The first seer - draft

This is a fanasy sort of story i wrote, and i would like some people to give me feedback, and how i can change it.

 

Fire.
Fire sprouted from every limb. It snatched at everything in its path, spitting and thrashing.
And in the middle of this mayhem, stood a small boy, about the age of seven. He raised his hand and pointed it at a sobbing body on the ground.
“Please! I’m so sorry! Please have mercy! Please! Aaaargh-” His screams were abruptly cut off by the cocoon of fire that suddenly surrounded him. The boy closed his fist and the cocoon exploded, showering sparks in all directions.
The boy turned around, his eyes closed, and reached his hand towards the heavens. He mumbled something, but no one was there to hear it.
He muttered the last word.
At this exact moment, outside the flaming warehouse that was a notorious hangout for bike gangs, the fire department’s chairman was planning a second wave of water, when the warehouse simply exploded, fire erupting from the depths of the flaming warehouse. Curiously, no-body was harmed.
The next day, the chairman and quite a few other fire-fighters could have sworn that they saw a small boy leap high out of the building and land from thirty or so metres up to the floor without even flinching.
But of course, this was absurd.

Most boys were strange at the orphanage. But Josh was one of the strangest. Things happened around him. Strange things.
A few years back, a boy named Billy Ellis, the oldest boy, used to bully the others for their weekly allowance.
In the first week that Josh arrived, Billy had gone up to him and stood up tall, using scare tactics.
And it was frightening indeed, he was a boy who stood at one metre seventy and was only twelve. He always wore the same red cap, and his clothes could have been worn for a few years by the town hobo. 
For those who were there, it was a strange sight indeed; the thickly built twelve-year-old, his hands on his hips, looking down on the thin, seven year old.
Everyone held their breath, but weren’t hopeful; if the new boy didn’t resist, there wouldn’t be a fight, and nobody ever stood up to Billy.
What happened next would be remembered for years to come at the orphanage.
The new boy looked up and stared into billy’s eyes. Nobody saw what happened exactly, but the next thing they knew, Billy was thrashing on the ground, screaming.
“Oh god! No! No! M-m-m-mommy! NO! Leave me alone! Stop!”
Josh looked mildly surprised, and grabbed Billy’s arm and pulled him into the first aid ward.
When they were both gone, the boys burst into laughter.
Billy has since then become a much better person.

Six years later, nothing much had changed in terms of appearance. Josh was still thin, scruffy and quiet, but he had sprouted quite a few strands of red hair, which was often hidden by his dark brown hair.
Some had dared to talk to him, and only got a simmering silence in return. It seemed that the only thing he cared to talk to was his rabbit.
Sofa was a rabbit he had found in the fields just out of town.
One day, the orphanage had organised a picnic on the fields, for the boys to run wild, when they had spotted a white flash zoom along the ground. It was amazingly fast, leaping one way, only to jump up and spin around in a three hundred and thirty degree angle and go sprinting back to where it came from.
Josh had been sitting against a tree; knees tucked in, when he heard the commotion, so he stood up and looked around looked around the tree to see the rabbit run straight into his feet.
But even though the rabbit had been spending the afternoon running away from the boy’s legs, it crept slowly towards Josh’s feet, sniffing the ground as it went.
Josh stared uncertainly at the rabbit for a moment, then abruptly bent over and picked it up.
He followed the other boys’ wishes to bring it home, but no matter how used to the other boys it was, it still ran from everyone but Josh.

It was an exceptionally hot afternoon, even for summer, and Harry Pickpocket had sneaked into the staffroom at breakfast, and heard that it was going to be forty-two degrees that day.
All the boys were sweating in the afternoon sun, and all the teacher’s attempts to teach history was lost in the sun’s rays.
“And that is the cause of world war one. Does everybody understand? Good. Davies, I see that even though you have no time for listening, you have plenty of time to talk to Harry.”
Davies dismissed this accusation with a flick of his hand.
The history teacher didn’t even flinch; it was too hot for emotions. “You know what? Each of you except for Harry and Davies go out and get yourselves an ice block from the teacher’s fridge.”
The other boys filed out, not daring to boast about it to the troublemakers in case they lost their ice block.
Davies looked like he was about to explode, either from the heat or the punishment, josh didn’t know, but Harry stole the teacher’s wallet when he made the mistake of bending over to talk to them.

Later, when the boys were sprawled across the backyard, Harry pulled out the wallet and split the money in half with Davies, and then he and Davies went and slipped the wallet back into the history teacher’s bedroom.
It was the sort of afternoon where all the energy inside a person leaked out onto the ground and was then evaporated by the sun.
Josh, however, seemed unaffected by the heat, in fact he seemed more active than usual, which wasn’t very active anyway.
He was sitting in his usual position; knees drawn up to his chest, when suddenly, a feeling of intense heat spread from his chest, like a spider spinning its web. The world went blurry, and the shapes of the other boys became indistinct and faded. It was like drifting in and out of consciousness, and when the heat arrived at his fingertips, he felt nearly comatose. He could swear that he saw crimson sparks dancing around his thin hands.
And as suddenly as it came, the heat retracted into itself, disappearing into where it came.

Night at the orphanage was a silent affair. There wasn’t any yelling or screaming or fighting over who got to shower first. The boys had long learnt that nobody really cared about who got the last sip of milk, they just quietly cleaned their teeth and slipped into bed. Their bedroom in question held only a fraction of the boys here. Josh got the room that had a sliding door that led to the garden, so the boys opened it to let in cool night air.
The hot air draped itself over the boy like a carton of expired milk that nobody wanted to get rid of because they were too lazy.
Josh lay in his cot reading. None of the other kids had any books to read, so he considered himself lucky. The three musketeers lay open on his under stuffed pillow. It had been opened so many times that the spine had about three permanent fold running from top to bottom, and the rest lay curved, so that Josh didn’t have to hold it open when he read it. Normally, Josh wouldn’t read it at night, because if he got caught, he would be punished for staying up late, but tomorrow was a very special day, and he decided he might as well go for it.
For tomorrow was his tenth birthday.
D’Artagnan was just about to set off on is tryst with Constance Bonacieux, when suddenly; Sofa came bounding in, sprinting at full speed.
Josh suspected that it had been scared by one of the watchers, so he pulled out a box from under his bed and Sofa hopped into it and went back to reading.

The man had no name. He simply did his masters bidding, but was far beyond the status of a minion. He was skilled assassin, skilled at killing without leaving a trace.
He shifted, and suddenly, a small white blur ran from next to him, sprinting into the open bedrooms.
Just a rabbit. Rabbits don’t speak.
The man clicked his fingers and a small thin, pencil-like glow appeared on his right pointer finger. He then used this glow to trace something on his left hand. The glow left behind trail, like a real pencil. However, this marking moved, like it was alive.
He drew a small circle containing a triangle and an even smaller circle within that. Finally, with an air of someone completing a laborious task, he drew a hexagram inside the smallest circle.
“Chalybs dagger.” He whispered.
He held out the hand with the diagram on it and under it, the ground swirled and opened a small hole. A silver hilt rose slowly out of the hole, filling it perfectly. A gleaming blade followed it, the length of a man’s arm from elbow to the tip of his fingers.
The dagger seemed to be unreal, see-through. It looked like something that didn’t quite exist yet. It floated up and instead of the hilt bumping into the back of the man’s had, it flowed through it, and when the tip of the blade was a millimetre above the glowing diagram, he brought his other hand up and grabbed it. It was now solid.
The man grinned and slowly slithered towards the open door.

Josh heard something, but it wasn’t a sound. It seemed to be inside his head, like the sound of power, the harmonics of magic.
Josh looked up, expecting to see nothing, but instead there was a man with a knife in his mouth, and he was slowly tracing something on his left palm.
Josh gave a yelp, and leapt out of his bed.
The cursed, and took the knife out of his mouth.
Lifting his other hand, he made a sound like “Terra Manus Manus”, and a huge hand, made of rocks, rose out of the floor, and several of the boys rolled out of their beds, giving off small, shocked yelps.
The hand moved towards him, faster than expected, like a small wave.
Josh was unflustered or scared for some reason. The past few minutes felt natural to him, like eating or sleeping.
His hand rose of its own accord, and his mouth opened. “Flatus Incendia!” he yelled over the boys’ voices. The man looked surprised.
The hand exploded. But it was nothing showy. It simply set on fire, sparked a little, and seemed to consume itself with a small bang.
Now Josh could get a proper look at the man. He wore a balaclava, and was short and muscled. If Josh had ever read about Dwarves, he would have described the man so. And his eyes showed surprise for some reason. He then seemed to find himself, and drew something on his hand again, finger whizzing faster than most eyes could follow.
“Pungo Silicis, Manus Manus Terra!” He yelled, as the other boys ran away and the watchers burst in.

Author's Note

Is it good? I want to be a writer, and i know i have a very good chance (keep reading) of failing, because a book would be very lucky to get published even, so i want to know exactly what you think. No sugar-coating.