The next day, the old man rose before the sun, its early rays just starting to touch the earth. He explained that he needed to go to the village to exchange the fish caught the previous day for rice and fruits. In this land, everyone had their own work to do, and if they wanted something beyond what they produced, they traveled to the village. Abu Bakr and some of the sailors asked if they could accompany him, and the old man gladly agreed, saying the villagers would be happy to see them.
"Everyone in the village has heard the story of the old sailors who came to our land," the old man said. "They know what you did for us and will be happy to see you." On the way, Abu Bakr and the old man walked ahead, while the little girl and her brother laughed behind, enjoying being carried on the sailors' shoulders.
"Have you never heard of the first language?" Abu Bakr suddenly asked the old man, realizing his question was quite direct.
"What language is that?" The old man responded, surprised.
"I've heard stories of someone here who speaks an ancient language, and only a few can write it," Abu Bakr said, pulling out the book he had brought with him. He opened it to a page and showed it to the old man, but the old man shook his head, unable to recognize any of the letters. Abu Bakr felt a surge of disappointment, feeling that his long journey might have been in vain.
But the old man interrupted his thoughts, saying, "Perhaps you may find your way to the hermit. He knows everything people ask of him, but he's a bit secretive." He paused, then added, "He's a strange person, if you ask me, and he inherited that from his father, whom I met long ago."
Abu Bakr felt a glimmer of hope again. "Where can I find this hermit? Is he in the village?"
"He's the only one who prefers solitude more than I do. He lives far from here, in the high mountains. But many people travel to him every day, seeking his knowledge." The old man leaned in closer and whispered, as if afraid anyone might overhear. "It's said that he knows the secrets of the future. He's a unique person—our land has no one like him."
Though Abu Bakr didn't fully believe the stories, the desire to meet the hermit grew stronger, especially since his father's letter had mentioned a sailor who could read the book. Perhaps the hermit could teach him the language, and then he could understand the book's contents.
As they neared the village, the houses began to appear, hidden among the dense trees. Some of the houses were visible on the hilltops, and it wasn't long before the group became the center of attention. The villagers gathered, curious about their arrival. The old man explained what had happened the previous day, and their expressions changed. They began to welcome the travelers warmly, asking many questions, which the group answered.
All the houses in the village were made of wood, much like the old man's house, but their sizes varied. Gold adorned the doors, though it wasn't worn as jewelry—just a decoration. "It must be so abundant here that it's become a common sight," the boy thought to himself. Back home, his kingdom mined gold with great difficulty, trading it for the goods they needed. Yet here, gold seemed so plentiful.
That evening, after dinner, Abu Bakr found himself sitting alone on a hill facing the sea, bathed in moonlight. The feeling was indescribable. He sat on the opposite side of the balcony where his father used to look out, in a land he had always believed in one moment and doubted in the next. Now he was here, proving what many people at home refused to believe. Yet, he hadn't reached his goal. He glanced at his bag, remembering the book from Egypt.
Later, when the old man and Abu Bakr were alone, the former asked, "I want to leave for the hermitage tomorrow."
The first hours of the journey passed quickly, as the sun was blocked by the dense trees. But once they reached the foot of the mountain, the trees thinned, and Abu Bakr could see the sun, now high in the sky. Early in the journey, they met another boy who was also traveling to the hermit. The boy explained that he knew the way well and said, "I'm on my way to learn from the hermit and become like him, someone who knows everything."
"What are you going to ask him?" Abu Bakr asked.
At first, Abu Bakr hesitated, unsure of how much to share. From his previous journey in Egypt, he had learned not to trust everyone along the way, but this boy had shown him the path, and that was enough to offer some trust.
"I want to learn the language of our ancestors. I've come from a distant land to find someone to teach it to me, and I was told in the village that the hermit knows everything."
"Why learn an ancient language no one speaks?" the boy asked again, but Abu Bakr remained silent, unwilling to reveal the book's significance.
"The hermit teaches on one condition," the boy continued. "Everyone who reaches the mountain road may ask only one question. That's what my father told me when he sent me."
As darkness fell, marking the end of their first day of travel, they sat down to eat their dinner. The boy began to speak of his life, and Abu Bakr listened, occasionally commenting when necessary.
"I've been waiting for this day ever since this dream came to me," the boy said. "I want to become a hermit, to know everything."
Abu Bakr noticed the boy's determination, and it reminded him of his own resolve when he had set out on his journey from his kingdom in search of this land. The boy's stories continued each day, and soon Abu Bakr began to share his own thoughts. "I told my men who traveled with me from the distant land that I might be delayed. I left them the choice of waiting for my return or going back without me. Some wanted to stay, but I told them this journey was for me alone."
After many days of walking, talking, and watching beautiful sunsets, they finally reached the top of the mountain. From there, they could see everything below.
"We have arrived," said the boy to Abu Bakr.