And the Skies Rained Fire

Arin

A cool breeze blew lazily from the west, ruffling Arin's jet black hair and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He crouched low, resting on the balls of his feet as he stared through the razor grass that seemed to tower over him. Arin grasped the shaft of his handmade spear and slowly hoisted it off the ground, all the while keeping his eyes locked on his prey. The arbok raised its head and snorted, grass falling from its split lower jaw. The massive beast huffed loudly as it smelled the air then, failing to sense the eminent danger, bent back down to continue its feast. Sensing an opportunity, Arin slowly stood up, rising from the tall grass that previously gave him cover. His heart beat wildly and sweat trickled down his brow as he hoisted the spear to his shoulder and took careful aim. He cocked back his arm and exhaled. His muscles tensed and, with the precision of a seasoned warrior, he let the spear fly.

The arbok was still intently chewing its meal when the spearhead took it in the throat, severing one of its vital arteries. The creature howled in agony as it fell to the ground, crushing the plant matter around it. Arin pulled a wickedly sharp bone knife from the scabbard on his waist and approached the animal, still wary. The arbok's eyes darted around frantically as its hooves lashed out, as if attempting to stave off its inevitable death. Arin bounded over the animal's flailing hooves and onto its blood soaked back. He muttered a quick prayer under his breath and slit its throat, ending its death throes once and for all.

Arin slid off the beast's back and exhaled. He looked at the sun, now high in the sky. As exhausted as he was, he knew that he could waste no more time and immediately set to work skinning the animal that was over twice his size. As he worked, the sun beat down on him, creating beads of perspiration that ran down his bare chest, smearing the brown and gold warpaint that his father had painted onto him that very morning. He frowned. The paint was not only a symbol of a warrior but offered camouflage in the grasslands that were the hunting grounds of his people.

That morning Arin's tribe saw him off at sunrise as he departed for his first hunt as a man. His father, the chief of the village, had looked on him proudly as he presented him with his spear and knife and painted the ancestral warpaint on his chest. Arin had been nervous upon departing, jogging off into the rising sun to take down his first arbok, the powerful herbivores that roamed the grasslands near his village. However, now that he had finally killed the beast he felt an immense sense of pride spread through him like a warm drink. This one bull arbok would not only feed the village at the feast in his honor that night, but for the week to come as well.

Hours past and temperatures rose yet still Arin worked. He had laid the arbok's skin to dry and the sun to make leather. Then, he began to cut strips of meat and place them in the bag slung about his lean shoulders to bring home for the village when he heard a rustling in the grass behind him. He froze. Despite the late afternoon heat, Arin felt a chill down his spine. Slowly, he reached for his spear. When, after what seemed like hours his grasping fingers found its shaft, he raised himself onto his haunches, like a cat about to spring on its prey. He slowly turned around.

His jaw dropped. Rising from the grass before him was a massive snake, its fierce yellow eyes connected with Arin's crystal blue ones. The monster's dappled golden scales glittered in the sunlight, turning them to molten gold. As he watched, it rose from the grass until it towered over Arin, now twice his height. The snake hissed.

Arin ran, leaping over the corpse of the arbok and through the razor grass that grew up to his neck. The snake gave another angry hiss behind him and he knew without turning around that it was giving chase. Arin pumped his arms and legs faster and faster until he must have been a blur racing over the plain. Razor grass tore at exposed skin, opening stinging cuts on hist chest and arms. Arin shot a glance over his shoulder at the snake that barreled towards him, gaining no matter how fast he ran. Arin's heart thumped loudly in his ears. His legs ached and he knew that he could not outrun the massive predator for long.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw the snake rear up out of the grass once more, fangs bared. Listening to his instinct, Arin summoned his last reserves of energy and rolled to the left. The snake barreled past him and Arin felt the monster's breath on his neck. Knowing he had to press him new advantage, he flexed his legs to push off the ground and stand up, but found no ground beneath him. He yelled in terror as the grass shot away around him and he fell into darkness.

When Arin came to, he was laying on the floor of a rock shaft, staring up at the circle of fading sunlight above him. He groaned and pushed himself off the floor of the cave. Realizing that he had to return to the village before nightfall, Arin made to push himself in a into a standing position but screamed and collapsed as a wave of agony seared from his ribs. Tears streamed involuntarily from his eyes as he laid, face pressed against the cool, wet stone. Waves of shame and anger washed over him. How could he possibly bring the arbok to the village if he could not even stand up? Beyond that, how could he even get back to the village?

Arin lay on the ground, wallowing in his guilt and pain, unable to stand and about to stand up when a small blue pinprick of glowing light appeared, hovering over his head. Confused, he rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was hallucinating in his exhaustion. But as he watched, another glowing blue dot joined its predecessor. Then another. And another. Soon, a veritable swarm of the tiny lights swirled about his head. Fascinated, Arin pushed himself into a sitting position, moaning in pain as he did so. The lights froze, then drifted over to a massive obelisk of smooth, gray, stone in the center of the cave. As the lights came into contact with the stone, it lit up, the same bright blue of the lights. Carved runes, their meanings lost to the ages, danced around the obelisk, racing up and around the stone like excited children.

Filled with wonder, Arin slowly pulled himself across the rough stone floor towards the large glowing stone. He gritted his teeth as his injured ribs screamed at him to stop but he had to see what the obelisk was. It was beautiful. And it seemed to call to him. A small part of Arin's mind warned him, yelled at him to stop, that the stone was dangerous. But he paid it no heed. As he drew closer to the pillar of rock, Arin reached his hand out and touched it. The obelisk seemed to pulse with energy, an energy that seemed to flow into him. When he first reached the stone, he was bathed in the azure light, now it seemed to be coming from him. Arin's feelings soared as the pain in his ribs and back seemed to slowly disappear, beginning in the hand that clutched the stone and spreading throughout his body. Carefully, not quite trusting what had occurred, he stood up, all agony gone.

Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the blue light was gone, leaving Arin awestruck and alone in a dark cave with a large stone.