The Story of the Aeolian Dunes Collection
Trials of the Desert
Alexander tugged the dust-caked hood from his head and dragged a forearm across his sweat-slick brow. His aide handed him a canteen of warm water, which tasted like nectar as he let it trickle down his throat.
Behind him the great Western Desert of North Africa unfurled to the edge of the world and beyond, a burning sea of ochre and rust.
His personal guard, two hundred hardened Macedonians, followed in single file, a living ribbon snaking along the razor-backed dunes. Ahead rose the fabled Oracle of Ammon, the single goal that had driven him across three merciless months of sand and thirst. The road to Siwa had been brutal; now, at last, it was done.
A figure stepped from the temple’s shadowed mouth, wrapped head to foot against the white fury of midday. Alexander touched his heels to his horse and rode forward.
“Welcome, my child!” the cloaked priest called, voice bright with triumph. “Long have we awaited you.” He spun on his heel at once, already retreating toward the cool dark. “Come. Join us in the inner sanctum.” The priest beckoned with a sweep of his sleeve. “Your men will remain in the courtyard. These ancient stones will shield them from the sun, and water will be brought at once.”
Alexander paused at the threshold and cast one last look over his shoulder. The ranked dunes stretched away forever, an endless golden avalanche. The return march would be a punishment. Worth it, he told himself, and let the thought fall away. Not forgotten, only set aside. Just one more trial gladly embraced by a man whose will had been weighed again and again, and had never once been found wanting.
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