Week 1: The Burning Within

“Will you be my friend?” The little boy asked to the crickets chirping in the field.

I’ll be your friend. The spirit whispered back.

“But I don’t trust you.”

As he slumped against the old warn down barn, flickers of fire skittered across his fingers. No one wanted to be his friend since the incident. And now as the sun set on another disappointing day, it seemed like even the crickets were going quiet in his presence. No one understood. He didn’t want the magic that coursed like wildfire through his veins. In the great stories of heroes wielding magic, it was always the villains that played with fire. Once the village had found out about his 'gift' there was no longer a place for him.

The whispered voice soothed once again. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know what you were doing. Just imagine what you’ll be capable of when you do.

It wasn’t only the magic that scared people. After finding out the boy was also hearing voices in his head, the villagers assumed the worst and locked him up.

Looking down at his hands, tears began to well up in the boy's eyes. “I set the fires again, I was so afraid. But this time it wasn’t an accident. It was the only way I could escape." He sobbed, "No one was supposed to get hurt, I thought they would get everyone out.” The tears started to flow down the boy's cheeks, falling onto his hands with a quiet hiss. The heat of the magical fire was causing them to evaporate.

The sheriff could have gotten the other ones out, he had plenty of time. But he turned out to be a coward. Saving his own skin instead. Men like that don’t deserve to live, he should taste the fire. Desire crept into the spirit's voice.

“No, I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

The voice grew stronger. It’s not really you doing the hurting, I am the fire that will consume him. You just need to release me. The fire increased in the boys hands, even for him to an almost unbearable heat. You are a strong host, stronger than others I have bonded with from the past. Together we can do great things.

The tears continued to fall, slowly cooling the boy's hands. “I just want my family back,” he choked out, trying to hold back his anguish. “I wish none of this had happened. I wish you had never chosen me.” A far off look entered the boy's eyes, as he gazed sadly over the uninhabited land around him.

Cold wind whistled through the holes in the barn. While some flowers were still in bloom in the fields surrounding him, most had faded. Still dotting the landscape were marigolds, shining their golden hues. The trees were starting to show hints of their own vibrant colours. Splashes of red and orange, as if they themselves were set ablaze. Fall was coming, the seasons were turning. Soon the chill of winter would set in, aching and bitter cold.

Out of fear the boy had run from anyone who might chase him. Unknown to him no pursuit had ever happened. No one was looking for him, they all thought he'd perished in the fire.

The world around him was abandoned, no one lived this far north anymore. And the old barn stood as a monument to the last farmer who tried. Leaving the boy alone, with no one. No one except for a voice in his head.

The voice would not leave him alone. You have a wrong to set right, that is why you were chosen. It is not my decision to make. The Great Spirt watches and chooses who I will bond with next. Now that I’m here don’t you want to try again? Don't you want to see what we are capable of? Together?

“I can’t control you, I’m not strong enough. If I had been able to control you and not get so angry, none of this would have happened. I lost everything because of you.” The boy spoke to his hands, as the heat once again started to build in them. The glow of the fire within reflected in his tired, red eyes.

Do not be swallowed up in sorrow child. The spirit pushed. Let the anger fill you up, anger at the thief who stole your parents money, the lawyer who took their house, the judge who sent away your sisters, the professor that took away your brothers, and the sherif who imprisoned you. The last coming out as a hiss.

“Enough!” The boy screamed jumping to his feet, hands clenched into fists. “You don’t need to remind me of everything I’ve lost! I know.” He said, with a new harshness entering into his voice. “I can’t close my eyes without seeing my family, without feeling the pain of loosing them all over again." The pain and frustration was evident on his face. "I’m so angry at everyone! Everyone who had a part in taking them away from me.” The boy's hands started to shake, fire jumping across his knuckles. “They do all deserve to burn.”

Tears evaporated, leaving nothing but streaks of dirt on his face.

Gleefully the spirit replied. Yes, good! Sorrow is a weakness. Get rid of it. Let the anger and hate fuel you. Banish everything else. I know rage like no one else does. I am the consuming fire, unleash me on your enemies.

The boy paused for a moment looking at his hands, uncertain. “Is this really the right answer?”

Let go of the weakness of grief and doubt. If you want to be strong the fire must fuel you.

"I will never be weak again." Opening up his hands, embracing the emanating heat, the boy turned to look at the barn he had taken refuge in. The shelter that had embraced his weakness. No more would he be the helpless little boy, no more would he cower and hide away from the world. No more would he let others determine his fate.

With fire in his eyes, he declared, “My old name doesn’t matter anymore. From now on you can call me Ash. It's the only thing I’ll leave behind.

Yes, let’s show the world what we can do, my friend. The spirit replied victoriously.

Ash reached his hands up. The flames coalescing around him, echoing the anger that filled his heart. Hotter and hotter, they grew into a raging inferno with him at the centre. With vigour he thrust his hands forward, launching the fire at the barn. It erupted into flames, timbers cracking in the heat of the blaze. More and more of his raging fire was pushed into the old barn, engulfing it.

Standing there, Ash watched the barn burn. Letting the heat of the fire consume all the sorrow in his heart, replacing it with hate. He stood watching the flames rage late into the night, until the barn was nothing but ashes.

Hands still glowing red, Ash turned away from the smouldering remains.

“No one will stand in our way. Ash is coming home.”

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Part 1 of 8, come back next week for part 2.