhaveenoughmoney,andallthetimeIneed.Whynot?

Hesuddenly felt tremendouslyhappy.Hecouldalwaysgoback tobeingashepherd.Hecouldalwaysbecomeacrystalsalesmanagain.Maybe theworldhadotherhiddentreasures,buthehadadream,andhehadmetwithaking.Thatdoesn’thappentojustanyone!

He was planning as he left the bar. He had remembered that one of thecrystalmerchant’s suppliers transported his crystal bymeans of caravans thatcrossed thedesert.HeheldUrimandThummim inhishand;becauseof thosetwostones,hewasonceagainonthewaytohistreasure.

“Iamalwaysnearby,whensomeonewantstorealizetheirPersonalLegend,”theoldkinghadtoldhim.

Whatcoulditcosttogoovertothesupplier’swarehouseandfindoutifthePyramidswerereallythatfaraway?

TheEnglishmanwas sittingonabench ina structure that smelledof animals,sweat,anddust;itwaspartwarehouse,partcorral.IneverthoughtI’dendupina place like this, he thought, as he leafed through the pages of a chemical

journal.Tenyearsattheuniversity,andhereIaminacorral.

Buthehadtomoveon.Hebelievedinomens.Allhislifeandallhisstudieswereaimedatfindingtheonetruelanguageoftheuniverse.FirsthehadstudiedEsperanto,thentheworld’sreligions,andnowitwasalchemy.HeknewhowtospeakEsperanto,heunderstoodallthemajorreligionswell,buthewasn’tyetanalchemist. He had unraveled the truths behind important questions, but hisstudieshadtakenhimtoapointbeyondwhichhecouldnotseemtogo.Hehadtried in vain to establish a relationship with an alchemist. But the alchemistswere strange people, who thought only about themselves, and almost alwaysrefusedtohelphim.Whoknows,maybetheyhadfailedtodiscoverthesecretofthe Master Work—the Philosopher’s Stone—and for this reason kept theirknowledgetothemselves.

Hehadalreadyspentmuchofthefortunelefttohimbyhisfather,fruitlesslyseekingthePhilosopher’sStone.Hehadspentenormousamountsoftimeatthegreatlibrariesoftheworld,andhadpurchasedalltherarestandmostimportantvolumesonalchemy.Inonehehadreadthat,manyyearsago,afamousArabianalchemist had visitedEurope. Itwas said that hewasmore than two hundredyearsold,andthathehaddiscoveredthePhilosopher’sStoneandtheElixirofLife.TheEnglishmanhadbeenprofoundlyimpressedbythestory.Buthewouldneverhavethoughtitmorethanjustamyth,hadnotafriendofhis—returningfrom an archaeological expedition in the desert—told him about anArab thatwaspossessedofexceptionalpowers.

“HelivesattheAl-Fayoumoasis,”hisfriendhadsaid.“Andpeoplesaythatheistwohundredyearsold,andisabletotransformanymetalintogold.”

The Englishman could not contain his excitement. He canceled all hiscommitmentsandpulledtogetherthemostimportantofhisbooks,andnowhere

hewas, sitting inside adusty, smellywarehouse.Outside, ahuge caravanwasbeingpreparedforacrossingoftheSahara,andwasscheduledtopassthroughAl-Fayoum.

I’mgoing to find thatdamnedalchemist, theEnglishman thought.And theodoroftheanimalsbecameabitmoretolerable.

A young Arab, also loaded down with baggage, entered, and greeted theEnglishman.

“Whereareyoubound?”askedtheyoungArab.“I’mgoingintothedesert,”themananswered,turningbacktohisreading.

Hedidn’twantanyconversationatthispoint.Whatheneededtodowasreviewallhehadlearnedovertheyears,becausethealchemistwouldcertainlyputhimtothetest.

TheyoungArabtookoutabookandbegantoread.ThebookwaswritteninSpanish. That’s good, thought the Englishman. He spoke Spanish better thanArabic,and,ifthisboywasgoingtoAl-Fayoum,therewouldbesomeonetotalktowhentherewerenootherimportantthingstodo.

“That’sstrange,”saidtheboy,ashetriedonceagaintoreadtheburialscenethatbeganthebook.“I’vebeentryingfortwoyearstoreadthisbook,andInevergetpast these first fewpages.”Evenwithoutaking toprovidean interruption,hewasunabletoconcentrate.

Hestillhadsomedoubtsaboutthedecisionhehadmade.Buthewasabletounderstandonething:makingadecisionwasonlythebeginningofthings.Whensomeone makes a decision, he is really diving into a strong current that willcarryhimtoplaceshehadneverdreamedofwhenhefirstmadethedecision.

WhenIdecidedtoseekoutmytreasure,IneverimaginedthatI’dwindupworkinginacrystalshop,hethought.Andjoiningthiscaravanmayhavebeenmydecision,butwhereitgoesisgoingtobeamysterytome.

NearbywastheEnglishman,readingabook.Heseemedunfriendly,andhadlooked irritated when the boy had entered. They might even have becomefriends,buttheEnglishmanclosedofftheconversation.

The boy closed his book. He felt that he didn’t want to do anything thatmightmakehim look like theEnglishman.He tookUrimandThummimfromhispocket,andbeganplayingwiththem.

Thestrangershouted,“UrimandThummim!”Inaflashtheboyputthembackinhispocket.

“They’renotforsale,”hesaid.“They’renotworthmuch,” theEnglishmananswered.“They’reonlymade

ofrockcrystal,andtherearemillionsofrockcrystalsintheearth.ButthosewhoknowaboutsuchthingswouldknowthatthoseareUrimandThummim.Ididn’tknowthattheyhadtheminthispartoftheworld.”

“Theyweregiventomeasapresentbyaking,”theboysaid.Thestrangerdidn’tanswer;instead,heputhishandinhispocket,andtook

outtwostonesthatwerethesameastheboy’s.“Didyousayaking?”heasked.“I guess you don’t believe that a king would talk to someone like me, a

shepherd,”hesaid,wantingtoendtheconversation.“Notatall.Itwasshepherdswhowerethefirsttorecognizeakingthatthe

restoftheworldrefusedtoacknowledge.So,it’snotsurprisingthatkingswouldtalktoshepherds.”

And he went on, fearing that the boy wouldn’t understand what he wastalkingabout,“It’sintheBible.ThesamebookthattaughtmeaboutUrimandThummim.ThesestonesweretheonlyformofdivinationpermittedbyGod.Thepriestscarriedtheminagoldenbreastplate.”

Theboywassuddenlyhappytobethereatthewarehouse.“Maybethisisanomen,”saidtheEnglishman,halfaloud.“Who told you about omens?” The boy’s interest was increasing by the

moment.“Everything in life is an omen,” said the Englishman, now closing the

journal he was reading. “There is a universal language, understood byeverybody, but already forgotten. I am in search of that universal language,amongotherthings.That’swhyI’mhere.Ihavetofindamanwhoknowsthatuniversallanguage.Analchemist.”

Theconversationwasinterruptedbythewarehouseboss.“You’re in luck, you two,” the fat Arab said. “There’s a caravan leaving

todayforAl-Fayoum.”“ButI’mgoingtoEgypt,”theboysaid.“Al-FayoumisinEgypt,”saidtheArab.“WhatkindofArabareyou?”“That’sagoodluckomen,”theEnglishmansaid,afterthefatArabhadgone

out. “If I could, I’dwrite a huge encyclopedia just about thewords luck andcoincidence.It’swiththosewordsthattheuniversallanguageiswritten.”

He told theboy itwasnocoincidence thathehadmethimwithUrimandThummim inhishand.Andheasked theboy ifhe, too,were in searchof the

alchemist.“I’m looking for a treasure,” said the boy, and he immediately regretted

havingsaidit.ButtheEnglishmanappearednottoattachanyimportancetoit.“Inaway,soamI,”hesaid.“I don’t even know what alchemy is,” the boy was saying, when the

warehousebosscalledtothemtocomeoutside.

“I’m the leader of the caravan,” said a dark-eyed, bearded man. “I hold thepower of life and death for every person I take with me. The desert is acapriciouslady,andsometimesshedrivesmencrazy.”

There were almost two hundred people gathered there, and four hundredanimals—camels,horses,mules,andfowl.Inthecrowdwerewomen,children,and a number of men with swords at their belts and rifles slung on theirshoulders.TheEnglishmanhadseveralsuitcasesfilledwithbooks.Therewasababbleofnoise,andtheleaderhadtorepeathimselfseveraltimesforeveryonetounderstandwhathewassaying.

“Therearealotofdifferentpeoplehere,andeachhashisownGod.ButtheonlyGod I serve is Allah, and in his name I swear that I will do everythingpossibleonceagaintowinoutoverthedesert.ButIwanteachandeveryoneofyoutoswearbytheGodyoubelieveinthatyouwillfollowmyordersnomatterwhat.Inthedesert,disobediencemeansdeath.”

Therewasamurmurfromthecrowd.EachwasswearingquietlytohisorherownGod.TheboysworetoJesusChrist.TheEnglishmansaidnothing.Andthemurmur lasted longer than a simple vow would have. The people were alsoprayingtoheavenforprotection.

Alongnotewassoundedonabugle,andeveryonemountedup.Theboyandthe Englishman had bought camels, and climbed uncertainly onto their backs.

TheboyfeltsorryfortheEnglishman’scamel,loadeddownashewaswiththecasesofbooks.

“There’snosuchthingascoincidence,”saidtheEnglishman,pickinguptheconversationwhereithadbeeninterruptedinthewarehouse.“I’mherebecauseafriendofmineheardofanArabwho...”

But the caravan began to move, and it was impossible to hear what theEnglishmanwassaying.Theboyknewwhathewasabouttodescribe,though:themysterious chain that links one thing to another, the same chain that hadcausedhimtobecomeashepherd,thathadcausedhisrecurringdream,thathadbroughthim toacitynearAfrica, to findaking,and tobe robbed inorder tomeetacrystalmerchant,and...

ThecloseronegetstorealizinghisPersonalLegend,themorethatPersonalLegendbecomeshistruereasonforbeing,thoughttheboy.

Thecaravanmoved toward the east. It traveledduring themorning,haltedwhen the sunwas at its strongest, and resumed late in the afternoon.Theboyspoke very little with the Englishman, who spent most of his time with hisbooks.

Theboyobserved in silence theprogressof the animals andpeople acrossthedesert.Noweverythingwasquitedifferentfromhowitwasthatdaytheyhadsetout:then,therehadbeenconfusionandshouting,thecriesofchildrenandthewhinnyingofanimals,allmixedwith thenervousordersof theguidesand themerchants.

But, in thedesert, therewasonly thesoundof theeternalwind,andof thehoofbeatsoftheanimals.Eventheguidesspokeverylittletooneanother.

“I’ve crossed these sandsmany times,” said one of the camel drivers onenight.“But thedesert issohuge,and thehorizonssodistant, that theymakeapersonfeelsmall,andasifheshouldremainsilent.”

Theboyunderstoodintuitivelywhathemeant,evenwithouteverhavingsetfoot in the desert before. Whenever he saw the sea, or a fire, he fell silent,impressedbytheirelementalforce.

I’velearnedthingsfromthesheep,andI’velearnedthingsfromcrystal,hethought.Icanlearnsomethingfromthedesert,too.Itseemsoldandwise.

Thewindneverstopped,andtheboyrememberedthedayhehadsatatthefort inTarifawith this samewindblowing inhis face. It remindedhimof thewoolfromhissheep...hissheepwhowerenowseekingfoodandwaterinthefieldsofAndalusia,astheyalwayshad.

“They’re not my sheep anymore,” he said to himself, without nostalgia.

“Theymustbeusedtotheirnewshepherd,andhaveprobablyalreadyforgottenme.That’sgood.Creatureslikethesheep,thatareusedtotraveling,knowaboutmovingon.”

Hethoughtof themerchant’sdaughter,andwassure thatshehadprobablymarried.Perhapstoabaker,ortoanothershepherdwhocouldreadandcouldtellher exciting stories—after all, he probably wasn’t the only one. But he wasexcitedathisintuitiveunderstandingofthecameldriver’scomment:maybehewasalsolearningtheuniversallanguagethatdealswiththepastandthepresentofallpeople.“Hunches,”hismotherusedtocallthem.Theboywasbeginningto understand that intuition is really a sudden immersion of the soul into theuniversalcurrentoflife,wherethehistoriesofallpeopleareconnected,andweareabletoknoweverything,becauseit’sallwrittenthere.

“Maktub,”theboysaid,rememberingthecrystalmerchant.The desertwas all sand in some stretches, and rocky in others.When the

caravanwasblockedby aboulder, it had togo around it; if therewas a largerocky area, they had tomake amajor detour. If the sandwas too fine for theanimals’ hooves, they sought a way where the sand was more substantial. Insomeplaces,thegroundwascoveredwiththesaltofdried-uplakes.Theanimalsbalked at such places, and the camel drivers were forced to dismount andunburden their charges. The drivers carried the freight themselves over suchtreacherousfooting,and thenreloaded thecamels. Ifaguidewere tofall illordie,thecameldriverswoulddrawlotsandappointanewone.

Butallthishappenedforonebasicreason:nomatterhowmanydetoursandadjustments itmade, thecaravanmovedtowardthesamecompasspoint.Onceobstacles were overcome, it returned to its course, sighting on a star thatindicatedthelocationoftheoasis.Whenthepeoplesawthatstarshininginthemorningsky,theyknewtheywereontherightcoursetowardwater,palmtrees,shelter, andotherpeople. Itwasonly theEnglishmanwhowasunawareof allthis;hewas,forthemostpart,immersedinreadinghisbooks.

Theboy, too,hadhisbook,andhehad tried to read itduring the first few

days of the journey. But he found it much more interesting to observe thecaravan and listen to thewind.As soon as he had learned to knowhis camelbetter, and to establish a relationship with him, he threw the book away.Although the boy had developed a superstition that each time he opened thebook he would learn something important, he decided it was an unnecessaryburden.

He became friendlywith the camel driverwho traveled alongside him.Atnight,astheysataroundthefire,theboyrelatedtothedriverhisadventuresasashepherd.

Duringoneoftheseconversations,thedrivertoldofhisownlife.“IusedtolivenearElCairum,”hesaid.“Ihadmyorchard,mychildren,and

alifethatwouldchangenotatalluntilIdied.Oneyear,whenthecropwasthebestever,weallwenttoMecca,andIsatisfiedtheonlyunmetobligationinmylife.Icoulddiehappily,andthatmademefeelgood.

“Oneday, theearthbeganto tremble,and theNileoverfloweditsbanks. Itwas something that I thought could happen only to others, never to me. Myneighborsfearedtheywouldlosealltheirolivetreesintheflood,andmywifewasafraid thatwewould loseour children. I thought that everything Iownedwouldbedestroyed.

“Thelandwasruined,andIhadtofindsomeotherwaytoearnaliving.SonowI’macameldriver.But thatdisaster taughtme tounderstand thewordofAllah:peopleneednotfear theunknownif theyarecapableofachievingwhattheyneedandwant.

“We are afraid of losing what we have, whether it’s our life or ourpossessionsandproperty.Butthisfearevaporateswhenweunderstandthatourlifestoriesandthehistoryoftheworldwerewrittenbythesamehand.”

Sometimes,theircaravanmetwithanother.Onealwayshadsomethingthattheotherneeded—asifeverythingwereindeedwrittenbyonehand.Astheysataroundthefire,thecameldriversexchangedinformationaboutwindstorms,andtoldstoriesaboutthedesert.

Atothertimes,mysterious,hoodedmenwouldappear;theywereBedouinswho did surveillance along the caravan route. They provided warnings aboutthievesandbarbarian tribes.Theycame insilenceanddeparted thesameway,dressedinblackgarmentsthatshowedonlytheireyes.Onenight,acameldrivercame to the fire where the Englishman and the boy were sitting. “There arerumorsoftribalwars,”hetoldthem.

Thethreefellsilent.Theboynotedthattherewasasenseoffearintheair,

eventhoughnoonesaidanything.Onceagainhewasexperiencingthelanguagewithoutwords...theuniversallanguage.

TheEnglishmanaskediftheywereindanger.“Onceyougetintothedesert,there’snogoingback,”saidthecameldriver.

“And,whenyoucan’tgoback,youhave toworryonlyabout thebestwayofmovingforward.TherestisuptoAllah,includingthedanger.”

Andheconcludedbysayingthemysteriousword:“Maktub.”“You should pay more attention to the caravan,” the boy said to the

Englishman,afterthecameldriverhadleft.“Wemakealotofdetours,butwe’realwaysheadingforthesamedestination.”

“Andyouought to readmoreabout theworld,”answered theEnglishman.“Booksarelikecaravansinthatrespect.”

The immense collection of people and animals began to travel faster. Thedayshadalwaysbeensilent,butnow,eventhenights—whenthetravelerswereaccustomed to talkingaround the fires—hadalsobecomequiet.And,oneday,the leader of the caravanmade thedecision that the fires shouldno longer belighted,soasnottoattractattentiontothecaravan.

The travelers adopted the practice of arranging the animals in a circle atnight, sleeping together in the center as protection against the nocturnal cold.Andtheleaderpostedarmedsentinelsatthefringesofthegroup.

The Englishmanwas unable to sleep one night.He called to the boy, andtheytookawalkalongthedunessurroundingtheencampment.Therewasafullmoon,andtheboytoldtheEnglishmanthestoryofhislife.

TheEnglishmanwasfascinatedwiththepartabouttheprogressachievedatthecrystalshopaftertheboybeganworkingthere.

“That’stheprinciplethatgovernsallthings,”hesaid.“Inalchemy,it’scalledthe Soul of theWorld.When you want something with all your heart, that’swhenyouareclosesttotheSouloftheWorld.It’salwaysapositiveforce.”

Healsosaidthatthiswasnotjustahumangift,thateverythingonthefaceofthe earth had a soul, whether mineral, vegetable, or animal—or even just asimplethought.

“Everythingonearthisbeingcontinuouslytransformed,becausetheearthisalive...andithasasoul.Wearepartofthatsoul,sowerarelyrecognizethatitisworking for us.But in the crystal shop you probably realized that even theglasseswerecollaboratinginyoursuccess.”

The boy thought about that for awhile as he looked at themoon and thebleachedsands.“Ihavewatched thecaravanas it crossed thedesert,”hesaid.

“The caravan and the desert speak the same language, and it’s for that reasonthatthedesertallowsthecrossing.It’sgoingtotest thecaravan’severysteptoseeifit’sintime,and,ifitis,wewillmakeittotheoasis.”

“Ifeitherofushadjoinedthiscaravanbasedonlyonpersonalcourage,butwithoutunderstandingthatlanguage,thisjourneywouldhavebeenmuchmoredifficult.”

Theystoodtherelookingatthemoon.“That’s themagicofomens,”said theboy.“I’veseenhowtheguides read

thesignsofthedesert,andhowthesoulofthecaravanspeakstothesoulofthedesert.”

TheEnglishmansaid,“I’dbetterpaymoreattentiontothecaravan.”“AndI’dbetterreadyourbooks,”saidtheboy.

Theywerestrangebooks.Theyspokeaboutmercury, salt,dragons,andkings,andhedidn’tunderstandanyofit.Buttherewasoneideathatseemedtorepeatitselfthroughoutallthebooks:allthingsarethemanifestationofonethingonly.

Inoneofthebookshelearnedthatthemostimportanttextintheliteratureofalchemycontainedonlyafewlines,andhadbeeninscribedonthesurfaceofanemerald.

“It’s the Emerald Tablet,” said the Englishman, proud that hemight teachsomethingtotheboy.

“Well,then,whydoweneedallthesebooks?”theboyasked.“So that we can understand those few lines,” the Englishman answered,

withoutappearingreallytobelievewhathehadsaid.The book that most interested the boy told the stories of the famous

alchemists. They were men who had dedicated their entire lives to thepurification ofmetals in their laboratories; they believed that, if ametalwereheated formany years, itwould free itself of all its individual properties, andwhatwasleftwouldbetheSouloftheWorld.ThisSouloftheWorldallowedthemtounderstandanythingonthefaceoftheearth,becauseitwasthelanguagewith which all things communicated. They called that discovery the MasterWork—itwaspartliquidandpartsolid.

“Can’t you just observe men and omens in order to understand thelanguage?”theboyasked.

“Youhave amania for simplifying everything,” answered theEnglishman,irritated.“Alchemyisaseriousdiscipline.Everystephastobefollowedexactly

asitwasfollowedbythemasters.”TheboylearnedthattheliquidpartoftheMasterWorkwascalledtheElixir

ofLife, and that it curedall illnesses; it alsokept the alchemist fromgrowingold.AndthesolidpartwascalledthePhilosopher’sStone.

“It’s not easy to find the Philosopher’s Stone,” said theEnglishman. “Thealchemists spentyears in their laboratories, observing the fire thatpurified themetals.Theyspentsomuchtimeclosetothefirethatgraduallytheygaveupthevanitiesoftheworld.Theydiscoveredthatthepurificationofthemetalshadledtoapurificationofthemselves.”

Theboythoughtaboutthecrystalmerchant.Hehadsaidthatitwasagoodthingfortheboytocleanthecrystalpieces,sothathecouldfreehimselffromnegative thoughts. The boy was becoming more and more convinced thatalchemycouldbelearnedinone’sdailylife.

“Also,” said the Englishman, “the Philosopher’s Stone has a fascinatingproperty.Asmallsliverofthestonecantransformlargequantitiesofmetalintogold.”

Having heard that, the boy became even more interested in alchemy. Hethoughtthat,withsomepatience,he’dbeabletotransformeverythingintogold.He read the lives of the various people who had succeeded in doing so:Helvétius, Elias, Fulcanelli, andGeber. Theywere fascinating stories: each ofthemlivedouthisPersonalLegendto theend.Theytraveled,spokewithwisemen,performedmiraclesfortheincredulous,andownedthePhilosopher’sStoneandtheElixirofLife.

But when the boy wanted to learn how to achieve the Master Work, hebecame completely lost. There were just drawings, coded instructions, andobscuretexts.

“Whydotheymakethingssocomplicated?”heaskedtheEnglishmanonenight.TheboyhadnoticedthattheEnglishmanwasirritable,andmissedhisbooks.

“So that those who have the responsibility for understanding canunderstand,”hesaid.“Imagine ifeveryonewentaround transforming lead intogold.Goldwouldloseitsvalue.

“It’sonlythosewhoarepersistent,andwillingtostudythingsdeeply,whoachievetheMasterWork.That’swhyI’mhereinthemiddleofthedesert.I’mseekingatruealchemistwhowillhelpmetodecipherthecodes.”

“Whenwerethesebookswritten?”theboyasked.

“Manycenturiesago.”“Theydidn’thavetheprintingpressinthosedays,”theboyargued.“There

was no way for everybody to know about alchemy. Why did they use suchstrangelanguage,withsomanydrawings?”

The Englishman didn’t answer him directly. He said that for the past fewdays he had been paying attention to how the caravan operated, but that hehadn’tlearnedanythingnew.Theonlythinghehadnoticedwasthattalkofwarwasbecomingmoreandmorefrequent.

Then one day the boy returned the books to the Englishman. “Did you learnanything?” the Englishman asked, eager to hear what it might be. He neededsomeonetotalktosoastoavoidthinkingaboutthepossibilityofwar.

“Ilearnedthattheworldhasasoul,andthatwhoeverunderstandsthatsoulcan also understand the language of things. I learned that many alchemistsrealized their Personal Legends, and wound up discovering the Soul of theWorld,thePhilosopher’sStone,andtheElixirofLife.

“But,aboveall,Ilearnedthatthesethingsareallsosimplethattheycouldbewrittenonthesurfaceofanemerald.”

The Englishman was disappointed. The years of research, the magicsymbols, thestrangewords,andthelaboratoryequipment. . .noneofthishadmade an impression on the boy.His soulmust be too primitive to understandthosethings,hethought.

Hetookbackhisbooksandpackedthemawayagainintheirbags.“Gobacktowatchingthecaravan,”hesaid.“Thatdidn’tteachmeanything,

either.”Theboywentbacktocontemplatingthesilenceof thedesert,andthesand

raisedbytheanimals.“Everyonehashisorherownwayoflearningthings,”hesaidtohimself.“Hiswayisn’tthesameasmine,normineashis.Butwe’rebothinsearchofourPersonalLegends,andIrespecthimforthat.”

The caravan began to travel day and night. The hooded Bedouins reappearedmoreandmorefrequently,andthecameldriver—whohadbecomeagoodfriendoftheboy’s—explainedthatthewarbetweenthetribeshadalreadybegun.Thecaravanwouldbeveryluckytoreachtheoasis.

Theanimalswereexhausted,andthementalkedamongthemselveslessandless.The silencewas theworst aspect of thenight,when themeregroanof acamel—which before had been nothing but the groan of a camel—nowfrightenedeveryone,becauseitmightsignalaraid.

Thecameldriver,though,seemednottobeveryconcernedwiththethreatofwar.

“I’malive,”hesaidtotheboy,astheyateabunchofdatesonenight,withnofiresandnomoon.“WhenI’meating, that’sallI thinkabout.IfI’monthemarch,Ijustconcentrateonmarching.IfIhavetofight,itwillbejustasgoodadaytodieasanyother.

“BecauseIdon’tliveineithermypastormyfuture.I’minterestedonlyinthepresent.Ifyoucanconcentratealwaysonthepresent,you’llbeahappyman.You’llseethatthereislifeinthedesert,thattherearestarsintheheavens,andthattribesmenfightbecausetheyarepartofthehumanrace.Lifewillbeapartyforyou,agrandfestival,becauselifeisthemomentwe’relivingrightnow.”

Twonightslater,ashewasgettingreadytobeddown,theboylookedforthestartheyfollowedeverynight.Hethoughtthatthehorizonwasabitlowerthanithadbeen,becauseheseemedtoseestarsonthedesertitself.

“It’stheoasis,”saidthecameldriver.“Well,whydon’twegothererightnow?”theboyasked.“Becausewehavetosleep.”

Theboyawokeasthesunrose.There,infrontofhim,wherethesmallstarshadbeen thenightbefore,wasanendless rowofdatepalms, stretchingacross theentiredesert.

“We’vedoneit!”saidtheEnglishman,whohadalsoawakenedearly.Buttheboywasquiet.Hewasathomewiththesilenceofthedesert,andhe

wascontentjusttolookatthetrees.HestillhadalongwaytogotoreachthePyramids,andsomedaythismorningwouldjustbeamemory.Butthiswasthepresentmoment—thepartythecameldriverhadmentioned—andhewantedtoliveitashedidthelessonsofhispastandhisdreamsofthefuture.Althoughthevisionofthedatepalmswouldsomedaybejustamemory,rightnowitsignifiedshade,water,anda refugefromthewar.Yesterday, thecamel’sgroansignaleddanger,andnowarowofdatepalmscouldheraldamiracle.

Theworldspeaksmanylanguages,theboythought.

The times rush past, and so do the caravans, thought the alchemist, as hewatched thehundredsofpeopleandanimalsarrivingat theoasis.Peoplewereshoutingatthenewarrivals,dustobscuredthedesertsun,andthechildrenoftheoasiswereburstingwithexcitementatthearrivalofthestrangers.Thealchemistsaw the tribal chiefsgreet the leaderof thecaravan, andconversewithhimatlength.

Butnoneofthatmatteredtothealchemist.Hehadalreadyseenmanypeoplecomeandgo,andthedesertremainedasitwas.Hehadseenkingsandbeggarswalking thedesertsands.Theduneswerechangedconstantlyby thewind,yetthese were the same sands he had known since he was a child. He alwaysenjoyedseeingthehappinessthatthetravelersexperiencedwhen,afterweeksofyellowsandandbluesky,theyfirstsawthegreenofthedatepalms.MaybeGodcreatedthedesertsothatmancouldappreciatethedatetrees,hethought.

He decided to concentrate onmore practicalmatters.He knew that in thecaravan there was a man to whom he was to teach some of his secrets. Theomenshadtoldhimso.Hedidn’tknowthemanyet,buthispracticedeyewouldrecognizehimwhenheappeared.Hehopedthatitwouldbesomeoneascapableashispreviousapprentice.

Idon’tknowwhythesethingshavetobetransmittedbywordofmouth,hethought.Itwasn’texactlythattheyweresecrets;Godrevealedhissecretseasilytoallhiscreatures.

Hehadonlyoneexplanationforthisfact:thingshavetobetransmittedthiswaybecausetheyweremadeupfromthepurelife,andthiskindoflifecannotbecapturedinpicturesorwords.

Because people become fascinated with pictures and words, and wind up

forgettingtheLanguageoftheWorld.

Theboycouldn’tbelievewhathewasseeing:theoasis,ratherthanbeingjustawellsurroundedbyafewpalmtrees—ashehadseenonceinageographybook—wasmuch larger thanmany townsback inSpain.Therewere threehundredwells, fifty thousand date trees, and innumerable colored tents spread amongthem.

“ItlookslikeAThousandandOneNights,”saidtheEnglishman,impatienttomeetwiththealchemist.

Theyweresurroundedbychildren,curioustolookattheanimalsandpeoplethatwerearriving.Themenof theoasiswanted toknow if theyhadseenanyfighting,andthewomencompetedwithoneanotherforaccesstotheclothandpreciousstonesbroughtbythemerchants.Thesilenceofthedesertwasadistantdream; the travelers in the caravan were talking incessantly, laughing andshouting,asiftheyhademergedfromthespiritualworldandfoundthemselvesonceagainintheworldofpeople.Theywererelievedandhappy.

Theyhadbeentakingcarefulprecautionsinthedesert,butthecameldriverexplainedtotheboythatoaseswerealwaysconsideredtobeneutralterritories,because themajority of the inhabitantswerewomen and children.Therewereoases throughout thedesert,but the tribesmenfought in thedesert, leaving theoasesasplacesofrefuge.

Withsomedifficulty,theleaderofthecaravanbroughtallhispeopletogetherandgavethemhisinstructions.Thegroupwastoremainthereattheoasisuntilthe conflict between the tribeswas over. Since theywere visitors, theywouldhave toshare livingspacewith thosewho lived there,andwouldbegiven thebest accommodations. That was the law of hospitality. Then he asked thateveryone,includinghisownsentinels,handovertheirarmstothemenappointedbythetribalchieftains.

“Those are the rules of war,” the leader explained. “The oases may notshelterarmiesortroops.”

Totheboy’ssurprise, theEnglishmantookachrome-platedrevolveroutofhisbagandgaveittothemenwhowerecollectingthearms.

“Whyarevolver?”heasked.“Ithelpedmetotrustinpeople,”theEnglishmananswered.Meanwhile, the boy thought about his treasure. The closer he got to the

realizationofhisdream,themoredifficultthingsbecame.Itseemedasifwhatthe old king had called “beginner’s luck” were no longer functioning. In hispursuitofthedream,hewasbeingconstantlysubjectedtotestsofhispersistenceand courage. So he could not be hasty, nor impatient. If he pushed forwardimpulsively,hewouldfailtoseethesignsandomensleftbyGodalonghispath.

Godplacedthemalongmypath.Hehadsurprisedhimselfwiththethought.Untilthen,hehadconsideredtheomenstobethingsofthisworld.Likeeatingorsleeping,orlikeseekingloveorfindingajob.HehadneverthoughtofthemintermsofalanguageusedbyGodtoindicatewhatheshoulddo.

“Don’tbeimpatient,”herepeatedtohimself.“It’slikethecameldriversaid:‘Eatwhenit’stimetoeat.Andmovealongwhenit’stimetomovealong.’”

That first day, everyone slept from exhaustion, including the Englishman.Theboywasassignedaplacefarfromhisfriend,inatentwithfiveotheryoungmenofabouthisage.Theywerepeopleofthedesert,andclamoredtohearhisstoriesaboutthegreatcities.

Theboytoldthemabouthislifeasashepherd,andwasabouttotellthemofhisexperiencesatthecrystalshopwhentheEnglishmancameintothetent.

“I’vebeenlookingforyouallmorning,”hesaid,asheledtheboyoutside.“Ineedyoutohelpmefindoutwherethealchemistlives.”

First,theytriedtofindhimontheirown.Analchemistwouldprobablyliveinamannerthatwasdifferentfromthatoftherestofthepeopleattheoasis,anditwas likely that inhis tentanovenwascontinuouslyburning.Theysearchedeverywhere, and found that the oasis was much larger than they could haveimagined;therewerehundredsoftents.

“We’ve wasted almost the entire day,” said the Englishman, sitting downwiththeboynearoneofthewells.

“Maybewe’dbetterasksomeone,”theboysuggested.

TheEnglishmandidn’twanttotellothersabouthisreasonsforbeingattheoasis,andcouldn’tmakeuphismind.But,finally,heagreedthattheboy,whospokebetterArabic thanhe, shoulddoso.Theboyapproachedawomanwhohadcometothewelltofillagoatskinwithwater.

“Good afternoon,ma’am. I’m trying to find outwhere the alchemist liveshereattheoasis.”

Thewomansaidshehadneverheardofsuchaperson,andhurriedaway.Butbeforeshefled,sheadvisedtheboythathehadbetternottrytoconversewithwomen who were dressed in black, because they were married women. Heshouldrespecttradition.

TheEnglishmanwasdisappointed.Itseemedhehadmadethelongjourneyfornothing.Theboywasalsosaddened;hisfriendwasinpursuitofhisPersonalLegend.And,whensomeonewas in suchpursuit, theentireuniversemadeanefforttohelphimsucceed—that’swhattheoldkinghadsaid.Hecouldn’thavebeenwrong.

“Ihadneverheardofalchemistsbefore,”theboysaid.“Maybenooneherehas,either.”

TheEnglishman’seyeslitup.“That’sit!Maybenoonehereknowswhatanalchemistis!Findoutwhoitiswhocuresthepeople’sillnesses!”

Several women dressed in black came to the well for water, but the boywouldspeaktononeofthem,despitetheEnglishman’sinsistence.Thenamanapproached.

“Doyouknowsomeoneherewhocurespeople’sillnesses?”theboyasked.“Allahcuresourillnesses,”saidtheman,clearlyfrightenedofthestrangers.

“You’relookingforwitchdoctors.”HespokesomeversesfromtheKoran,andmovedon.

Anothermanappeared.Hewasolder,andwascarryingasmallbucket.Theboyrepeatedhisquestion.

“Whydoyouwanttofindthatsortofperson?”theArabasked.“Becausemyfriendherehastraveledformanymonthsinordertomeetwith

him,”theboysaid.“Ifsuchamanishereattheoasis,hemustbetheverypowerfulone,”said

theoldmanafterthinkingforafewmoments.“Noteventhetribalchieftainsareabletoseehimwhentheywantto.Onlywhenheconsents.

“Waitfortheendofthewar.Thenleavewiththecaravan.Don’ttrytoenterintothelifeoftheoasis,”hesaid,andwalkedaway.

ButtheEnglishmanwasexultant.Theywereontherighttrack.Finally,ayoungwomanapproachedwhowasnotdressedinblack.Shehada

vessel on her shoulder, and her headwas covered by a veil, but her facewasuncovered.Theboyapproachedhertoaskaboutthealchemist.

At thatmoment, it seemed tohim that timestoodstill, and theSoulof theWorldsurgedwithinhim.Whenhelookedintoherdarkeyes,andsawthatherlipswerepoisedbetweenalaughandsilence,helearnedthemostimportantpartof the language that all theworld spoke—the language that everyoneon earthwascapableofunderstanding in theirheart. Itwas love.Somethingolder thanhumanity,moreancient than thedesert.Something thatexerted thesameforcewhenevertwopairsofeyesmet,ashadtheirshereatthewell.Shesmiled,andthat was certainly an omen—the omen he had been awaiting, without evenknowinghewas,forallhislife.Theomenhehadsoughttofindwithhissheep

andinhisbooks,inthecrystalsandinthesilenceofthedesert.ItwasthepureLanguageoftheWorld.Itrequirednoexplanation,justasthe

universeneedsnoneasittravelsthroughendlesstime.Whattheboyfeltatthatmomentwasthathewasinthepresenceoftheonlywomaninhislife,andthat,withnoneedforwords,sherecognizedthesamething.Hewasmorecertainofitthanofanythingintheworld.Hehadbeentoldbyhisparentsandgrandparentsthathemustfallinloveandreallyknowapersonbeforebecomingcommitted.Butmaybepeoplewhofelt thatwayhadnever learnedtheuniversal language.Because,whenyouknowthatlanguage,it’seasytounderstandthatsomeoneintheworldawaitsyou,whether it’s in themiddleof thedesertor insomegreatcity.Andwhentwosuchpeopleencountereachother,andtheireyesmeet, thepast and the future become unimportant. There is only that moment, and theincrediblecertaintythateverythingunderthesunhasbeenwrittenbyonehandonly.Itisthehandthatevokeslove,andcreatesatwinsoulforeverypersonintheworld.Withoutsuchlove,one’sdreamswouldhavenomeaning.

Maktub,thoughttheboy.TheEnglishmanshooktheboy:“Comeon,askher!”Theboysteppedclosertothegirl,andwhenshesmiled,hedidthesame.“What’syourname?”heasked.“Fatima,”thegirlsaid,avertinghereyes.“That’swhatsomewomeninmycountryarecalled.”“It’sthenameoftheProphet’sdaughter,”Fatimasaid.“Theinvaderscarried

thenameeverywhere.”Thebeautifulgirlspokeoftheinvaderswithpride.The Englishman prodded him, and the boy asked her about themanwho

curedpeople’sillnesses.“That’s the man who knows all the secrets of the world,” she said. “He

communicateswiththegeniesofthedesert.”The genies were the spirits of good and evil. And the girl pointed to the

south, indicating that it was there the strange man lived. Then she filled hervesselwithwaterandleft.

TheEnglishmanvanished, too,gone tofind thealchemist.Andtheboysattherebythewellforalongtime,rememberingthatonedayinTarifathelevanterhadbroughttohimtheperfumeofthatwoman,andrealizingthathehadlovedherbeforeheevenknewsheexisted.Heknewthathisloveforherwouldenablehimtodiscovereverytreasureintheworld.

The next day, the boy returned to the well, hoping to see the girl. To hissurprise,theEnglishmanwasthere,lookingoutatthedesert.

“Iwaited all afternoon and evening,” he said. “He appearedwith the firststarsofevening.I toldhimwhatIwasseeking,andheaskedmeif Ihadevertransformedleadintogold.ItoldhimthatwaswhatIhadcomeheretolearn.

“HetoldmeIshouldtrytodoso.That’sallhesaid:‘Goandtry.’”Theboydidn’tsayanything.ThepoorEnglishmanhadtraveledallthisway,

onlytobetoldthatheshouldrepeatwhathehadalreadydonesomanytimes.“So,thentry,”hesaidtotheEnglishman.“That’swhatI’mgoingtodo.I’mgoingtostartnow.”AstheEnglishmanleft,Fatimaarrivedandfilledhervesselwithwater.“Icametotellyoujustonething,”theboysaid.“Iwantyoutobemywife.I

loveyou.”Thegirldroppedthecontainer,andthewaterspilled.“I’mgoingtowaithereforyoueveryday.Ihavecrossedthedesertinsearch

ofatreasurethatissomewherenearthePyramids,andforme,thewarseemedacurse.Butnowit’sablessing,becauseitbroughtmetoyou.”

“Thewarisgoingtoendsomeday,”thegirlsaid.Theboylookedaroundhimatthedatepalms.Heremindedhimselfthathe

hadbeenashepherd,and thathecouldbeashepherdagain.Fatimawasmoreimportantthanhistreasure.

“Thetribesmenarealwaysinsearchoftreasure,”thegirlsaid,asifshehadguessedwhathewasthinking.“Andthewomenofthedesertareproudoftheirtribesmen.”

Sherefilledhervesselandleft.TheboywenttothewelleverydaytomeetwithFatima.Hetoldherabout

hislifeasashepherd,abouttheking,andaboutthecrystalshop.Theybecamefriends,andexcept for the fifteenminuteshespentwithher,eachdayseemedthatitwouldneverpass.Whenhehadbeenattheoasisforalmostamonth,theleaderofthecaravancalledameetingofallofthepeopletravelingwithhim.

“Wedon’tknowwhenthewarwillend,sowecan’tcontinueourjourney,”

he said. “The battlesmay last for a long time, perhaps even years. There arepowerfulforcesonbothsides,andthewarisimportanttobotharmies.It’snotabattle of good against evil. It’s awar between forces that are fighting for thebalanceofpower,and,whenthattypeofbattlebegins,itlastslongerthanothers—becauseAllahisonbothsides.”

Thepeoplewentbacktowheretheywereliving,andtheboywenttomeetwithFatimathatafternoon.Hetoldheraboutthemorning’smeeting.“Thedayafterwemet,”Fatimasaid,“you toldme thatyou lovedme.Then,you taughtmesomethingoftheuniversallanguageandtheSouloftheWorld.Becauseofthat,Ihavebecomeapartofyou.”

The boy listened to the sound of her voice, and thought it to be morebeautifulthanthesoundofthewindinthedatepalms.

“I have been waiting for you here at this oasis for a long time. I haveforgottenaboutmypast,aboutmytraditions,andthewayinwhichmenofthedesertexpectwomentobehave.EversinceIwasachild,Ihavedreamedthatthedesertwouldbringmeawonderfulpresent.Now,mypresenthas arrived, andit’syou.”

Theboywantedtotakeherhand.ButFatima’shandsheldtothehandlesofherjug.

“Youhavetoldmeaboutyourdreams,abouttheoldkingandyourtreasure.Andyou’vetoldmeaboutomens.Sonow,Ifearnothing,becauseitwasthoseomens thatbroughtyou tome.And Iamapartofyourdream,apartofyourPersonalLegend,asyoucallit.

“That’swhy Iwantyou to continue towardyourgoal. If youhave towaituntil the war is over, then wait. But if you have to go before then, go on inpursuitofyourdream.Thedunesarechangedbythewind,butthedesertneverchanges.That’sthewayitwillbewithourloveforeachother.

“Maktub,”shesaid.“IfIamreallyapartofyourdream,you’llcomebackoneday.”

The boy was sad as he left her that day. He thought of all the marriedshepherdshehadknown.Theyhadadifficult timeconvincingtheirwivesthattheyhadtogooffintodistantfields.Loverequiredthemtostaywiththepeopletheyloved.

HetoldFatimathat,attheirnextmeeting.“Thedeserttakesourmenfromus,andtheydon’talwaysreturn,”shesaid.

“Weknowthat,andweareusedtoit.Thosewhodon’treturnbecomeapartofthe clouds, apart of the animals thathide in the ravines andof thewater that

comes from theearth.Theybecomeapartof everything . . . theybecome theSouloftheWorld.

“Some do come back.And then the otherwomen are happy because theybelievethattheirmenmayonedayreturn,aswell.Iusedtolookatthosewomenandenvythemtheirhappiness.Now,Itoowillbeoneofthewomenwhowait.

“I’madesertwoman,andI’mproudofthat.Iwantmyhusbandtowanderasfreeas thewind thatshapes thedunes.And, if Ihave to, Iwillaccept thefactthathehasbecomeapartof theclouds,and theanimals,and thewaterof thedesert.”

The boy went to look for the Englishman. He wanted to tell him aboutFatima.HewassurprisedwhenhesawthattheEnglishmanhadbuilthimselfafurnace outside his tent. It was a strange furnace, fueled by firewood, with atransparentflaskheatingontop.AstheEnglishmanstaredoutatthedesert,hiseyesseemedbrighterthantheyhadwhenhewasreadinghisbooks.

“Thisisthefirstphaseofthejob,”hesaid.“Ihavetoseparateoutthesulfur.Todothatsuccessfully,Imusthavenofearoffailure.ItwasmyfearoffailurethatfirstkeptmefromattemptingtheMasterWork.Now,I’mbeginningwhatIcouldhavestartedtenyearsago.ButI’mhappyatleastthatIdidn’twaittwentyyears.”

Hecontinuedtofeedthefire,andtheboystayedonuntil thedesert turnedpink in the setting sun.He felt the urge to go out into the desert, to see if itssilenceheldtheanswerstohisquestions.

Hewandered forawhile,keeping thedatepalmsof theoasiswithinsight.Helistenedtothewind,andfeltthestonesbeneathhisfeet.Hereandthere,hefoundashell,andrealizedthatthedesert,inremotetimes,hadbeenasea.Hesatonastone,andallowedhimselftobecomehypnotizedbythehorizon.Hetriedto deal with the concept of love as distinct from possession, and couldn’tseparate them.But Fatimawas awoman of the desert, and, if anything couldhelphimtounderstand,itwasthedesert.

As he sat there thinking, he sensedmovement above him.Looking up, hesawapairofhawksflyinghighinthesky.

He watched the hawks as they drifted on the wind. Although their flightappearedtohavenopattern,itmadeacertainkindofsensetotheboy.Itwasjustthat he couldn’t graspwhat itmeant.He followed themovement of the birds,tryingtoreadsomethingintoit.Maybethesedesertbirdscouldexplaintohimthemeaningoflovewithoutownership.

Hefeltsleepy.Inhisheart,hewantedtoremainawake,buthealsowantedtosleep.“IamlearningtheLanguageoftheWorld,andeverythingintheworldisbeginning tomake sense tome . . . even the flight of the hawks,” he said tohimself.And,inthatmood,hewasgratefultobeinlove.Whenyouareinlove,thingsmakeevenmoresense,hethought.

Suddenly,oneofthehawksmadeaflashingdivethroughthesky,attackingtheother.Asitdidso,asudden,fleetingimagecametotheboy:anarmy,withitsswordsat theready, riding into theoasis.Thevisionvanished immediately,but ithadshakenhim.Hehadheardpeoplespeakofmirages,andhadalreadyseensomehimself:theyweredesiresthat,becauseoftheirintensity,materializedoverthesandsof thedesert.Buthecertainlydidn’tdesire thatanarmyinvadetheoasis.

Hewantedtoforgetaboutthevision,andreturntohismeditation.Hetriedagain toconcentrateon thepinkshadesof thedesert,and its stones.But therewassomethingthereinhisheartthatwouldn’tallowhimtodoso.

“Alwaysheedtheomens,”theoldkinghadsaid.Theboyrecalledwhathehadseeninthevision,andsensedthatitwasactuallygoingtooccur.

He rose, and made his way back toward the palm trees. Once again, heperceivedthemanylanguagesinthethingsabouthim:thistime,thedesertwassafe,anditwastheoasisthathadbecomedangerous.

Thecameldriverwasseatedatthebaseofapalmtree,observingthesunset.Hesawtheboyappearfromtheothersideofthedunes.

“Anarmyiscoming,”theboysaid.“Ihadavision.”“Thedesertfillsmen’sheartswithvisions,”thecameldriveranswered.Buttheboytoldhimaboutthehawks:thathehadbeenwatchingtheirflight

andhadsuddenlyfelthimselftohaveplungedtotheSouloftheWorld.The camel driver understoodwhat the boywas saying. He knew that any

given thingon the faceof theearthcould reveal thehistoryofall things.One

couldopenabooktoanypage,orlookataperson’shand;onecouldturnacard,orwatchtheflightofthebirds...whateverthethingobserved,onecouldfindaconnection with his experience of the moment. Actually, it wasn’t that thosethings,inthemselves,revealedanythingatall;itwasjustthatpeople,lookingatwhatwasoccurringaroundthem,couldfindameansofpenetrationtotheSouloftheWorld.

Thedesertwas fullofmenwhoearned their livingbasedon theeasewithwhichtheycouldpenetratetotheSouloftheWorld.Theywereknownasseers,andtheywereheldinfearbywomenandtheelderly.Tribesmenwerealsowaryofconsultingthem,becauseitwouldbeimpossibletobeeffectiveinbattleifoneknewthathewasfatedtodie.Thetribesmenpreferredthetasteofbattle,andthethrillofnotknowingwhattheoutcomewouldbe;thefuturewasalreadywrittenby Allah, and what he had written was always for the good of man. So thetribesmen livedonly for thepresent, because thepresentwas fullof surprises,andtheyhadtobeawareofmanythings:Wherewastheenemy’ssword?Wherewas his horse?What kind of blow should one deliver next in order to remainalive?Thecameldriverwasnotafighter,andhehadconsultedwithseers.Manyofthemhadbeenrightaboutwhattheysaid,whilesomehadbeenwrong.Then,oneday,theoldestseerhehadeversoughtout(andtheonemosttobefeared)hadaskedwhythecameldriverwassointerestedinthefuture.

“Well...soIcandothings,”hehadresponded.“AndsoIcanchangethosethingsthatIdon’twanttohappen.”

“Butthentheywouldn’tbeapartofyourfuture,”theseerhadsaid.“Well, maybe I just want to know the future so I can prepare myself for

what’scoming.”“Ifgoodthingsarecoming, theywillbeapleasantsurprise,”said theseer.

“Ifbadthingsare,andyouknowinadvance,youwillsuffergreatlybeforetheyevenoccur.”

“IwanttoknowaboutthefuturebecauseI’maman,”thecameldriverhadsaidtotheseer.“Andmenalwayslivetheirlivesbasedonthefuture.”

The seer was a specialist in the casting of twigs; he threw them on theground, andmade interpretations based on how they fell. That day, he didn’tmakeacast.Hewrappedthetwigsinapieceofclothandputthembackinhisbag.

“Imakemy living forecasting the future for people,”he said. “I know thescienceofthetwigs,andIknowhowtousethemtopenetratetotheplacewhereall is written. There, I can read the past, discover what has already been

forgotten,andunderstandtheomensthatarehereinthepresent.“Whenpeopleconsultme,it’snotthatI’mreadingthefuture;Iamguessing

atthefuture.ThefuturebelongstoGod,anditisonlyhewhorevealsit,underextraordinarycircumstances.HowdoIguessatthefuture?Basedontheomensof the present. The secret is here in the present. If you pay attention to thepresent, you can improve upon it. And, if you improve on the present, whatcomes later will also be better. Forget about the future, and live each dayaccording to the teachings,confident thatGod loveshischildren.Eachday, initself,bringswithitaneternity.”

ThecameldriverhadaskedwhatthecircumstanceswereunderwhichGodwouldallowhimtoseethefuture.

“Onlywhenhe,himself,revealsit.AndGodonlyrarelyrevealsthefuture.Whenhedoesso,itisforonlyonereason:it’safuturethatwaswrittensoastobealtered.”

Godhadshowntheboyapartofthefuture,thecameldriverthought.Whywasitthathewantedtheboytoserveashisinstrument?

“Go and speak to the tribal chieftains,” said the camel driver. “Tell themaboutthearmiesthatareapproaching.”

“They’lllaughatme.”“Theyaremenof thedesert,and themenof thedesertareused todealing

withomens.”“Well,then,theyprobablyalreadyknow.”“They’renotconcernedwiththatrightnow.Theybelievethatiftheyhaveto

knowaboutsomethingAllahwantsthemtoknow,someonewilltellthemaboutit.Ithashappenedmanytimesbefore.But,thistime,thepersonisyou.”

TheboythoughtofFatima.Andhedecidedhewouldgotoseethechiefsofthetribes.

Theboyapproachedtheguardatthefrontofthehugewhitetentatthecenteroftheoasis.

“Iwanttoseethechieftains.I’vebroughtomensfromthedesert.”Withoutresponding,theguardenteredthetent,whereheremainedforsome

time.Whenheemerged, itwaswithayoungArab,dressed inwhiteandgold.Theboytoldtheyoungermanwhathehadseen,andthemanaskedhimtowaitthere.Hedisappearedintothetent.

Night fell, and an assortment of fighting men and merchants entered and

exitedthetent.Onebyone,thecampfireswereextinguished,andtheoasisfellasquietasthedesert.Onlythelightsinthegreattentremained.Duringallthistime,theboythoughtaboutFatima,andhewasstillunabletounderstandhislastconversationwithher.

Finally, after hours ofwaiting, the guard bade the boy enter.Theboywasastonishedbywhathesawinside.Nevercouldhehaveimaginedthat, there inthe middle of the desert, there existed a tent like this one. The ground wascoveredwiththemostbeautifulcarpetshehadeverwalkedupon,andfromthetopofthestructurehunglampsofhandwroughtgold,eachwithalightedcandle.Thetribalchieftainswereseatedat thebackof the tent inasemicircle, restinguponrichlyembroideredsilkcushions.Servantscameandwentwithsilvertraysladenwith spices and tea.Other servantsmaintained the fires in the hookahs.Theatmospherewassuffusedwiththesweetscentofsmoke.

There were eight chieftains, but the boy could see immediately which ofthemwasthemost important:anArabdressedinwhiteandgold,seatedat thecenterofthesemicircle.AthissidewastheyoungArabtheboyhadspokenwithearlier.

“Who is this strangerwho speaks of omens?” asked one of the chieftains,eyeingtheboy.

“ItisI,”theboyanswered.Andhetoldwhathehadseen.“Whywouldthedesertrevealsuchthingstoastranger,whenitknowsthat

wehavebeenhereforgenerations?”saidanotherofthechieftains.“Becausemyeyesarenotyetaccustomedtothedesert,”theboysaid.“Ican

seethingsthateyeshabituatedtothedesertmightnotsee.”

AndalsobecauseIknowabouttheSouloftheWorld,hethoughttohimself.“Theoasisisneutralground.Nooneattacksanoasis,”saidathirdchieftain.“IcanonlytellyouwhatIsaw.Ifyoudon’twanttobelieveme,youdon’t

havetodoanythingaboutit.”Themen fell intoananimateddiscussion.Theyspoke inanArabicdialect

thattheboydidn’tunderstand,but,whenhemadetoleave,theguardtoldhimtostay.Theboybecamefearful;theomenstoldhimthatsomethingwaswrong.Heregrettedhavingspokentothecameldriveraboutwhathehadseeninthedesert.

Suddenly, the elder at the center smiled almost imperceptibly, and the boyfeltbetter.Themanhadn’tparticipatedinthediscussion,and,infact,hadn’tsaidawordup to thatpoint.But theboywas alreadyused to theLanguageof theWorld, andhe could feel thevibrationsof peace throughout the tent.Nowhisintuitionwasthathehadbeenrightincoming.

Thediscussionended.Thechieftainsweresilentforafewmomentsastheylistenedtowhattheoldmanwassaying.Thenheturnedtotheboy:thistimehisexpressionwascoldanddistant.

“Twothousandyearsago, inadistant land,amanwhobelieved indreamswasthrownintoadungeonandthensoldasaslave,”theoldmansaid,nowinthe dialect the boy understood. “Ourmerchants bought thatman, and broughthimtoEgypt.Allofusknowthatwhoeverbelievesindreamsalsoknowshowtointerpretthem.”

Theeldercontinued,“Whenthepharaohdreamedofcowsthatwerethinandcows thatwere fat, thisman I’m speakingof rescuedEgypt from famine.HisnamewasJoseph.He,too,wasastrangerinastrangeland,likeyou,andhewasprobablyaboutyourage.”

Hepaused,andhiseyeswerestillunfriendly.“WealwaysobservetheTradition.TheTraditionsavedEgyptfromfaminein

those days, and made the Egyptians the wealthiest of peoples. The Traditionteachesmenhowtocrossthedesert,andhowtheirchildrenshouldmarry.TheTradition says that anoasis is neutral territory, becauseboth sides haveoases,andsobotharevulnerable.”

Noonesaidawordastheoldmancontinued.“But the Tradition also says that we should believe the messages of the

desert.Everythingweknowwastaughttousbythedesert.”Theoldmangaveasignal,andeveryonestood.Themeetingwasover.The

hookahs were extinguished, and the guards stood at attention. The boy madereadytoleave,buttheoldmanspokeagain:

“Tomorrow,wearegoingtobreaktheagreementthatsaysthatnooneattheoasismaycarryarms.Throughouttheentiredaywewillbeonthelookoutforourenemies.Whenthesunsets,themenwillonceagainsurrendertheirarmstome. For every ten deadmen among our enemies, youwill receive a piece ofgold.

“But arms cannot be drawn unless they also go into battle. Arms are ascapriciousasthedesert,and,iftheyarenotused,thenexttimetheymightnotfunction. If at least one of them hasn’t been used by the end of the daytomorrow,onewillbeusedonyou.”

Whentheboyleftthetent,theoasiswasilluminatedonlybythelightofthefullmoon.Hewas twentyminutes from his tent, and began tomake hiswaythere.

He was alarmed by what had happened. He had succeeded in reachingthroughtotheSouloftheWorld,andnowthepriceforhavingdonesomightbehis life.Itwasafrighteningbet.ButhehadbeenmakingriskybetseversincethedayhehadsoldhissheeptopursuehisPersonalLegend.And,asthecameldriver had said, to die tomorrowwas no worse than dying on any other day.Every day was there to be lived or to mark one’s departure from this world.Everythingdependedononeword:“Maktub.”

Walkingalonginthesilence,hehadnoregrets.Ifhediedtomorrow,itwouldbe becauseGodwas notwilling to change the future.Hewould at least havediedafterhavingcrossed the strait, afterhavingworked inacrystal shop,andafter having known the silence of the desert and Fatima’s eyes. He had livedeveryoneofhisdays intenselysincehehad lefthomeso longago. Ifhediedtomorrow,hewouldalreadyhaveseenmore thanother shepherds,andhewasproudofthat.

Suddenlyheheardathunderingsound,andhewasthrowntothegroundbyawindsuchashehadneverknown.Theareawasswirlingindustsointensethatit hid themoon fromview.Before himwas an enormouswhite horse, rearingoverhimwithafrighteningscream.

When theblindingdusthadsettledabit, theboy trembledatwhathesaw.Astride theanimalwasahorsemandressedcompletely inblack,witha falconperchedonhisleftshoulder.Heworeaturbanandhisentireface,exceptforhiseyes,wascoveredwithablackkerchief.Heappearedtobeamessengerfromthedesert,buthispresencewasmuchmorepowerfulthanthatofameremessenger.

The strange horseman drew an enormous, curved sword from a scabbardmountedonhissaddle.Thesteelofitsbladeglitteredinthelightofthemoon.

“Whodarestoreadthemeaningoftheflightofthehawks?”hedemanded,soloudlythathiswordsseemedtoechothroughthefiftythousandpalmtreesofAl-Fayoum.

“ItisIwhodaredtodoso,”saidtheboy.HewasremindedoftheimageofSantiagoMatamoros,mountedonhiswhitehorse,withtheinfidelsbeneathhishooves. This man looked exactly the same, except that now the roles werereversed.

“ItisIwhodaredtodoso,”herepeated,andheloweredhisheadtoreceiveablow from the sword. “Many lives will be saved, because I was able to seethroughtotheSouloftheWorld.”

Thesworddidn’tfall.Instead,thestrangerlowereditslowly,untilthepointtouchedtheboy’sforehead.Itdrewadropletofblood.

Thehorsemanwascompletelyimmobile,aswastheboy.Itdidn’tevenoccurtotheboytoflee.Inhisheart,hefeltastrangesenseofjoy:hewasabouttodiein pursuit of his PersonalLegend.And for Fatima.The omens had been true,afterall.Herehewas,face-to-facewithhisenemy,buttherewasnoneedtobeconcernedaboutdying—theSouloftheWorldawaitedhim,andhewouldsoonbeapartofit.And,tomorrow,hisenemywouldalsobeapartofthatSoul.

The stranger continued to hold the sword at theboy’s forehead. “Whydidyoureadtheflightofthebirds?”

“Ireadonlywhatthebirdswantedtotellme.Theywantedtosavetheoasis.Tomorrowallofyouwilldie,becausetherearemoremenattheoasisthanyouhave.”

Theswordremainedwhereitwas.“WhoareyoutochangewhatAllahhaswilled?”

“Allah created the armies, andhe also created thehawks.Allah taughtmethe languageof thebirds.Everythinghasbeenwrittenby the samehand,” theboysaid,rememberingthecameldriver’swords.

Thestrangerwithdrewtheswordfromtheboy’s forehead,and theboyfeltimmenselyrelieved.Buthestillcouldn’tflee.

“Becarefulwithyourprognostications,”saidthestranger.“Whensomethingiswritten,thereisnowaytochangeit.”

“All I saw was an army,” said the boy. “I didn’t see the outcome of thebattle.”

Thestrangerseemedsatisfiedwiththeanswer.Buthekepttheswordinhishand.“Whatisastrangerdoinginastrangeland?”

“I am following my Personal Legend. It’s not something you wouldunderstand.”

Thestrangerplacedhisswordinitsscabbard,andtheboyrelaxed.“Ihadtotestyourcourage,”thestrangersaid.“Courageisthequalitymost

essentialtounderstandingtheLanguageoftheWorld.”Theboywas surprised.The strangerwas speakingof things that very few

peopleknewabout.“Youmust not let up, even after having come so far,” he continued. “You

must love thedesert, butnever trust it completely.Because thedesert tests allmen:itchallengeseverystep,andkillsthosewhobecomedistracted.”

Whathesaidremindedtheboyoftheoldking.“Ifthewarriorscomehere,andyourheadisstillonyourshouldersatsunset,

comeandfindme,”saidthestranger.Thesamehand thathadbrandished theswordnowheldawhip.Thehorse

rearedagain,raisingacloudofdust.“Wheredoyoulive?”shoutedtheboy,asthehorsemanrodeaway.Thehandwiththewhippointedtothesouth.Theboyhadmetthealchemist.

Next morning, there were two thousand armed men scattered throughout the

palmtreesatAl-Fayoum.Beforethesunhadreacheditshighpoint,fivehundredtribesmenappearedonthehorizon.Themountedtroopsenteredtheoasisfromthe north; it appeared to be a peaceful expedition, but they all carried armshidden in their robes.When they reached the white tent at the center of Al-Fayoum, theywithdrew their scimitars and rifles.And theyattackedanemptytent.

Themenof theoasis surrounded thehorsemen from thedesert andwithinhalfanhourallbutoneoftheintrudersweredead.Thechildrenhadbeenkeptattheothersideofagroveofpalmtrees,andsawnothingofwhathadhappened.The women had remained in their tents, praying for the safekeeping of theirhusbands,andsawnothingofthebattle,either.Wereitnotforthebodiesthereontheground,itwouldhaveappearedtobeanormaldayattheoasis.

The only tribesman spared was the commander of the battalion. Thatafternoon, hewas brought before the tribal chieftains,who askedhimwhyhehadviolatedtheTradition.Thecommandersaidthathismenhadbeenstarvingand thirsty, exhausted frommany days of battle, and had decided to take theoasissoastobeabletoreturntothewar.

The tribal chieftain said that he felt sorry for the tribesmen, but that theTradition was sacred. He condemned the commander to death without honor.Ratherthanbeingkilledbyabladeorabullet,hewashangedfromadeadpalmtree,wherehisbodytwistedinthedesertwind.

Thetribalchieftaincalledfortheboy,andpresentedhimwithfiftypiecesofgold.HerepeatedhisstoryaboutJosephofEgypt,andaskedtheboytobecomethecounseloroftheoasis.

Whenthesunhadset,andthefirststarsmadetheirappearance,theboystartedtowalktothesouth.Heeventuallysightedasingletent,andagroupofArabspassingbytoldtheboythatitwasaplaceinhabitedbygenies.Buttheboysatdownandwaited.

Notuntilthemoonwashighdidthealchemistrideintoview.Hecarriedtwodeadhawksoverhisshoulder.

“Iamhere,”theboysaid.“You shouldn’t be here,” the alchemist answered. “Or is it your Personal

Legendthatbringsyouhere?”“With thewarsbetween the tribes, it’s impossible to cross thedesert.So I

havecomehere.”

Thealchemistdismountedfromhishorse,andsignaledthat theboyshouldenter the tentwith him. It was a tent likemany at the oasis. The boy lookedaroundfortheovensandotherapparatususedinalchemy,butsawnone.Therewereonlysomebooksinapile,asmallcookingstove,andthecarpets,coveredwithmysteriousdesigns.

“Sit down.We’ll have something to drink and eat these hawks,” said thealchemist.

Theboy suspected that theywere the samehawkshehad seenon thedaybefore,buthesaidnothing.Thealchemistlightedthefire,andsoonadeliciousaromafilledthetent.Itwasbetterthanthescentofthehookahs.

“Whydidyouwanttoseeme?”theboyasked.“Because of the omens,” the alchemist answered. “Thewind toldme you

wouldbecoming,andthatyouwouldneedhelp.”“It’s not I the wind spoke about. It’s the other foreigner, the Englishman.

He’stheonethat’slookingforyou.”“Hehasotherthingstodofirst.Buthe’sontherighttrack.Hehasbegunto

trytounderstandthedesert.”“Andwhataboutme?”“Whenapersonreallydesiressomething,all theuniverseconspirestohelp

thatperson to realizehisdream,” said thealchemist, echoing thewordsof theoldking.Theboyunderstood.AnotherpersonwastheretohelphimtowardhisPersonalLegend.

“Soyouaregoingtoinstructme?”“No.Youalreadyknowallyouneedtoknow.Iamonlygoingtopointyouin

thedirectionofyourtreasure.”“Butthere’satribalwar,”theboyreiterated.“Iknowwhat’shappeninginthedesert.”“Ihavealreadyfoundmytreasure. Ihaveacamel, Ihavemymoneyfrom

thecrystalshop,andIhavefiftygoldpieces.Inmyowncountry,Iwouldbearichman.”

“ButnoneofthatisfromthePyramids,”saidthealchemist.“IalsohaveFatima.SheisatreasuregreaterthananythingelseIhavewon.”“Shewasn’tfoundatthePyramids,either.”Theyate in silence.Thealchemistopenedabottleandpoureda red liquid

intotheboy’scup.Itwasthemostdeliciouswinehehadevertasted.“Isn’twineprohibitedhere?”theboyasked“It’snotwhatentersmen’smouthsthat’sevil,”saidthealchemist.“It’swhat

comesoutoftheirmouthsthatis.”Thealchemistwasabitdaunting,but,astheboydrankthewine,herelaxed.

Aftertheyfinishedeatingtheysatoutsidethetent,underamoonsobrilliantthatitmadethestarspale.

“Drink and enjoy yourself,” said the alchemist, noticing that the boy wasfeeling happier. “Rest well tonight, as if you were a warrior preparing forcombat.Rememberthatwhereveryourheartis,thereyouwillfindyourtreasure.You’vegot to find the treasure, so that everythingyouhave learned along thewaycanmakesense.

“Tomorrow, sell your camel and buy a horse. Camels are traitorous: theywalkthousandsofpacesandneverseemtotire.Thensuddenly,theykneelanddie.Buthorsestirebitbybit.Youalwaysknowhowmuchyoucanaskofthem,andwhenitisthattheyareabouttodie.”

Thefollowingnight,theboyappearedatthealchemist’stentwithahorse.Thealchemistwasready,andhemountedhisownsteedandplacedthefalcononhisleftshoulder.Hesaidtotheboy,“Showmewherethereislifeoutinthedesert.Onlythosewhocanseesuchsignsoflifeareabletofindtreasure.”

Theybegan to rideoutover the sands,with themoon lighting theirway. Idon’tknowifI’llbeabletofindlifeinthedesert,theboythought.Idon’tknowthedesertthatwellyet.

Hewanted to say so to the alchemist, but hewas afraid of theman.Theyreachedtherockyplacewheretheboyhadseenthehawksinthesky,butnowtherewasonlysilenceandthewind.

“Idon’tknowhowtofindlifeinthedesert,”theboysaid.“Iknowthatthereislifehere,butIdon’tknowwheretolook.”

“Lifeattractslife,”thealchemistanswered.And then the boy understood. He loosened the reins on his horse, who

gallopedforwardovertherocksandsand.Thealchemistfollowedastheboy’shorse ran for almost half an hour. They could no longer see the palms of theoasis—only the giganticmoon above them, and its silver reflections from thestonesofthedesert.Suddenly,fornoapparentreason,theboy’shorsebegantoslow.

“There’slifehere,”theboysaidtothealchemist.“Idon’tknowthelanguageofthedesert,butmyhorseknowsthelanguageoflife.”

They dismounted, and the alchemist said nothing. Advancing slowly, they

searched among the stones. The alchemist stopped abruptly, and bent to theground.Therewas a hole there among the stones.The alchemist put his handintothehole,andthenhisentirearm,uptohisshoulder.Somethingwasmovingthere,andthealchemist’seyes—theboycouldseeonlyhiseyes—squintedwithhiseffort.Hisarmseemed tobebattlingwithwhateverwas in thehole.Then,withamotionthatstartledtheboy,hewithdrewhisarmandleapedtohisfeet.Inhishand,hegraspedasnakebythetail.

The boy leapt as well, but away from the alchemist. The snake foughtfrantically,makinghissingsoundsthatshatteredthesilenceofthedesert.Itwasacobra,whosevenomcouldkillapersoninminutes.

“Watchoutforhisvenom,”theboysaid.Buteventhoughthealchemisthadputhishandinthehole,andhadsurelyalreadybeenbitten,hisexpressionwascalm.“Thealchemist is twohundredyearsold,” theEnglishmanhad toldhim.Hemustknowhowtodealwiththesnakesofthedesert.

The boy watched as his companion went to his horse and withdrew ascimitar.With its blade, he drew a circle in the sand, and then he placed thesnakewithinit.Theserpentrelaxedimmediately.

“Nottoworry,”saidthealchemist.“Hewon’tleavethecircle.Youfoundlifeinthedesert,theomenthatIneeded.”

“Whywasthatsoimportant?”“BecausethePyramidsaresurroundedbythedesert.”Theboydidn’twantto

talkaboutthePyramids.Hisheartwasheavy,andhehadbeenmelancholysincethepreviousnight.TocontinuehissearchforthetreasuremeantthathehadtoabandonFatima.

“I’mgoingtoguideyouacrossthedesert,”thealchemistsaid.“Iwanttostayattheoasis,”theboyanswered.“I’vefoundFatima,and,as

farasI’mconcerned,she’sworthmorethantreasure.”“Fatimaisawomanofthedesert,”saidthealchemist.“Sheknowsthatmen

have togoaway inorder to return.Andshealreadyhasher treasure: it’syou.Nowsheexpectsthatyouwillfindwhatitisyou’relookingfor.”

“Well,whatifIdecidetostay?”“Letmetellyouwhatwillhappen.You’llbethecounseloroftheoasis.You

have enoughgold to buymany sheep andmany camels.You’llmarryFatima,andyou’llbothbehappyforayear.You’lllearntolovethedesert,andyou’llgettoknoweveryoneofthefiftythousandpalms.You’llwatchthemastheygrow,demonstrating how the world is always changing. And you’ll get better andbetteratunderstandingomens,becausethedesertisthebestteacherthereis.

“Sometimeduringthesecondyear,you’llrememberaboutthetreasure.Theomenswillbegininsistentlytospeakofit,andyou’lltrytoignorethem.You’lluseyourknowledge for thewelfareof theoasis and its inhabitants.The tribalchieftainswillappreciatewhatyoudo.Andyourcamelswillbringyouwealthandpower.

“Duringthethirdyear,theomenswillcontinuetospeakofyourtreasureandyour PersonalLegend.You’llwalk around, night after night, at the oasis, andFatima will be unhappy because she’ll feel it was she who interrupted yourquest.Butyouwill loveher,andshe’ll returnyour love.You’ll remember thatsheneveraskedyoutostay,becauseawomanofthedesertknowsthatshemustawaitherman.Soyouwon’tblameher.Butmanytimesyou’llwalkthesandsofthe desert, thinking that maybe you could have left . . . that you could havetrustedmore inyour love forFatima.Becausewhatkept youat theoasiswasyourownfearthatyoumightnevercomeback.Atthatpoint,theomenswilltellyouthatyourtreasureisburiedforever.

“Then, sometime during the fourth year, the omens will abandon you,becauseyou’vestoppedlisteningtothem.Thetribalchieftainswillseethat,andyou’ll bedismissed fromyourposition as counselor.But, by then, you’ll be arichmerchant,withmanycamelsandagreatdealofmerchandise.You’llspendtherestofyourdaysknowingthatyoudidn’tpursueyourPersonalLegend,andthatnowit’stoolate.

“You must understand that love never keeps a man from pursuing hisPersonalLegend.Ifheabandonsthatpursuit,it’sbecauseitwasn’ttruelove...thelovethatspeakstheLanguageoftheWorld.”

The alchemist erased the circle in the sand, and the snake slithered awayamong the rocks. The boy remembered the crystalmerchant who had alwayswanted to go to Mecca, and the Englishman in search of the alchemist. Hethoughtofthewomanwhohadtrustedinthedesert.Andhelookedoutoverthe

desertthathadbroughthimtothewomanheloved.Theymounted theirhorses, and this time itwas theboywho followed the

alchemistbacktotheoasis.Thewindbroughtthesoundsof theoasis tothem,andtheboytriedtohearFatima’svoice.

But that night, as he had watched the cobra within the circle, the strangehorsemanwiththefalcononhisshoulderhadspokenofloveandtreasure,ofthewomenofthedesertandofhisPersonalLegend.

“I’m goingwith you,” the boy said.And he immediately felt peace in hisheart.

“We’llleavetomorrowbeforesunrise,”wasthealchemist’sonlyresponse.

Theboyspenta sleeplessnight.Twohoursbeforedawn,heawokeoneof theboyswhosleptinhistent,andaskedhimtoshowhimwhereFatimalived.Theywenttohertent,andtheboygavehisfriendenoughgoldtobuyasheep.

ThenheaskedhisfriendtogointothetentwhereFatimawassleeping,andtoawakenherandtellherthathewaswaitingoutside.TheyoungArabdidashewasasked,andwasgivenenoughgoldtobuyyetanothersheep.

“Nowleaveusalone,”saidtheboytotheyoungArab.TheArabreturnedtohistenttosleep,proudtohavehelpedthecounseloroftheoasis,andhappyathavingenoughmoneytobuyhimselfsomesheep.

Fatimaappearedattheentrancetothetent.Thetwowalkedoutamongthepalms. The boy knew that it was a violation of the Tradition, but that didn’tmattertohimnow.

“I’mgoingaway,”hesaid.“AndIwantyoutoknowthatI’mcomingback.Iloveyoubecause...”

“Don’t say anything,” Fatima interrupted. “One is loved because one isloved.Noreasonisneededforloving.”

Buttheboycontinued,“Ihadadream,andImetwithaking.Isoldcrystalandcrossedthedesert.And,becausethetribesdeclaredwar,Iwenttothewell,seeking the alchemist. So, I love youbecause the entire universe conspired tohelpmefindyou.”

Thetwoembraced.Itwasthefirsttimeeitherhadtouchedtheother.“I’llbeback,”theboysaid.“Beforethis,Ialwayslookedtothedesertwithlonging,”saidFatima.“Now

it will be with hope. My father went away one day, but he returned to mymother,andhehasalwayscomebacksincethen.”

Theysaidnothingelse.Theywalkedabitfartheramongthepalms,andthentheboyleftherattheentrancetohertent.

“I’llreturn,justasyourfathercamebacktoyourmother,”hesaid.HesawthatFatima’seyeswerefilledwithtears.“You’recrying?”“I’mawomanofthedesert,”shesaid,avertingherface.“Butaboveall,I’m

awoman.”Fatimawentbacktohertent,and,whendaylightcame,shewentout todo

thechoresshehaddoneforyears.Buteverythinghadchanged.Theboywasnolongerat theoasis, and theoasiswouldneveragainhave thesamemeaning ithadhadonlyyesterday.Itwouldnolongerbeaplacewithfiftythousandpalmtreesandthreehundredwells,wherethepilgrimsarrived,relievedattheendoftheirlongjourneys.Fromthatdayon,theoasiswouldbeanemptyplaceforher.

Fromthatdayon,itwasthedesertthatwouldbeimportant.Shewouldlookto it every day, and would try to guess which star the boy was following insearchofhis treasure.Shewouldhave to sendherkisseson thewind,hopingthatthewindwouldtouchtheboy’sface,andwouldtellhimthatshewasalive.Thatshewaswaitingforhim,awomanawaitingacourageousmaninsearchofhistreasure.Fromthatdayon,thedesertwouldrepresentonlyonethingtoher:thehopeforhisreturn.

“Don’t think aboutwhat you’ve left behind,” the alchemist said to the boy astheybegan to rideacross thesandsof thedesert.“Everything iswritten in theSouloftheWorld,andthereitwillstayforever.”

“Mendreammoreaboutcominghomethanaboutleaving,”theboysaid.Hewasalreadyreaccustomedtothedesert’ssilence.

“Ifwhatonefinds ismadeofpurematter, itwillneverspoil.Andonecanalwayscomeback.Ifwhatyouhadfoundwasonlyamomentoflight,liketheexplosionofastar,youwouldfindnothingonyourreturn.”

Themanwasspeaking the languageofalchemy.But theboyknewthathewasreferringtoFatima.

Itwasdifficultnottothinkaboutwhathehadleftbehind.Thedesert,withitsendlessmonotony,puthimtodreaming.Theboycouldstillseethepalmtrees,thewells,andthefaceofthewomanheloved.HecouldseetheEnglishmanathis experiments, and the camel driverwhowas a teacherwithout realizing it.Maybethealchemisthasneverbeeninlove,theboythought.

Thealchemistrodeinfront,withthefalcononhisshoulder.Thebirdknewthelanguageofthedesertwell,andwhenevertheystopped,heflewoffinsearchofgame.Onthefirstdayhereturnedwitharabbit,andonthesecondwithtwobirds.

At night, they spread their sleeping gear and kept their fires hidden. Thedesertnightswerecold,andwerebecomingdarkeranddarkerasthephasesofthemoon passed. Theywent on for aweek, speaking only of the precautionstheyneededtofollowinordertoavoidthebattlesbetweenthetribes.Thewarcontinued,andattimesthewindcarriedthesweet,sicklysmellofblood.Battleshad been fought nearby, and the wind reminded the boy that there was thelanguage of omens, always ready to show him what his eyes had failed toobserve.

Ontheseventhday,thealchemistdecidedtomakecampearlierthanusual.Thefalconflewofftofindgame,andthealchemistofferedhiswatercontainertotheboy.

“You are almost at the end of your journey,” said the alchemist. “IcongratulateyouforhavingpursuedyourPersonalLegend.”

“Andyou’ve toldmenothingalong theway,”said theboy.“I thoughtyouwere going to teach me some of the things you know. A while ago, I rodethroughthedesertwithamanwhohadbooksonalchemy.ButIwasn’tabletolearnanythingfromthem.”

“There is only one way to learn,” the alchemist answered. “It’s through

action. Everything you need to know you have learned through your journey.Youneedtolearnonlyonethingmore.”

Theboywantedtoknowwhatthatwas,butthealchemistwassearchingthehorizon,lookingforthefalcon.

“Whyareyoucalledthealchemist?”“Becausethat’swhatIam.”“Andwhatwentwrongwhenotheralchemiststriedtomakegoldandwere

unabletodoso?”“Theywere looking only for gold,” his companion answered. “Theywere

seeking the treasureof theirPersonalLegend,withoutwantingactually to liveoutthePersonalLegend.”

“WhatisitthatIstillneedtoknow?”theboyasked.But the alchemist continued to look to the horizon.And finally the falcon

returnedwiththeirmeal.Theydugaholeandlittheirfireinit,sothatthelightoftheflameswouldnotbeseen.

“I’manalchemistsimplybecauseI’manalchemist,”hesaid,ashepreparedthe meal. “I learned the science from my grandfather, who learned from hisfather,andsoon,back to thecreationof theworld. In those times, theMasterWork could bewritten simply on an emerald.Butmenbegan to reject simplethings,and towrite tracts, interpretations,andphilosophical studies.Theyalsobegantofeelthattheyknewabetterwaythanothershad.YettheEmeraldTabletisstillalivetoday.”

“WhatwaswrittenontheEmeraldTablet?”theboywantedtoknow.Thealchemistbegantodrawinthesand,andcompletedhisdrawinginless

than fiveminutes.Ashe drew, the boy thought of the old king, and the plazawheretheyhadmetthatday;itseemedasifithadtakenplaceyearsandyearsago.

“ThisiswhatwaswrittenontheEmeraldTablet,”saidthealchemist,whenhehadfinished.

Theboytriedtoreadwhatwaswritteninthesand.“It’sacode,”saidtheboy,abitdisappointed.“ItlookslikewhatIsawinthe

Englishman’sbooks.”“No,” the alchemist answered. “It’s like the flight of those two hawks; it

can’tbeunderstoodbyreasonalone.TheEmeraldTablet isadirectpassagetotheSouloftheWorld.

“Thewisemen understood that this naturalworld is only an image and acopy of paradise.The existence of thisworld is simply a guarantee that there

existsaworldthatisperfect.Godcreatedtheworldsothat, throughitsvisibleobjects, men could understand his spiritual teachings and the marvels of hiswisdom.That’swhatImeanbyaction.”

“ShouldIunderstandtheEmeraldTablet?”theboyasked.“Perhaps,ifyouwereinalaboratoryofalchemy,thiswouldbetherighttime

tostudythebestwaytounderstandtheEmeraldTablet.Butyouareinthedesert.So immerse yourself in it. The desert will give you an understanding of theworld;infact,anythingonthefaceoftheearthwilldothat.Youdon’tevenhaveto understand the desert: all you have to do is contemplate a simple grain ofsand,andyouwillseeinitallthemarvelsofcreation.”

“HowdoIimmersemyselfinthedesert?”

“Listentoyourheart.Itknowsallthings,becauseitcamefromtheSouloftheWorld,anditwillonedayreturnthere.”

They crossed the desert for another two days in silence. The alchemist hadbecomemuchmorecautious,becausetheywereapproachingtheareawherethemostviolentbattleswerebeingwaged.As theymovedalong, theboy tried tolistentohisheart.

Itwasnoteasytodo;inearliertimes,hishearthadalwaysbeenreadytotellitsstory,butlatelythatwasn’ttrue.Therehadbeentimeswhenhisheartspenthourstellingof itssadness,andatothertimesitbecamesoemotionaloverthedesert sunrise that theboyhad tohidehis tears.Hisheartbeat fastestwhen itspoketotheboyoftreasure,andmoreslowlywhentheboystaredentrancedattheendlesshorizonsofthedesert.Buthisheartwasneverquiet,evenwhentheboyandthealchemisthadfallenintosilence.

“Why dowe have to listen to our hearts?” the boy asked,when they hadmadecampthatday.

“Because,whereveryourheartis,thatiswhereyou’llfindyourtreasure.”“Butmyheartisagitated,”theboysaid.“Ithasitsdreams,itgetsemotional,

andit’sbecomepassionateoverawomanofthedesert.Itasksthingsofme,anditkeepsmefromsleepingmanynights,whenI’mthinkingabouther.”

“Well,that’sgood.Yourheartisalive.Keeplisteningtowhatithastosay.”Duringthenext threedays, the twotravelerspassedbyanumberofarmed

tribesmen,andsawothersonthehorizon.Theboy’sheartbegantospeakoffear.IttoldhimstoriesithadheardfromtheSouloftheWorld,storiesofmenwhosought to find their treasure andnever succeeded.Sometimes it frightened theboywiththeideathathemightnotfindhistreasure,orthathemightdiethereinthedesert.Atothertimes,ittoldtheboythatitwassatisfied:ithadfoundloveandriches.

“Myheartisatraitor,”theboysaidtothealchemist,whentheyhadpausedtorestthehorses.“Itdoesn’twantmetogoon.”

“Thatmakes sense,” the alchemist answered. “Naturally it’s afraid that, inpursuingyourdream,youmightloseeverythingyou’vewon.”

“Well,then,whyshouldIlistentomyheart?”“Becauseyouwillneveragainbeabletokeepitquiet.Evenifyoupretend

nottohaveheardwhatittellsyou,itwillalwaysbethereinsideyou,repeatingtoyouwhatyou’rethinkingaboutlifeandabouttheworld.”

“YoumeanIshouldlisten,evenifit’streasonous?”“Treasonisablowthatcomesunexpectedly.Ifyouknowyourheartwell,it

willneverbeabletodothattoyou.Becauseyou’llknowitsdreamsandwishes,andwillknowhowtodealwiththem.

“Youwillneverbeabletoescapefromyourheart.Soit’sbettertolistentowhatithastosay.Thatway,you’llneverhavetofearanunanticipatedblow.”

Theboycontinuedtolistentohisheartastheycrossedthedesert.Hecametounderstand itsdodgesand tricks,and toaccept itas itwas.He losthis fear,and forgot about his need to go back to the oasis, because, one afternoon, hisheart toldhimthat itwashappy.“EventhoughIcomplainsometimes,”itsaid,“it’sbecauseI’mtheheartofaperson,andpeople’sheartsarethatway.Peopleare afraid to pursue their most important dreams, because they feel that theydon’tdeservethem,or that they’llbeunable toachievethem.We, theirhearts,becomefearfuljustthinkingoflovedoneswhogoawayforever,orofmomentsthat could have been good but weren’t, or of treasures that might have been

foundbutwereforeverhiddeninthesands.Because,whenthesethingshappen,wesufferterribly.”

“Myheartisafraidthatitwillhavetosuffer,”theboytoldthealchemistonenightastheylookedupatthemoonlesssky.

“Tellyourheart that the fearof suffering isworse than thesuffering itself.Andthatnohearthaseversufferedwhenitgoesinsearchofitsdreams,becauseeverysecondofthesearchisasecond’sencounterwithGodandwitheternity.”

“Every second of the search is an encounter with God,” the boy told hisheart. “When I havebeen truly searching formy treasure, everydayhasbeenluminous, because I’ve known that every hourwas a part of the dream that Iwouldfindit.WhenIhavebeentrulysearchingformytreasure,I’vediscoveredthingsalongthewaythatIneverwouldhaveseenhadInothadthecouragetotrythingsthatseemedimpossibleforashepherdtoachieve.”

So his heart was quiet for an entire afternoon. That night, the boy sleptdeeply,and,whenheawoke,hisheartbeganto tellhimthings thatcamefromtheSoul of theWorld. It said that all peoplewho are happyhaveGodwithinthem.Andthathappinesscouldbefoundinagrainofsandfromthedesert,asthealchemisthadsaid.Becauseagrainofsandisamomentofcreation,andtheuniverse has taken millions of years to create it. “Everyone on earth has atreasurethatawaitshim,”hisheartsaid.“We,people’shearts,seldomsaymuchaboutthosetreasures,becausepeoplenolongerwanttogoinsearchofthem.Wespeak of them only to children. Later, we simply let life proceed, in its owndirection,towarditsownfate.But,unfortunately,veryfewfollowthepathlaidoutforthem—thepathtotheirPersonalLegends,andtohappiness.Mostpeopleseetheworldasathreateningplace,and,becausetheydo,theworldturnsout,indeed,tobeathreateningplace.

“So,we, theirhearts, speakmoreandmoresoftly.Wenever stopspeakingout,butwebegintohopethatourwordswon’tbeheard:wedon’twantpeopletosufferbecausetheydon’tfollowtheirhearts.”

“Whydon’tpeople’sheartstellthemtocontinuetofollowtheirdreams?”theboyaskedthealchemist.

“Because that’s what makes a heart suffer most, and hearts don’t like tosuffer.”

Fromthenon,theboyunderstoodhisheart.Heaskedit,please,nevertostopspeakingtohim.Heaskedthat,whenhewanderedfarfromhisdreams,hisheartpress him and sound the alarm. The boy swore that, every time he heard thealarm,hewouldheeditsmessage.

Thatnight,hetoldallofthistothealchemist.Andthealchemistunderstoodthattheboy’shearthadreturnedtotheSouloftheWorld.

“SowhatshouldIdonow?”theboyasked.“Continue in the direction of the Pyramids,” said the alchemist. “And

continue topayheed to theomens.Yourheart is still capableof showingyouwherethetreasureis.”

“IsthattheonethingIstillneededtoknow?”“No,”thealchemistanswered.“Whatyoustillneedtoknowisthis:beforea

dreamisrealized,theSouloftheWorldtestseverythingthatwaslearnedalongtheway. It does this not because it is evil, but so thatwe can, in addition torealizingourdreams,masterthelessonswe’velearnedaswe’vemovedtowardthatdream.That’sthepointatwhichmostpeoplegiveup.It’sthepointatwhich,aswesay in the languageof thedesert,one ‘diesof thirst justwhen thepalmtreeshaveappearedonthehorizon.’

“Everysearchbeginswithbeginner’sluck.Andeverysearchendswiththevictor’sbeingseverelytested.”

Theboyrememberedanoldproverbfromhiscountry.Itsaidthatthedarkesthourofthenightcamejustbeforethedawn.

On the following day, the first clear sign of danger appeared. Three armedtribesmen approached, and asked what the boy and the alchemist were doingthere.

“I’mhuntingwithmyfalcon,”thealchemistanswered.“We’regoingtohavetosearchyoutoseewhetheryou’rearmed,”oneofthe

tribesmensaid.Thealchemistdismountedslowly,andtheboydidthesame.“Whyareyoucarryingmoney?”askedthetribesman,whenhehadsearched

theboy’sbag.“IneedittogettothePyramids,”hesaid.Thetribesmanwhowassearchingthealchemist’sbelongingsfoundasmall

crystalflaskfilledwithaliquid,andayellowglasseggthatwasslightlylargerthanachicken’segg.

“Whatarethesethings?”heasked.

“That’sthePhilosopher’sStoneandtheElixirofLife.It’stheMasterWorkofthealchemists.Whoeverswallowsthatelixirwillneverbesickagain,andafragmentfromthatstoneturnsanymetalintogold.”

TheArabs laughed at him, and the alchemist laughed along.They thoughthisanswerwasamusing,andtheyallowedtheboyandthealchemisttoproceedwithalloftheirbelongings.

“Are you crazy?” the boy asked the alchemist, when they hadmoved on.“Whatdidyoudothatfor?”

“Toshowyouoneoflife’ssimplelessons,”thealchemistanswered.“Whenyoupossessgreattreasureswithinyou,andtrytotellothersofthem,seldomareyoubelieved.”

Theycontinuedacrossthedesert.Witheverydaythatpassed,theboy’sheartbecamemoreandmoresilent.Itnolongerwantedtoknowaboutthingsofthepastorfuture;itwascontentsimplytocontemplatethedesert,andtodrinkwiththeboyfromtheSouloftheWorld.Theboyandhishearthadbecomefriends,andneitherwascapablenowofbetrayingtheother.

Whenhisheartspoketohim,itwastoprovideastimulustotheboy,andtogive him strength, because the days of silence there in the desert werewearisome.Hishearttoldtheboywhathisstrongestqualitieswere:hiscourageinhavinggivenuphissheepandintryingtoliveouthisPersonalLegend,andhisenthusiasmduringthetimehehadworkedatthecrystalshop.

Andhishearttoldhimsomethingelsethattheboyhadnevernoticed:ittoldtheboyofdangersthathadthreatenedhim,butthathehadneverperceived.Hisheartsaidthatonetimeithadhiddentherifletheboyhadtakenfromhisfather,becauseofthepossibilitythattheboymightwoundhimself.Anditremindedtheboyofthedaywhenhehadbeenillandvomitingoutinthefields,afterwhichhehadfallen intoadeepsleep.Therehadbeen two thievesfartheraheadwhowereplanningtostealtheboy’ssheepandmurderhim.But,sincetheboyhadn’t

passedby,theyhaddecidedtomoveon,thinkingthathehadchangedhisroute.“Doesaman’sheartalwayshelphim?”theboyaskedthealchemist.“Mostly just the hearts of those who are trying to realize their Personal

Legends.Buttheydohelpchildren,drunkards,andtheelderly,too.”“DoesthatmeanthatI’llneverrunintodanger?”“Itmeansonlythattheheartdoeswhatitcan,”thealchemistsaid.Oneafternoon,theypassedbytheencampmentofoneofthetribes.Ateach

cornerofthecampwereArabsgarbedinbeautifulwhiterobes,witharmsattheready. The men were smoking their hookahs and trading stories from thebattlefield.Noonepaidanyattentiontothetwotravelers.

“There’s no danger,” the boy said, when they had moved on past theencampment.

The alchemist sounded angry: “Trust in your heart, but never forget thatyou’re in the desert.Whenmen are at war with one another, the Soul of theWorldcanhearthescreamsofbattle.Noonefailstosuffertheconsequencesofeverythingunderthesun.”

All things are one, the boy thought. And then, as if the desert wanted todemonstrate that the alchemistwas right, twohorsemenappeared frombehindthetravelers.

“Youcan’tgoanyfarther,”oneofthemsaid.“You’reintheareawherethetribesareatwar.”

“I’mnot goingvery far,” the alchemist answered, looking straight into theeyesofthehorsemen.Theyweresilentforamoment,andthenagreedthattheboyandthealchemistcouldmovealong.

The boy watched the exchange with fascination. “You dominated thosehorsemenwiththewayyoulookedatthem,”hesaid.

“Youreyesshowthestrengthofyoursoul,”answeredthealchemist.That’s true, the boy thought. He had noticed that, in the midst of the

multitudeofarmedmenbackattheencampment,therehadbeenonewhostaredfixedlyatthetwo.Hehadbeensofarawaythathisfacewasn’tevenvisible.Buttheboywascertainthathehadbeenlookingatthem.

Finally,when theyhadcrossed themountainrange thatextendedalong theentire horizon, the alchemist said that they were only two days from thePyramids.

“Ifwe’regoingtogoourseparatewayssoon,”theboysaid,“thenteachmeaboutalchemy.”

“Youalreadyknowaboutalchemy.ItisaboutpenetratingtotheSoulofthe

World,anddiscoveringthetreasurethathasbeenreservedforyou.”“No,that’snotwhatImean.I’mtalkingabouttransformingleadintogold.”The alchemist fell as silent as the desert, and answered the boy only after

theyhadstoppedtoeat.“Everything in theuniverseevolved,”hesaid.“And, forwisemen,gold is

themetalthatevolvedthefurthest.Don’taskmewhy;Idon’tknowwhy.IjustknowthattheTraditionisalwaysright.

“Menhaveneverunderstoodthewordsofthewise.Sogold,insteadofbeingseenasasymbolofevolution,becamethebasisforconflict.”

“There aremany languages spokenby things,” theboy said. “Therewas atime when, for me, a camel’s whinnying was nothing more than whinnying.Thenitbecameasignalofdanger.And,finally,itbecamejustawhinnyagain.”

Butthenhestopped.Thealchemistprobablyalreadyknewallthat.“I have known true alchemists,” the alchemist continued. “They locked

themselvesintheirlaboratories,andtriedtoevolve,asgoldhad.AndtheyfoundthePhilosopher’sStone,becausetheyunderstoodthatwhensomethingevolves,everythingaroundthatthingevolvesaswell.

“Othersstumbleduponthestonebyaccident.Theyalreadyhadthegift,andtheirsoulswerereadierforsuchthingsthanthesoulsofothers.Buttheydon’tcount.They’requiterare.

“And then there were the others, who were interested only in gold. Theynever found the secret.They forgot that lead, copper, and ironhave their ownPersonalLegendstofulfill.AndanyonewhointerfereswiththePersonalLegendofanotherthingneverwilldiscoverhisown.”

Thealchemist’swordsechoedoutlikeacurse.Hereachedoverandpickedupashellfromtheground.

“Thisdesertwasonceasea,”hesaid.“Inoticedthat,”theboyanswered.

Thealchemisttoldtheboytoplacetheshelloverhisear.Hehaddonethat

manytimeswhenhewasachild,andhadheardthesoundofthesea.“Theseahaslivedoninthisshell,becausethat’sitsPersonalLegend.Andit

willneverceasedoingsountilthedesertisonceagaincoveredbywater.”Theymountedtheirhorses,androdeoutinthedirectionofthePyramidsof

Egypt.

Thesunwassettingwhen theboy’sheart soundedadanger signal.Theyweresurroundedbygiganticdunes,andtheboylookedatthealchemisttoseewhetherhe had sensed anything. But he appeared to be unaware of any danger. Fiveminuteslater,theboysawtwohorsemenwaitingaheadofthem.Beforehecouldsay anything to the alchemist, the two horsemen had become ten, and then ahundred.Andthentheywereeverywhereinthedunes.

They were tribesmen dressed in blue, with black rings surrounding theirturbans.Theirfaceswerehiddenbehindblueveils,withonlytheireyesshowing.

Even fromadistance, their eyes conveyed the strengthof their souls.Andtheireyesspokeofdeath.

Thetwoweretakentoanearbymilitarycamp.Asoldiershovedtheboyandthealchemistintoatentwherethechiefwasholdingameetingwithhisstaff.

“Thesearethespies,”saidoneofthemen.“We’rejusttravelers,”thealchemistanswered.“Youwere seen at the enemy camp three days ago.Andyouwere talking

withoneofthetroopsthere.”“I’m just a man who wanders the desert and knows the stars,” said the

alchemist. “I have no information about troops or about themovement of thetribes.Iwassimplyactingasaguideformyfriendhere.”

“Whoisyourfriend?”thechiefasked.“An alchemist,” said the alchemist. “He understands the forces of nature.

Andhewantstoshowyouhisextraordinarypowers.”Theboylistenedquietly.Andfearfully.“Whatisaforeignerdoinghere?”askedanotherofthemen.“Hehasbroughtmoneytogivetoyourtribe,”saidthealchemist,beforethe

boycould sayaword.Andseizing theboy’sbag, thealchemistgave thegoldcoinstothechief.

TheArabacceptedthemwithoutaword.Therewasenoughtheretobuyalotofweapons.

“Whatisanalchemist?”heasked,finally.“It’samanwhounderstandsnatureandtheworld.Ifhewantedto,hecould

destroythiscampjustwiththeforceofthewind.”Themenlaughed.Theywereusedtotheravagesofwar,andknewthatthe

windcouldnotdeliverthemafatalblow.Yeteachfelthisheartbeatabitfaster.Theyweremenofthedesert,andtheywerefearfulofsorcerers.

“Iwanttoseehimdoit,”saidthechief.“He needs three days,” answered the alchemist. “He is going to transform

himself into the wind, just to demonstrate his powers. If he can’t do so, wehumblyofferyouourlives,forthehonorofyourtribe.”

“You can’t offer me something that is already mine,” the chief said,arrogantly.Buthegrantedthetravelersthreedays.

Theboywasshakingwithfear,butthealchemisthelpedhimoutofthetent.“Don’tletthemseethatyou’reafraid,”thealchemistsaid.“Theyarebrave

men,andtheydespisecowards.”But theboycouldn’tevenspeak.Hewasable todosoonlyafter theyhad

walkedthroughthecenterofthecamp.Therewasnoneedtoimprisonthem:theArabs simply confiscated their horses. So, once again, the world haddemonstrateditsmanylanguages:thedesertonlymomentsagohadbeenendlessandfree,andnowitwasanimpenetrablewall.

“YougavethemeverythingIhad!”theboysaid.“EverythingI’vesavedinmyentirelife!”

“Well, what good would it be to you if you had to die?” the alchemistanswered.“Yourmoneysavedusforthreedays.It’snotoftenthatmoneysavesaperson’slife.”

Buttheboywastoofrightenedtolistentowordsofwisdom.Hehadnoideahowhewasgoingtotransformhimselfintothewind.Hewasn’tanalchemist!

Thealchemist askedoneof the soldiers for some tea, andpouredsomeontheboy’swrists.Awaveofreliefwashedoverhim,andthealchemistmutteredsomewordsthattheboydidn’tunderstand.

“Don’tgiveintoyourfears,”saidthealchemist,inastrangelygentlevoice.“Ifyoudo,youwon’tbeabletotalktoyourheart.”

“ButIhavenoideahowtoturnmyselfintothewind.”“IfapersonislivingouthisPersonalLegend,heknowseverythingheneeds

toknow.Thereisonlyonethingthatmakesadreamimpossibletoachieve:the

fearoffailure.”“I’mnotafraidoffailing.It’sjustthatIdon’tknowhowtoturnmyselfinto

thewind.”“Well,you’llhavetolearn;yourlifedependsonit.”“ButwhatifIcan’t?”“Then you’ll die in the midst of trying to realize your Personal Legend.

That’salotbetterthandyinglikemillionsofotherpeople,whoneverevenknewwhattheirPersonalLegendswere.

“But don’t worry,” the alchemist continued. “Usually the threat of deathmakespeoplealotmoreawareoftheirlives.”

Thefirstdaypassed.Therewasamajorbattlenearby,andanumberofwoundedwerebroughtbacktothecamp.Thedeadsoldierswerereplacedbyothers,andlifewenton.Deathdoesn’tchangeanything,theboythought.

“You could have died later on,” a soldier said to the body of one of hiscompanions. “You couldhavedied after peacehadbeendeclared.But, in anycase,youweregoingtodie.”

Attheendoftheday,theboywentlookingforthealchemist,whohadtakenhisfalconoutintothedesert.

“Istillhavenoideahowtoturnmyselfintothewind,”theboyrepeated.“RememberwhatItoldyou:theworldisonlythevisibleaspectofGod.And

that what alchemy does is to bring spiritual perfection into contact with thematerialplane.”

“Whatareyoudoing?”“Feedingmyfalcon.”“If I’mnotable to turnmyself into thewind,we’regoing todie,” theboy

said.“Whyfeedyourfalcon?”“You’re theonewhomaydie,” thealchemistsaid.“Ialreadyknowhowto

turnmyselfintothewind.”

On the second day, the boy climbed to the top of a cliff near the camp. Thesentinelsallowedhimtogo;theyhadalreadyheardaboutthesorcererwhocouldturnhimselfintothewind,andtheydidn’twanttogonearhim.Inanycase,thedesertwasimpassable.

Hespenttheentireafternoonoftheseconddaylookingoutoverthedesert,andlisteningtohisheart.Theboyknewthedesertsensedhisfear.

Theybothspokethesamelanguage.

Onthethirdday,thechiefmetwithhisofficers.Hecalledthealchemisttothemeetingandsaid,“Let’sgoseetheboywhoturnshimselfintothewind.”

“Let’s,”thealchemistanswered.Theboy took them to thecliffwherehehadbeenon thepreviousday.He

toldthemalltobeseated.“It’sgoingtotakeawhile,”theboysaid.“We’reinnohurry,”thechiefanswered.“Wearemenofthedesert.”The boy looked out at the horizon. Thereweremountains in the distance.

And thereweredunes, rocks, andplants that insistedon livingwhere survivalseemed impossible. There was the desert that he had wandered for so manymonths;despiteallthattime,heknewonlyasmallpartofit.Withinthatsmallpart,hehadfoundanEnglishman,caravans,tribalwars,andanoasiswithfiftythousandpalmtreesandthreehundredwells.

“What do youwant here today?” the desert asked him. “Didn’t you spendenoughtimelookingatmeyesterday?”

“Somewhereyouareholding thepersonI love,” theboysaid.“So,whenIlookoutoveryoursands,Iamalsolookingather.Iwanttoreturntoher,andIneedyourhelpsothatIcanturnmyselfintothewind.”

“Whatislove?”thedesertasked.“Loveisthefalcon’sflightoveryoursands.Becauseforhim,youareagreen

field, from which he always returns with game. He knows your rocks, your

dunes,andyourmountains,andyouaregeneroustohim.”“Thefalcon’sbeakcarriesbitsofme,myself,”thedesertsaid.“Foryears,I

careforhisgame,feedingitwiththelittlewaterthatIhave,andthenIshowhimwherethegameis.And,oneday,asIenjoythefactthathisgamethrivesonmysurface,thefalcondivesoutofthesky,andtakesawaywhatI’vecreated.”

“Butthat’swhyyoucreatedthegameinthefirstplace,”theboyanswered.“Tonourishthefalcon.Andthefalconthennourishesman.And,eventually,manwillnourishyoursands,wherethegamewillonceagainflourish.That’showtheworldgoes.”

“Soisthatwhatloveis?”“Yes, that’swhat love is. It’swhatmakes thegamebecome the falcon, the

falcon becomeman, andman, in his turn, the desert. It’swhat turns lead intogold,andmakesthegoldreturntotheearth.”

“Idon’tunderstandwhatyou’retalkingabout,”thedesertsaid.“But you can at least understand that somewhere in your sands there is a

womanwaitingforme.Andthat’swhyIhavetoturnmyselfintothewind.”Thedesertdidn’tanswerhimforafewmoments.Thenittoldhim,“I’llgiveyoumysandstohelpthewindtoblow,but,alone,

Ican’tdoanything.Youhavetoaskforhelpfromthewind.”A breeze began to blow. The tribesmenwatched the boy from a distance,

talkingamongthemselvesinalanguagethattheboycouldn’tunderstand.Thealchemistsmiled.Thewindapproachedtheboyandtouchedhisface.Itknewoftheboy’stalk

withthedesert,becausethewindsknoweverything.Theyblowacrosstheworldwithoutabirthplace,andwithnoplacetodie.

“Helpme,”theboysaid.“Onedayyoucarriedthevoiceofmylovedonetome.”

“Whotaughtyoutospeakthelanguageofthedesertandthewind?”“Myheart,”theboyanswered.The wind has many names. In that part of the world, it was called the

sirocco,because itbroughtmoisture fromtheoceans to theeast. In thedistantlandtheboycamefrom,theycalleditthelevanter,becausetheybelievedthatitbroughtwith it the sands of the desert, and the screams of theMoorishwars.Perhaps, in theplacesbeyond thepastureswherehissheep lived,men thoughtthatthewindcamefromAndalusia.But,actually,thewindcamefromnoplaceat all, nor did it go to any place; that’s why it was stronger than the desert.Someonemightonedayplanttreesinthedesert,andevenraisesheepthere,but

neverwouldtheyharnessthewind.“Youcan’tbethewind,”thewindsaid.“We’retwoverydifferentthings.”“That’s not true,” the boy said. “I learned the alchemist’s secrets in my

travels. I have inside me the winds, the deserts, the oceans, the stars, andeverythingcreatedintheuniverse.Wewereallmadebythesamehand,andwehave the same soul. I want to be like you, able to reach every corner of theworld,crosstheseas,blowawaythesandsthatcovermytreasure,andcarrythevoiceofthewomanIlove.”

“Iheardwhatyouweretalkingabouttheotherdaywiththealchemist,”thewind said. “He said that everything has its own Personal Legend. But peoplecan’tturnthemselvesintothewind.”

“Justteachmetobethewindforafewmoments,”theboysaid.“SoyouandIcantalkaboutthelimitlesspossibilitiesofpeopleandthewinds.”

The wind’s curiosity was aroused, something that had never happenedbefore.Itwantedtotalkaboutthosethings,butitdidn’tknowhowtoturnamanintothewind.Andlookhowmanythingsthewindalreadyknewhowtodo!Itcreated deserts, sank ships, felled entire forests, and blew through cities filledwithmusicand strangenoises. It felt that it hadno limits,yetherewasaboysayingthattherewereotherthingsthewindshouldbeabletodo.

“Thisiswhatwecalllove,”theboysaid,seeingthatthewindwasclosetogranting what he requested. “When you are loved, you can do anything increation. When you are loved, there’s no need at all to understand what’shappening, because everything happens within you, and even men can turnthemselvesintothewind.Aslongasthewindhelps,ofcourse.”

Thewindwasaproudbeing,anditwasbecomingirritatedwithwhattheboywassaying.Itcommencedtoblowharder,raisingthedesertsands.Butfinallyithadtorecognizethat,evenmakingitswayaroundtheworld,itdidn’tknowhowtoturnamanintothewind.Anditknewnothingaboutlove.

“Inmytravelsaroundtheworld,I’veoftenseenpeoplespeakingofloveandlookingtowardtheheavens,”thewindsaid,furiousathavingtoacknowledgeitsownlimitations.“Maybeit’sbettertoaskheaven.”

“Wellthen,helpmedothat,”theboysaid.“Fillthisplacewithasandstormsostrong that itblotsout the sun.Then Ican look toheavenwithoutblindingmyself.”

Sothewindblewwithallitsstrength,andtheskywasfilledwithsand.Thesunwasturnedintoagoldendisk.

At the camp, itwas difficult to see anything. Themen of the desertwere

alreadyfamiliarwiththatwind.Theycalleditthesimum,anditwasworsethana storm at sea. Their horses cried out, and all their weaponswere filledwithsand.

Ontheheights,oneofthecommandersturnedtothechiefandsaid,“Maybewehadbetterendthis!”

Theycouldbarelyseetheboy.Theirfaceswerecoveredwiththebluecloths,andtheireyesshowedfear.

“Let’sstopthis,”anothercommandersaid.“IwanttoseethegreatnessofAllah,”thechiefsaid,withrespect.“Iwantto

seehowamanturnshimselfintothewind.”Buthemadeamentalnoteofthenamesofthetwomenwhohadexpressed

theirfear.Assoonasthewindstopped,hewasgoingtoremovethemfromtheircommands,becausetruemenofthedesertarenotafraid.

“Thewind toldme thatyouknowabout love,” theboysaid to thesun.“Ifyouknowaboutlove,youmustalsoknowabouttheSouloftheWorld,becauseit’smadeoflove.”

“From where I am,” the sun said, “I can see the Soul of the World. Itcommunicateswithmysoul,and togetherwecause theplants togrowand thesheeptoseekoutshade.FromwhereIam—andI’malongwayfromtheearth—Ilearnedhowtolove.IknowthatifIcameevenalittlebitclosertotheearth,everythingtherewoulddie,andtheSouloftheWorldwouldnolongerexist.Sowe contemplate each other, and we want each other, and I give it life andwarmth,anditgivesmemyreasonforliving.”

“Soyouknowaboutlove,”theboysaid.“AndIknowtheSouloftheWorld,becausewehavetalkedatgreatlengthto

each other during this endless trip through the universe. It tells me that itsgreatest problem is that, up until now, only the minerals and vegetablesunderstandthatallthingsareone.Thatthere’snoneedforirontobethesameascopper,orcopper thesameasgold.Eachperformsitsownexact functionasaunique being, and everythingwould be a symphony of peace if the hand thatwroteallthishadstoppedonthefifthdayofcreation.

“Buttherewasasixthday,”thesunwenton.“You are wise, because you observe everything from a distance,” the boy

said. “But you don’t know about love. If there hadn’t been a sixth day, manwouldnotexist;copperwouldalwaysbejustcopper,andleadjustlead.It’struethateverythinghas itsPersonalLegend,butonedaythatPersonalLegendwillbe realized.Soeach thinghas to transform itself into somethingbetter, and to

acquireanewPersonalLegend,until,someday,theSouloftheWorldbecomesonethingonly.”

Thesun thoughtabout that, anddecided to shinemorebrightly.Thewind,whichwasenjoyingtheconversation,startedtoblowwithgreaterforce,sothatthesunwouldnotblindtheboy.

“Thisiswhyalchemyexists,”theboysaid.“Sothateveryonewillsearchforhis treasure, find it, and thenwant tobebetter thanhewas inhis former life.Leadwillplayitsroleuntiltheworldhasnofurtherneedforlead;andthenleadwillhavetoturnitselfintogold.

“That’swhatalchemistsdo.Theyshowthat,whenwestrivetobecomebetterthanweare,everythingaroundusbecomesbetter,too.”

“Well,whydidyousaythatIdon’tknowaboutlove?”thesunaskedtheboy.“Becauseit’snot lovetobestatic likethedesert,nor is it lovetoroamthe

worldlikethewind.Andit’snotlovetoseeeverythingfromadistance,likeyoudo.LoveistheforcethattransformsandimprovestheSouloftheWorld.WhenIfirstreachedthroughtoit,IthoughttheSouloftheWorldwasperfect.Butlater,Icouldsee that itwas likeotheraspectsofcreation,andhad itsownpassionsandwars.ItiswewhonourishtheSouloftheWorld,andtheworldweliveinwillbeeitherbetterorworse,dependingonwhetherwebecomebetterorworse.Andthat’swherethepoweroflovecomesin.Becausewhenwelove,wealwaysstrivetobecomebetterthanweare.”

“Sowhatdoyouwantofme?”thesunasked.“Iwantyoutohelpmeturnmyselfintothewind,”theboyanswered.“Natureknowsmeasthewisestbeingincreation,”thesunsaid.“ButIdon’t

knowhowtoturnyouintothewind.”“Then,whomshouldIask?”Thesunthoughtforaminute.Thewindwaslisteningclosely,andwantedto

telleverycornerof theworld that thesun’swisdomhadits limitations.That itwasunabletodealwiththisboywhospoketheLanguageoftheWorld.

“Speaktothehandthatwroteall,”saidthesun.Thewindscreamedwithdelight,andblewharderthanever.Thetentswere

beingblownfromtheirtiestotheearth,andtheanimalswerebeingfreedfromtheirtethers.Onthecliff,themenclutchedateachotherastheysoughttokeepfrombeingblownaway.

Theboy turned to thehand thatwroteall.Ashedidso,hesensed that theuniversehadfallensilent,andhedecidednottospeak.

Acurrentofloverushedfromhisheart,andtheboybegantopray.Itwasa

prayer thathehadneversaidbefore,becauseitwasaprayerwithoutwordsorpleas.Hisprayerdidn’tgivethanksforhissheephavingfoundnewpastures;itdidn’taskthattheboybeabletosellmorecrystal;anditdidn’tbeseechthatthewoman he had met continue to await his return. In the silence, the boyunderstoodthatthedesert,thewind,andthesunwerealsotryingtounderstandthe signswritten by the hand, andwere seeking to follow their paths, and tounderstandwhathadbeenwrittenonasingleemerald.Hesawthatomenswerescattered throughout the earth and in space, and that there was no reason orsignificanceattached to theirappearance;hecouldsee thatnot thedeserts,northewinds,northesun,norpeopleknewwhytheyhadbeencreated.Butthatthehandhadareasonforallofthis,andthatonlythehandcouldperformmiracles,ortransformtheseaintoadesert...oramanintothewind.Becauseonlythehandunderstoodthat itwasa largerdesign thathadmovedtheuniverse to thepointatwhichsixdaysofcreationhadevolvedintoaMasterWork.

TheboyreachedthroughtotheSouloftheWorld,andsawthatitwasapartoftheSoulofGod.AndhesawthattheSoulofGodwashisownsoul.Andthathe,aboy,couldperformmiracles.

The simum blew that day as it had never blown before. For generationsthereafter,theArabsrecountedthelegendofaboywhohadturnedhimselfintothewind, almostdestroyingamilitarycamp, indefianceof themostpowerfulchiefinthedesert.

Whenthesimumceasedtoblow,everyonelookedtotheplacewheretheboyhadbeen.Buthewasno longer there;hewasstandingnext toasand-coveredsentinel,onthefarsideofthecamp.

Themenwereterrifiedathissorcery.Butthereweretwopeoplewhoweresmiling:thealchemist,becausehehadfoundhisperfectdisciple,andthechief,becausethatdisciplehadunderstoodthegloryofGod.

Thefollowingday,thegeneralbadetheboyandthealchemistfarewell,andprovidedthemwithanescortpartytoaccompanythemasfarastheychose.

Theyrodefortheentireday.Towardtheendoftheafternoon,theycameuponaCoptic monastery. The alchemist dismounted, and told the escorts they couldreturntothecamp.

“Fromhereon,youwillbealone,” thealchemistsaid.“Youareonly threehoursfromthePyramids.”

“Thankyou,”saidtheboy.“YoutaughtmetheLanguageoftheWorld.”“Ionlyinvokedwhatyoualreadyknew.”

The alchemist knocked on the gate of the monastery. A monk dressed inblackcametothegates.TheyspokeforafewminutesintheCoptictongue,andthealchemistbadetheboyenter.

“Iaskedhimtoletmeusethekitchenforawhile,”thealchemistsmiled.Theywenttothekitchenatthebackofthemonastery.Thealchemistlighted

thefire,andthemonkbroughthimsomelead,whichthealchemistplacedinanironpan.Whentheleadhadbecomeliquid, thealchemist tookfromhispouchthestrangeyellowegg.Hescrapedfromitasliverasthinasahair,wrappeditinwax,andaddedittothepaninwhichtheleadhadmelted.

The mixture took on a reddish color, almost the color of blood. Thealchemistremovedthepanfromthefire,andsetitasidetocool.Ashedidso,hetalkedwiththemonkaboutthetribalwars.

“Ithinkthey’regoingtolastforalongtime,”hesaidtothemonk.Themonkwas irritated. The caravans had been stopped atGiza for some

time,waitingforthewarstoend.“ButGod’swillbedone,”themonksaid.“Exactly,”answeredthealchemist.Whenthepanhadcooled, themonkandtheboylookedat it,dazzled.The

leadhaddriedintotheshapeofthepan,butitwasnolongerlead.Itwasgold.“WillIlearntodothatsomeday?”theboyasked.“ThiswasmyPersonalLegend,notyours,” thealchemistanswered.“ButI

wantedtoshowyouthatitwaspossible.”

Theyreturnedto thegatesof themonastery.There, thealchemistseparatedthediskintofourparts.

“Thisisforyou,”hesaid,holdingoneofthepartsouttothemonk.“It’sforyourgenerositytothepilgrims.”

“Butthispaymentgoeswellbeyondmygenerosity,”themonkresponded.“Don’t say that again. Lifemight be listening, and give you less the next

time.”Thealchemistturnedtotheboy.“Thisisforyou.Tomakeupforwhatyou

gavetothegeneral.”The boy was about to say that it was much more than he had given the

general.Buthekeptquiet,becausehehadheardwhatthealchemistsaidtothemonk.

“Andthisisforme,”saidthealchemist,keepingoneoftheparts.“BecauseIhavetoreturntothedesert,wheretherearetribalwars.”

Hetookthefourthpartandhandedittothemonk.“Thisisfortheboy.Ifheeverneedsit.”“ButI’mgoinginsearchofmytreasure,”theboysaid.“I’mveryclosetoit

now.”“AndI’mcertainyou’llfindit,”thealchemistsaid.“Thenwhythis?”“Because youhave already lost your savings twice.Once to the thief, and

oncetothegeneral.I’manold,superstitiousArab,andIbelieveinourproverbs.There’sone that says, ‘Everything that happens once can never happen again.But everything that happens twice will surely happen a third time.’” Theymountedtheirhorses.

“Iwanttotellyouastoryaboutdreams,”saidthealchemist.Theboybroughthishorsecloser.“InancientRome,at thetimeofEmperorTiberius, therelivedagoodman

whohadtwosons.Onewasinthemilitary,andhadbeensenttothemostdistantregionsoftheempire.Theothersonwasapoet,anddelightedallofRomewithhisbeautifulverses.

“Onenight,thefatherhadadream.Anangelappearedtohim,andtoldhimthatthewordsofoneofhissonswouldbelearnedandrepeatedthroughouttheworldforallgenerationstocome.Thefatherwokefromhisdreamgratefulandcrying,becauselifewasgenerous,andhadrevealedtohimsomethinganyfather

wouldbeproudtoknow.“Shortlythereafter,thefatherdiedashetriedtosaveachildwhowasabout

tobecrushedbythewheelsofachariot.Sincehehadlivedhisentirelifeinamannerthatwascorrectandfair,hewentdirectlytoheaven,wherehemettheangelthathadappearedinhisdream.

“‘Youwerealwaysagoodman,’theangelsaidtohim.‘Youlivedyourlifeinalovingway,anddiedwithdignity.Icannowgrantyouanywishyoudesire.’

“‘Lifewasgoodtome,’themansaid.‘Whenyouappearedinmydream,Ifeltthatallmyeffortshadbeenrewarded,becausemyson’spoemswillbereadbymenforgenerationstocome.Idon’twantanythingformyself.Butanyfatherwouldbeproudofthefameachievedbyonewhomhehadcaredforasachild,andeducatedashegrewup.Sometimeinthedistantfuture,Iwouldliketoseemyson’swords.’

“Theangeltouchedtheman’sshoulder,andtheywerebothprojectedfarintothefuture.Theywereinanimmensesetting,surroundedbythousandsofpeoplespeakingastrangelanguage.

“Themanweptwithhappiness.“‘Iknewthatmyson’spoemswereimmortal,’hesaidtotheangelthrough

his tears. ‘Can you please tellmewhich ofmy son’s poems these people arerepeating?’

“Theangelcameclosertotheman,and,withtenderness,ledhimtoabenchnearby,wheretheysatdown.

“‘TheversesofyoursonwhowasthepoetwereverypopularinRome,’theangel said. ‘Everyone loved them and enjoyed them. But when the reign ofTiberius ended, his poemswere forgotten. Thewords you’re hearing now arethoseofyoursoninthemilitary.’

“Themanlookedattheangelinsurprise.“‘Yoursonwenttoserveatadistantplace,andbecameacenturion.Hewas

justandgood.Oneafternoon,oneofhisservantsfellill,anditappearedthathewoulddie.Yoursonhadheardofarabbiwhowasabletocureillnesses,andherodeoutfordaysanddaysinsearchofthisman.Alongtheway,helearnedthatthemanhewasseekingwastheSonofGod.Hemetotherswhohadbeencuredbyhim,andtheyinstructedyoursonintheman’steachings.Andso,despitethefact that he was a Roman centurion, he converted to their faith. Shortlythereafter,hereachedtheplacewherethemanhewaslookingforwasvisiting.’

“‘Hetoldthemanthatoneofhisservantswasgravelyill,andtherabbimadeready togo tohishousewithhim.But thecenturionwasamanof faith, and,

lookingintotheeyesoftherabbi,heknewthathewassurelyinthepresenceoftheSonofGod.’

“‘And this is what your son said,’ the angel told theman. ‘These are thewordshesaidtotherabbiatthatpoint,andtheyhaveneverbeenforgotten:“MyLord, I amnotworthy thatyoushouldcomeundermy roof.Butonly speakawordandmyservantwillbehealed.”’”

Thealchemistsaid,“Nomatterwhathedoes,everypersononearthplaysacentralroleinthehistoryoftheworld.Andnormallyhedoesn’tknowit.”

Theboysmiled.Hehadneverimaginedthatquestionsaboutlifewouldbeofsuchimportancetoashepherd.

“Good-bye,”thealchemistsaid.“Good-bye,”saidtheboy.

Theboyrodealongthroughthedesertforseveralhours,listeningavidlytowhathishearthadtosay.Itwashisheartthatwouldtellhimwherehistreasurewashidden.

“Whereyourtreasureis,therealsowillbeyourheart,”thealchemisthadtoldhim.

Buthisheartwasspeakingofotherthings.Withpride,ittoldthestoryofashepherd who had left his flock to follow a dream he had on two differentoccasions.IttoldofPersonalLegend,andofthemanymenwhohadwanderedin search of distant lands or beautifulwomen, confronting the people of theirtimeswiththeirpreconceivednotions.Itspokeofjourneys,discoveries,books,andchange.

Ashewasabouttoclimbyetanotherdune,hisheartwhispered,“Beawareoftheplacewhereyouarebroughttotears.That’swhereIam,andthat’swhereyourtreasureis.”

Theboyclimbedtheduneslowly.Afullmoonroseagaininthestarrysky:ithad been a month since he had set forth from the oasis. The moonlight castshadowsthroughthedunes,creatingtheappearanceofarollingsea;itremindedtheboyofthedaywhenthathorsehadrearedinthedesert,andhehadcometoknowthealchemist.Andthemoonfellon thedesert’ssilence,andonaman’sjourneyinsearchoftreasure.

Whenhereachedthetopofthedune,hisheartleapt.There,illuminatedbythe light of the moon and the brightness of the desert, stood the solemn andmajesticPyramidsofEgypt.

Theboyfelltohiskneesandwept.HethankedGodformakinghimbelievein his Personal Legend, and for leading him to meet a king, a merchant, anEnglishman,andanalchemist.Andaboveallforhishavingmetawomanofthedesertwhohad toldhim that lovewouldnever keep aman fromhisPersonalLegend.

Ifhewantedto,hecouldnowreturntotheoasis,gobacktoFatima,andlivehis life as a simple shepherd.After all, the alchemist continued to live in thedesert,eventhoughheunderstoodtheLanguageoftheWorld,andknewhowtotransform lead intogold.Hedidn’t need todemonstratehis science and art toanyone.Theboytoldhimselfthat,onthewaytowardrealizinghisownPersonalLegend,hehadlearnedallheneededtoknow,andhadexperiencedeverythinghemighthavedreamedof.

Butherehewas,atthepointoffindinghistreasure,andheremindedhimselfthat no project is completed until its objective has been achieved. The boylookedatthesandsaroundhim,andsawthat,wherehistearshadfallen,ascarabbeetle was scuttling through the sand. During his time in the desert, he hadlearnedthat,inEgypt,thescarabbeetlesareasymbolofGod.

Anotheromen!Theboybegantodigintothedune.Ashedidso,hethoughtofwhatthecrystalmerchanthadoncesaid:thatanyonecouldbuildapyramidinhisbackyard.Theboycouldseenowthathecouldn’tdoso ifheplacedstoneuponstonefortherestofhislife.

Throughout the night, the boy dug at the place he had chosen, but foundnothing.HefeltweighteddownbythecenturiesoftimesincethePyramidshadbeenbuilt.Buthedidn’tstop.Hestruggledtocontinuediggingashefoughtthewind, which often blew the sand back into the excavation. His hands wereabradedandexhausted,buthelistenedtohisheart.Ithadtoldhimtodigwherehistearsfell.

As he was attempting to pull out the rocks he encountered, he heardfootsteps.Several figures approachedhim.Their backswere to themoonlight,andtheboycouldseeneithertheireyesnortheirfaces.

“Whatareyoudoinghere?”oneofthefiguresdemanded.

Because he was terrified, the boy didn’t answer. He had found where histreasurewas,andwasfrightenedatwhatmighthappen.

“We’rerefugeesfromthetribalwars,andweneedmoney,”theotherfiguresaid.“Whatareyouhidingthere?”

“I’mnothidinganything,”theboyanswered.But one of them seized the boy and yanked him back out of the hole.

Another,whowassearchingtheboy’sbags,foundthepieceofgold.“There’sgoldhere,”hesaid.Themoon shone on the face of theArabwho had seized him, and in the

man’seyestheboysawdeath.“He’sprobablygotmoregoldhiddenintheground.”Theymadetheboycontinuedigging,buthefoundnothing.Asthesunrose,

themenbegan tobeat theboy.Hewasbruisedandbleeding,hisclothingwastorntoshreds,andhefeltthatdeathwasnear.

“Whatgoodismoneytoyouifyou’regoingtodie?It’snotoftenthatmoneycansavesomeone’slife,”thealchemisthadsaid.Finally,theboyscreamedatthemen, “I’m digging for treasure!” And, although his mouth was bleeding andswollen,hetoldhisattackersthathehadtwicedreamedofatreasurehiddennearthePyramidsofEgypt.

Themanwho appeared to be the leader of the group spoke to one of theothers: “Leave him. He doesn’t have anything else. Hemust have stolen thisgold.”

Theboyfelltothesand,nearlyunconscious.Theleadershookhimandsaid,“We’releaving.”

Butbeforetheyleft,hecamebacktotheboyandsaid,“You’renotgoingtodie.You’ll live, andyou’ll learn that amanshouldn’tbe so stupid.Twoyearsago,righthereonthisspot,Ihadarecurrentdream,too.IdreamedthatIshouldtravel to thefieldsofSpainand lookfora ruinedchurchwhereshepherdsandtheirsheepslept.Inmydream,therewasasycamoregrowingoutoftheruinsofthesacristy,and Iwas told that, if Idugat the rootsof thesycamore, Iwouldfind a hidden treasure. But I’m not so stupid as to cross an entire desert justbecauseofarecurrentdream.”

Andtheydisappeared.The boy stood up shakily, and looked once more at the Pyramids. They

seemedtolaughathim,andhelaughedback,hisheartburstingwithjoy.Becausenowheknewwherehistreasurewas.

Epilogue

The boy reached the small, abandoned church just as night was falling. Thesycamorewasstillthereinthesacristy,andthestarscouldstillbeseenthroughthe half-destroyed roof. He remembered the time he had been there with hissheep;ithadbeenapeacefulnight...exceptforthedream.

Nowhewasherenotwithhisflock,butwithashovel.Hesatlookingattheskyforalongtime.Thenhetookfromhisknapsacka

bottleofwine,anddranksome.Herememberedthenightinthedesertwhenhehadsatwiththealchemist,astheylookedatthestarsanddrankwinetogether.Hethoughtofthemanyroadshehadtraveled,andofthestrangewayGodhadchosen to show him his treasure. If he hadn’t believed in the significance ofrecurrentdreams,hewouldnothavemettheGypsywoman,theking,thethief,or...“Well,it’salonglist.Butthepathwaswrittenintheomens,andtherewasnowayIcouldgowrong,”hesaidtohimself.

Hefellasleep,andwhenheawokethesunwasalreadyhigh.Hebegantodigatthebaseofthesycamore.

“You old sorcerer,” the boy shouted up to the sky. “You knew the wholestory.You even left a bit of gold at themonastery so I could get back to thischurch.Themonklaughedwhenhesawmecomebackintatters.Couldn’tyouhavesavedmefromthat?”

“No,” he heard a voice on thewind say. “If I had told you, youwouldn’thaveseenthePyramids.They’rebeautiful,aren’tthey?”

The boy smiled, and continued digging. Half an hour later, his shovel hitsomethingsolid.Anhourlater,hehadbeforehimachestofSpanishgoldcoins.There were also precious stones, gold masks adorned with red and whitefeathers,andstonestatuesembeddedwithjewels.Thespoilsofaconquestthatthecountryhadlongagoforgotten,andthatsomeconquistadorhadfailedtotellhischildrenabout.

Theboy tookoutUrimandThummim fromhisbag.Hehadused the twostonesonlyonce,onemorningwhenhewasatamarketplace.His lifeandhispathhadalwaysprovidedhimwithenoughomens.

HeplacedUrimandThummiminthechest.Theywerealsoapartofhisnewtreasure,because theywerea reminderof theoldking,whomhewouldneverseeagain.

It’s true; life really isgenerous to thosewhopursue theirPersonalLegend,theboy thought.Thenhe remembered thathehad toget toTarifasohecouldgiveone-tenthofhistreasuretotheGypsywoman,ashehadpromised.ThoseGypsiesarereallysmart,hethought.Maybeitwasbecausetheymovedaroundsomuch.

Thewindbegantoblowagain.Itwasthelevanter,thewindthatcamefromAfrica.Itdidn’tbringwith it thesmellof thedesert,nor the threatofMoorishinvasion.Instead,itbroughtthescentofaperfumeheknewwell,andthetouchofakiss—akissthatcamefromfaraway,slowly,slowly,until itrestedonhislips.

Theboysmiled.Itwasthefirsttimeshehaddonethat.“I’mcoming,Fatima,”hesaid.

An inspirational companion to The Alchemist that invites us to live out ourdreams, toembrace theuncertaintyof life,and to rise tomeetourownuniquedestiny. In his inimitable style, Paulo Coelho presents a collection ofphilosophical stories that will delight and guide seekers everywhere and helpbringouttheWarriorofLightwithineachofus.

WarrioroftheLight

PROLOGUE

“Justoff thebeach to thewestof thevillage liesan island,andon it is avasttemplewithmanybells,”saidthewoman.

Theboynoticedthatshewasdressedstrangelyandhadaveilcoveringherhead.Hehadneverseenherbefore.

“Haveyouevervisitedthattemple?”sheasked.“Gothereandtellmewhatyouthinkofit?”

Seducedbythewoman’sbeauty,theboywenttotheplaceshehadindicated.Hesatdownonthebeachandstaredoutatthehorizon,buthesawonlywhathealwayssaw:blueskyandocean.

Disappointed, he walked to a nearby fishing village and asked if anyonethereknewaboutanislandandatemple.

“Oh,thatwasmanyyearsago,whenmygreat-grandparentswerealive,”saidanoldfisherman.“Therewasanearthquake,and the islandwasswallowedupbythesea.Butalthoughwecanno longersee the island,wecanstillhear thetemplebellswhentheoceansetsthemswingingdownbelow.”

The boywent back to the beach and tried to hear the bells. He spent thewholeafternoonthere,butallheheardwasthenoiseofthewavesandthecriesoftheseagulls.

Whennightfell,hisparentscamelookingforhim.Thefollowingmorning,hewent back to the beach; he could not believe that such a beautifulwomanwouldhaveliedtohim.Ifsheeverreturned,hecouldtellherthat,althoughhehadnotseentheisland,hehadheardthetemplebellssetringingbythemotionofthewaves.

Manymonthspassed;thewomandidnotreturnandtheboyforgotallabouther;nowhewasconvincedthatheneededtodiscovertherichesandtreasuresinthesubmerged temple. Ifhecouldhear thebells,hewouldbeable to locate itandsalvagethetreasurehiddenbelow.

Helostinterestinschoolandeveninhisfriends.Hebecamethebuttofalltheotherchildren’sjokes.Theyusedtosay:“He’snotlikeus.Hepreferstositlookingattheseabecausehe’safraidofbeingbeateninourgames.”

Andtheyalllaughedtoseetheboysittingontheshore.Althoughhestillcouldnotheartheoldtemplebellsringing,theboylearned

aboutotherthings.Hebegantorealizethathehadgrownsousedtothesoundof

thewavesthathewasnolongerdistractedbythem.Soonafterthat,hebecameusedtothecriesoftheseagulls, thebuzzingof thebeesandthewindblowingamongstthepalmtrees.

Sixmonths after his first conversationwith thewoman, the boy could sitthereoblivioustoallothernoises,buthestillcouldnothearthebellsfromthedrownedtemple.

Fishermencameandtalkedtohim,insistingthattheyhadheardthebells.Buttheboyneverdid.Sometimelater,however,thefishermenchangedtheirtune:“Youspendfar

toomuchtimethinkingabout thebellsbeneaththesea.Forgetabout themandgobacktoplayingwithyourfriends.Perhapsit’sonlyfishermenwhocanhearthem.”

After almost a year, the boy thought: “Perhaps they’re right. I would dobetter togrowupandbecomeafishermanandcomedowntothisbeacheverymorning,becauseI’vecometoloveithere.”Andhethoughttoo:“Perhapsit’sjust another legend and the bellswere all shattered during the earthquake andhaveneverrungoutsince.”

Thatafternoon,hedecidedtogobackhome.Hewalkeddownto theoceantosaygoodbye.Helookedoncemoreat the

natural world around him and because hewas no longer concerned about thebells,hecouldagainsmileatthebeautyoftheseagulls’cries,theroarofthesea,andthewindblowinginthepalmtrees.Faroff,heheardthesoundofhisfriendsplayingandhefeltgladtothinkthathewouldsoonresumehischildhoodgames.

The boy was happy and—as only a child can—he felt grateful for beingalive. He was sure that he had not wasted his time, for he had learned tocontemplateNatureandtorespectit.

Then,becausehewaslisteningtothesea,theseagulls,thewindinthepalmtrees,andthevoicesofhisfriendsplaying,healsoheardthefirstbell.

Andthenanother.Andanother,until,tohisgreatjoy,allthebellsinthedrownedtemplewere

ringing.Yearslater,whenhewasagrownman,hereturnedtothevillageandtothe

beachofhischildhood.Henolongerdreamedoffindingtreasureatthebottomof the sea; perhaps that had all been aproduct of his imagination, andhehadneverreallyheardthesubmergedbellsringoutononelostchildhoodafternoon.Evenso,hedecidedtowalkforawhilealongthebeach,tolistentothenoiseofthewindandtothecriesoftheseagulls.

Imaginehissurprisewhen,thereonthebeach,hesawthewomanwhohadfirstspokentohimabouttheislandanditstemple.

“Whatareyoudoinghere?”heasked.“Iwaswaitingforyou,”shereplied.He noticed that, despite the passing years, the woman looked exactly the

same;theveilhidingherhairhadnotfadedwithtime.Shehandedhimabluenotebookfullofblankpages.“Write:AWarrioroftheLightvaluesachild’seyesbecausetheyareableto

look at theworldwithout bitterness.When hewants to find out if the personbesidehimisworthyofhistrust,hetriestoseehimasachildwould.”

“WhatisaWarrioroftheLight?”“Youalreadyknowthat,”sherepliedwithasmile.“Heissomeonecapable

of understanding the miracle of life, of fighting to the last for something hebelievesin—andofhearingthebellsthatthewavessetringingontheseabed.”

He had never thought of himself as a Warrior of the Light. The womanseemedtoreadhisthoughts.“Everyoneiscapableofthesethings.And,thoughnoonethinksofhimselfasaWarrioroftheLight,weallare.”

Helookedattheblankpagesinthenotebook.Thewomansmiledagain.“WriteabouttheWarrior,”shesaid.

AbouttheAuthor

PhotobyXavierGonzález

PAULOCOELHOwasborninRiodeJaneiro,Brazil.Hisownlifehasinmanyways been as varied and unusual as the protagonists of his internationallyacclaimednovels.Likethem,PauloCoelhohasfollowedadreaminaquestforfulfillment.Hisowndream,tobeawriter,metwithfrustrationthroughoutmuchofhisearlyadultlife,atimeinwhichheworkedatvariousprofessions,someofthemmateriallyrewardingbutspirituallyunfulfilling.“Ialwaysknew,”hesays,“thatmyPersonalLegend, tousea termfromalchemy,was towrite.”Hewasthirty-eightwhenhepublishedhisfirstbook.

In1970,afterdecidingthatlawschoolwasnotforhim,hetraveledthroughmuchofSouthAmerica,NorthAfrica,Mexico,andEurope.ReturningtoBrazilaftertwoyears,hebeganasuccessfulcareerasapopularsongwriter.In1974,hewasimprisonedforashorttimebythemilitarydictatorshipthenrulinginBrazil.In1980,heexperiencedoneofthedefiningmomentsofhislife:hewalkedthefivehundred–plusmileRoadofSantiagodeCompostelainnorthwesternSpain.Onthisancienthighway,usedforcenturiesbypilgrimsfromFrancetogettothecathedral said tohouse the remainsofSt. James,heachieveda self-awareness

andaspiritualawakeningthathelaterdescribedinThePilgrimage.PauloCoelhooncesaidthatfollowingyourdreamislikelearningaforeign

language;youwillmakemistakesbutyouwillgetthereintheend.In1988,hepublishedTheAlchemist,anovel thatexplores this theme,andit launchedhimas an international bestselling author. Specifically, PauloCoelho is recognizedfor his powerful storytelling technique and the profound spiritual insights heblendsseamlesslyintohisparables.Hisbookshavesoldover150millioncopiesworldwide.Awinnerofnumerousliteraryprizes,hehasbeenamemberoftheBrazilian Academy of Letters since 2002. Paulo Coelho is also a prominentspeaker for humanitarian causes. In 2007, he was named a United NationsMessengerofPeace.

Discovergreatauthors,exclusiveoffers,andmoreathc.com.

AlsobyPauloCoelho

ThePilgrimage

WarrioroftheLight

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ElevenMinutes

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VeronikaDecidestoDie

BytheRiverPiedraISatDownandWept

TheDevilandMissPrym

TheWitchofPortobello

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TheIllustratedAlchemist

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Copyright

Thisbook is anEnglishversionofOAlquimista, thePortugueseoriginal edition, published inBrazil byEditoraRoccoLtd. (Rio de Janeiro).Copyright©1988 byPauloCoelho.This editionwas prepared byAlanR.ClarkeinconsultationwithPauloCoelho.

Apreviouspaperbackeditionwaspublished in1994byHarperSanFrancisco,adivisionofHarperCollinsPublishers.AHarperFlamingoeditionwaspublishedin1998.ApreviousHarperPerenialpaperbackeditionwaspublishedin1998.

THEALCHEMIST (25thAnniversaryEdition).English version copyright©1993byPauloCoelho andAlan R. Clarke. Foreword © 2014 by Paulo Coelho. Prologue translation copyright © 1998 byHarperCollins Publishers, Inc. Illustrations © 2014 by James Noel Smith. All rights reserved underInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.Bypaymentof therequiredfees,youhavebeengrantedthenonexclusive,nontransferablerighttoaccessandreadthetextofthise-bookon-screen.Nopartof this textmaybe reproduced, transmitted,downloaded,decompiled, reverse-engineered,orstored inorintroduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whetherelectronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission ofHarperCollinse-books.

HarperCollinswebsite:http://www.harpercollins.com

HarperCollins®, ®,andHarperOne™aretrademarksofHarperCollinsPublishers,Inc.

FIRSTHARPERCOLLINSHARDCOVEREDITIONPUBLISHEDIN1993.

ISBN978–0–06–231500–7EPubEditionJanuary2015ISBN9780062416216

14151617RRD(C)10987654321

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