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<!DOCTYPE html>
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<title>the alchemist</title>
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<h6>Author</h6>
<h1>Paulo Coelho</h1>
<h6>Brazilian lyricist</h6>
<p id="paragraph">
“I have known true alchemists,” the alchemist continued. “They
locked themselves in their laboratories, and tried to evolve, as gold
had. And they found the Philosopher’s Stone, because they
understood that when something evolves, everything around that
thing evolves as well.
“Others stumbled upon the stone by accident. They already had
the gift, and their souls were readier for such things than the souls
of others. But they don’t count. They’re quite rare.
“And then there were the others, who were interested only in
gold. They never found the secret. They forgot that lead, copper, and
iron have their own Personal Legends to fulfill. And anyone who
interferes with the Personal Legend of another thing never will
discover his own.”
The alchemist’s words echoed out like a curse. He reached over
and picked up a shell from the ground.
“This desert was once a sea,” he said.
“I noticed that,” the boy answered.
The alchemist told the boy to place the shell over his ear. He had
done that many times when he was a child, and had heard the sound
of the sea.
“The sea has lived on in this shell, because that’s its Personal
Legend. And it will never cease doing so until the desert is once
again covered by water.”
They mounted their horses, and rode out in the direction of the
Pyramids of Egypt.
THE SUN WAS SETTING WHEN THE BOY’S HEART SOUNDED a danger signal.
They were surrounded by gigantic dunes, and the boy looked at the
alchemist to see whether he had sensed anything. But he appeared
to be unaware of any danger. Five minutes later, the boy saw two
horsemen waiting ahead of them. Before he could say anything to
the alchemist, the two horsemen had become ten, and then a
hundred. And then they were everywhere in the dunes.
They were tribesmen dressed in blue, with black rings
surrounding their turbans. Their faces were hidden behind blue
veils, with only their eyes showing.
Even from a distance, their eyes conveyed the strength of their
souls. And their eyes spoke of death.
THE TWO WERE TAKEN TO A NEARBY MILITARY CAMP. A soldier shoved the
boy and the alchemist into a tent where the chief was holding a
meeting with his staff.
“These are the spies,” said one of the men.
“We’re just travelers,” the alchemist answered.
“You were seen at the enemy camp three days ago. And you
were talking with one of the troops there.”
“I’m just a man who wanders the desert and knows the stars,”
said the alchemist. “I have no information about troops or about the
movement of the tribes. I was simply acting as a guide for my friend
here.”
“Who is your friend?” the chief asked.
“An alchemist,” said the alchemist. “He understands the forces of
nature. And he wants to show you his extraordinary powers.”
The boy listened quietly. And fearfully.
“What is a foreigner doing here?” asked another of the men.
“He has brought money to give to your tribe,” said the alchemist,
before the boy could say a word. And seizing the boy’s bag, the
alchemist gave the gold coins to the chief.
The Arab accepted them without a word. There was enough
there to buy a lot of weapons.
“What is an alchemist?” he asked, finally.
“It’s a man who understands nature and the world. If he wanted
to, he could destroy this camp just with the force of the wind.”
The men laughed. They were used to the ravages of war, and
knew that the wind could not deliver them a fatal blow. Yet each felt
his heart beat a bit faster. They were men of the desert, and they
were fearful of sorcerers.
“I want to see him do it,” said the chief.
“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, we humbly offer you our lives, for the honor of your
tribe.”
</p>
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<h5 class="pageNumber">Page 53</h5>
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