The Sandmakers
     by Jason Brandenburg   

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        Light is comfort and the dark is home. Protection is fear of what is unknown. Strength is small and in the heart, beliefs, as grand as acres. As long as they're kept close to your breathing soul, you'll never meet the sandmakers.

        This is my testament to the events that have occurred here. If I don't have the chance to tell my story first hand, this may be the only way it will get out. The others left long ago to warn anyone they could of the coming threat, but I fear the worst has happened to them. I can no longer tell where I am exactly, but live the best I can in my situation. I need to leave a mark here incase I never return. These writings will be just that.
        I left five years ago, and I don't plan on returning. Though I always seem to be alone these days, my mind feels free and clear. My beliefs are held strong in my heart, and I know I'll never lose them again. Tonight, as I look around through the snow-covered valley, a sort of majestic light emanates from the earth. Even from inside my cabin, I can feel the warm glow from the cold field.
The smell inside was quite sharp enough to keep me up all night, seeing as I had to keep my horse indoors during the winters. With so much time to myself, the silence could sometimes feel deafening if I concentrated on it enough. My swords sat on the table free from collecting dust, and I became more impatient every time I looked at them. I've polished them so many times; the shine it gave off could make the sun itself squint.
        Where the hell are they? It's been too long. I don't think they're going to return. I've been waiting for over ten days now, and feel more alone with each day that passes. The group was supposed to give King Terias at Ubara the letter, but it wouldn't have taken them this long. I'm leaving in the morning. It's not safe here anymore. I escaped their grasp once, and I'm sure they'll be around soon to correct the mistake.
        From where I sit, quill in hand, by a small stack of paper flailing in the breeze, the cabin seems darker than usual. It may be the lack of candles I've had for the past week, or possibly the cloudy night outside, but I myself believe it to be because of what I'm about to write. For this story will bring my worst fears to life, and my beliefs to the test. It's time to go back.

        It was almost dusk, and the daylight warmth gave way to the cool chills of the night air. Rill and I were returning from the Yorimire Church, just over the hill from Havis, our hometown. It was the fifth time we had to go and assist the Local Guard with a disturbance, and it was beginning to bother us a lot. We had been through hundreds of incidents, but having to drag insane priests down the aisle and out to an iron cage atop a horse drawn wagon while they lash out and scream violently, was definitely the oddest, and most disturbing of them all.
        "Believe and live! Believe and live!" the old priest yelled at us as we grabbed him by his four limbs and placed him inside the cage as lightly as possible in such a case. The one thing that bothered me the most about him in particular, is what he said afterwards. As I locked the cage up, Rill walked calmly to his horse and the two officers of the Local Guard waited on the wagon for me to finish so they could take him to the Havis Dungeon. Suddenly, I felt the priest grab the top of my shirt underneath my light armor, and pull me close.
        He looked at me with such psychotic eyes as he came closer, and his facial expressions seemed to change with the wind as if he had no control over them. He calmed down a bit; and stopped yelling and flailing his arms about when he started to whisper to me.
        "We have forgotten…we are not prepared for them…they will replace us…this is all theirs now…I didn't…I didn't…know…I didn't know until now…and they have come"
        I tried to understand what he was saying, but I knew it was probably all nonsense.
        "We are…the beginning…the start…" He continued, and I felt too much pity for the man to dismiss him so quickly. The guards atop the wagon yelled for me to hurry up, and I jingled the keys a bit to give the appearance that I was having a little trouble with the lock.
        "What has come?" I asked the priest as one of the guards came down off the wagon to help me with the lock, which was latched tightly for some time now. I didn't understand this, I didn't think I was supposed to. He was clearly insane, but I wanted to know a bit more before the guard broke this up.
        "What has come?" I whispered, demanding an answer quickly.
 The old priest's facial contortions seemed to be increasing with every passing second until they stopped suddenly. He looked at me like the priest I had remembered from days ago. He looked into my eyes sincerely, still gripping my clothes.
        "The Sandmakers…" he answered as the guard interrupted, forcing the priest to release my shirt as his face began twisting and turning wildly, rolling around in the cage.
        I stood silent as the wagon left and I could hear the old man returning to his repetitive babble. It haunted me on our way back to town.
        Word had spread to the Far West coastal towns of Yavin and Loak about the church's ‘internal problems', and it hurt trade relations for all of us in Havis. Being the neighboring town to the cruelly titled ‘Cursed Church', would not be a highlight in our town's history.
        I could see the look on Rill's face, and it wasn't good. I found it easier over time to hide my own fears and frustrations behind a stern look, but Rill was never the type to hide things in. He looked like I felt, and it wouldn't be long before I looked the same way. As we entered town, we could hear ourselves breathe in the silence that once was a rare occurrence here.
        I think back to when Havis was grand, and it amazes me how it's changed in less than a decade without the help of a war, riots, or a giant flood. The streets used to be packed with villagers and visitors alike, even at night like now. We were the center of all trade in the plains of Fellis, but now we're avoided. Sometimes I see groups of traders and travelers in the distant hills riding through without even a glance in our direction. Whether I wanted to believe it or not, Havis was indeed cursed. Plagued by the madness of stories and rumors.
        As we approached my home, the smallest building on the main road, I gave Rill a simple nod and we parted company. I tied my horse to the warn post just outside my door and watched Rill slowly trot away. He seemed so disconnected, as if he had been sleepwalking. He was like that for months now, and I was afraid to say anything to anyone. I was an unofficial member of the Local Guard, and if I questioned my friend's state of mind, I might end up assisting in dragging him into an iron cell shortly after.
        My home was very small, but it was my home. No matter what was happening that day, I was able to push my worries away with the sight of it. Whether the town was bustling with business or eerily silent, it was all the same from inside my home. I had a small fireplace in the back, a rickety bed to the side and small chipped and splintering table in the center. Not exactly the Royal Palace in Gerro, but I'd never been there, so it was just as good.
        As I looked out my one window, I could see the hills leading to the church. My father taught me to respect the church, and all of its holy employees. Before his death, we would go every morning to pray, and assist the priests with some daily chores, such as tending the small gardens, and reaping the tall grass behind it. But, there was no grass to cut, and no gardens left to water now. A blanket of sand began emerging two years ago behind the church, and it soon surrounded it. Today, the plains to the east seem like a desert, and it's getting close to the town's borders.
        After a few minutes of silent contemplation, I fell asleep at the table again. I didn't like to sleep anymore. I heard voices. Voices that said more than odd ramblings and simple nonsense. Lately, the voices seemed to say something. As if each night's dream was a part of some riddle, something I was supposed to understand piece by piece, but for the life of me, I couldn't.
        Tonight I experienced only moments of peace before they beckoned me again.
        "The past has laid waste to them." The voice comes as a dark whisper that makes me shiver violently when I'm awake and thinking about it.
        "What is this?" I speak out every now and then, when I feel courageous enough to. I usually start with the same question.
        "It is you. You are left. Believe and live." The voice never acknowledges me.
        "This is about the priests, isn't it?"
        "The past has laid waste to them."
        "To the priests?"
        "It is you. You are left. Believe and live"
        As abruptly as the voice began, it was gone, and I awoke. Jumping up from my bed, I took a deep breath, and then was about to lie down again to go back to sleep when I heard the most peculiar noises. It was so odd, yet, the most familiar and pleasing noises I had ever heard. It was the sounds of the merchants. The merchants, the travelers, the villagers, and the traders. The sounds I had heard every morning as a child when I awoke.
        I hadn't noticed it before, but the sun was out. It poured through my window in a beam that shot across the center of the room. I slowly stood and looked outside to see small merchant tents up everywhere. The groups of people surrounding the area were rather average, but nonetheless strange to see so far from the town's days of glory.
        I was so caught up in the moment that I didn't stop to think about why it was here, or what my nightly dream meant as I dressed rapidly and headed for the door.
 As I opened the door, I could hear my father's laugh, and suddenly, it was all gone. I stood frozen in horror as the door finished opening by itself, and a skeleton stood before me. It was scantily clad in golden armor from a time long before any recorded, and it's eye sockets seemed to stare directly into my soul.
        I could hear the joints creak as it lifted its right hand up to me. I wanted to run. I wanted to close the door and run far, through the window, and out to the crowds, but as I thought about it, I realized that the crowds were gone. I slowly looked down towards the hand as I started to hear a hissing sound pour from it's gaping jaw that almost sounded like breathing.
        Falling through its hand was a pile of sand. It sat partially in the small grooves of its bony palm while the rest ran through its dirty, gray fingers. I wrinkled my eyebrows as I looked at the haunting ivory face for answers. I had never felt so alone and scared for my life, yet my mind was clear. For the first time in years, my heart raced beyond conventional parameters and I began sweating profusely, but my mind was free. It's the most difficult feeling I could ever try to explain, but before I could fully understand my situation, the hissing noise originating from within the dark skeleton changed to a voice. A whispering voice. The voice I had heard every night as I slept since the town began changing.
        I couldn't make out what it was saying; though it sounded like it was repeating something over and over again. As I tried to listen, frozen at my doorway, the skeleton lifted its left arm. The creaking of the bones sent chills up my spine, but, I was too frozen with fear to acknowledge the spasms. The arm reached over my shoulder and pointed. The voice continued as I felt myself turn slowly to face my home. It was as if someone or something was pushing me from one side in one direction, while someone else pushed me in the other direction from the other side. It felt like two extremely strong winds, though nothing was moving but me.
        I focused on my room, and was surprised at the sight. The sunlight was gone and the room was once again dark. As I looked at my bed, it appeared as if I hadn't slept in it for days. Then, I saw someone sitting in my chair at the table in the center of the room. It was very dark, and I couldn't make out the shadowy figure at first.
        Suddenly, the figure raised his head, and stood up. I knew I had seen the man before, and I became more positive with each step he took towards me. Then, I realized who it was, but didn't know why. The figure walked right up to me, his eyes looking very unfocused and tired, his movements lifeless. He walked around me, and through the skeleton as if it wasn't there. I didn't understand why I was seeing what I was seeing. It was me.
        The skeleton, still repeating the same whisper over and over, began speaking a bit clearer as I felt myself turn back to it.
        "The past has laid waste to them. It is you. You are left. Believe and live"
        Over and over the dark skeleton whispered. My frustrations turned to anger as my fears joined in rage. I felt myself free, in my own control again, and I immediately stepped back a few feet, stumbling as I went. The skeleton still stood in the doorway, whispering it's enigmatic message repetitively.
        "I don't understand!", I yelled from the ground as I felt trapped in a maze of oddity. My breathing returned to normal and I felt the dry sweat layered across my forehead as I put my hands over my face. I tried to think of what the priest said. I tried to remember the exact words he whispered to me earlier, but I couldn't.
        The skeleton began walking forward carefully, with its bones creating a chaotic group of creaking noises that filled the room like a twisted song. Suddenly I remembered.
        "The Sandmakers?!", I yelled as the skeleton stopped suddenly, and the whisper died. I naively thought I had done something great, that maybe all it took was a word, and it would all go away. After a few moments of silence, the skeleton fell to the ground with a loud crash. The bones dissolved quickly into small piles of sand before my eyes, as I felt my heart beating faster again.
        The room felt normal. Well, as normal as one could be with the dissolved bones of an armored whispering skeleton by your feet. I looked around for more surprises, listening hard for any odd noises, but heard none. Then the door slammed shut, the shock jolting my senses, and I fell clumsily to the ground, asleep.
        In the morning, I awoke where I had remembered falling asleep, in the chair by my old table. I was still fully dressed from yesterday, and the sun beamed in through my window, on my head. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I got my bearings straight and stood up to stretch. I reached high with my arms and felt my back unwind. I let out a light grunt from the relaxing feeling, until I caught I glimpse of the hard, wood floor.
        Believe and Live
        It was written in sand. Possibly the same sand that was once a skeleton, but I wasn't ready to investigate. I slowly walked around it and left my home, for the first time in a long time, eagerly. I saw Rill walking his horse slowly towards my home from across town, but for some reason, he looked different. I didn't know what it was exactly, but I knew that it definitely wasn't Rill.
        As I came to this realization in my head, I swear I saw him smile. I hadn't seen him smile in such a long time, and it was as if he knew what I was thinking. I immediately mounted my horse and left town in the opposite direction. As I looked back, racing through the tan field of dying grass, I saw that Rill wasn't following. He looked as if he didn't care, but he didn't stop smiling. That made me ride faster, and by the time I looked back again, Havis was gone from sight.
        I haven't been there in five years, and I don't plan on returning. In my travels across the continent, I tried to rationally warn people of Havis, but none seemed to care. I did everything I could short of getting sent to prison as an insane wanderer.
        A few months ago, I came across the kingdom of Ubara, the southernmost civilization known. I recruited the help of a few men in a neighboring town, and we headed here, to this cabin in the valley far from the kingdom.  I hired them with every last piece of gold that I had to send messages I had written to the major kingdoms on the continent. But they haven't returned yet, and I don't expect them anymore. There is the chance that they gave up and left with the gold, but I only gave them one third of their payment, and promised them the rest when they'd return.
        I've come across a book last year that I am finally taking the time to read now that I find myself alone and without anymore options. Its called The Book of Khirandi, and I don't remember where I got it, and the more I think about it, and what it said, I don't believe I was given it by any conventional means.
        It's hard to read; most of it written in a very old language that I'm not even vaguely familiar with. Hundreds of pages of writings that made little sense to me, until I looked at it this morning. This morning I opened the book after I fed my horse, and this is why I now am writing this document.
        This morning the book was written in Belaic, the most common language on the planet. It was like reading a list of hidden sins your loved ones were guilty of; as I read page after page of things I couldn't have dreamt about.  It talked of the coming of a new race. A race far superior to ours that was worshipped thousands of years ago. A race that was coming.
        I put the book down and stared out the window. For the first time, I felt like no one in existence has ever felt before. I felt alone. But, not alone as did that night in Havis, no. I was to be the last of my kind.  The Sandmakers were coming, and no one man alive believed in them but me. I wondered what would happen to me when it was all over, after the morning I wake up to see the snow covered valleys covered by sand. Would I be visited again? I couldn't be sure. The book wasn't too clear on any lone survivor scenarios.

        I stopped writing my story for a moment as I felt my hand cramp up. The fire began to die, so I quickly threw another two pieces of wood on the pile. After a few minutes, the flames took to the logs, and the heat filled the room. I stood up and looked around. Nothing ever seemed as different. My swords seemed more than just ordinary swords. The table they sat on seemed like more than just an ordinary table. Things seem different when you're this alone. It's a feeling unlike any other, but not at all bad.
        I walked over to my horse, and grabbed the reigns by it's head, petting it casually. It stood calmly as I looked into its eyes, and saw the same icy stare I received from the skeleton in my dream. When the horse didn't seem to react to my presence, I walked away, and sat back in my chair again.
        "They're done." I said to myself as I closed my eyes and listened to the wind blow over the roof, as it intensified with each passing minute.