This is my first novel, so go easy on me

CHAPTER
1

In
a cave somewhere on the Sword-tip peninsula, darkness ascended as he
opened his eyes for seemingly the first time. A cloudy feeling filled
his mind as he tentatively surveyed his surroundings. The cave was
made of light gray rock with emerald green splotches of moss littered
here and there and the floor was covered in the same.
The
walls and ceiling shone with the reflected light of the sun flooding
the cave. The white brilliance held him in awe for a few moments as
he took in his surroundings.

Trying
to get his bearings, he looked upon himself. First his hands came
into view; the sun shaped scar on his hand stared back at him, and
seemed to whisper the secrets of his past in a language he could not
understand. He used his left hand to push his black hair out of his
eyes while still gawking at the scar on his right. It meant
something,
he
was sure.
Though
it`s secret stubbornly remained hidden. Finally giving up on
deciphering the scar, he looked at his arms. The thick masses of
muscle seemed to ripple with strength, though he felt as if he had
none. His long white woolen robe was askew across the ground,
clinging lightly to his hips, and torso. All his joints were
extremely stiff, as he attempted to sit up.

A
stabbing pain in his jaw forced him back to the floor, as he grasped
at the new sensation, desperately trying to make it stop. Out of
nothingness, a white light began to grow from his hand. It started
out very small, the size of a chicken's egg, and started to grow.
When it reached the size of a cannonball it rushed into his jaw, and
instantly the pain was gone.

What
had just happened? Had he performed some sort of miracle? His
confusion deepened as he once again sat up to discover most of the
stiffness in his joints had also mysteriously disappeared. Feeling
little more coherent than the cold stone floor, across which he lay.
He slowly raised himself to his feet. Leaning against the nearest
wall, he began trying to decipher the most pressing questions. Who am
I, why am I here in this cave, and where did this scar come from?
Pondering these questions caused his obfuscation to magnify. He
pushed a little further, trying to get some clue as to his recent
past, but the more he tried, the more confused he became. It was as
if there was some force keeping his mind from getting to the bottom
of this mystery. Relenting, he put his mind to a different task…
survival.

He
needed to see what resources there were around his cave, and most
importantly he needed fire. The pain in his joints was returning, as
the cold nipped at every inch of his exposed skin. He slowly toddled
his way toward the mouth of the cave, leaning on the cold stone wall
for support. The tunnel to the outside was only about twenty feet
long, but it felt as if he had walked ten miles when he finally
reached the entrance.
His
joints were searing with pain once again, and his face and hands felt
burnt. Looking out onto the frozen tundra, there wasn't much to take
in. The horizon faded white to blue, and below was a seemingly
endless expanse of snow covered flat land to the east and west.
Taking a few steps out into the snow, he turned and surveyed the
cliff
face
from which he had just emerged. The icy cliff shot up to the sky at
least a thousand feet, and the ice that clung to its surface shone
with the brilliant light of the sun. He turned once again to look out
into the Levanthotic Ocean. The endless expanse of water was
interrupted only by the glaciers dotting the coast line. His
situation seemed hopeless, and yet he did not despair.

He
took heart in the fact that the sun was out and shining brilliantly.
It did more than warm his body;
it
was as if the sun was warming his very soul, giving him the feeling
that everything was going to be taken care of..  While this did
wonders for his morale, the pressing situation of starvation,
hypothermia and physical injury was no less daunting. He needed fire
and food, but he had no idea how he was going to acquire these
commodities. Walking back into the cave, it suddenly struck him. He
could just make the food out of thin air. He had no idea how he knew
this, but none the less he knew he could do it. Going back into the
cave, he began waving his hands about. A green light trailed his
hands as they waved. It looked very similar to dancing, the way he
undulated back and forth, humming a tune that sprang forth from his
lips. He didn't even know what he was saying, or from whence the tune
came. After a few seconds
he
raised his right hand towards the heavens. In that instant, the light
fired up through the ceiling of the cave, and then arched back down.
In the spot that it struck the ground, a meal of brazed chicken,
black bread, and ale appeared, and once again he stood in awe of his
own power.

Sitting
down to the meal was like visiting an old friend,
as
if he had done this thousands of times before. Biting into the
chicken,
the
juice spilled forth from the tender flesh and ran down his chin.
Indifferent to this, he continued feverishly devouring the succulent
meat. The bread was less amazing; it was thick, dark and tasted of
sweat. Never the less his hunger roared at him to keep eating. Taking
a drink of the ale was exquisite, the flavor of the malt and hops
perfectly blended to come together in an almost erotic taste. It was
the absolute best meal he had ever had; this sensation was not
however lessened by the fact that he could not recall any of his past
meals.

Finally
feeling warm from the food he had just eaten, he decided to once
again trek out onto the tundra to try to leave this desolate place. A
few steps out however he realized the hopelessness of his situation.
He was alone in a remote country. He had no means of travel save his
bare feet, and he hadn't the resources to affect a journey of for all
he knew could be thousands of miles. None the less, he set out into
the wild.

After
walking for what seemed like days on end, he came to a wood. Walking
on the clearest path, he decided to climb a tree to see if he could
find any sign of civilization. Climbing the tree was a chore indeed
as his legs threatened to give in from merely walking. Never the
less, he started to climb the nearest conifer. The ascent was slow
and precarious for the ice on every limb was very slippery, which
made it exceedingly difficult to get any sort of traction for the
climb. Higher and higher he ascended, further and further from the
safety of the ground. The higher he went, the thinner the branches
became. They creaked and whined to bear his weight as he finally got
up above the canopy, and surveyed the surrounding country.

To
the east, there was nothing but the icy;
snow
covered waste land from whence he had just come. The west held the
thicket, followed by a mountain range its snowy peaks glistening with
the reflection of the sunlight, which again gave him strength. He
felt a strong connection to the sun. It made him feel loved,
contented, and looked after. It was as if the sun was watching out
for him. He dismissed this thought as there were more pressing issues
at hand. To the North was a huge mountain range.  No
help there. Then looking south he beheld a path. Cliffs jutted out on
either side of it, glistening with the same snow that had put him in
his reverie just moments before. It looked little traveled though
traversable. Beyond that, he noted smoke rising in the distance. His
thoughts struck a thousand chords all at once, but one rang out above
all others. Where there's smoke there's fire, and where there's fire,
there’s civilization. So he climbed down very carefully, and set
his course south.

On
the path, he discovered a new sensation… fear. He was suddenly
afraid of what he might find there. nervous he might find out the
answers to all his questions, and terrified of the questions those
answers might raise. He continued walking until suddenly he heard a
deep voice from behind him. “Ishmael?”

He
wheeled around to face the source of the voice. There stood a man
wearing a glimmering suit of plate mail that covered every inch of
his body. As the right arm of this tin can raised to lift his visor,
Ishmael (not knowing the knight's intent) took a combative stance,
and prepared for a fight. Lifting his visor his emerald green eyes
came into view. “Ishmael calm down, it's me… father Thomas “I
don't know you, sir” replied Ishmael, though he felt as if he did.
“Don't know me? Surely you jest. Come to camp with me, we've been
searching for you for days.” It was just then that he realized
 that the man had called him something. “I am… Ishmael? How
do you know me?” “I think you should come with me young one.
Something is wrong with you and we need to get it taken care of…
Come.” With that the knight turned on his armor clad heals and
began walking. Not knowing whether to trust this “Father Thomas or
not, he stayed a good distance behind as he followed.

For
a few minutes there was nothing to speak of. No conversation, nothing
exciting. Then all of a sudden the ridge line all around them sprang
to life. Screaming in a foreign tongue filled his ears as the small
humanoids came into view. “Ambush!” cried Thomas as he raised his
sword and shield. Without thinking, Ishmael waved his hands much in
the same manner he had done in the cave, but to him the feeling was
distinct. The magic was… different… somehow. When he was
finished, a black energy fired forth from his hands and struck one of
the attackers full in the face. The goblin was thrown to the ground,
and fell still. Turning to the next attacker, his hands moved with
blinding speed and deft precision as a second black bolt exited his
fingertips, and struck its mark. Once again the struck goblin lay
still. Not breathing. As he turned to the third attacker he noticed
that everything was still once again save his target which was
running full force away from the fight. Feeling confident they had
won, Ishmael put his hands down, and waited for Thomas to speak. “You
shouldn't waste your spells like that on simple goblins son. You may
need them later.” Ishmael stood vexed. Goblins
and
Spells,
these
words echoed in his mind as if he knew them but simply could not
recall the meanings. “What is a spell?” Thomas looked at him
dubiously and after a few more minutes he spoke. “Ishmael, you must
have hit your head or something while you were lost. Let's get to
camp and we can talk more in detail.”

As
they made their way, Ishmael tried to wrap his head around what had
happened. Where were his abilities coming from?  How on earth
did this man know him? Once again his head began to fog, so he
stopped thinking about it and continued the trek to camp. After a few
minutes they came to the wood in which Ishmael had climbed to get a
view They walked for about one hundred
feet,
and Thomas gave a sharp whistle. Some of the trees around them
dissolved and they were replaced with white canvas tents. All of
which were bearing the same symbol. A three pointed decorative knot
wrought in gold over a pair of angel wings. “Welcome to the Athian
camp, Ishmael” Men in the same shining armor were all over the
large camp. There were at least 30 tents there. There were camp
fires, horses and men everywhere. As they entered the main camp a
loud “Huzza!” filled the air. All the men around them had begun
to cheer the entrance of the two men. Confused, Ishmael looked from
face to face trying desperately to recognize even a single one of
them, but when he realized that all of them were complete strangers
despair began to take him. Despite all the faces in this camp,
Ishmael was alone, and frightened.

He
stayed lost in this reverie until a man came and clapped him on the
shoulder. “Thought we'd lost you father, I'm glad to see you back
here.” His mind was screaming out for some sort of familiarity.
When none came he asked. “I am your… father?” The man laughed
and clapped his shoulder once more. “You sure are a card Ishmael.
Good to see you” and with that the man walked away. Feeling even
more baffled than ever Ishmael sat down on a log near a fire to try
to warm himself. He held his hands up to the fire. The heat on his
palms seemed to thaw him down to the sinew, and he could feel his
muscles loosening. The feeling was a great relief as he had been
frozen to the bone for days. Then a strange thought came to him.
“I've been bare foot in the snow for days, I haven't had a steady
source of food or water. How is it that I am alive, and completely
untouched by frost bite?” Unexplainable occurrences like this had
been popping up a lot since he awoke in that cave. They had all
finally coagulated into one massive question that he could not
answer.  What am I?  Obviously he was no human because he
the cold hadn't affected him the way it should have. It was
unpleasant but he should have frozen to death, or at the very least
lost a foot due to frostbite, and yet as he stared at his bare battle
scarred feet, they were perfectly fine. Not a single tinge of blue on
them, in fact as he sat there warming himself by the fire, he
realized that none of his skin felt cold anymore, which was
especially strange, because all of the men around him were shivering,
and started to take on a bluish tinge. As soon as he pondered that
question however, his head began to swim. He was losing control of
his body rapidly, swaying back and forth as his body tried to correct
his balance, and for the first time since he awoke in the cave,
Ishmael fell unconscious.