Regisfall

The Sandworm



After half a day trying to shepherd the ridgebacks, without success, the son sought advice from the father.

"Father", the boy called out. "The animals won't follow me into the pen."

"Why not, my son?", the father asked.

"I think they don't want to leave the pasture."

"Hmmm. Maybe so", the father said, thoughtfully. "Come here, son. Sit with me by the fire. The day is almost done. Soon, the sun will dive into the dunes to rest, so the night and the moon can come out."

"But the ridgebacks..."

"Don't worry. They'll be there tomorrow, waiting for you. We're on an island, after all. Where would they go? Come, join your father. I want to tell you a story."

Despite what the father said, the son worried all the same. Yet, he sat on a rock next to the father, curious about the tale, just as the darkness of the night began to rise from the far sands and conquer the sky.

"Have I told you the tale of the sandworm?", the father asked, tossing a dry branch into the fire.

"Sandworm? No, father. I don't think so."

"It's an old legend of our people. Your grandfather told it to me. And his father to him. And now, I'll tell it to you."

The fire creaked, its orange light reflecting on the eyes of the father, giving him an ominous aspect as he began the tale:

"Long ago, our people were divided. Instead of one tribe, there were many, scattered across the desert. Some were even enemies."

"Enemies, father?"

"The desert demands more than it gives, son. And survival drives men to do the unspeakable. Yes, many were enemies. But I like to think some were allies. This happened after the time of the sandworms had passed."

"What are they, father?"

"It depends on who you ask. Some believed they were the guardians of these sacred dunes, protectors of the desert and its mysteries. Others believed they were just gargantuan monstrosities, destroying and devouring everything in their path. Another tale claims they were Outsiders who fell from the sun, hungry for the landmasses of Regisfall, like worms eating a fruit inside out. There were even those who saw them as sand spirits, embodiments of the wastes themselves. The truth is, to this day, we don't know. And we don't have to, child. Myths aren't meant for the ears, but the heart. Listen with yours."

"And what did they look like?"

"Oh, they were gigantic. Colossal, even. Titans in their own right. They spammed the horizon, son. It is said you could spot one from leagues away. First, you'd feel the tremors on the ground, followed by the approaching sandstorm. When you heard the shrieks, it was too late. Despite their impossible size and immense mouths, their teeth were surprisingly small. This, in my opinion, made them all the more terrifying. A mouth as large and deep as the darkest cave, covered by hundreds - no, thousands of little teeth, crushing and grinding everything sucked in. It is said they swallowed many of the first cities whole and molded the desert we see today. They say the High Dunes were formed when the sandworms bursted out of the scorched earth. And there were many of them, everywhere, all the time. We should be grateful and thankful to The Mother that we live in calmer days. The trials of our time don't compare to what the first men endured."

"But..."

"Yes, son?"

"If there were so many and they were so terrible, where are they? What happened to them? You said the story takes place after their time had passed."

The father smiled. The first stars rose from the sands and twinkled shyly in the nightsky. Soon the moon would follow.

"While there are many stories about the sandworms' origins, there is but one about their demise", the father continued. "They say The Wanderer slayed them, one by one."

"The Wanderer?"

"No one knows for certain where he came from. One day, he simply entered the desert, covered in tatters and wielding a magical staff crafted from a sunray. Many of our legends mention this enigmatic character. He has many names: The Bearer of The Eternal Flame, The Dunemancer, The Sandwraith, The Lion Who Vigils, The Sunstrider and, the last and my favorite, The Wanderer. He was a sorcerer and a miracle worker, claimed to have performed many marvelous deeds, such as taming and befriending a fire djinni, or splitting the island in two and separating them with the riversea, or magicking grass on dry soil, or defeating the sandworms by weaving firestorms."



"Whoa!", the son exclaimed in awe, enthralled by the father's words and finally forgetting the ridgebacks. "What was his name?"

"We don't know. He had many, as I said. Maybe one of them was correct. Or maybe he had none at all. That's just a minor detail. What's important is what he represents: the strength and bravery of man. And, perhaps, of a ka'mellan man, who stood alone against the might of the sandworms and prevailed. However...", the father said, pausing to increase the suspense, as he fed the fire more kindling. "However, one sandworm was said to have survived his firestorms. The largest, hungriest and direst of them all."

The fire grew, spreading to the recently tossed wood and iluminating the father's sinister expression when, in an quieter, hesitant tone, he added:

"Kolgrotta."

The son felt a shiver run down his spine as the wind seemed to pick up momentarily.

"When her siblings were destroyed, Kolgrotta hid and waited. She was said to have travelled far. Traversing the sunken lands beneath the oceans, she felt a pull, irresistable, to a warmth above her - a mote of the Eternal Flame: the Throne of Fire. She brought herself closer to it, twirling and coiling and basking in its radiance, absorbing it, feeding off it. And she grew even more and, suddenly, fire could harm Kolgrotta no more."

The son gasped.

"Oh no!"

"All the tribes spoke of Kolgrotta's return. Inevitable. Inescapable. And now, The Wanderer was no where to be found, resuming his travels after he rid the sands of Kolgrotta's siblings. Yet, there were those who dismissed the warnings and the omens, claiming that the sandworms had been gone for generations, that they were gone for good. But then... One day... Violent waves hit the shore, foreshadowing the behemoth tunneling underneath the waters and making her way to Ka'mella once again. The earth did tremble that day. A fierce sandstorm swept the land when Kolgrotta erupted from the sands, majestic and terrible. A dreadful screech could be heard all over the island. She had returned. Kolgrotta was here to carry out her revenge and all the desert was subject to her wrath."

"Father, that's so scary! What happened then? What happened? Please, continue!"

"In the brink of destruction, the tribes had no choice but unite. And together, they found a strength they assumed was lost. Together, they pilgrimaged. Together, they constructed the bridge to the other, smaller island. Together, they built this village. But they knew it was only a matter of time until Kolgrotta found them again. So, together, they prayed. They chanted the ancient songs and danced and cried and begged Kamalini for Her mercy and assistance. And as if The Mother heard their pleas... The Wanderer returned."

"Yes! Did he defeat Kolgrotta? Did he save everyone?"

"Calm down, son. We'll get there", the father said. "The Wanderer didn't speak a lot. Yet the weight of his gaze spared no words. When he arrived, riding a spectral steed, he looked upon the people and they realized then: he only came because all of them, together, called him. And the people wondered if that was his lesson to them; that their true power lied in unity. Then he set out to the desert, on his own, to confront Kolgrotta. She was already on her way and they met not too far from the bridge. Invoking the magic of his djinni, like a dragon The Wanderer breathed fire at the sandworm, engulfing it in his flames. But Kolgrotta, empowered by the Throne of Fire, was immune to The Wanderer's fire magics. The colossus dived, her mouth open, and burrowed into the sand, swallowing The Wanderer as she did. But while her carapace was resistant to fire, her insides were not. And every time her tiny teeth would harm The Wanderer, the Eternal Flame within him would rebuke, igniting her throat. Kolgrotta had no choice but to spit him out. And there they stood, in a fateful stare, two nemesis unable to war one another. Here, son, keep the fire lit."

It was like waking up from a dream. On a moment, the son was there, seeing it all: the firebreath, the sandworm's guts, and that mortal stare. On another, he was sitting here, in front of a dying fire, with his father handing him the kindling. He nodded and obeyed, his eyes on the father, waiting for the conclusion.



"Force wouldn't win that fight", the father continued. "Yet, force was all Kolgrotta knew. But The Wanderer knew better. This is how he defeated her. He lured her back to the High Dunes. To follow him, she had to burrow. But before she had a chance to emerge, The Wanderer summoned his fire djinni and together they unleashed a powerful Fire Nova outwards in all directions. The flames were so intense, they melted the sands and turned them to glass, a massive block of glass, entrapping Kolgrotta inside. Suddenly, without sand, the worm was unable to move, unable to twirl and coil, unable to benefit from her only advantage and the only strategy she knew: force. Then, using his dunamancy, The Wanderer covered the glass block with sand, leaving Kolgrotta encaged underneath, to be forgotten by the ages. Some believe she is still there, vengeful and raging, waiting patiently for the glass to shatter. Others believe she withered, famished, and that only a gigantic jaw, vertebra and ribcage remain in the glass prison."

"No one knows for sure?"

"No one does, son. Such is the way of legends."



"And what about The Wanderer?"

"Well, he went back to his wandering. But the tribes... The tribes were never divided again. Time passed. With the sandworms gone, the ophidians came. Now, the desert is theirs. But we have this village and it provides everything we need. There may come a day when those snakes grow bolder and decide to cross the bridge, but that day hasn't come yet. When it does, who knows, maybe he'll come again. I hope, my son, that this tale will teach you a lesson, just as the one The Wanderer taught us and the one Kolgrotta taught him. Sometimes, we can't win by force. We have to accept things as they are and adapt. Only then we'll grow wiser. And this is the end of our story."

The father smiled and rose. Then started making his way back to the village. The son stood as well and was about to follow, but then... Then he looked towards the ridgebacks, still stubbornly roaming the pasture. Suddenly, realization hit him. Under the moonlight, the son grabbed tools and a few boards. Then, instead of attempting to move the ridgebacks into the pen by force, he built a new pen around them on the grass. He couldn't help but smile. His battle was won.

It was already very late when he went back home. On his way, he could discern a faint glint amidst the sands. Curious as he were, he approached it and dug around it. He could barely believe his eyes when he stood again, holding a large shard of glass in his hands. Pursing his lips, he threw it away, trying his hardest not to think about it or about the tale of the sandworm and The Wanderer, as he ran towards the village.

The Great Library of Ka'Mella



After half a day trying to negotiate with the northerner, without success, the son sought advice from the father.

"Father", the boy called out. "The mercadian won't trade with us."

"Why not, my son?", the father asked.

"He wants three jars of ridgeback milk instead of two! Prices went up, he said!"

"He wants three now? He's always traded us two sacks of flour for two jars..."

"I know! He's just so stubborn! Why the sudden change?!"

"Hmmm! Why indeed!", the father exclaimed, thoughtfully. "Come here, son. Let's clean the pen together. It'll help you clear your thoughts and, who knows, maybe you'll figure a way out of your current situation."

"But the flour..."

"Don't worry. You still have some time before the bazaar closes. Come, join your father. I promise it won't be boring. I'll tell a story to entertain you."

"Another of your tales, father?"

"Another legend of our people, yes", he said. "Have I ever told you about The Great Library of Ka'Mella?

"No, father, I don't think so", the son said, grabbing a pitchfork. "A library? Here?"

"Oh, yes! A grand one! It was built long after the time of the sandworms, to house the ancient knowledge of the tribes, to conserve their experiences and ways of thinking, now that the island was whole and not split. The kamellans toiled diligently to erect a building worthy of the wisdom from the days of old, working the sand into blocks of sandstone. And little by little, the walls rose."

"Was it big, father?"

"Taller than the tallest of the High Dunes, son. It is said The Wanderer himself helped them in the construction and added an extra floor to the building, one he locked and instructed the kamellans to never enter."



"Oh! What was inside, father?"

The father smiled.

"Who knows", he said. "When the Great Library was completed, The Wanderer continued his pilgrimage and disappeared once again. The building stored a collection of books and scrolls that dated as far back as Merinthal and the First Men. Some say they contained all the knowledge in the Cosmos. Every science of the world was cataloged and documented there, in those halls. The building was a testimony to humanity's greatness, no doubt, but it had a high cost on the village: with all the water consumed in the construction, the oasis dried up. In face of the certain drought, the kamellans considered their options."

The father stopped for a moment to dry the sweat off his face on the sleeve of his tunic. He stretched his back under the scalding sun, then continued:

"A brave kamellan stepped forward then, with a bold plan in mind. 'Let me talk to the djinni', said the brave kamellan. You see, son, the oasis wasn't ours. It belonged to a water djinni who had made it their lair. We had a long standing deal with them to use the water for the village. But once that limit was reached, the oasis would dry up until the next season."

"Oh, my!", the son gasped. "What happened then, father? Tell me."

"Well, the brave kamellan did as he promised. He went to the oasis to talk to the water djinni."

"What was there to talk about?"

"Ah, you see, he hoped to convince the djinni to revert the drought. To give them just enough water until the next rains. Djinnis aren't exactly easy to covince, though. A water djinni is especially shifty and cold-hearted. The brave kamellan knew this and intended to exploit it. 'Djinni', he called out to the oasis. 'Show yourself. I'm here to bargain.' A gush of water erupted from the sands, taking on a faceless humanoid shape in front of the brave kamellan. The creature hulked over him, looming down upon him. 'What dost thou seek within mine oasis, mortal?', the djinni asked. 'The oasis is dry', the brave kamellan said. 'The village suffers.' The water djinni contorted their face into a scowl. 'That doth not concern me. I have kept my part of the covenant. Thou hast abused the oasis and the desert now claims its reckoning. Thou need to make thy own amends. I lend thee no aid!' What do you think the brave kamellan did then, my son?"



The son paused in his work and looked at the father, considering the question.

"Facing a djinni is suicide", the son stated. "That can't be it."

"What do you think it was, then?", the father insisted.

"I think...", the son started. "I think he ran away."

"Why?"

"Well, he knows the djinni won't trade with him. There's little point in trying to convince a water djinni. It won't happen. So I really can't say why, father. There is no reason, no logic behind any other decision."

"Son, the djinni never refused. The way the brave kamellan saw it, the djinni stablished terms. So he pressed on, saying: 'Please, djinni, I beg of you! You have no help us! You have to help Ka'Mella!' The djinni got ever more furious, growing in size and exuberance, emiting lighting from the hurricanes forming all over their enormous body. 'I will grind thee to nothing, wretch. Begone, lest thou incur my wrath. Away with thee, mortal, or I shall sweep thy village from the earth with my tempests.' A storm roared overhead. Wind blowed the brave kamellan's cloak and hair. A cold and piercing rain fell from the skies, chilling the brave kamellan's bones. Under the cold grasp of the water djinni, he looked around at all the rain and announced: 'I'm sorry! I'm sorry! You're right! Please, forgive me, O majestic dijinni! I'll bother you no longer! Please, let me go!'"

"I don't understand, father", said the son. "Why would the brave kamellan provoke the djinni's fury, only to regret it seconds later?"

The father smiled.

"You'll find out really soon. Be patient, child. Very well, where was I? Oh, yes... The djinni let out an evil laugh and released the brave kamellan, satisfied with his apparent fear. The brave kamellan immediately ran back to the village, without ever looking back, as the rainstorms thundered over him. As he arrived at the village, everyone seemed surprised and impressed to see him. The kamellans said, 'By Kamalini! How? How did you do it? How did you convince a water djinni to make it rain?' The brave kamellan grinned and said, 'I just told him we were thirsty. All right, everyone, bring your buckets!'"

"Haha! No way! He tricked the djinni?", the son asked, laughing.

"According to the story. But, as if the djinni saw through the brave kamellan's scheme, a volley of lightning bolts struck Ka'Mella during the storm, piercing through sandstone, concrete, wood, leather and silk. The brave kamellan fled the village and crossed the bridge to the library. He climbed the stairs to the second floor, up to the door The Wanderer forbid them from opening. The storm chased after him and away from Ka'Mella. It took on an enraged form, hurling itself at the brave kamellan. On the last second, the brave kamellan ducked. The water djinni crashed through to door and into a brightly lit chamber. So bright, in fact, the brave kamellan could barely see the water djinni boiling, evaporating and dissolving into nothing, as it had come too close to what appeared to be a mote of The Eternal Flame, right there, over the library. Of all places, that's where The Wanderer hid it. As the djinni perished, their powerful magic surged and lashed out. As if in a last rebuke, a lightning descended from the skies and speared through the ceiling of the library; the very library whose sandstone caused the drought in the first place."

"Oh, no!"

"The fire spread quickly, consuming everything in its way. The old papyrus was no match for its ire. The kamellans saved few tomes, most of them were lost, along with the greatest library the world had ever seen... for a full week."

"A week? That's how long it stood?"

"Yes, son. Unfortunately. It's said The Wanderer will rebuild it one day, when he wanders by again. But who knows when that will be. Some think never. Others believe it already happened."

"I don't get the moral of this story. The djinni was destroyed, but so was the library. A lot more was lost than if the djinni hadn't been contacted at all."

"This legend is popular not because of the ending, but because of how the brave kamellan found an ingenious solution to his problem. Granted, by focusing solely on the solution, he created a much bigger problem later. Yet, angering the djinni to cause rain was indeed a much easier way to obtain what the village needed. There are even those who say that when the djinni saw through the scheme, they didn't feel offended, but admired by the mortal who could trick them. In this version of the story, the djinni forgives the brave kamellan, provides water for the village, but takes the library for themselves, with the condition that it reappears once every month. As usual with the legends..."

The son sighed and interrupted, completing the sentence for the father: "...no one knows for sure."

"Exactly, son. We don't know. Well! It looks like we're done here. The day isn't over yet. I doubt the bazaar's closed. I'll let you take care of that situation, then. Go on. I'll put the tools away, don't worry."

The son walked away from the pen, his mind troubled, heavy. And then, an idea illuminated itself. He ran to the barn and picked three slightly smaller jars, which he filled with enough ridgeback milk to fill two slightly bigger jars. He ran to the market, taking the jars with him, and effected his trade with the greedy mercadian. The son smiled as he returned home, finally understanding what the tale taught him.

Then... There... Amidst a sandstorm in the distance, for a brief moment he thought he saw something. A building. He rubbed his eyes but, when he looked again, it was no longer there. Probably just a mirage caused by the oasis. The son shook his head and went skipping on his way, carrying the newly acquired sacks of flour to his home.