Emberhands

Caveman captures fire

Words 990

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 of the storm. His brow furrowed when he directed his black eyes to the horizon. A dazzling flash of light shot from the sky, hitting the forest floor with a loud 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 watchful, awed by the power of fire.

Yari was still young, yet obsessed by flame. He’d noticed how the sparks flew 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 flintstones until his hands bled. He spun and rubbed sticks together until they smoked and he himself almost 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 told often.

Yari would not be deterred and whilst the others romped, fought or hunted, he experimented, felt the heat rising from sun-drenched bark, became 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 never left him. One cold night he sat cross-legged outside his family’s shelter, crouched over a prepared nest of dry leaves and moss, striking two stones repeatedly, his fingers raw. Then it happened—not from the sky or a lightning storm but from his own hands. First a spark, a flicker, then smoke. He gently blew encouragement on to the tiny flame, he fed it and watched as it grew in the darkness. Feeling its warmth he leapt up with a cry of joy and exhilaration, laughing and dancing 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 too scared to approach

‘No good can come of this,’ Tuk declared

‘Yari has let an evil spirit into our midst,’ Brak agreed. ‘We must keep our distance.’

‘Yari and his family were exiled and refused entry to the village. Previously this would have meant certain death as isolation from the community would have left them exposed to wild animals.
Sela, mother of his child, remained by her man in isolation. By refusing to listen to the tribe’s warnings, she wished to prove there was no need to fear the fire which burned constantly outside their shelter. She encouraged other mothers to bring their babies to share the warmth of their fire on the coldest of winter nights. Yari would leave hot coals in hollows around the compound until eventually the tribe learned for themselves no harm would come to them and their families.

The others called him 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 before times became a distant memory and soon the land was awash with fires. Wild animals, seeking easy prey no longer prowled outside their shelters at night and the aroma of roasted meats drifted through the air with the discovery of how tastier and easier the tough kill was to eat. The cold night air lost its bite and families gathered around the fires and told their stories.


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

Yari had a long life and lived to witness the improvements which fire had brought to their lives, whilst still aware of things lost. As with all changes they can also generate trouble, pitfalls, greed and lack of insight as to potential consequences.
Fire is a powerful tool, not to be used without caution but younger members of the community, unaware of life before the flame was tamed, took it for granted. They were careless, took risks and inevitably mishaps and tragedies occurred. Small children suffered burns unnecessarily, attracted like moths to the flame. Homes were destroyed when burning torches were left unattended. Sometimes the old man was saddened 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

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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?