The Origin of Isaac

I

The flames blazed all around them, cracking the dry wood and filling their lungs with black fumes. The town resembled a massive burning torch; a beacon of death in the night. With her child held to her bosom, the woman waded through the smoke and fire, the intense heat like an oven. burning flesh and eyes.

The roof crumbled, raining fiery rubble down onto her. At one point, she was completely lost in the blinding smoke, the crackling of blazing wood the only indication that she hadn’t died.

She found the exit, and broke into the night air, embers catching her dress as she tore it away. She looked back at the burning cottage, now reduced to mere firewood.  A place they used to call home, before it all went up in smoke. Her baby bawled, and soon after, the taunts and roars of the village men could be heard like sirens, an indication that now was the time to flee this fallen place, undone by madness. So she did, fleeing far from that accursed place and leaving it all behind. She raced on foot, following the Star of The North heading for the sea. She could no longer stay on this continent infected with madness and plagued with flames.

She heard hounds, yapping and closing in. She ran faster, the sea just over the misty hills. The barking and taunting grew louder; accompanied by the blinding torchlights just behind her. The sea came into view and upon it, a ship that was beginning to set off. She couldn’t stop, lest her child would be burnt at the stake along with her. Even though her lungs cried out from the smoke and exercise, she pushed on, barefoot through the brambles and onto cool sand. As the boat left the dock, she cried out, pushing with every last ounce of power she had left.

Her feet left the dock, and for an instant she feared she’d go plummeting into the churning, salty sea. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, her feet were planted firmly on wood. She looked behind her, to see the dock shrinking in the distance, and the enraged mad men brandishing their torches and leashed hounds at the water's edge. Some tried to swim after the ship, but drowned as a result. She collapsed in relief, crying softly with her child in arms. The sailors weren’t as mad like people of this land, and they escaped with their families as soon as the fires began raging. She had no family, not anymore. They all had perished, and all that she held dear had burned.

All but her infant child, whose eyes, only - only for an instant - sparkled with the red tint like its father’s had been before they were torn out and burned. She didn’t believe in God or gods, yet she prayed. Prayed that wherever this ship should set anchor. . .it would be a place free of fires and stakes. A land free of the Mad Hunts.

* * *

The child remembered all this, and more. Even though he was no more than a fleshy infant, his mind was a solid stone, and began chronicling his life from the very moment it began. Some memories, however, are better left untouched and unspoken. But his memory wasn’t perfect. No, far from it, actually. You see, he can only perceive the memories as he witnessed them in that time, and as you may already know, an infant's view of the world vastly contrasts with that of a young adult. Due to this, the fire and heat is all he can remember, and after that. . .the New World.

* * *

“And say it again? You mustn’t--”

“I mustn’t leave my chambers during the day.”

“Good.” She said to her son, “you understand why this is, don’t you?”

“No!” He exclaimed, “Why must I stay cooped up in the dark! It’s cold, and damp, and boring!”

“It isn’t cold, or damp - else there’d be spores growing from the tips of your nose!” She tickled his face, inciting a laughing fit. “And boring? What can you do outside that can’t be done inside?”