Shankara

Chapter 1 - FIRE AND BRIMSTONE

11,624 Years Before the Present, Somewhere Near Papua New Guinea, Sahul

The night had been a deep shade of dark, and the sun's night companion was nowhere to be seen. High up in the highlands, the villagers had spent the day slashing and burning, so to make way for taro and yam crops. Although hunter-gatherers feeding on an abundance of natural resources, they were also early agriculturists planting mainly root crops. The last of the fires was slowly dying down, and its bright orange embers stood starkly against the dark night, in what was a reassurance to most, as they huddled together, kin next to kin, rubbing each other to keep the cold away. High up, mist was a constant presence, and they quickly made their way to a cavern overlooking their fields and started a fire around which they congregated, gesturing and talking about the long day's work and those ahead of them. On the walls, pictographs of kangaroos and emus and red ochre handprints told the story of their shared life. It was not long before the eldest made his way to the back wall and started telling his stories, with the fire projecting shadows upon the pictures behind him, making them come alive and with every lick of the flame they appeared to be moving as the shadows and the firelight reflected on them. The acoustics of the cavern had been specifically chosen by the elders and his voice reverberated as did the children's gasps on its walls, making what can only be called an early human theatre stage. They would stay there until the story was done, cooking and sharing food as some listened intently while others gazed out at the stars or at the fields below.

Fissu was alone, as customary, chosen again to keep guard against any approaching enemies, human or not. Unfortunately for Fissu, his imagination was boundless and in the deep dark night he often saw things that were not there, his mind imprinting images and sounds on the blank canvas that was the night. It was again his turn, as always, and Fissu wasn't very pleased that he would miss out on the comfort of his tribe and its stories and only get cold leftovers when it was time to head to dreams. Not making things easy for himself, as kin always remarked to him, he felt unjustly picked again and again for what he thought should be a shared burden. But having lost his left forearm in a hunting accident when he was young, he could not participate as much as the others did in their daily tasks and as such he was mostly the only chosen one to keep watch, as he only needed his five senses to keep the village safe.

At first, Fissu thought he was imagining things, as was usual, but things went from imagination to reality in the blink of an eye. A streak of light tore across the sky, so fast and silent that at first, it seemed like one of the stars had decided to leave its heavenly perch. Fissu's breath caught in his throat. His eyes, wide in disbelief, followed the fiery trail as it arced high above the horizon. He thought he would cry but no sound came from his wide-open mouth. The streak of light, a brilliant white tinged with green and orange, burned impossibly bright against the impenetrable darkness of the sky. It was as if the heavens themselves had cracked open, allowing the celestial fire the elders talked about to pour through. The light grew, intensifying as it plummeted towards him and the village. Unlike the gentle flicker of a distant star or the slow glide of the sun's companion, this light was alive, fierce and wild. Its tail shimmered and crackled, a trail of glowing sparks fanning out behind it, lighting up the entire mountainside in flashes of blue and orange. The distant mist seemed to glow in response, as if the world itself was holding its breath. When usually every sort of noise would be heard coming from the jungle, now only a hollowed-out silence was gaining on him. He could only hear the gasps of those close to the caves who were now seeing what Fissu was seeing with his own eyes. Fissu's heart pounded in his chest as he watched, frozen to the spot, his lone arm clutching his chest. The fiery mass hissed through the clouds with a sound like distant thunder. In its wake, the elder stars above seemed to blur and shimmer, retreating from the heat of the foreign intruder as though even his ancestors were mute to what was taking place below them. Fissu fell to his knees, his only arm falling beside him limp and helpless. Suddenly, the ground beneath him trembled as if the earth itself was startled awake. The bright blazing orb now grew so large and bright that Fissu's mind could not comprehend its size or its speed. For a brief moment, it lit the night as bright as the day. Shadows of trees and rocks, sharp and menacing, danced wildly in every direction, as if the falling star had a story of its own to tell. For a moment he longed for the cavern and its knowable fire. But there was no comfort here. Fissu ducked instinctively, shielding his face from the unbearable heat as the great fireball streaked lower and lower until, with an ear-splitting roar, it vanished behind the distant hills. The ground shook violently beneath his feet as a distant bang rent the air, the sound rolling across the valleys like an angry god's cry. The village above now stirred with cries of alarm. The elders stopped their storytelling, their words replaced by the whispers of the wind and the rumble of distant thunder. The people, huddled together, turned toward the sky, their faces lit in awe and fear by the last glow of the dying fireball. Fissu stood alone, his chest rising and falling rapidly as the night returned to its eerie stillness. The stars, once again motionless, blinked quietly overhead, as if nothing had happened. But Fissu knew better. Whatever had fallen from the sky was no mere star, and the earth and his world would never be the same. He glanced at the distant horizon where the ball of fire had disappeared. This was no ordinary night. The gods had spoken, and Fissu, the lone watcher, had heard their message.