The Magic Compass (A2-B1)

Chapter 1: An Adventurous Plan

The Magic Compass Audio

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The wind in Ulaanbaatar can be strong. Some days it tastes like dust and smoke. Some days it smells like rain. On one such day, two friends sat on a bench near Sükhbaatar Square and watched the sky turn pink.

Sarnai had a notebook on her knees. She liked to plan. She wrote lists of things to do and lists of dreams. Temuulen had a camera in his hands. He took photos of people walking by.

“We should go,” Temuulen said.

“Go where?” asked Sarnai without looking up.

“Anywhere but here. I want to feel wind that smells like grass, not buses.”

Sarnai smiled. “That is not a plan. That is a wish.”

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s make it a plan then. Let’s go on a short trip for one week.”

Sarnai thought about her summer. She had a part-time job at a bookstore. She liked the job. She liked the old man who owned the store. But she has been feeling crowded in the city lately, as if she had less space to breathe.

“Maybe,” she said. “If we can do some good too.”

Temuulen laughed. “You want us to carry books to a school on our backs?”

“Why not?” she said. “We could bring used books to a small school. My grandmother lives in Arkhangai. There’s a school there that needs things.”

Temuulen nodded. “Okay, fine. A trip with a reason. That sounds like you.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“I guess, it means you’re a good person,” he said. “And, you always want a good reason before you do things.”

They both laughed. It was warm outside. The afternoon sun was shining beautifully on the square. Sarnai’s phone rang. It was a message from her mother. It had a photo of a small wooden box and a note.

The note said: “This is from your grandmother. Your grandfather made this when he worked at the radio station. She said it is a ‘Wind Compass.’ It points to what you need most on a journey. I don’t know if it works, but she wants you to have it.”

“Wind Compass?” Temuulen said. “Sounds like an adventure.”

Sarnai held the phone with both hands, as if it might fly away. “My grandfather was an engineer. He liked to make small things that moved. It’s probably just another strange old compass.”

“Let’s see it though,” said Temuulen.

“Fine”, Sarnai replied reluctantly.

They met the next day at the bookstore. The old man made tea and sat with them as if they were his own children. Sarnai opened the box. There was a small round device the size of a cookie inside the box. It had a clear cover and a thin needle. There were tiny words around the edge in traditional Mongolian script. It wasn’t pointing north. It pointed nowhere. The needle was still.

“What does it do?” Temuulen asked.

Sarnai turned it in her hands. “Here,” she said. She pressed a small button. The needle shook. A soft sound came, like a whistle far away. Then the needle moved, very slowly, and pointed to the door of the shop.

The old man blinked. “Maybe it points to the place your heart wants to go,” he said.

Temuulen stood and walked to the door. “My heart does want to go out there,” he said with a smile.

Sarnai looked unsure. “It could be a trick. Or just a broken compass.”

The old man put his cup down. “Your grandmother is a wise woman,” he said. “Even if it is broken, the story is true. A journey needs a direction.”

That night the sky over Ulaanbaatar was clear. Sarnai and Temuulen made a plan. They would take the bus to Kharkhorin, then find a ride to her grandmother’s home in Arkhangai. They would carry a bag of books, notebooks, and pencils for the school. They would take food and a small tent. They would take the Wind Compass too, for luck or for help. They promised to be back in one week.

Before bed, Sarnai held the little compass. In the quiet of her room, she pressed the button again. The needle moved and pointed to a photo on her desk: a photo of her and Temuulen on a winter day, both in thick coats, both laughing so hard they looked like they could fall down.

She felt a warm feeling in her chest. “Maybe it points to friendship,” she whispered.

Chapter Two: Across the Wide Land

The bus was full of people and small bags and the sound of quiet talk. As the city fell behind them, the land opened like a book. The hills rose and fell like a sleeping animal. Ger camps sat like white moons on the green.

Temuulen filmed from the window. “Look,” he said. “See that horse with one white eye? It looks like a story.”

“Everything looks like a story to you,” Sarnai said. But she was smiling.

They reached Kharkhorin by evening and slept in a small guesthouse. The owner was a kind woman who wore a blue deel with a silver belt. She told them about the weather.

“Wind is coming,” she said. “A big one, maybe tomorrow night or the next. Be careful in the open land.”

In the morning they bought noodles, bread, and dried meat. They asked around and found a man with a small truck who was going in the same direction.

“Get in,” he said. “I’ll take you as far as the river. After that, you walk to your grandmother’s place. It’s not far.”

The truck bounced on the dirt road. The sky was wide and blue. The driver sang an old song. Sarnai held the Wind Compass in her hand. The needle rested, then slowly turned to the right.

“Does it work?” Temuulen asked, watching it with one eye and the land with the other.

“I don’t know,” Sarnai said. “It doesn’t point north.”

“Maybe it points to tea,” he said. “I could use tea.”

They laughed again. It was easy to laugh out there.

By afternoon they reached the river. It cut the land like a silver ribbon, slow and calm. They thanked the driver and climbed down. They waved until the truck was a dot and then nothing.

They walked along the water. The wind was light. After a while they saw a boy on a small horse, riding fast toward them. The horse’s hooves were quick. The boy’s face was red from the sun.

He stopped and stared at them. He looked about ten years old. He wore a cap and his hair stuck out in all directions.

“Are you Sarnai?” he asked, breathless.

“Yes,” Sarnai said, surprised. “How do you know my name?”

“Your grandmother sent me,” the boy said. “I’m Batsaikhan. My family lives not far from her. She asked me to watch for you by the river. She said you might come today.”

“Is she okay?” Sarnai asked, worry on her face.

“Yes,” the boy said. “But two of our goats are missing. My father and I have been searching. And the wind is getting strong. The sky looks tired. We don’t like it.”

Temuulen looked up. The blue had a pale, thin look now, as if something behind it was pushing. “We should hurry,” he said.

They followed Batsaikhan to a small ger camp. A woman made them tea with milk and salt and handed them hot bread. While they ate, the woman spoke in a low voice.

“Your grandmother is brave,” she said. “But she went to check the upper pasture in the afternoon. She hasn’t come back yet. It is not dark, but the wind is changing.”

Sarnai stood. “We will go find her.”

The woman shook her head. “You just arrived. You are tired. Wait. My husband and son will go.”

At that moment, the door flap opened and a man came in, his hair dusty and his face lined. “I can’t find the goats,” he said. “Batsaikhan, take the horse and ride to the south hill. I will go to the west. The wind is wrong.”

Batsaikhan looked at Sarnai and Temuulen. His voice was small now. “I lost one of the goats earlier. I think it ran toward the old mine road. I did not tell father. I was scared.”

The room went quiet. The man’s face changed from worry to a kind of soft anger. He took a breath. “Thank you for telling us now,” he said, calmer. “We will look.”

Temuulen spoke. “We can help. We are not from here, but we can walk and search.”

The man nodded, as if he would take any help the world offered today. He drew lines in the dust with his finger—simple maps. “You two go with Batsaikhan toward the mine road. I will search the west ridge. If you find my son, you blow this.” He handed Temuulen a small metal whistle on a string.

Sarnai looked at the Wind Compass in her palm. The needle was still. She pressed the button. It shook and turned, then pointed toward the south. She felt her breath catch.

“It points to the same direction,” she said.

“Good,” the man said, not curious now about strange devices. “Go.”

They walked fast at first, then ran. Batsaikhan’s small legs were quick. The land grew more bare, with brown earth and small stones. The wind pressed at their backs, a slow hand that was growing more bold.

“Batsaikhan,” Sarnai said as they ran. “Are you okay?”

The boy did not look at her. “I lost our goat. And maybe I lost time. I told father late. I am not okay.”

Sarnai nodded. “Thank you for telling us now. That is brave.”

They reached the old mine road, which was not a road at all, just a line of flattened earth and broken wood. The wind smelled different here, like iron and old water. They slowed and listened. Nothing but the sound of air.

Temuulen took the whistle and blew. The sound was thin. It ran away in the wind.

They walked farther. The sky had changed; a brown wall rose in the west now. It looked like a mountain made of air. Dust.

“We need to find shelter if that hits,” Temuulen said.

Batsaikhan pointed. “There is a low place near the dry creek. There are old stones there. But we must find the goat. It is small and foolish. It will not find shelter.”

Sarnai looked at the Wind Compass. The needle turned and pointed to the right. She followed it with her eyes and saw nothing but a line of scrub.

“Let’s try there,” she said.

They moved as one, three small figures on the wide land. They called out in turns.

“Goat!” Batsaikhan shouted. “Little stupid one! Come here!”

“You can’t call it stupid,” Temuulen said, even now.

Batsaikhan puffed. “Fine. Smart little one! Come here!”

They all laughed, and the laugh broke the fear for a moment. Then they heard a sound—a thin, high cry like a flute made of wool.

“There!” Sarnai pointed. A small white goat stood with its leg caught between two rocks. Its eyes were wide. It tried to move but could not.

Temuulen and Batsaikhan ran to it. Temuulen pushed the rocks apart with both hands and a low sound in his throat. Batsaikhan pulled the goat’s leg free. The goat jumped back and looked at them as if it could not decide whether to thank them or run away.

“Go!” Batsaikhan said, and the goat ran, then stopped and waited, as if it understood a little.

The wind grew louder, like a train. The brown wall in the west had grown taller. It ate the horizon.

“We need to go back,” Sarnai said. “Now.”

Batsaikhan nodded, his face pale. They turned and began to run. The dust was already in their mouths. It tasted like the inside of a long dry memory.

They ran until they reached the dry creek. There were indeed old stones, low and strong. There was a shallow place like a bowl. They pulled a blanket from Sarnai’s bag and tied it to two stones to make a small wall against the wind. They pulled the goat in too. It lay down with its heart beating fast.

They huddled. The dust storm hit like a door slamming open. The air became thick and brown. They could not see each other’s faces now, only the dark shapes. The wind pulled at the blanket like a hand that wanted to steal it. Temuulen held one corner. Sarnai held the other. Batsaikhan put his body in front of the goat, as if the goat were a small brother.

“Your grandmother,” Temuulen shouted over the noise. “She is still out there.”

Sarnai closed her eyes. “I know.”

She took the Wind Compass out again and pressed the button. The needle shook hard now and jumped and then, slowly, pointed not toward the river or the ger camp, but toward the far ridge, where the storm was thickest.

“We can’t go now,” Temuulen said, his voice full of sand.

“No,” Sarnai said. She felt tears but they could not fall. The wind drank them first. “But as soon as it is less, we go.”

They waited. The world was a drum. It beat on and on. Time became strange. It stretched like dry leather. Batsaikhan’s breathing grew slow. The goat slept. Temuulen took the camera and held it to his chest, a silly act maybe, but it was important to him. Sarnai held the Wind Compass and felt it shake like a small heart.

She thought about her grandmother’s hands, always busy, always sure. She thought of her grandfather making small machines that hummed softly like bees. She thought about the city and the store and the old man. She thought about this boy they had just met who had trusted them. She thought about Temuulen next to her, his arm warm against hers.

She spoke, not loud, but clear. “We are going to find her.”

Temuulen turned his head. “We will. Together.”

“Together,” Batsaikhan said from under his cap.

At last the wind slowed. It did not stop, but it grew tired. They stood, slow and careful. The air was still a soup of dust, but they could see a few meters. The goat shook itself and sneezed, which made them all smile again.

“Let’s go,” Sarnai said.

“Are you sure?” Temuulen asked. “The camp is closer. We could go back and tell them.”

Sarnai looked at him. His face was brown with dust, but his eyes were the same. “If we go back, and she is hurt, the time we lose could be the time she needs. The Wind Compass points to the ridge.”

Temuulen looked at the device. He could not see the needle, but he knew she could. He trusted her.

“Okay,” he said. “We go to the ridge.”

They tied scarves across their mouths and noses and walked. It was a slow, hard walk. They leaned forward as if the air was a hill. Sometimes they had to stop and turn their backs to the wind to rest. They did not talk much. When they did, it was simple words.

“Left,” Sarnai would say, or, “Hold my hand,” or, “Duck.”

When they reached the base of the ridge, the dust thinned just enough to see shapes. Rocks like teeth. A low cave like a mouth. And a small movement in the shadow.

“Grandmother!” Sarnai cried.

A voice came, thin but strong. “Sarnai?”

They ran the last few steps. Inside the shallow cave, an old woman sat with her back against the rock. Her hair was white and braided. Her face was lined like a map. She held a scarf over her mouth. Next to her, another goat lay, calm, as if it had always lived there.

“Are you hurt?” Sarnai dropped to her knees.

“I fell,” her grandmother said. “Twisted my ankle. I found this cave and waited. I hoped someone would come.”

“We came,” Temuulen said softly.

Batsaikhan looked small and wide-eyed. “Sarnai brought a magic thing,” he said. “A Wind Compass that points to what you need.”

The grandmother smiled with her eyes. “Ah. Your grandfather’s toy. He would be happy to know you used it for something real.”

Sarnai’s throat was tight. “We have to move you. Can you stand?”

“Slowly,” the grandmother said. “I am not a horse anymore.”

Temuulen took off his jacket and folded it as a band. They used it to wrap her ankle. Sarnai and Temuulen helped her stand. Batsaikhan kept close, his small hands ready to hold whatever part of the world looked like it might fall.

They walked down the ridge together. The wind still pulled, but it had lost its anger. The dust was now a veil, not a wall. The land was a shape again.

At last they saw the ger camp ahead, round and white, clean like the moon after a storm. The man stood outside, his face turned toward them. When he saw them, he ran. He reached Batsaikhan and picked him up from the ground as if he were a piece of the sky.

“Thank you,” he said to all of them, his voice soft and full at the same time.

Inside the ger, the woman put hot tea in their hands and soup in their bowls. She touched the grandmother’s hair with a careful hand, as if she were touching time itself.

“We looked for you,” the woman said.

“I knew you would,” the grandmother said. “But these children are fast. And the wind was strong. I did not wish to make you worry more.”

Sarnai took the Wind Compass from her pocket and set it on the low table. The needle was still. She pressed the button one more time. It moved and pointed to the center of the ger, where the stove stood, warm and alive.

Batsaikhan’s eyes were huge. “It points to soup now,” he said, and everyone laughed, and the laughter was like rain after heat.

They ate and drank and told the story again, this time with the easy smiles that come when danger is already behind you. The grandmother watched Sarnai and Temuulen with a look that was both proud and a little sad.

“You two,” she said at last. “You are a good team. But storms don’t only come from the sky. They can come between friends too, if you let small things grow big.”

Temuulen and Sarnai looked at each other. He had wanted to film more. He had wanted to chase a tale of a “Blue Lake” that people said was hidden somewhere in the hills, a lake that showed your face as you really were, not as you wished to be. She had wanted to go straight to the camp, to bring the books, to be useful. They had not fought, but the difference had sat between them quietly.

“We know,” Sarnai said. “We won’t let it grow.”

Temuulen nodded. “We won’t.”

The grandmother tapped the Wind Compass with one finger. “This toy was made from old radio parts,” she said. “Your grandfather said it listens to small sounds in the air. It listens to the way wind moves around hills and stones. It listens to iron under the earth. He said it can guess the right way when a person is lost. But he also said it works best when two people hold it together.”

Sarnai and Temuulen each put a hand on the compass. The needle wavered, then settled. It pointed at both of them, if a needle can do such a strange thing. They felt silly and sure at the same time.

“Tomorrow,” the grandmother said, “you can take the books to the school. Tonight you can sleep.”

They did. They slept like children, like stones, like travelers after a long road.

Chapter Three: The Blue Lake

In the morning the land was clean again. The storm had washed the sky. The grass looked brighter than before, as if it loved the wind that had tried to hurt it. Sarnai and Temuulen walked to the small school with their bag of books. Children ran around them like birds. A teacher with kind eyes thanked them with both hands.

“Come,” she said. “Have you ever seen the old larch tree near the spring? The children like to play there.”

They followed and watched the children laugh and jump. Batsaikhan was there, his cap on backward, his face still somehow dusty and bright. He waved at them with both arms.

Temuulen filmed the tree and the children and the way sunlight made the leaves look like small songs. “I wish I could send this to the city,” he said. “People forget that wind can be a friend too.”

Sarnai sat on a stone and wrote in her notebook. She liked to hold words in her hand.

When they were about to leave, Batsaikhan ran to them. “Do you still want to see the Blue Lake?” he asked Temuulen, shy but brave.

Temuulen laughed. “You heard me yesterday?”

“Everyone heard you,” Batsaikhan said. “You talk with your whole body.”

Temuulen looked at Sarnai. She raised one eyebrow. He knew that look. It said, If we go, is there a reason that is good? He chose his words with care.

“I want to see it,” he said. “But not just for a video. People say the lake shows your true face. I want to see what we look like after the storm.”

Sarnai put the notebook away. “That is a good reason,” she said.

Batsaikhan’s father gave them a horse to carry the bag and some water. “The lake is not far,” he said. “But it is easy to miss. There is no big path. Take the boy. He knows the small paths.”

They walked in a thin line: Batsaikhan in front, quick and sure; the horse behind him, patient; Sarnai and Temuulen side by side. The land rose slowly. The air smelled like pine and cool stone. Birds made soft sounds in the trees.

At the top of a low ridge, the land opened again into a small bowl. In the center was a clear pool of water no bigger than a ger. It was so still that it looked like a piece of sky on the ground. The edges were lined with small white stones.

“The Blue Lake,” Batsaikhan said, as if he were introducing an old friend.

They stood at the edge and looked down. The water was very clear. They could see their own faces as if looking into a glass. But it was not like any mirror. They looked back at themselves and saw tiny things that normal water does not show—tired lines near the eyes that come from worry and kindness; a small scar on Temuulen’s chin from a fall, which he always forgot; the way Sarnai’s mouth turned down a little when she thought too hard; the pride in Batsaikhan’s shoulders now that he had helped save a life.

Temuulen took a step back, then forward again. “Do you see?”

“I see,” Sarnai said. “It shows the truth, but not to hurt. It shows it to teach.”

Batsaikhan nodded, serious and happy at once. “My mother says it shows you what you need to see before you go home.”

They sat near the lake and ate bread. They told small stories: about the store in the city, about the horse with the white eye, about a joke the old man in the bookstore told every spring. They were light now, like people who had walked out of a long tunnel.

Temuulen set the camera down and did not turn it on. He looked at Sarnai. “I should say I’m sorry,” he said. “Yesterday I wanted to chase a story when we had a job to do. If the wind had been worse, if we had lost time… I cannot stop thinking about it.”

Sarnai looked at the lake and then at him. “You wanted to follow a dream. That is not a bad thing. But there is a time to chase and a time to carry. We can help each other with that.”

Temuulen’s eyes were wet but bright. “Yes. We can.”

Batsaikhan threw a small stone into the water. The rings moved out, even and calm. “The lake does not keep your face,” he said. “It lets it go.”

They stood to leave. Sarnai took the Wind Compass and pressed the button one last time by the lake. The needle turned and pointed—this time, not toward any hill or camp, but toward the path they had walked together.

Temuulen laughed. “It points backward?”

Sarnai shook her head. “I think it points to where we came from to tell us something.”

“What?” Batsaikhan asked.

“That the path behind us is also the path in front of us,” Sarnai said. “We go home now, but we carry the same road inside.”

Temuulen put a hand on the Wind Compass too. The needle settled as if it liked that.

“Maybe your grandfather made more than a machine,” he said. “Maybe he made a small promise.”

They walked back as the light grew soft. At the ger, the grandmother waited with bowls of noodles and meat. She watched them come down the hill, the three of them in a line, and she smiled.

That night, after stories and tea, Sarnai sat with her grandmother under the stars. The sky in the countryside is so full it almost hurts to look at it. The stars looked like a million small doors. The wind sang in the grass. The world was big, and also just the size of a hand holding another hand.

“Grandmother,” Sarnai said. “We will go back to the city tomorrow.”

“I know,” the grandmother said. “The city needs you too.”

Sarnai turned the Wind Compass in her hands. “What should I do with this?” she asked. “Should I bring it back?”

The grandmother thought for a moment. “When your grandfather finished it, he said it would work best when it is used for others,” she said. “Maybe leave it with the school. For the next time someone needs a direction.”

Sarnai looked at the small round face, the thin needle that had pointed them through dust and worry. She felt a small ache to keep it. But she also felt a larger, kinder thing rise in her.

“I will leave it with the school,” she said.

“And you and that boy?” the grandmother asked. “Temuulen. Are you okay?”

Sarnai smiled in the dark. “We are. We learned how to walk at the same speed.”

“Good,” the grandmother said. “That is all friendship is: two people learning to walk at the same speed, even when the ground changes.”

In the morning they went to the school again. Sarnai gave the Wind Compass to the teacher. She told her the story. The teacher’s eyes were bright. She said she would keep it in a small box by the old larch tree, to be used when someone was lost or when a child needed to learn to trust their own feet.

Batsaikhan walked with them to the river. He kicked a stone the whole way, as if the stone also did not want them to go.

“Will you come back?” he asked.

“Yes,” Temuulen said. “We have a friend here now.”

“And a goat,” Sarnai added.

They all laughed.

At the river, the same driver with the small truck waited. He waved like an old friend. “Back to the city?” he asked.

“For now,” Sarnai said.

They climbed into the truck. The land moved past again, the same and not the same. Temuulen held his camera but did not turn it on yet. He looked at Sarnai.

“What do we do when we get back?” he asked.

“We go to the bookstore,” she said. “We tell the old man the story. We make tea. We put some of it online so people can see and feel it. And we plan our next small trip that does some good.”

Temuulen nodded. “Next time we carry books again?”

“Maybe we carry music,” Sarnai said. “Or stories. Or we just carry ourselves in the right way.”

He looked at her with warm eyes. “Together?”

“Together,” she said.

The truck rolled over a small bridge. The river below made a sound like someone whispering a secret. The wind smelled like grass again. The sky was wide. The world was open, and the road was clear.

As the city rose in the distance, dust and glass and life, Sarnai took out her notebook. She wrote:

We went to bring books and found a lake that showed our true faces. We faced a storm and found our real speed. We used a small compass that listened to wind, but it was friendship that showed us the way. Adventure is not only far. It can be as close as the next good step, taken side by side.

She closed the book and leaned her head on the window. Beside her, Temuulen finally turned on the camera. He did not point it at the land. He pointed it at the space between them—their hands, their knees, the small details that mean “we.” He smiled into the lens and then at her.

“Let’s tell it simple,” he said. “So more people can feel it.”

“Simple,” she agreed.

The truck hummed. The road sang a long, low song. The wind pressed into the open window, not hard, not soft, just right. The city grew closer, the land grew wider inside them, and the two friends, who had held a storm together, carried the adventure home.