Emberhands

Caveman captures fire

Words 944

The boy, Yari, perched on a rock ledge, surveying his world far below. The sky was angry, clouds darkened and grumbled in the distance. He knew his family would be frightened, scurrying into the cave and wondering where their youngest child might be.

Yari lifted his nose and sniffed the air, absorbing the sharp tang. His brow furrowed, and he directed his black eyes to the horizon as a flash of light shot from the sky. It hit the forest floor with a crack. He covered his ears but continued to watch as bright flames consumed the trees. He knew fire as something to fear-he saw animals fleeing in fright-and yet he remained still and watched, awed by the power of fire.

Yari was still a boy, yet obsessed by flame. He’d noticed the sparks when two stones kissed just right. While the other young ones played, he was more interested in what was going on all around him. He studied the effects of friction and spent endless hours striking flint-stones together until his hands bled. He spun and rubbed sticks until they smoked and he himself at the point of exhaustion. He’d been endlessly frustrated when dry leaves turned black but refused to glow.

The others taunted him, refusing to believe making fire was even possible.

‘Fire comes from the angry sky, not to be summoned from hands,’ he was often told.

Yari wouldn’t be deterred and whilst the others romped, fought or hunted, he experimented, felt the heat rising from sun-soaked bark, becoming more determined than ever to capture the spark from the stones, to release its energy and produce fire. Fire was alive and he wanted to own it.


Many seasons passed, Yari grew into a man with a woman and child of his own and yet his obsession with fire had never left him.

One cold night Yari sat cross-legged outside his family’s shelter, crouched over a prepared nest of dry leaves and moss. Striking two stones over and over, his fingers raw, it happened-not from the sky or a storm but from his own hands. First a spark, a flicker, then light. He blew encouragement on to the tiny flame and watched as it grew in the darkness. He felt its warmth, he stood and laughed and danced around the flames and the fire danced back at him.

The news spread quickly around the tribe but at first they were afraid of Yari’s fire. They retreated as if they were wild animals scared to approach

‘No good can come of this,’ Tuk declared

‘Yari has let an evil spirit into our midst,’ Brak agreed.

But Sela, Yari’s partner and mother of his child and wise beyond her years, stood by him. She helped prove the benefits of the fire which burned constantly outside their home. When the sweet aromas of roasted meat drifted through the air, Sela told her friends how tastier and easier the tough kill was to eat. She invited her neighbours to experience the warmth of their fire on the cold winter days. Yari left hot coals in hollows around for others to receive their warmth and eventually they trusted there was no harm, only good, and they thanked him.

He began to be known as Emberhands, such was his proficiency in producing fire from his fingers. Yet he had never wished to be the only firestarter and soon shared his knowledge, first with the children, who in turn demonstrated the art to the elders.
Controllable fire became commonplace and the times before became a distant memory. Soon the land was awash with fires, wild animals no longer prowled outside their shelters at night seeking food. Meats were roasted and the cold no longer bit the children. People sat around the fires and told stories.

Yari watched on proudly, smiling with satisfaction. ‘And all because of the flame,’ he said.


Village life inevitably changed forever, days could be stretched. Stars, which previously sparkled in the black night sky, were blurry pin pricks, barely discernible through the constant smoke haze which hung like a grey sheet over the land. The smell of wood smoke permeated into everything, hair, skin and food. The gentle, soothing call of the night owl as he hunted his prey was drowned out by the crackling, hissing sounds of hundreds of stone-circled fires. The sky seemed never to darken completely anymore, there was always movement from flickering flames, restless, as if the night no longer slept.

As with all changes they can also bring trouble, pitfalls, greed and lack of insight as to potential consequences. Fire is a powerful tool, allowing the tribes to extend the day, to cook meat and eventually to manufacture tools.


Yari had a long life and lived to witness the improvements which fire had brought to their lives, whilst he was still aware of things lost. The younger members of the community, born to control fire, took it for granted, unaware of life before that time. Some were careless, took risks and many mishaps and tragedies occurred because of that. Children were burned unnecessarily, attracted like moths to the flame and shelters were destroyed when burning torches were taken inside and left unattended.

The old man was saddened, left with a sense of guilt that it was he who had first sparked a fire and learned to harness its force.

‘Emberhands,’ died, unaware of the potential of that first tiny spark which he’d held in his hands.

Charles Darwin once said, ‘The art of making and using fire was probably the greatest discovery ever made by man. Habitual fire use was one of the driving forces in human evolution.


Written for

SURVEY

What a Character! : Official WDC Contest  (E) Create a memorable character using the given prompt for huge prizes! #1679316 by Writing.Com Support

Prompt: Write a story where a character who finally achieves the lifelong goal they've
been working toward. What did they just achieve, and what do they do next?