Chapter 1-Analaa

                                    

                                          
Yes. Yes, it is her. I feel it. I know it's her. The name, yes, yes, let my words fill your mind. Your child will be... Analaa. Goddess of fire. Yes. Yes, you are...
                          
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Analaa was born into a loving, caring family, yet she grew up an only child. Her only close companions were her parents, and the fire. 
                          
When asked her name, Analaa would simply reply 'Ana' for her real name created questions. When she was born, her mother felt an urge to call her Analaa and, when she was older, Ana looked up her name. She was quite astonished to find it meant Goddess of Fire. However, it seemed to make sense. When she went camping, or away with her class to a camp or retreat, and there was a fire, she always sat the closest, relishing in the warmth of the flame. 
                          
When she was cautioned away from the fire, she only sat closer. When others began to feel like they themselves were on fire, she only shied nearer. When others felt the heat, she felt only a warmth, deep inside that, although faint when flame was not close, was never gone. 
                          
It seemed to speak to her, beckoning her, and it was her one true friend. She did, of course, have friends, as all girls do. But in the fire she confided, and it was like a second home, as if her soul were made of fire.
                          
When she was six, she had dreams of fire. Huge pillars of burning flames, seas of liquid fire. Yet they did not scare her, as they would a normal child. She welcomed them and, though infrequent, occurring only once every six months, she found them natural.
                          
When she was seven, it was once every two months. Eight, and it was once a month. Nine, twice a month. Ten, four times a month. Eleven, eight times a month. By the time she was 13, they occurred every night, a welcome comfort from the stress of her days. For she had lots of stress. 
                          
Days were like nightmares for her, nights like a sweet dream. 
                          
She was bullied in school, called names like 'Fire Goddess' and the 'flame retardant retard' and the like. Her lunches were spent in the toilets, tears streaming down her cheeks. They were spent in the library, researching fire, and reading tales of peoples who believed in fire spirits. They were spent on the back of the oval, on her back in the sun, her imagination turning the warm grass into hot coals. They were spent on the play- ground, pulling her fingers through the sand as though they were ash. Once her mind was set on flame and fire, it was hard to snap her out of the dazed-looking state where her mind wandered and her thoughts roamed, to lands of fire and ash, burning coals and people who worshiped spirits of fire. And she was the most powerful fire spirit there was.
                          
One of the only things that could snap her out of her trance was the school bell. She tried to stay awake in classes, but it was hard for her. She would always zone out, forcing away the world she wanted so badly to live in, to have, to hold. 
                          
Another of the few things that could wake her was the name 'redhead.' It was either used as a nickname by her friends, which made her smile as she snapped out of her dream. Or, it was used as a taunt. When it was used so others could jeer at her, it made her seethe with rage. The fire inside of her wanted to lash out, but she kept it in. Pain was usually the best thing for controlling the beast. She would dig her fingernails into her palm and, sometimes, she pretended she was digging them into the skin of one of the kids who jeered at her. When this happened, she dug her fingernails into her palms so hard that crimson blood fell from them, splattering on the ground, forming a fire in her eyes. 
                          
Now, when someone is called a redhead, it often refers to someone with orange hair, pale skin and freckles. This is often the case. However, with Ana, the term was much more literal. Her hair looked as if someone had set it on fire, as if her soul resided inside of it. However, where most 'redheads' have pale skin and freckles, Ana had a lovely, and natural, olive complexion, with not a freckle in sight. Her cheeks were slightly pink, but it was very faint and hard to see and, if you looked very hard and very close, you could see, right in the centre of her pupil (yes, pupil, not iris, pupil) a very, very faint patch of red. In the darkness, her eyes shone like those of a cat, the red in her eyes bright in the gloom. 
                          
When she finished grade twelve, she stayed for one year with her parents, before moving out of the house. Her parents had lived on one side of town, yet the other side seemed to call to her. She bought a little cottage near the edge of the forest, and made a fire pit in the back yard. On her eighteenth birthday, she and her friends went out. Although they had an amazing time, that shall not be explained here and now. That is not what this story is about. 
                          
When Ana got back home, she felt the irresistible urge to sleep. She changed into her pyjamas and, as soon as her head hit the pillow, she fell asleep.
                          
As she slept, her dreams changed from fire to light. A young woman, probably about Ana's age or maybe a little older, with long, golden hair that streamed out behind her. She wore what looked like a bikini, but there was more on it, and it was made of soft material. The top had a gold gem in it, and the bottom-which came up to about her waist- had silky tendrils of material that wafted on a breeze only the girl could feel. She held in her hand a long, white staff that glowed softly at the tip.
                          
Her voice was clear and sweet as it rang out "Welcome Analaa, Goddess of Fire."