Baby, Baby, Anointed in Sand
On a beautiful day in late summer, not long after the Great Emergence from the kaers, a t'skrang chaida and two hatchlings went down to a rocky beach at the edge of the Serpent Ricer to play in the sand. The sun shone warm and the strong wind from the south whistled along the river, bouncing off the water onto the beach and sending leaves and bits of dried river plants tumbling along the shore.
The youngest child and her chaida, sheltered from the wind amid a group of boulders on the beach, were building a sand castle together. They dug down to where the sand felt wet; then they scooped up great handfuls, piled them on the dry sand and patted the wet earth flat to make the castle's base. Around the edge of the square of wet sand, the hatchling carefully arranged shells and rocks, making a pattern pleasing to the eye.
All this while, the older child wandered the beach at will. Now the hatchling called to the chaida from out of sight. The chaida told the youngest one, "Stay here and build our sand castle. I will be right back." Then she went in search of the older child. The youngest child watched as the chaida disappeared around one of the gigantic rocks. For a moment, all was silent. Then the child heard a scream, and its heart caught in its throat. The chaida came back into sight, stumbling backward away from something, carrying the older child. Chaida and child fell, then struggled up and staggered toward the river's edge, crying, begging, trying to reach the water. In their wake followed a Horror, its aspect so fearful that terror drove all the breath from the little t'skrang's body.
The wind blew harder, throwing sand into the little t'skrang's face. The child put an arm over its eyes until the wind died down. When the hatchling opened its eyes again, it saw that the chaida had fallen to her knees and was holding the older child behind her. The chaida tried to push the child toward the river, but the older hatchling was too frightened to leave the chaida's side.
The little t'skrang watched the Horror tear apart and devour them both. It took them a long time to die. Even as the little hatchling watched in shock, its hands moved of their own accord. Using a shovel and bucket, the hatchling continued to build the sand castle. And as the hatchling built the castle, it seemed to take on a purpose, a Name. The little t'skrang made the walls straight and solid, stitched a pattern of tiny shells across the ramparts, traced green lines in the brown sand with pieces of water plants. The main tower grew as the child built it higher and higher, until the castle stood nearly as tall as the hatchling did.
The Horror turned its evil gaze on the youngest child just as the hatchling finished the main tower. The Horror loomed over the t'skrang, delighting in the child's sweetness and innocence, soon to be defiled. Then the child looked up at the Horror, anger written across the baby's face. The child said one word: "No." In that word was all the powerful magic of the child's innocent rage. The Horror screamed, and its skin collapsed like an empty husk as the magic of the sand castle entrapped it.
To this day, the sand castle stands, untouched by the rages of the most violent storms. No one dares go near it, but to this day we honor its builder by sprinkling every child with sand at birth to invoke the power with which that little hatchling banished a Horror.
Some days and nights, when the wind blows across the Sand Castle Beach as it did on that fateful day, you can hear the wailing of a small child ... or is it the cry of a captured Horror?
The youngest child and her chaida, sheltered from the wind amid a group of boulders on the beach, were building a sand castle together. They dug down to where the sand felt wet; then they scooped up great handfuls, piled them on the dry sand and patted the wet earth flat to make the castle's base. Around the edge of the square of wet sand, the hatchling carefully arranged shells and rocks, making a pattern pleasing to the eye.
All this while, the older child wandered the beach at will. Now the hatchling called to the chaida from out of sight. The chaida told the youngest one, "Stay here and build our sand castle. I will be right back." Then she went in search of the older child. The youngest child watched as the chaida disappeared around one of the gigantic rocks. For a moment, all was silent. Then the child heard a scream, and its heart caught in its throat. The chaida came back into sight, stumbling backward away from something, carrying the older child. Chaida and child fell, then struggled up and staggered toward the river's edge, crying, begging, trying to reach the water. In their wake followed a Horror, its aspect so fearful that terror drove all the breath from the little t'skrang's body.
The wind blew harder, throwing sand into the little t'skrang's face. The child put an arm over its eyes until the wind died down. When the hatchling opened its eyes again, it saw that the chaida had fallen to her knees and was holding the older child behind her. The chaida tried to push the child toward the river, but the older hatchling was too frightened to leave the chaida's side.
The little t'skrang watched the Horror tear apart and devour them both. It took them a long time to die. Even as the little hatchling watched in shock, its hands moved of their own accord. Using a shovel and bucket, the hatchling continued to build the sand castle. And as the hatchling built the castle, it seemed to take on a purpose, a Name. The little t'skrang made the walls straight and solid, stitched a pattern of tiny shells across the ramparts, traced green lines in the brown sand with pieces of water plants. The main tower grew as the child built it higher and higher, until the castle stood nearly as tall as the hatchling did.
The Horror turned its evil gaze on the youngest child just as the hatchling finished the main tower. The Horror loomed over the t'skrang, delighting in the child's sweetness and innocence, soon to be defiled. Then the child looked up at the Horror, anger written across the baby's face. The child said one word: "No." In that word was all the powerful magic of the child's innocent rage. The Horror screamed, and its skin collapsed like an empty husk as the magic of the sand castle entrapped it.
To this day, the sand castle stands, untouched by the rages of the most violent storms. No one dares go near it, but to this day we honor its builder by sprinkling every child with sand at birth to invoke the power with which that little hatchling banished a Horror.
Some days and nights, when the wind blows across the Sand Castle Beach as it did on that fateful day, you can hear the wailing of a small child ... or is it the cry of a captured Horror?
Date of First Recording
Just after the Scourge
Date of Setting
Just after the Scourge
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Related Locations
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