Duneir — The Young Wayfinder of Tajiri

In Tajiri, the desert does not care how much money you have. It does not care about your family name, how impressive your home is, or how important you believe yourself to be.

When the sand begins to move and the horizon disappears, there is only one question that matters: Do you know the way home?

Duneir does. He is one of the youngest Wayfinders in his village a distinction that has earned him something far more valuable in Tajiri than material wealth. Trust.

Duneir was born beneath the relentless Tajiri sun. His skin is deep and dark, like the people who have spent generations living beneath it. His hair is kept close to his head, as is customary among many of Tajiri's people. As boys grow older, thick beards become another layer of protection against the punishing environment. Long and full, they help shield the face from blowing sand and the harsh desert elements. But perhaps the most recognizable feature of Tajiri is the headwrap. These are not simply pieces of cloth thrown across the head.

Colors, patterns and wrapping styles can identify family, village, responsibility and belonging. They also serve a practical purpose. When the winds rise, the same fabric that tells another Tajiri traveler something about who you are can be pulled across the face to protect the skin, nose and mouth from sand. In Tajiri, beauty and survival often occupy the same space.

The desert changes. That is one of the first things Duneir learned. A path that existed yesterday may disappear beneath the sand tonight. A familiar landmark may look completely different after a storm. Heat can distort the horizon until the eyes become unreliable. A Wayfinder learns not to depend upon a single sign. Duneir watches the sun, stars, direction of the wind, shape of the dunes, movement of animals and places where vegetation appears—and where it doesn't.

He remembers. More importantly, he knows when something is wrong. That instinct has made him unusually valuable despite his age. People considerably older than Duneir may know more than he does about many things. But when someone asks which direction they should travel through unfamiliar sand, they listen when he answers.

Duneir's family is not wealthy. Their home is modest. There are no overflowing rooms of possessions and no great family fortune waiting for him. Yet in Tajiri, there is more than one way to measure wealth. Duneir's family rarely goes without what it truly needs. Someone brings grain. Another family offers cloth. A hunter shares part of what was brought home.

A neighbor repairs something without asking for payment. Duneir's gift as a Wayfinder has helped people return safely to their families. His parents have helped others. Others have helped them. Favors are remembered. Trust is remembered longer. So while an outsider might look at Duneir's home and call his family poor, many people in Tajiri would disagree.

A person surrounded by people willing to answer when he calls is not poor.

There is, however, something about Duneir that even the people of Tajiri don't completely understand. He has never truly been alone. Since his birth, a sand serpent has been part of his life. The creature travels beneath the desert rather than across it, moving through sand with the ease of something swimming through water. Its long, powerful form resembles the great dragons described in ancient stories, though the people of Tajiri know it as something entirely its own. As Duneir has grown, so has the serpent.

Tajiri already has an extraordinary relationship with animals. Their covenant with the desert's creatures is ancient. Animals may answer calls for protection, aid in hunting or stand beside people in battle. Those relationships are respected as alliances but Duneir's relationship with the sand serpent is different. It began too early, no agreement was made, No creature was summoned, It was simply there. Why a sand serpent attached itself to a newborn child is a question no one has been able to answer. Duneir doesn't spend much time worrying about it.

To him, the creature isn't an ancient mystery. It is simply part of his life.

Duneir has also grown up understanding something children from wealthier parts of Nduara may never have needed to consider. Survival requires attention. His family fishes where the desert allows water. They hunt. They trade. They preserve food. They cook what is available rather than what they wish they had. And Tajiri's covenant with animals comes with responsibility. The creatures who work beside the people are not livestock. An animal that protects your family is not later placed upon your dinner table. An animal that hunts alongside you may share what it catches. The relationship is reciprocal. Take what you need. Respect what helps you survive. Waste as little as possible. The desert teaches that lesson quickly.

Duneir does not know that one day his ability to find a path may matter far beyond Tajiri. He doesn't know Kairo. He hasn't met Zahri. He doesn't know Toma, Batu, Oceara or Siraya.

Their lives are unfolding in completely different corners of Nduara. For now, Duneir's concerns are much smaller; learn, work, help his family, read the sand and come home.

There will come a time when the paths between Nduara's kingdoms become more important than anyone realizes. When that happens, kings, warriors and people with extraordinary gifts may all face the same problem: Knowing where they need to go is useless if no one knows how to get them there. Fortunately, somewhere beneath the Tajiri sun, a dark-skinned boy in a tribal headwrap is already learning how to find the way.