King of Flames and Queen of Tides

By: Nathaniel Stiles

The sun beat down on Micah’s head, driving him to seek shelter. A rocky ledge looked to be the best place of survival for him, so he loped over and settled down numbly. Heat radiated from the ground in visible waves, and Micah knew instinctively that the temperature would not fall anytime soon. Water. He needed water. 

How had this happened so fast? Just days ago, he had been sitting comfortably in his house, eating chips and drinking Gatorade. And then the Firestorm. Water, he needed water.

The Firestorm had been a massive tempest of heat and rock, crushing everything in its path. Micah had been out camping by himself at the time and had been able to hide in relative safety from the storm. Water. He needed water.

Deep inside his conscience, he knew that he was growing delirious. The heat was getting to his head. Literally and figuratively. Sweat beaded on his brow, running down in streams, before evaporating with a hiss of steam. What he wouldn’t do for a glass of water!

Micah stared out at the desert landscape, trying to find the remains of his house amongst the sand that had once been concrete for roads and asphalt for driveways. The ledge he rested under was a leaning wall, the only thing left of whatever building had been here.

Micah vaguely remembered times of happiness and family, of joyous laughter and pretty girls. Now what was left for him? Heat. That was all that was left. A stream. He just wanted a stream.

The sun crawled up the horizon, leaving burning footprints on the land. Trees that had long survived withered under its steps. The sun was king. It wrecked the land once more, with no clouds to halt its fury. Micah huddled as far against the wall as he possibly could, sheltering himself from its rage.

Fear pulsed through his veins. Yet another source of heat. If the sun caught him, he was doomed. Nothing else was more frightening than that fate. Again his rational brain knew that he was delirious. Yet, his irrational brain didn’t care.

Would he melt? Burn up? Disintegrate? His thoughts whirled on overdrive, cycling through distinct phases. Fear. Acceptance. Water. Heat. 

Finally, his rational brain forced its way in and cut off the cycle abruptly. Micah stood, realizing that the sun had paced its way to sunset and was not a danger anymore. He sighed in relief. Another day of survival. Of waiting for water. His throat burned with a raw thirst.

Decided, he walked around to check for survivors. The ground shifted under his steps, and he stumbled, falling to the gravelly sand. His legs stung when they hit. Shakily, he stood again, and peered apprehensively at his legs. Small cuts peppered his thighs where they had slid on the sand. Blood slowly trailed from a few of them, dripping onto the ground and becoming crimson blotches in the sand.

Micah winced and hurriedly pressed his palms against his leg to try to stop the flow. Pain flared up his leg, causing him to wrench his hand from his leg and cry out. His hands had sand on them! Almost sitting down, he changed his mind. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he walked determinedly onward.

The sun sunk below the horizon, and darkness swam in, covering him and soothing his many burns. He smiled, enjoying the soothing sensation, knowing that the sun would strut in and ruin his world again. The night could only last so long. He picked up the pace, practically running across the sand.

He slipped and slid but managed to stay on his feet, propelling himself with the help of the meager traction lent from the sand. Soon, he reached the ruins of his neighborhood and stood, dumbfounded at the amount of destruction.

Only the edges of the neighborhood had been hit! The rest was intact. Micah smiled, feeling warmth creep into his heart. Not a bad warmth, this time, but a comforting warmth. He strode happily in, looking for old Barden, his elderly neighbor. The badger of a fellow wasn’t in sight. Oh, well, he tended to stay inside anyway. Nothing to worry about. 

He kept walking, searching for anyone. Dread started to replace his happiness, and the earlier warmth retreated. Where was everyone? His foot fell on something soft. He looked down, and gasped as he saw what lay beneath his feet. Mr. Barden! 

The man’s face was blackened and lifeless, his figure gaunt. Burns covered his body, causing the horrible pallor of his skin. Bile rose in Micah’s throat and he wretched into the sand, pain spasming in his stomach. His throat burned. His irrational brain took hold again. Heat. Water.

Nothing mattered more than those two things. He stumbled away from the corpse, numb. He was in shock. Lack of water. His legs gave way and he struck the ground, cheek grinding into the sand. Pain flared through his body, then dulled, overcome by his shock.

Death. That’s what this was. He was dying. Tears wouldn’t come. He stared up at the moon from the corner of his vision. The moon was queen. Bringer of the tides. 

Desperately in need of water, he prayed, closing his eyes. Please, my dear queen. Give me the gift of water. Rain. Please let me live! I bow before your will of waves on the brink of death! Please… His thoughts were growing sluggish. He opened his eyes, staring upward. Hoping. Praying. 

Clouds began to gather across the horizon, forcing their way across the sky, dropping water in sprinkling showers. The sun began to rise, stepping onto the world, preparing to stomp the life out of Micah. Sluggish panic oozed through his veins. Not enough water. He didn’t have enough water to power himself.

Micah rolled over, knowing he was shredding his clothes, but didn’t care. Water. Water needed him. He needed water. “WATER!” He screamed defiantly at the sun, his voice cracking, brittle. He stumbled to his feet, powering himself with raw adrenaline. Lurching, he headed toward the tempest of rain. The queen’s will.

He neared it as the sun rose. He began to feel its scorching rays scoring his back. He was almost there! Lust and desperation forced him into a jog, then a sprint. His mind screamed WATER. Panicked, his rational brain told him that he didn’t have enough strength left. 

He didn’t care. Recklessly, he barreled onward as the sun burned his back. 

Suddenly, he slid. Hitting the ground, pain flared through his body. Frantically, he tried to climb to his feet once more, but his muscles screamed at him, unwilling. Panic clawed him, tightening his throat into a taught cord. There had to be some way to reach the storm. He would just have to crawl.

He began to scoot himself as fast as he could toward the rain, his back searing from many, many burns. Smoke drifted above him. His scalp burned. His hair was on fire! 

The air began to become scorching. He knew, in the back of his mind, that he wasn’t going to make it. That he was going to burn up like poor old Barden. Screaming in desperation and pain, he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled toward the rain, his muscles barely working. Multiple times, he fell, then forced himself to his back to his feet. 

Micah was almost there! He could taste freedom and water already. Light drops of rain, born on the wind, began to gently caress his face and body. The sun crashed into his back, and he screamed in agony beneath its crushing footstep. He slipped and twisted his ankle, falling onto a flat rock. 

The landing drove the breath and strength from his body, leaving his upper body dangling over the rock, facing the storm. The rock was a ledge overlooking a gentle slope that led down into the main valley. He stared down the slope as the sun mercilessly crushed him into the rock.

It is king, after all, he thought, acceptance of his fate slowly trickling to his rational brain. It did not approve. Keep fighting, it said. Don’t give in. He wished to follow its commands but had no strength left. 

His body began to burn, spasming in pain. Heat. Water. That was all that mattered. Darkness crept into his vision as he was crushed under the sun’s fury.

The queen thundered in and clashed with the king. Everything went black

(Shout out to Brandon Sanderson for inspiring me to become an author and for inspiring this book. Brandon Sanderson, you are my greatest role model).