A grey-bearded man stood at the foot of a monstrous waterfall, his legs spread wide in a strong stance and his head tilted back so as to gaze at this behemoth of nature. If one were to look at the man’s face they would see an array of unexpected things. One would see a face so aged and lined it could hardly be recognized as human. One might also see an old man sporting a smile that mirrored the insanity within. They might see that he wore a frayed and blood stained fold of cloth across his eyes, but not as a blindfold. The old man wore the cloth to hide his missing eyes, and they had been such beautiful eyes, green, and filled with wisdom.
The elderly man wore nothing else but a kilt for the air around him was warm and damp. He began to cackle, his voice hoarse as though he smoked tobacco much too often, but surprisingly, his laugh was genuine. Endearing almost.
When he stopped laughing he placed his calloused feet in a wider stance and began to sweep his arms through the air in deliberate motions creating what looked like a dance. His teeth were still bared, but his face was screwed up in concentration. The precise movements in the dance led into swifter movements. As he began to slow, he bent his knees and crouched low to the ground his arms stretched out in front of him, fingertips dipped in the water at his feet. Then after a brief pause he slowly pushed his hands upward into the air as though he were heaving a force above his head. He grunted as he did so, and all at once the waterfall exploded outwards in rage throwing the elder backward through the air.
The old man landed hard on the bank amid a patch of lush grass, and laid his head back with a sigh. He slammed a fist onto the ground beside him. He gritted his teeth and slammed both fists on the ground. Then he starting kicking his legs and banging his fists down, throwing the fit a child might throw. He grunted and thrashed until his limbs were weak. His body tensed up, and he crossed his arms shoving both hands under his pits. He vented a moment longer with his face contorted in anger before his body slumped and went limp.
Exhaustion had almost taken him. After a near hundred attempts at the strenuous dance-like spell even the hard ground beneath his back felt inviting. So he lay there for a moment longer breathing heavily, allowing a short reprieve. He propped himself on one elbow. Allowing his mind to wander a bit, his eyes flitted around the green area surrounding him, and just before he pushed himself to his feet he spotted a line of ants scuttling through the grass. He leaned down for a closer look. When he did the old man gasped. For at the tail end of the line was the smallest ant of all the ants, and above its back lay a shiny onyx stone slightly smaller than his fist. His face crinkled as a smile broke over the old man’s face, and his eyes seemed to twinkle. At that moment he set his jaw, pushed himself from the ground, and waded into the pool toward the waterfall. The old coot was stubborn in his old age.
“I am Zakkias, and I am not wavered old one!” He shouted up toward the waterfall. He chuckled and muttered to himself, “Zakkias will not waver, just as you little ant.”
So Zakkias resumed his stance and planted his feet as firmly as he could atop the smooth stones in the pool. He began to roll his arms through the motions. He slowed at points to position his hands in just the right place. Then, he began to twist into the complex portion of his spell, and just as he brought his hands down to the water he roared at the top of his lungs and flung his palms up into the air above his head. For a split second it seemed as if time had froze. An ocean of water droplets hung in the air around Zakkias and the cascade of a waterfall in front of him seemed to hang suspended in time. Zakkias marveled as much as he could, triumph in his eyes, before he grunted and let his arms drop. As he did so, the suspended water came crashing down again creating a wave that pushed the old man onto his behind. And he laughed.
I’m just an aspiring young writer hoping to gain a little momentum in the world of creative writing. More than anything I’d like to write a series of books in the fantasy genre that people will enjoy to read as much as I would to write.
|< Prev||Next >|