Chapter 1, Section 2

Wind and Sand

The sound of wind and surf woke him. The water ebbed up and down his legs. He lay there enjoying the feeling of the water on his legs and the sand beneath him. His eyes remained closed and the world around him was a mystery. This was a mystery that he was less than anxious to solve. What lay beyond the thin layer of flesh separating him from the outside world? The sand beneath him was hot and the water coursing up and down his legs was cool. The world could still be on fire and he did not want to wake up to such a world once more. A man can not stay in his dreams forever, though. Eventually, he would have to open his eyes and face whatever appeared before him. Still, he decided to lay there for a moment more, determined to put off such a confrontation for as long as he could.

When his eyes opened he almost wanted to shut them once more. The fire island had been teeming with unnatural life, where new rock and sky were constantly being born. Here, in this new land, there was a complete absence of life. Had the fire island been given life at the cost of life in other lands? He had washed upon a land contrary to the one where he woke up in. All around the world was barren. An abnormal quiet had festered in this place. Even the seas seemed muted, devoid of life. He should have heard the wind rusting among the reeds and grasses near the shore. There should have been the sounds of birds screaming for food, and fish splashing in the water. This was a new world. So full of life, and yet devoid of life at the same time. Before his lengthy slumber he thought he had seen all the world had to offer. In truth, he had only scratched the surface. Endless desolate seas, empty barren beaches, flaming scorching islands inhabited the world now. Perhaps the only thing that gave him hope was that the sky did not reflect the land. Stars still dotted the celestial landscape and the moon still hung in the sky. What other astonishing things awaited him? What other horrors?


For a moment he expected the gods to answer him. For a moment all was still. The gods were toying with him, no doubt they would wait until his guard was down before raining down destruction upon him once more. For now, nothing calamitous appeared to be coming his way so he began to decide upon the myriad of decisions that befell him. In truth, there was only one real option. The remaining decisions were merely of the where, the when and the how. The direction; now or later; by water or by foot, these were the choices. Each of these choices were equally valid. He could only hope that what he chose would lead him to civilization, or at the very least a place where the old rules of the world still hold true. His journey began with this hope planted firmly in his mind.


He waited a day before leaving. He slept during the day. He had already seen what daylight had to offer, now was the time to see what surprises night had in store. He awoke to the sun on his face, something that relieved him more than he had expected. Since his initial awakening he had not seen the sun. He had suspected that it still illuminated the world above the clouds of smoke and ash, but he had had no real evidence. The shore stretched towards the rising sun and, as far as he could tell, so did the barrenness. He chose his direction. He would follow the setting sun. This way he would have more daylight with which to explore this new land. Since this direction ran parallel to the shore, he would not be in short supply of water. That is of course, if he could find a way to remove the salt.


He did find a way to freshen his water. A clever system using large stones from the sea and the sun's powerful rays. This though, did not make his trek any easier. In fact, the system reversed his earlier decision to journey through the night. Since he had to wait during the day for the water to collect, his movements were restricted to the night time. Travelling in the night was cold and dark. He would injure himself upon unseen obstacles and often found himself having words with the ground. There was one unexpected boon about this though. He did not have to see the barren wastelands around him.


As far as he had gone, he had still not found anything that could be considered food. Either there was nothing there, or they were very adept at hiding away from him. A week passed and he was finding himself increasingly fatigued and lethargic. Stomach pains plagued him throughout the day. He began to see hallucinate. At first, he was amused by these visions. They would relieve his loneliness. That would soon change when the images began to taunt him. He would see food off in the distance. He would chase after, only to find that nothing but swirling sand.


The sand too was a danger. Some days, dark days, the wind would pick up and the sand would pierce his body. No travelling was done these days. He would hunker down and pray for the wind to stop. Sometimes he would be lucky and there would be a dune, under which he could take shelter. Other days he would weather the storm as best he could. Not a great deal of time passed before he realized he was dying. Either the sand would kill him or the hunger would. He tried to drive these thoughts away, but he longer he stayed in the desert the more persistent the thoughts became. He found solace and no little amusement in a single idea. The idea that his death would provide evidence to future peoples that there was life in this land. His corpse might one day be the source of academic discourse. A barren land with a single life.


His dreams of being an anomaly would end abruptly. In the distance grew a settlement of some sort. Unlike any he was familiar with. The closer he came, the more he realized that this was no mirage of his mind or of the desert. At first he was irked. One dream had died and he could not paint an ironic picture in the history of the land. This feeling passed, and it passed very quickly. This was solid proof that there were others besides him. He was going to live, and he would no longer be alone. He arrived in the dark of night, and he would not truly see the city until the next morning. When he did, the sight took he breath away.


Great stone buildings littered the land. Each building was exquisite. Each seemed to be carved from a single stone. The buildings were diverse in design. Despite the diversity, there was a harmony among the buildings. Towards the centre of the settlement the buildings rose higher and higher, culminating in a single spire that seemed to touch the sky. He had difficulty comprehending the sheer size of the city. Even the largest of his peoples' cities paled in comparison. This city must have housed many hundreds of thousands, perhaps more. And so many houses. Each inhabitant must have been given their own abode. This would be unheard of in his society. This city was so strange, yet so wonderful at the same time.


He would later learn that the appearance was not the only wonder the city had to hold. The central spire's apex was obscured as the spire pierced the clouds. He couldn't fathom why people would want to build so high. The air above the clouds was thin and cold, the wind especially strong. Then he heard it and he understood everything. It, in this case, was the song of the city. The spire acted as colossal flute. The gods would play the flute using the wind itself. A powerful melody swept the city. Though the purpose was unknown, the music was beautiful. He could imagine with ease the people of the city stopping to savour the sound.


The thought brought him back to the moment. He had still not seen anyone. He was not surprised though there were plenty of explanations. A civilization such as this could build down as well as they could build up. They would likely be underground, shying away from the searing sun. They would come out when the sun set. He did not wish to offend them by invading their abodes before then. So he waited. Darkness was a long time in coming. He wasn't sure if he minded. The anticipation was intense. Did he mind the anticipation? Not in the least. Even if there were no people here, he knew that the world had not been remade anew. Here was proof that there people still dwelt on this world. He would find them.

Chapter 1, Section 1

A short note before you read. The following is mostly a third person re-write. The prologue will be the same as before.

Fire and Water

He awoke with a start, shivering despite the heat of the day. The terror and despair of the vision lingered even as the memory began to fade. These dreams fatigued him emotionally. While the dream would only last the night and the memory quickly disappeared, the feelings, especially the intense ones, stayed and tainted his mornings. Once the last vestiges of the dream ebbed away, he found his body torn and tattered. Lacerations, small and large, ragged and straight, clean and dirty, all evidenced a night spent rolling around scratching at himself in a vain attempt at extinguishing illusory flames. He cursed. Already, his nights were filled with horror, did they have to taint his days as well?


As if in answer to his unvoiced question, the ground underneath him burst outward. He was showered in scalding hot debris, blasted with with a wave of hot air and shocked into attention at the sheer fury of the event. For the first time of the day, he focused his attention outward rather than inward. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. Shaking his head he closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. When his heart slowed, he dared to open his eyes again. When he did, dread filled his heart.


He dreamt of terrors that infected his body well into the day, now he found that his dreams had grown into reality. All around him the world was aflame. The ground seemed too hot to touch. Wisps of smoke rose from the blackened land, rising to merge with the dark miasma above. Smoke and ash filled the air filled the air creating a false night, lit only by the sporadic bursts of reddish lightning. Pools of steaming liquid, surrounded by orange, yellow and green crystals dotted the blackened land. Behind him sat a vast lake, unlike any he had ever seen. The lake sparkled, not with the reflections of the sun but with its own internal illumination. Yellow and orange with a thin layer of broken black covering the surface, the lake roiled and bubbled and burst. Sometimes there would be small geysers of the viscous, golden fluids, spewing forth high into the sky before darkening, stained by the soot and falling back into the lake. Those drops that did not quite return to the lake would splatter against the earth and give rise to new rock amidst a torrent of smoke and steam.


The sounds of the land were everywhere. There was a tremendous roar emanating from the lake, much like the ocean but much much louder, only the thunder from above was louder. The rumble from the ground was palpable. As the stones rained down from the fountain of gold they chattered, announcing their conception. Some, not read for the world, fell back into the glowing lake with an audible thwack. There were other sounds, sounds that he could not quite place. A crashing perhaps? Hissing? He was unsure whether the sounds were unknown to him or that they were being obscured by the dominant noises of the area.


A thousand fragrances floated through the air. Burned rock and ash were ubiquitous, and made the air difficult to breathe. The air was hot but not dry. In fact, the air was humid, something that he found quite unusual. Though the crystal-lined pools steamed, they did not seem to dissipate and were unlikely to have caused the amount of moisture in the air. A smell, reminiscent of rotten eggs, emanating from these crystalline pools, turned the air rancid. Rotten though they may have been, the scent of eggs stirred within him a fierce hunger. For a moment, he lost himself in his hunger and let himself dream of nicer things. He dreamt of honey soaked bread and a cold mug of mead. He shook himself. He could not be entrapped by his daydreams.


Leaving took top priority. The ground was frying him and the hot and humid air was steaming him; he was being cooked alive. He began to walk away from the molten lake, towards one of the crystalline pools. He leaned down to the foul-smelling water and touched his lips to the water. He scrambled away from the water, wiping his lips with his hands like a mad man. Looking down upon his hands, he saw blood. The water had burned him! Even his arm was beginning to burn, the hair shriveling and his skin curling. What kind of cursed land was this where even the water burned? There was no alternative. He had to escape and he could not dally. He ran away from the lake, dodging any of the burning pools that came in his way. He had not gone twenty steps before the ground cracked and gave way. His foot slipped into the hole, as if he had stepped on thin ice. Underneath the thin sheet of rock hid a reservoir of water. He screamed as his foot was enveloped in pain. The land was intent on killing him. He crawled, burning his hands upon the ground. At last he came upon the end of the land. He found the source of the mysterious sounds and scents, he had come upon an ocean.


Looking around him, he discovered that he had awoken upon an island of fire, surrounded by the sea. The ocean crashed upon shore. Where the water touched upon the land, vast columns of steam would be born and sometimes, the land would crack. The smell of salt and water displaced the smoke and the ash and burning rock. He began to despair. How could he escape? The land was too hot to bear and the water burned like liquid fire. Was he expected to fly? Once more he began to wonder what this land was. Had the Sun descended, burning away the water and giving birth to new land while willing its properties upon the water? Perhaps he had not been only been cursed but honoured as well. He could be witnessing the Sun reenacting the miracle that began the world.


Miracle or not, he was still stranded. He could neither stay upon the land nor swim away. That is what he thought. That is, until the mist from the surf met his skin and did not burn. He inched forward, unwilling to risk the possibility that his senses were misbehaving. When he felt the splash of water again, and observed that his flesh was still whole, he rejoiced. Not wasting another moment, he dove into the sea. In his haste he forgot one important thing. Sea water makes wounds sting. Upon entering the water, he was inundated with pain. His face, arms, and foot were afire anew. The world darkened and the pain disappeared.

Choosing a Perspective

When I started this endeavor I thought that it would be nice to write the bulk of the story in first person perspective. This would give the readers a unique look at the world while making sure that the narrator does not know everything. However, I found that my narrator knew too much about the story. There were thing that I, the writer, did not want to disclose but the character narrating had no reason to hide. This, of course, makes writing the part difficult and some of the scenes awkward. Therefore, I am contemplating whether or not to rewrite the sections in third person. While this perspective allows the narrator of the story to know everything, there are no constraints against what may or may not be disclosed.

Chapter 1 Section 2

Wind and Sand



The sound of the surf woke me. The water was ebbing up and down my legs. I was reluctant to open my eyes, afraid that I would find myself back on the island. The land around me was not the island. It was a whole new world, but a world just as terrifying. All around me the land was barren. Even the seas seemed quieter, devoid of life. So close to the sea, I had expected long grasses just beyond the shore, short bushes past this, and finally a line of tall trees. Instead I saw nothing. The sand continued on and on, as far as the eye could see. Even the air seemed empty. The scents of animals and plants had all disappeared, leaving only the salty scent of the sea. Never before had I seen a desert so close to the sea. Not when there were no mountains and the winds were so calm. I wondered what else I had not seen. I had thought that my people had explored the whole of the world, but I found that we had barely scratched the surface. Over the supposedly endless see there were fiery islands and desolate sea shores. What other astonishing things awaited me? What other horrors?

For a moment I stood there waiting. I waited for the the gods to answer. Nothing happened. The gods seem to be done toying with me, at least for the day. Now that I was fairly certain that I nothing particularly calamitous was coming my way it was time I made some decisions. I decided that, given the barren landscape, the likelihood of being found and assisted was low. I chose to walk along the shore until I reached a river or a stream, something that would provide me with a source of fresh water. If all went well, I would not only find fresh water, but I would find civilization as well. Hopefully, this continent was inhabited. There might be a place where I would be able to beg for food and shelter. I began my journey with this hope firmly implanted in my mind.

The journey itself was uneventful, too uneventful. No matter how far I walked, the scenery was the same. No plants, no animals, no birds, and no insects. With each step my despair grew. I could no longer see the smoking island where I had begun or even the dark clouds of smoke that it produced. The landscape had blurred in my mind, becoming three amorphous blobs. To my left was the yellow desert, to my right was the blue sea, and above me stretched the darkening sky. I found the nights to be as cold as the days were hot. Even in the night there were no sounds beyond the crashing of the waves and the howling of the wind. When it became too dark to walk any farther I lay down, shivering to keep warm. Some days the skies would cloud over and there would be rain. This kept me going for a little while longer. Thus the days passed by, walking by day, shivering by night. More than once I found myself walking towards oases in the distance, only to find sand instead. Much to my dismay, these long days gave me time to think.
Given my situation, I wished that the barrenness of the land would be contagious. I wised that it would invade my mind. I began to imagine things, things that were by no means pleasant. I would imagine what it was like to starve to death, or to die of thirst. I wondered if I would be forced to devour rocks and drink the sea. These, though, were not the most frightening thoughts. When I dwelt upon the mysterious emptiness of the continent I truly felt fear. There was no reason for the land and sea to be so desolate. There was sunlight and soil and rain, but there was no plant-life. There were no fish in the sea, moss on the rocks, nor barnacles on the shore. A small idea had taken root in my mind and grew to maturity during my walk. What if…? What if I had awoken in between worlds? What if I had slept through the end of the world, only to wake when the new world was in its infancy?

While I was dwelling upon the possibility that I might never again see another living being, I saw the first piece of evidence to the contrary. Far in the distance I saw unnatural structures. I thought I saw the faint outlines of houses and perhaps a harbour. Hope flared in my heart. I was desperate. It had not rained for days. I was both parched and starving. I was so desperate that I did not even care if what I was seeing was real or not. If my eyes truly deceived me and I was just seeing a mirage I would just lay down and accept my fate. Perhaps my next life would not be so unlucky. I laughed, as if the fates would be so kind. Likely, they would find some other atrocious life for me to live.

As I approached the town, I became more and more certain that this was no mirage that I was seeing. Each step I took dispelled some of the distortion caused by the hot desert air. At the outskirts of the city it was far too large to be called a town I paused and let the city assault my senses. The city was vast, far larger than any I had ever seen before. If all the dwellings were to be filled thousands, maybe tens of thousands of people could be housed. What was odd was that the people who had built the city had decided to spread outwards rather than upwards or downwards as I was accustomed. None of the buildings rose higher than three stories; in fact, few were even that high. Each building was made of smooth stone, almost seamless in masonry. All of the houses had ornate doorways and windows. Examining one of the nearer buildings I saw something else odd. There were little tiny windows of all sorts of shapes on the side of the walls. These windows were too small to let in light let alone a fresh breeze. If not for the fact that they too were carved in detail I would have suspected that they were unintentional, damage or some other mishap. Only when the wind blew did I discover the reason for these holes. As the breeze passed through the house, the howling of the wind was transformed into a sharp whistle, changing pitch and volume with the direction and strength of the wind. Each of the houses produced a different sound and together the city became a symphony. I continued to walk along the ocean shore. Hundreds of houses dotted the city’s coast. They came in all shapes and sizes. Each of these houses sang the city’s song. Some of the houses even had elaborate water features, whose fountains would spurt timed to the crashing of the waves. I had never heard anything so marvellous and I couldn’t begin to comprehend the skill and knowledge required to pull off this feat. The builders of this great city had mastered not only stone, but wind and water as well. With this thought in mind I tried to justify what I saw next. All along the city’s shore there were long stone paths projecting out and over the ocean. Surely they did not think that they could bridge the gap between continents. And yet I wondered: if these people had tried, would they have succeeded? Walking along one of these stone paths I saw a sight that made hope flower in my chest.

Upon the ocean path stood a man. He waved towards me, urging me to hurry to his side. I was elated. My relief was almost palpable. Berating my mind for all the doubt and despair, I rushed towards the man. There was something odd about the man, something that tugged at the edges of my memory. I didn’t care. Here was not only the first sign of life, but of sentience that I had seen thus far. I had so many questions. Questions about the city, the music, the builders, the island of fire, and the desert of death. I hurried over, anxious to get answers. As I approached the man stopped waving. He placed his hand upon his brow, shielding his eyes from the glare of light. After a moment he appeared to panic holding his arms out in front of himself as if/ to ward away rather than welcome me. I was stumped. What was there about me that would be so frightening? I did not stop. I was too unwilling to let go of the opportunity. As the distance between me and him closed his distress seemed to magnify. Soon, he became overwrought and leaped off the path.

No!” I shouted, “Come back.”

My turn to panic had come. I dashed over. I refused to let the greedy ocean consume the only trace of life left on this world. When I arrived I peered over the edge, hoping that his body had not sunk or drifted to far for me to reach. I was surprised to see that he had not sunk at all. Instead he stood upon the water, supported only by a thin piece of curved wood. In his hand he held an odd weapon, a flatted club of some sort. He shouted and waved the club in front of him. I was flummoxed. Never had it occurred to me that my first contact would be so hostile, nor that I would not understand the language that he spoke. In retrospect, that I even thought that they would speak the same language as I was quite arrogant. I held out my hand, my palm facing upwards, hoping that the gesture meant the same thing to the both of us. He took the club and smashed my hand. A loud crack reverberated up my arm, signalling the breaking of my hand. I backed away. He climbed back upon the path and began to pursue me, swinging his club menacingly. I kept retreating, not trusting that he would not launch an attack once my back was turned, not wanting to lose eye contact.

I looked into his eyes and I was again surprised by what I found. Apparently, this new world had nothing but surprises for me. Before me stood something that was reminiscent of a man but not quite. His general form was similar to mine, with one head and a pair of both arms and legs... but the differences ended soon thereafter. His eyes were smaller than mine, narrower as well. White had invaded his eyes and there was an odd sheen to them. Other than his eyes, all else seemed to be a lesson in excess. His head enveloped in mass of bristles that barely hid his large ears. Looking down to his hands I saw that there were too many fingers on both hands. His feet were covered so I could only assume that he would have an overabundance of toes as well I had heard of such things before, but never had I seen such an extreme example and always the stories told of some sort of birth defect or disease. By all appearances there was a monster before me. Perhaps there was a monster before him as well.

I tried to act as calmly as I could. I put my hands to my side and slowly backed away from the man. I spoke in a soft and calming tone. I hoped that all of these would convey my peaceful intentions in a way that was beyond the boundaries of language and race. My actions appeared to have an effect. The man stopped swinging the club and looked at me. Rather, he looked beyond me. I turned to see what had commandeered his attention away from me. I saw a group of beings, much like the one who was so hostile to me I noted that this meant that this man was the norm on this continent and that I might very well be the only one of my kind here that were being pursued by yet another group who rode upon four legged beasts. This was all I could ascertain before a loud crack permeated the air and I began to lose consciousness.

Chapter 1 Section 1

Chapter 1 Awakenings

Fire and Water

I awoke with a start. Even as the memory faded, the terror and despair of my vision lingered, haunting my waking life. My body ached. My arms and torso were lacerated and bleeding, physical evidence of the night’s dream. My fingers were bloody, bits of flesh still hanging from my fingernails. Some of the wounds were deeper, laced with bits of rock. I had rolled around and clawed at my skin in a vain attempt to put out the illusory flames. A long shallow cut adorned my chest bisecting my torso. Bruised and torn, I cursed. Was it not enough that my nights were tormented by my sins but that my days must be filled with agony as well?

As if in answer to my unvoiced question, the ground behind me exploded. My attention shifted to my surroundings. Looking around, I felt new fear. When I woke I had thought that my dreams had felt so very real, but now my senses showed that they had indeed gained substance. All round me the world was aflame. Beneath me the ground was hot and smouldering. Wisps of smoke rose from the blackened land, rising to merge with the dark miasma above. Smoke and ash filled the air, creating a false night. Around me I saw the impossible. Glowing rivers traced paths through the land, devouring the ever-widening shore. Turning around, a vast lake came into view. Viscous and luminescent, it was unlike any I had seen before. In the centre of this strange lake sat a fountain of gold, rising high into the sky before darkening, stained by the soot, and falling back into the lake. Where the fluid from the lake splashed, new rock was formed amidst a torrent of smoke and steam. Had the sun descended, burning away the water and giving birth to a new land? The thought filled me with awe. I was honoured to be witness, to watch as the gods repeated the miracle that began the world.

I soon began to doubt that I was experiencing an honour, but instead another elaborate punishment sent by the gods. The clouded air began to burn my lungs. Breathing had become difficult. I was forced to choose between suffocation above, or searing my hands and knees below. I dropped down to my knees and began to crawl away from the lake. Urging me forward, the lake began to spill over and snaked towards me. As I crawled I realized that I had not been amidst a plain like I had thought, rather I had woken atop a shallow hill. I rushed forward until I found myself blocked in by the fiery ooze. The rivers I had seen atop the hill had joined and cut off my escape. The heat emanating from the streams quashed any idea of wading through. I had no choice but to try and leap across the narrowest portion. I took a deep breath and rose. I backed up and then dashed forward as far as I could before jumping. At the apex of my leap I felt air rushing upward, lifting me. I would have been grateful for this assistance had it not seared my skin. A million needles of hot air stabbed at my exposed skin. Making it across, I breathed a sigh of relief, or I tried to. Beyond the molten barrier, the air was no clearer than within. I dropped back to my knees and crawled even farther.

The farther I crawled the cooler the ground and the clearer the air became. When I had placed a fair distance between myself and the molten water I saw clearly for the first time. I found that I was on an island. The island itself was small, befitting its newborn status, perhaps several hundred paces across. As such, exploring the island did not take long. The colour blue enveloped the island both above, in the sky, and below, in the sea. I had awoken in the centre of the island. This appeared to be the source of the smoke, ash, and glowing fluid. The molten rivers flowed down one side of the hill down straight to the sea where they spawned vast columns of steam. Opposite to this the sea was calm and the sky was clear. Standing upon the shore I could see for many leagues. It was on this shore that I spotted another land. Stretching across the horizon a thin line of brown rose out of the water. Now I had a real dilemma. How was I to cross the ocean? The island was barren with scorched earth being the dominant landscape and I couldn’t swim.

Trying to swim across was the most difficult task I had ever encountered. It took me a long time to even float. I don’t think that my body was designed to be submerged. Even then I found that the current would not drag me into the ocean. The ocean was quite perilous. In stark contrast to the island, the ocean was dreadfully cold. As I swam towards the land on the horizon a cool breeze blew me back toward the island. I felt as if I had entered the gods’ battlefield. On one hand the sun had birthed a new land and had given it an eternal flame to protect itself. On the other hand the ocean and the sea conspired to quench this flame, to smother it with the icy waters, to blow it out with the chill breeze. Nevertheless, I fought these obstacles as best I could. With each stroke I saw the opposite shore get closer, but even as it got closer I grew more fatigued. The cold was seeping into my skin and penetrating into my muscles. Water invaded every pore, every orifice. Soon, not only had swimming become a trial, but breathing as well. Before long, I had stopped trying, allowing the current to guide me whichever way. As my consciousness began to fade, I wished upon the wind that I would find myself ashore the continent and not back on the island.