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Phiom Nšari parted her lips, bubbles escaping from her mouth as she exhaled. She closed her eyes, concentrating on ancient words and images that flickered through her mind from ancient texts she had studied tirelessly for centuries. Nšari felt balanced and relaxed. The sea is ever so unpredictable. Some nights, the ocean waves are as still as a stone, on others, the waves are as wild as the whipping wind on a western desert. It has a visually pleasing exterior, a calming aura, and a peaceful facade, but behind that illusion, there is danger and destruction. For some, the ocean is a refuge, a place of meditation, however, for many its mystery inspires fear or even curiosity. Forever bound to the ocean waves, Phiom Nšari calls this ocean her home. She has a supernatural grip on the elements of the water. She embodies this illusion of the sea, and her desirable strength creates curiosity among younger mages. However, her experience as an ancient mage disconnects her from modern approaches and hinders her ability to see the good in mortals and their technology growth.
She sighed, returning to the surface, where a beaming hot sun beat down on her deep aqua and emerald-tinted fur. Phiom Nšari shot her eyes open, eyes set on a harbor floating along the coastline of Egypt in the port city of Tamiat, which with time the mortals had renamed to Damietta. The docks were bustling, people shuttling crates and barking orders at each other, prepping their ships. Her eyes burned with fury. For her entire life, earthly beings had created only destruction to her precious ocean, and she was sure whatever they were preparing for had malicious intent. Only days earlier had they polluted her water with harsh chemicals from a source unknown to her. Fish and local wildlife near the openings of the Nile Delta were being affected by the runoff, which prompted her to act quickly. She flushed the water from these rivers, completely dry to the touch.
With these rivers dried, her ocean had slowly begun to return to normal, sick fish became happy and active again, and seaweed and algae beamed in their natural color. However, these new preparations worried her. She clicked her tongue impatiently as she pondered her next course of action. Her floppy hair floated gently on the surface as she used her long, whip-like tail to propel herself. She paced along the surface of the Mediterranean Sea, a clan of bubbles following in her wake. As she scanned the land, her mind wandered, her anxious thoughts overtaking her.
Nsari stopped in her tracks, staring at the dock once again. Suddenly, she felt a shiver consume her body. A buzz rang in her ears for a slight moment before an unknown voice called to her in her head. She ignored the pesky voice summoning her to the shoreline; she believed it to only be her anxious thoughts consuming her, as no being had summoned her for centuries.
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“I should have known better than to believe you existed,” Kavir cursed the sea, “He must possess no magic at all to hide away! Shame to you!”.
He kicked his sand into the sea petulantly and turned his back on it. Suddenly the air felt heavier. Sweat sprang from his brow and the tang of salt seemed more present in the air. As he turned around any impertinence vanished at the whirlpool forming in front of him. The waters crashed and cascaded in on themselves, and from the center, a figure began to rise.
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Nšari’s eyes blazed as she emerged from the deep, power surging through her as she put on an awe-worthy display. The buzzing subsided and she sensed young magic emanating weakly from the kalon. She glared daggers at the being that had insulted her so and began her rebuke:
“I am Phiom Nšari, Mother of the Sea. You are foolish for believing yourself greater than the oldest of all magical beings. Your youth shall be the only thing that spares you from your own arrogance. Vanish before I change my mind to release you unscathed.”
This so-called Dasht-e Kavir was silent for a moment in shock. Nšari could sense his fear of her and took a certain glee in it. Then, his eyes hardened and remorse vanished as the fire returned to them.
“No,” he announced, “you are responsible for all water, correct? Then you know about the oases. You are killing innocent people who depend on their water. Please,” he begged desperately, “Stop this.”
Nšari contemplated his response, carefully studying the lesser magical being for any hint of falsehood. “I was not aware,” she admitted, “but nevertheless it is not my doing. The fate of humans is the least of my concerns.”
Kavir seemed to think before he continued. “I apologize deeply,” he spat out unwillingly, “But if we find the source, both of our problems could be solved.”
Nšari realized that, unfortunately, Dasht-e Kavir was correct. There was another reason for the tarnishing of her waters. She could not traverse the land without his guidance and partnership was mutually beneficial - maybe she could teach him some respect along the way.
“Perhaps... you could be of use.”[
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Kavir huffed as Nšari delivered yet another sermon from her about his ignorance of the old ways and let her voice fade into the background. They had been traveling for two days, Nšari in her protective water bubble and Kavir on foot, and Kavir had heard endless rants about lost culture and civility. Although she had the appearance of youth, she had to be several centuries old if not more. Nšari had an old way of speaking and a slow, churning presence like the feeling of being on open water. Her old magic intimidated him, but he attempted the illusion of confidence.
“... naive of the past! There are not many of us left that have the knowledge - “
“I’m going to call you Nšari'' he interrupted. Kavir smirked when her jaw dropped and walked on without her. From behind, he heard her sputter as she decided whether to lecture him about the dishonor of interrupting his elder or the disrespect of shortening her name.
When they reached the Nile, Kavir led Nšari to the boat crossing. He frowned when she continued up to the edge, her bubble dissolving the same time she stepped onto a wave.
“We’re crossing the river,” she explained without turning around.
“Crossing the river!” He squeaked but coughed as she shot him an impatient look. Reluctantly, he stepped onto the wave which had widened to make room for him and instantly regretted it. His head pounded and he felt a coldness he wasn’t used to as his powers faded. Kavir couldn’t remember how long it took to land on the opposite bank but he was relieved to feel his familiar sand under his feet again.
Nšari clicked her tongue impatiently while his strength returned. “Let’s go.”
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“You waste your talents on cheap magic trickery, Dasht-e Kavir,” she scolded one day with a sneer. “You should use them for greater purposes - that’s what we were created for. In our prime, we carved the land we walk into earth’s empty crust and filled it with life-giving forces.”
At her words, his movements stiffened like she’d struck a nerve. “I didn’t know,” he said so quietly she found herself asking “What?”
“I didn’t know I could do more. I was raised by fishermen, Nšari, what do you expect?” he cried out, his voice raw. The wind picked up and sand billowed around his heels but he didn’t notice. “I thought I was alone.” His voice broke and Nšari felt a twist in her heart. The more upset he got the more turbulent the sand became until it swirled around him so strongly that Nšari couldn’t see any more.
It disturbed Nšari to see Kavir’s familiar confidence crumble. Feeling with her hands, she reached out through the sandstorm until she met his shoulder. Eventually, he started to calm down and once the sandstorm had died down into a wistful breeze he sagged a little against her.
“I will teach you.” she resolved. Kavir offered a grateful half-smile and the pair wordlessly continued north towards Cairo.
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Three weeks had passed since their meeting. Kavir frequently argued with Nšari’s unwillingness to accept change, while she continued to accuse him of naivety. Nšari’s mentorship, however, had been invaluable. Kavir felt his powers strengthen each day and he could tell she was proud of his progress.
When they finally reached the outskirts of Cairo, Kashromi to Nšari, the view was not at all what Kavir remembered. Rows of white stretched across the valley and extensive man-made irrigation channels crisscrossed the fields like scars: the source of their problems. A fire lit inside him and his palms prickled as the sand churned at his feet.
Kavir glanced at Nšari, who had crumpled at the sight, and knew their mission had only just begun.
