Young Writers Society

Roderick awoke, throwing off the sweat-drenched sheet and for his canteen. Sand tumbled off the sheet, covering the tracks he’d left the night before in his drunken stumble towards the cot. Roderick coughed and pawed at his eyes, brushing the thin dusting of sand off his face and onto the grimy pillow. His bones clicked and cracked as Roderick struggled to pull himself upright, hands shaking he undid the cap of the canteen and raised it to his lips. Empty. The man swore and dropped threw the canteen across the room, where it landed with a muffled clatter on a pile of sand.

The wind picked up again, spattering more sand against the curtain hastily pinned over the broken window. A few particles slipped through the seams, scattering themselves across the far wall. Roderick took a deep breath, letting the fresh air burn his lungs and then held it, savoring the pain. By the heat, he guessed it he was late afternoon, and thanked the Patron he had a room, at least for the night. The floor groaned as he arose and sluggishly made his way over towards a basin in the corner of the room, stepping around the hole were the floorboards had rotted away.

Roderick reached out to wipe a thick layer of sand off the bottom of the mirror. When he touched it, the bottom of the mirror crumbled to sand in his hand. Roderick swore as the sand tumbled into the basin, and then examined himself in the remains of the mirror.His once pale skin had been scorched to a dull brown by the desert sun; his eyes were bloodshot from the previous night’s festivities. He thought about the word, and smiled bitterly, he remembered when it meant more than a bottle of cheap moonshine and a night with a whore. Roderick ran his hands along the greasy blonde stubble coating his face, and reached under the sink. The satchel was simple, made of cracked and weathered leather, emblazoned with a simple N.S, his Patron’s initials. He opened the side pouch of the satchel, inside lay a straight razor and pistol. Roderick reached for the gun, and placed his hand on the handle, his fingers gently caressed the inlayed golden filigree. His grip tightened around the gun, as he lifted it up towards the light. The few scattered rays seeping from the edge of the curtain glinted off the metal, scattering the orange light across the room. Roderick examined the gun for another moment, examining the perfect curves and the intricate firing mechanism, hand-crafted by his Patron so long ago. The cylinder noiselessly slid open when he pressed the latch, one bullet still sat in the chamber, untouched by time, by sand, by the corrosion. The legacy of a Patron, perfect in its conception, the last remnant of his family.

Without thinking, Roderick spun the cylinder, slowly raised the gun to his head, and squeezed the trigger. There was a click as the hammer fell on an empty chamber.A gust of wind ripped the sheet away from the window, whipping the sand into the air. Roderick swore, hastily dropped the weapon back in the satchel and held it close, shielding it from the swirling sands. The burning sand scoured his body as he fought his way towards the window and blindly fumbled with the curtain. The sand continued to pour in, as he clutched at the curtain he could feel it unraveling, succumbing to the corrosion and turning to sand. Roderick swore again, and stumbled towards the door. With a final moan, a section of the floor crumbled to dust beneath his foot. Roderick tumbled forward into the sand, stifling a cry of pain when the jagged wood cut deeply into his leg. With a heave, he pulled his leg free from the hole, and continued to crawl towards the door. The sand clung to the fresh blood on his leg, burning his skin and sending needles of pain up through his leg.

He clawed at the door handle, wrenching it open, letting the sand spill out of his room into the dingy hallway. Roderick crawled out into the hallway and used the last of his strength to heave the door shut behind him, before collapsing in a heap. He lay there, panting, trying to ignore the pain in his leg, and the burns covering his body. He lay there wishing to die, until he heard the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching. With a grunt of exertion, Roderick pulled himself up to a sitting position, and propped himself against the wall. The bartender, a young woman, no more than twenty called out from the around the corner, “sandstorm incoming! Make sure to close your—“ she trailed off upon rounding the corner and seeing Roderick covered in fine white sand, propped up against the wall. She ran up to him, knelt down, and began to ask a torrent of questions. Roderick waved her away, insisting he was fine, and that she shouldn’t make a fuss. The woman ignored his protests, and helped Roderick downstairs to the tavern.

The bar may have once been a nice place, sturdy tables and chairs lined the room, with a massive fireplace set into one of the walls, all the better to keep the town warm on long winter nights. Now, it was deserted, most of the furniture had been corroded away, the rest had been hacked up and used to shutter the doors and windows. All that remained was a single table and a couple of chairs standing forlornly in the center of the room. Despite the general state of disrepair the tavern floor was relatively clean and free of sand. The only light in the room came from a few candles, haphazardly place about the bar. She helped Roderick over to the table, and gently propped his leg up on one of the chairs. Despite his continued objections, the woman dashed off towards the kitchen to find some clean rags, leaving Roderick alone in the tavern.

Roderick reached for the satchel, and began to dig through it as he listened to the howling of the wind and the sound of the sand beating against the shutters. Finally, he found what he was looking for, a simple golden pendant in the shape of a diamond. He clutched the pendant close in one hand, and placed the other over his wounded leg. Roderick spoke a few words in a long forgotten tongue, and gritted his teeth, waiting for the magic to do its work. Over the next few seconds his hand glowed with a soft white light and the wound knit itself closed, expelling the sand and splinters, leaving new pink flesh in its wake. Roderick spoke another incantation, and the pain from the burns covering his body subsided.

Roderick heard a soft gasp, and turned to see the bartender staring at him from the doorway. A dirty towel hung from limply from her hand, as she watched him in wonder. Roderick’s eyes widened in fear, and rose to his feet. “As I said, I appreciate your concern, but it really wasn’t needed. “ He replied softly, while casually reaching into the front pocket of the satchel.

The woman blinked, “you’re… you’re a mage?” Without waiting for a response she dropped the rag and ran towards Roderick. The man fumbled with the satchel, but managed to get the gun free, and pointed it at the woman’s chest. The woman came to a quick stop, with a look of confusion on her face. She shakily raised her hands, “p-please don’t hurt me I was just… I-“ she looked ready to burst into a tears, “this means they’ve come to help us, right? They finally found a way to stop the corrosion? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” The words poured out, years of fear and frustration released into the stagnant air.

Roderick thought for a moment, lowered the gun, and placed it on the table. “I’m sorry for the…” his voice trailed off, “most towns out here aren’t friendly to mages. I’ve been attacked more than once since I left the capital.” Roderick took a breath, reflexively smiled and then lied again, voice barely above a whisper “You’re right, I do work for the king. I was sent from Terin to look for any survivors and prepare for the court mages to push back the corrosion.” After hearing this, she embraced the mage, and began to weep softly. Roderick smiled again and continued to lie, to reassure her and give her hope where there was none. He winced as the wounds on his leg split open again, spilling a few droplets of blood onto the crumbling floorboards. The woman quickly released him, and sheepishly wiped the tears from her eyes. Roderick gritted his teeth against the pain, and sank back into the chair.

Seeing the blood, the woman scampered back towards where she had left the rags. “I never caught your name,” the woman said as she returned to the table.

“Trent, Trent Gimelon,” Roderick lied, cracking the faintest hint of a smile, “you?” He reached out an expectant hand, waiting for the rags.

“Riley,” she replied, handing off the makeshift bandages.

“Pleasure.” Roderick said quietly, as he began to rip the rag into strips and wrap it around his leg. Riley stood there in silence, occasionally moving as if she was about to speak, before trailing off. Roderick raised an eyebrow, “if you want to ask, just ask; but if we’re going to talk, at least do me the courtesy of pouring some drinks.” He pulled the cloth taught.

Riley nodded, and walked behind the bar. She reached for a bottle sitting on the back counter, then shook her head, and took another bottle out from under the bar, along with a pair of crystal glasses. “Any idea when help might arrive?” Riley blew the dust off the glasses.

Roderick smiled sadly, “can’t say, we’re stretched thin as is. There are so many towns, and so few of us.”

“But… help is coming, right?” Roderick looked towards the remains of a window and started to say something, but was interrupted by a loud crack from above and the howling of the storm.

Riley shivered, and briskly made her way back to the table, placing a glass in from of Roderick, and a glass in front of herself, with the smoked glass bottle sitting between them. “May I?” Roderick asked, reaching for the bottle. Riley nodded, and he picked it up, checking the label. He whistled in surprise, “9997 was a good year for bourbon; color me impressed.” He placed the bottle back on the table.

She smiled sadly, and began to uncork it, “it was my mother’s. She told me to save it for a special occasion. Guess this will have to do.” She poured a steady stream of amber colored liquid into Roderick’s glass, before filling her own. “I’ve seen you around, didn’t figure you for a government type.” She said as she resealed the bottle.

Roderick took a long draw, savoring the smooth maple flavor, “I don’t hear a question.”

Riley took a sip and shrugged, “guess there wasn’t one. I just didn’t think an agent of the king would spend their money on cheap hooch and cheaper whores.”

Roderick swirled the liquid in his glass, watching the flawless liquid ripple and shift in response to his motions. “Too many towns have already succumbed to the corrosion, after a while, after seeing so much death a man needs some distractions to stay sane.” Roderick thought about the gun in his bag, then shook his head, “even with them, things take their toll.” It felt good to talk to someone again, Roderick thought, even if every word that came out of his mouth was a lie. Well, almost every word.

Riley seemed to accept his answer, and nodded sadly. “I’ve buried too many friends. The corrosion hit us hard, and the fires finished the job. This-this used to be such a beautiful place, ya know? Now it’s nothing but sand and ash.” She took another drink, “what about you? Where’re you from?”

Roderick thought about Talimbia, his ancestral home, thought about the smoke rising from across the city as the great temple crumbled. He took another drink, and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Lydri, it’s a small town just outside Terin nice place, haven’t been back in a long time,” he replied curtly.

Riley nodded and changed the subject, “anyone waiting for you back home?”

Roderick scratched at the bandage on his leg, and said coolly, “no. I never married, family died years ago. You?”

She blinked, “I-are you okay?”

“Yeah. Why?” He snorted.

“It just,” she paused for a moment to find the right words, “it doesn’t seem to bother you.”

Roderick shrugged and knocked back the contents of his glass, “as I said, I’ve seen plenty of death. I traveled up and down this land, I’ve seen thousands of lives shattered by the corrosion, what’re a few more deaths added to the pile?” Everything. The answer sprang to his mind unbidden, along with the memories of the faces, the names, and the stories of the people he’d met. Everyone the corrosion would inevitably consume. Roderick examined his host; her skin had been cracked and burnt by the sun and sands, worry lines criss-crossed her once pretty face, and dark bags encircled her tired eyes. Roderick shook his head, the corrosion would consume her too, and then she’d be just another faceless, nameless victim.

The two drank in silence long into the night, listening to the sand pattering against the side of the bar, and the whistling of the wind. After he drained the last of the liquor from his glass, Roderick felt familiar warmth spread throughout his limbs. As her glass neared empty, Riley broke the silence, “Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.” She clumsily reached for the bottle, “your past is none of my business.”

Roderick shrugged, and offered up his glass to be refilled. “I don’t mind, talking passes the time.” He noticed the light patch of skin on her ring finger, “now then, you never did answer my question; you got any family?”

Riley reflexively rubbed the spot where her ring once was, “I had a wife and son. They were my everything. After they—look, I really don’t want to talk about this.” She paused, and took a moment to compose herself, then laughed bitterly, “You probably think I’m a hypocrite, asking you to open up, and then,” she gestured to herself, “all this.”

Roderick offered her a rag, “what I think doesn’t really matter.” He took another sip of bourbon, savoring the heat, “there’s nothing wrong with being unaccustomed to death. It isn’t something a person should be used to.”

Riley wiped her eyes on the rag, sniffed, and took a long drink. “It’s just—it’s not fair. We were so happy, and then the corrosion… it destroyed everything. We never even had a chance.”

“You’re right, it isn’t fair.” Roderick said sharply, “the universe is a heartless bitch. That doesn’t mean we should give up.” Roderick thought of the gun, of what had become a daily ritual, but waved the thoughts away. Do you really believe that?

“Why not? Everyone I love is dead, everything I’ve built is crumbling to sand.” Riley smashed her glass on the table, spraying bourbon and glass across the surface. “Even if the mages get here in time, it won’t fix this town, it won’t bring my family back. So why even try? Why not take the gun from under the bar and shoot myself right now?” Riley placed her head in her hands, and began to sob softly, blood and bourbon dripping from her fingers.

Roderick was silent, watching the candlelight dance across the glass. Until he caught a glimpse of a figure, reflected in the liquor. He slowly turned his head to face the figure, but it was gone. Roderick sighed, and spoke quietly “I’m a simple man; I’ve got no answers for you. All I can say is this, I’ve lost as much as a man can lose, but I’m still breathing.” The next few words felt almost alien, “so believe me when I say that tomorrow is worth fighting for.” The first true thing you’ve said all night.

Without a word, Riley shakily rose to her feet, and stumbled off towards the back, leaving Roderick alone in the bar. The sound of the storm had died down, leaving a perfect stillness hanging in the air. Roderick slumped down in his chair, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and tried to get a little bit of sleep.

Roderick found floating above an endless expanse of orange sand and beneath an infinite blue void. The world was silent other than the whispering of the wind. The Sun set high in the sky, brilliant light blinding him. As he squinted against the glare, Roderick thought he saw four other figures floating in the distance, silhouettes against the infinite sky. He tried to call out to them, but the wind carried his words away. That’s when he heard it. A low, almost imperceptible voice begging him, pleading him to find them. Roderick watched as a sandstorm engulfed the silhouettes one by one. The voice grew more and more frantic. The storm grew closer and closer, the howling of the winds drowned out the voice, and then it engulfed him. Leaving him alone in a black abyss.

Roderick awoke with a start. The candles had long since burned down, leaving the soft pre-dawn light filtered through the slats on the windows as the only light illumination in the filthy bar. He took stock of his possessions, and then stood up. Miraculously, he felt fine, better than he’d felt in a long time. Roderick reached into his satchel, and placed the last few coins he had on the table, and headed towards the door. As he left, Roderick caught a glimpse of a figure leaning on the bar, and he could have sworn it was smiling at him.

Find them.