Ishmah
05-19-2006, 10:24 AM
My mother, my father, my older brother and two younger sisters were killed late one autumn afternoon. I will never forget that day cold, still day.
I had come inside after having moved the stock into the pens. Word of orc raids had become more common and with winter approaching our family could not afford to lose any of the beasts.
“The house was warm.” The old man’s eyes misted over as he was transported back scores of years to a happier time.
“My mother was the best cook in the world. I ran through to the kitchen to see what was being prepared. I really didn’t need to as the smell of spices hit me on entering the house.”
“Our house wasn’t much but it was better than most in the area. The timber bearers that held the thatched roof were stained dark with the smoke that escaped from the fireplace in the main room. Off to one side were the sleeping rooms and to the other the kitchen.”
The old man smiled again. The children sat quietly at his feet, enthralled by his tales. They came every evening to the marketplace in Khal to hear the old man’s tales.
Months prior, when the old man had first come to Khal, only a few children would come to listen to his tales. Now, a couple of dozen children and even some adults sat to listen. Some nights the tales would be of magic or dragons or of long lost cities. Never were the stories the same.
The old man adjusted his robe around his thin shoulders. The gentle, desert breeze seemed to affect him more than most from around here. Although his skin was tanned dark and tough as leather, his blue eyes marked him as one who was perhaps not from Qalia.
“My older brother, being the eldest, slept at the doorway to the children’s bedroom. I slept at the back, right next to the wall with the fireplace on the other side. The heated mud bricks would stay warm throughout even the coldest nights.”
The old man smiled again, a wistful smile of memories from long ago.
“The dogs were normally quiet at this time of day but that day they were restless and barking. My father went outside to see what could be disturbing them. Before going outside he took the axe that was at the front door. Being a large man he had to duck to pass the doorway. Kalam, my older brother, followed him outside.”
“We heard cries of alarm and ran outside to see what was happening. There were at least a dozen orcs charging at my father.”
“It was as though time froze in that moment. The look on my mother’s face, the birds flying overhead to return to their nests before evening, the low clouds on the horizon beginning to turn burnt orange and the cloaked rider on the crest of the hill.”
“There was blood. So much blood. In the eye of the storm raging around me I clung to the picture of the rider as he charged down the hill towards us, his cloak billowing behind.”
One of the children listening placed a mug of mead next to the old man. As was custom in Khal, the story tellers were given food and drink. The best story tellers were fed like princes but none in many years had eaten as well as this old man.
“The next thing I remember was opening my eyes from atop a horse. The rider held me in one arm as he wheeled the horse away from my home. It was burning and lighting up the area as though it were day. Bodies lay strewn around the yard, orcs, cattle, our plough horse, the dogs, my parents ...everyone and everything.”
The old man paused to take a sip of the warming mead.
“That is the night my life changed. That is the night I met Ishmah.”
-----
“Storyteller, do you know a story about magical items, like a magic ring?” The girl who asked could have been no more than six or seven years.
The old man settled back against the stone wall. The crowd of children settled into more comfortable positions also. They did not want to have to move as they might miss some of the words of the storyteller.
“Yes, I have seen many magical items. Ancient, powerful items that only the most brave adventurer would wear. Items that even a dragon would covet.”
A ripple of murmurs swept the crowd as it was only a few nights prior that the story teller had related an experience he had had with a dragon.
“The first time I ever wore a magic item I did not even know that they existed. I wore a red gown with gold trim. The pattern in the trim seemed to move as mystic symbols swirled when the cloth moved. The leather boots I wore, loose to fit at first now fit me as though I had worn them for years. On each hand I wore a golden ring and on each wrist a bracelet that soothed my soul. From each ear hung an earring and snaking chain hung about my neck. The belt about my waist was encrusted with jewels and the curved dagger at my belt seemed to shiver as my hand swung as it.”
“All these items were very, very powerful and ancient magical relics.”
“It was only a couple of months since Ishmah had rescued me. He was a powerful sorcerer.”
Another hushed murmur passed through the crowd for they had heard of Ishmah from other storytellers. None however, had met him in person as this storyteller claimed.
“I will tell you of the Mages’ High Council.”
“In the two months since meeting Ishmah we had settled into a pattern of sorts. My job was to look after the horse, feeding and grooming and such, and to take care of the fire at night and the cooking. Some days he would descend into dark caves and leave me alone up top to guard the horse with the strict instruction that if anything or anyone approached to ride the horse north. He always said to go north until I came to the sea and then to wait for him.”
“Some days he would meet with fighters and other adventurers. They would scare me with their huge swords and shiny armour. Many had scars from battling monsters that they would show me at night around the camp fire.”
“I knew what Ishmah was doing in those dungeons. He was collecting treasures. One night I took a look in a saddlebag after he had been gone for two days. The treasure was unbelievable, but nothing in comparison to what I wore the night we went to the Mages’ High Council.”
-------
Ishmah looked down at me. “Stop fidgeting and listen very carefully.”
The boy stood still, decked out in the red robe and all the finery.
“You are to walk 2 paces behind me and to my right. You are not to speak even if someone speaks to you. You are not to look at anyone’s face. Look down at my heels at all times.”
The boy nodded. He now knew to listen to instructions carefully.
“I should not have to remind you but I will. If I say ‘sit’ then do so immediately and do not move.” The boy nodded again.
They stood before an imposing building, at the foot of a wide set of stairs in the heart of Ahgram. Ishmah turned and proceeded up the steps.
The two guards at the top of the stairs stood aside as Ishmah and the boy passed by without even acknowledging them. Ishmah strode straight ahead down the long hallway. With both hands he pushed into the huge teak doors at the end and entered the council chamber.
A large circular room opened before them. Sunken in the centre was an octagonal table. Eight gowned mages sat about it and countless more sat around the raised viewing areas about.
Ishmah continued to the floor at the bottom. The eight mages ceased their discussion as Ishmah approached.
“Who are you to disturb this meeting?” a black robed mage hissed. “I....”
“Ishmah,” another said quietly, “it has been a long time.”
“Yes Frantos,” Ishmah replied. “I have been out collecting.”
Frantos chuckled. “For twelve years? You must have quite....” His voice trailed off as he noticed some of the items that the boy was wearing. ‘Could it be possible?’ He asked himself incredulously. The boy was wearing a complete set of arcane Shadow gear. The wearer of one item would be immune to magical attacks of various types...but a full set? This was unheard of.
Ishmah surveyed the table. “I see that you have not left me a chair at the table Frantos. But that is of no matter. Whilst I am alive the chair belongs to me.”
Turning to face the mage who now occupied the chair opposite Frantos, Ishmah said, “I will have my chair now thankyou.”
The mage, a female elf stared back at Ishmah. Her whole life she had worked to tune her skills so that last year she was able to join the Inner Circle of the Mages’ Council. To lose her seat now, like this, would be too much.
“I have earned the right to sit at this table and I will not give it up to anyone.”
Ishmah levelled his gaze at her. His dark eyes swirled below thin eyebrows. “I am not asking you to give it up. I am taking what is mine.”
“Sit!”
The elf mage looked at Ishmah, taken aback by his command. Thinking he was barking an order at her she rose from the chair. From her position she could not see the boy behind Ishmah sink to the floor in total obedience.
“I will not leave this place at the table. I have a right to be here.”
Frantos began to open his mouth to quell the situation, but was too slow by far.
The elf mage took up a stance to channel the fire elements.
“Farringdon! Don’t!” Frantos cried.
Ishmah settled back into a defensive position. The other mages backed away from the table. As was custom when two mages duelled, they would stay out of it and let the battle continue until only one mage stood alive.
The fireball was no surprise, a huge fireball cast quickly in an attempt to finish the battle before it had even begun.
Ishmah had battled many mages in many dungeons and was ready. A part of him switched off and he watched the battle as though he too was one of the crowd watching from the sidelines. Dipping into the energy pool from within he deflected the ball of fire and sent it straight back at Farringdon.
She too deflected the ball of fire and added extra energy to it. The duel had only just begun but the amount of energy was more than most battles could hope to generate.
Ishmah channelled more energy and sent it back. Parts of the ball spun off into the walls only to be absorbed by the arcane magics that protected the building. The battle progressed, neither seeming to tire.
Normally by now, Ishmah would have started to try other magical options as he would be trying to conserve his energy. But each time he called on it, it was as though he had used no energy. His mana stayed full.
The fireball came back towards him. Ready now, instead of just reflecting it back, he added a second, separate ball in return. And still his magic energy was not touched. It was being fed...but from where?
Farrington did not see the second ball until too late. She tried to change the spell she was casting but left herself too little time and so was swept aside by the energy bursts.
Ishmah turned to the boy.
“It was you. You were feeding me energy. I knew you had the makings of a mage the day I rode over that hill and saw you channel enough energy to devastate everything around you.”
The boy sat, still staring at the floor. Tears fell from his cheeks, staining his robe like drops of blood.
------
Awakening
“The previous day had been interesting.” The old man sat in the marketplace once more and remembered of long ago.
“Five adventurers had joined Ishmah and me to form a group capable of entering a deep, cavernous system that had been revealed from an ancient map. We had stayed up late into the night and I sat listening to their tales of adventure and treasure.”
“It seems that this group had fought side by side on many occasion and succeeded countless times in the face of certain death.”
“The break was welcome. For the past few weeks I had followed Ishmah and watched him fight strange beast after strange beast. Sometimes he would collect a part here and other times he wouldn’t even stop to see if there was anything worthwhile to collect.”
“This is a root spell,” Ishmah would say, “the beast is at my mercy now. Go closer and look at it...but not too close. It can still attack.”
“Or he would wave his hands, leaning back or forward, and incant strange words. One, the first one I remembered, was Sarakum.”
“Sah –rar-kum”
“No!” Ishmah exclaimed! “It’s Sarakum.”
Ishmah stood, leaning back then as he slowly moved forwards he cupped hands flowed out from his chest and a huge fireball erupted and surged forth towards its target.
“The first time I saw it ....I don’t know. It was like seeing the world through someone else’s eyes.”
“I saw the air between the cupped hands and the target form a tunnel. Ripples and waves of air parted to welcome the surging force. At my core I felt the well of energy deep inside me pulled towards the flame. Time slowed and the ball continued on its path. It felt so natural and so right.”
“But now I was alone. That was the previous day and now I was alone with nothing to do whilst the adventurers, led by Ishmah, fought god knows what. I knew I should not go far from the camp but there were beetle trails in the sand.”
-----
The boy had sat by the campfire alone for a few hours.
The sun was high in the sky but he was used to the heat. He had been woken too early by the departing adventurers and was now feeling dozy. Through squinting eyes he watched the horizon as the heated air shifted about.
The air was still but the old grove of trees nearby seemed to sway in a breeze. He sat watching first the trees moving back and forth through the heated desert air then rested his eyes to follow beetle tracks in the sand.
The trees seemed to move in the heat. One in particular was not where he remembered there being one a short time before. ‘But trees don’t move,’ he thought absentmindedly.
Standing to stretch, he gazed about. It was quiet. A carrion bird circled lazily up high. Ishmah had told him that the air was cooler up there but the boy was not so sure.
Stretching once more he settled with one foot forward and his weight on the back foot.
“I am Ishmah the mighty!” he said aloud and laughed. “I can defeat dragons. All your castles belong to me!” The boy laughed again.
He raised his arms as he had seen Ishmah do so many times...and held them close to his chest.
The shimmering air was visible but the currents had changed. Now the air about the boy reflected the ripples of energy deep within him. The boy continued, lazily enjoying a quiet afternoon alone.
He shifted his weight to the front foot.
In his head he heard the phrase. “Sarakum” and a giant ant was dead. “Sarakum” and a mountain boar lay dead. “Sarakum” and a stone lizard, or a giant scorpion....or a.....
“Sarakum.”
No more had the last syllable passed his lips than his cupped hands shot forward. It was like sneezing, an involuntary action.
The energy inside him welled up so fast it had to be released and the cupped hands were it’s way out.
The heat should have been incredible for the size of the fireball. But strangely its heat felt no hotter than the air about. It rolled forward into the tunnel of air that had now opened up. The boy watched it fall down the tunnel onwards. Now it’s size looked smaller he could see past it and see what it was heading toward.
It was a solitary tree; a solitary tree that had a nightmare for a face and branches for arms.
The impact of the fireball exploded into the dry branches, igniting the whole canopy and trunk instantaneously. Within moments the tree was but a burning trunk as the middle cracked on impact.
The boy stood and stared in amazement. He was too scared to return to the campfire, in case the tree somehow would disappear should he turn his back.
A firm hand clasped his shoulder.
“Kaleb,” Ishmah’s said warmly, “I am proud of you. You will sleep well tonight, of that I am sure.”
------
Kaleb opened his eyes to see Ishmah standing over him. The sunlight was only just making itself known to the world through the ridges in the craggy hills to the east.
"Wake up Kaleb."
"We will be back tonight before sundown. Make sure the fire is going and that there is plenty of fresh water on our return."
Kaleb sat up and rubbed his eyes. The rest of the group was already disappearing into the foothills toward a second cavern they had discovered the previous day.
Kaleb smiled.
His lips formed the word silently, “Sarakum.”
I had come inside after having moved the stock into the pens. Word of orc raids had become more common and with winter approaching our family could not afford to lose any of the beasts.
“The house was warm.” The old man’s eyes misted over as he was transported back scores of years to a happier time.
“My mother was the best cook in the world. I ran through to the kitchen to see what was being prepared. I really didn’t need to as the smell of spices hit me on entering the house.”
“Our house wasn’t much but it was better than most in the area. The timber bearers that held the thatched roof were stained dark with the smoke that escaped from the fireplace in the main room. Off to one side were the sleeping rooms and to the other the kitchen.”
The old man smiled again. The children sat quietly at his feet, enthralled by his tales. They came every evening to the marketplace in Khal to hear the old man’s tales.
Months prior, when the old man had first come to Khal, only a few children would come to listen to his tales. Now, a couple of dozen children and even some adults sat to listen. Some nights the tales would be of magic or dragons or of long lost cities. Never were the stories the same.
The old man adjusted his robe around his thin shoulders. The gentle, desert breeze seemed to affect him more than most from around here. Although his skin was tanned dark and tough as leather, his blue eyes marked him as one who was perhaps not from Qalia.
“My older brother, being the eldest, slept at the doorway to the children’s bedroom. I slept at the back, right next to the wall with the fireplace on the other side. The heated mud bricks would stay warm throughout even the coldest nights.”
The old man smiled again, a wistful smile of memories from long ago.
“The dogs were normally quiet at this time of day but that day they were restless and barking. My father went outside to see what could be disturbing them. Before going outside he took the axe that was at the front door. Being a large man he had to duck to pass the doorway. Kalam, my older brother, followed him outside.”
“We heard cries of alarm and ran outside to see what was happening. There were at least a dozen orcs charging at my father.”
“It was as though time froze in that moment. The look on my mother’s face, the birds flying overhead to return to their nests before evening, the low clouds on the horizon beginning to turn burnt orange and the cloaked rider on the crest of the hill.”
“There was blood. So much blood. In the eye of the storm raging around me I clung to the picture of the rider as he charged down the hill towards us, his cloak billowing behind.”
One of the children listening placed a mug of mead next to the old man. As was custom in Khal, the story tellers were given food and drink. The best story tellers were fed like princes but none in many years had eaten as well as this old man.
“The next thing I remember was opening my eyes from atop a horse. The rider held me in one arm as he wheeled the horse away from my home. It was burning and lighting up the area as though it were day. Bodies lay strewn around the yard, orcs, cattle, our plough horse, the dogs, my parents ...everyone and everything.”
The old man paused to take a sip of the warming mead.
“That is the night my life changed. That is the night I met Ishmah.”
-----
“Storyteller, do you know a story about magical items, like a magic ring?” The girl who asked could have been no more than six or seven years.
The old man settled back against the stone wall. The crowd of children settled into more comfortable positions also. They did not want to have to move as they might miss some of the words of the storyteller.
“Yes, I have seen many magical items. Ancient, powerful items that only the most brave adventurer would wear. Items that even a dragon would covet.”
A ripple of murmurs swept the crowd as it was only a few nights prior that the story teller had related an experience he had had with a dragon.
“The first time I ever wore a magic item I did not even know that they existed. I wore a red gown with gold trim. The pattern in the trim seemed to move as mystic symbols swirled when the cloth moved. The leather boots I wore, loose to fit at first now fit me as though I had worn them for years. On each hand I wore a golden ring and on each wrist a bracelet that soothed my soul. From each ear hung an earring and snaking chain hung about my neck. The belt about my waist was encrusted with jewels and the curved dagger at my belt seemed to shiver as my hand swung as it.”
“All these items were very, very powerful and ancient magical relics.”
“It was only a couple of months since Ishmah had rescued me. He was a powerful sorcerer.”
Another hushed murmur passed through the crowd for they had heard of Ishmah from other storytellers. None however, had met him in person as this storyteller claimed.
“I will tell you of the Mages’ High Council.”
“In the two months since meeting Ishmah we had settled into a pattern of sorts. My job was to look after the horse, feeding and grooming and such, and to take care of the fire at night and the cooking. Some days he would descend into dark caves and leave me alone up top to guard the horse with the strict instruction that if anything or anyone approached to ride the horse north. He always said to go north until I came to the sea and then to wait for him.”
“Some days he would meet with fighters and other adventurers. They would scare me with their huge swords and shiny armour. Many had scars from battling monsters that they would show me at night around the camp fire.”
“I knew what Ishmah was doing in those dungeons. He was collecting treasures. One night I took a look in a saddlebag after he had been gone for two days. The treasure was unbelievable, but nothing in comparison to what I wore the night we went to the Mages’ High Council.”
-------
Ishmah looked down at me. “Stop fidgeting and listen very carefully.”
The boy stood still, decked out in the red robe and all the finery.
“You are to walk 2 paces behind me and to my right. You are not to speak even if someone speaks to you. You are not to look at anyone’s face. Look down at my heels at all times.”
The boy nodded. He now knew to listen to instructions carefully.
“I should not have to remind you but I will. If I say ‘sit’ then do so immediately and do not move.” The boy nodded again.
They stood before an imposing building, at the foot of a wide set of stairs in the heart of Ahgram. Ishmah turned and proceeded up the steps.
The two guards at the top of the stairs stood aside as Ishmah and the boy passed by without even acknowledging them. Ishmah strode straight ahead down the long hallway. With both hands he pushed into the huge teak doors at the end and entered the council chamber.
A large circular room opened before them. Sunken in the centre was an octagonal table. Eight gowned mages sat about it and countless more sat around the raised viewing areas about.
Ishmah continued to the floor at the bottom. The eight mages ceased their discussion as Ishmah approached.
“Who are you to disturb this meeting?” a black robed mage hissed. “I....”
“Ishmah,” another said quietly, “it has been a long time.”
“Yes Frantos,” Ishmah replied. “I have been out collecting.”
Frantos chuckled. “For twelve years? You must have quite....” His voice trailed off as he noticed some of the items that the boy was wearing. ‘Could it be possible?’ He asked himself incredulously. The boy was wearing a complete set of arcane Shadow gear. The wearer of one item would be immune to magical attacks of various types...but a full set? This was unheard of.
Ishmah surveyed the table. “I see that you have not left me a chair at the table Frantos. But that is of no matter. Whilst I am alive the chair belongs to me.”
Turning to face the mage who now occupied the chair opposite Frantos, Ishmah said, “I will have my chair now thankyou.”
The mage, a female elf stared back at Ishmah. Her whole life she had worked to tune her skills so that last year she was able to join the Inner Circle of the Mages’ Council. To lose her seat now, like this, would be too much.
“I have earned the right to sit at this table and I will not give it up to anyone.”
Ishmah levelled his gaze at her. His dark eyes swirled below thin eyebrows. “I am not asking you to give it up. I am taking what is mine.”
“Sit!”
The elf mage looked at Ishmah, taken aback by his command. Thinking he was barking an order at her she rose from the chair. From her position she could not see the boy behind Ishmah sink to the floor in total obedience.
“I will not leave this place at the table. I have a right to be here.”
Frantos began to open his mouth to quell the situation, but was too slow by far.
The elf mage took up a stance to channel the fire elements.
“Farringdon! Don’t!” Frantos cried.
Ishmah settled back into a defensive position. The other mages backed away from the table. As was custom when two mages duelled, they would stay out of it and let the battle continue until only one mage stood alive.
The fireball was no surprise, a huge fireball cast quickly in an attempt to finish the battle before it had even begun.
Ishmah had battled many mages in many dungeons and was ready. A part of him switched off and he watched the battle as though he too was one of the crowd watching from the sidelines. Dipping into the energy pool from within he deflected the ball of fire and sent it straight back at Farringdon.
She too deflected the ball of fire and added extra energy to it. The duel had only just begun but the amount of energy was more than most battles could hope to generate.
Ishmah channelled more energy and sent it back. Parts of the ball spun off into the walls only to be absorbed by the arcane magics that protected the building. The battle progressed, neither seeming to tire.
Normally by now, Ishmah would have started to try other magical options as he would be trying to conserve his energy. But each time he called on it, it was as though he had used no energy. His mana stayed full.
The fireball came back towards him. Ready now, instead of just reflecting it back, he added a second, separate ball in return. And still his magic energy was not touched. It was being fed...but from where?
Farrington did not see the second ball until too late. She tried to change the spell she was casting but left herself too little time and so was swept aside by the energy bursts.
Ishmah turned to the boy.
“It was you. You were feeding me energy. I knew you had the makings of a mage the day I rode over that hill and saw you channel enough energy to devastate everything around you.”
The boy sat, still staring at the floor. Tears fell from his cheeks, staining his robe like drops of blood.
------
Awakening
“The previous day had been interesting.” The old man sat in the marketplace once more and remembered of long ago.
“Five adventurers had joined Ishmah and me to form a group capable of entering a deep, cavernous system that had been revealed from an ancient map. We had stayed up late into the night and I sat listening to their tales of adventure and treasure.”
“It seems that this group had fought side by side on many occasion and succeeded countless times in the face of certain death.”
“The break was welcome. For the past few weeks I had followed Ishmah and watched him fight strange beast after strange beast. Sometimes he would collect a part here and other times he wouldn’t even stop to see if there was anything worthwhile to collect.”
“This is a root spell,” Ishmah would say, “the beast is at my mercy now. Go closer and look at it...but not too close. It can still attack.”
“Or he would wave his hands, leaning back or forward, and incant strange words. One, the first one I remembered, was Sarakum.”
“Sah –rar-kum”
“No!” Ishmah exclaimed! “It’s Sarakum.”
Ishmah stood, leaning back then as he slowly moved forwards he cupped hands flowed out from his chest and a huge fireball erupted and surged forth towards its target.
“The first time I saw it ....I don’t know. It was like seeing the world through someone else’s eyes.”
“I saw the air between the cupped hands and the target form a tunnel. Ripples and waves of air parted to welcome the surging force. At my core I felt the well of energy deep inside me pulled towards the flame. Time slowed and the ball continued on its path. It felt so natural and so right.”
“But now I was alone. That was the previous day and now I was alone with nothing to do whilst the adventurers, led by Ishmah, fought god knows what. I knew I should not go far from the camp but there were beetle trails in the sand.”
-----
The boy had sat by the campfire alone for a few hours.
The sun was high in the sky but he was used to the heat. He had been woken too early by the departing adventurers and was now feeling dozy. Through squinting eyes he watched the horizon as the heated air shifted about.
The air was still but the old grove of trees nearby seemed to sway in a breeze. He sat watching first the trees moving back and forth through the heated desert air then rested his eyes to follow beetle tracks in the sand.
The trees seemed to move in the heat. One in particular was not where he remembered there being one a short time before. ‘But trees don’t move,’ he thought absentmindedly.
Standing to stretch, he gazed about. It was quiet. A carrion bird circled lazily up high. Ishmah had told him that the air was cooler up there but the boy was not so sure.
Stretching once more he settled with one foot forward and his weight on the back foot.
“I am Ishmah the mighty!” he said aloud and laughed. “I can defeat dragons. All your castles belong to me!” The boy laughed again.
He raised his arms as he had seen Ishmah do so many times...and held them close to his chest.
The shimmering air was visible but the currents had changed. Now the air about the boy reflected the ripples of energy deep within him. The boy continued, lazily enjoying a quiet afternoon alone.
He shifted his weight to the front foot.
In his head he heard the phrase. “Sarakum” and a giant ant was dead. “Sarakum” and a mountain boar lay dead. “Sarakum” and a stone lizard, or a giant scorpion....or a.....
“Sarakum.”
No more had the last syllable passed his lips than his cupped hands shot forward. It was like sneezing, an involuntary action.
The energy inside him welled up so fast it had to be released and the cupped hands were it’s way out.
The heat should have been incredible for the size of the fireball. But strangely its heat felt no hotter than the air about. It rolled forward into the tunnel of air that had now opened up. The boy watched it fall down the tunnel onwards. Now it’s size looked smaller he could see past it and see what it was heading toward.
It was a solitary tree; a solitary tree that had a nightmare for a face and branches for arms.
The impact of the fireball exploded into the dry branches, igniting the whole canopy and trunk instantaneously. Within moments the tree was but a burning trunk as the middle cracked on impact.
The boy stood and stared in amazement. He was too scared to return to the campfire, in case the tree somehow would disappear should he turn his back.
A firm hand clasped his shoulder.
“Kaleb,” Ishmah’s said warmly, “I am proud of you. You will sleep well tonight, of that I am sure.”
------
Kaleb opened his eyes to see Ishmah standing over him. The sunlight was only just making itself known to the world through the ridges in the craggy hills to the east.
"Wake up Kaleb."
"We will be back tonight before sundown. Make sure the fire is going and that there is plenty of fresh water on our return."
Kaleb sat up and rubbed his eyes. The rest of the group was already disappearing into the foothills toward a second cavern they had discovered the previous day.
Kaleb smiled.
His lips formed the word silently, “Sarakum.”