Spark City

by Robert J Power

  They circled him barking new strategies and after a few breaths, they attacked as one. The loud crack of heavy wood clashing filled the room and Erroh held them off at the expense of one glancing blow across his ribs. A fair trade. Pain screamed through his body but he countered the offending attacker with a strike across his chest, which knocked him to the ground, Erroh’s follow up across the faceguard knocked him out. Grabbing the man’s club as he fell, Erroh charged the remaining two and struck with combinations of his own. In the end, it wasn’t a fair fight at all. He battered their defences and easily struck them to the ground. They were adequately skilled but simply no match for him. Their armoured hands covered what blows they could as he fell upon them, like a rabid dog unleashed and crazed, when suddenly a voice pierced through the melee.

  “Enough, Erroh,” it roared. A light above him came to life and Erroh, kneeling on one of the Black Guard, stopped mid strike. He looked up and recognised her immediately even if he’d never had the pleasure. Her name was Dia, she was twice the age of his father and she was to be served without question, for she was the ruler of the world. A light illuminated her regal shape and she stood grandly on a podium on the balcony above. The room that had known such thunder now fell quiet. Even the sobbing moans of the first attacker were barely audible. The Primary had spoken; it was wise to listen.

  “Those that can walk, leave,” she hissed. Erroh watched in silence as those that could walk, dragged their broken comrades away from whence they came. A tinge of guilt for his brutality stung him. It mattered little that they’d started it. It had been a test.

  “Your father taught you well and you share his taste for violence,” she said coldly. He placed his weapons on the ground.

  “Thank you Mydame,” he replied, accepting the compliment for what it was, he dropped to one knee in reverence. She was dressed in a deep red gown, long, tightly fitted and incandescent in the simple light behind her. He didn’t know if he should feel honoured or if this was simply protocol for a young Alphaline to meet the leader of the pack. He had never expected to speak with someone so grand. Who needed trumpets anyway?

  “You may rise, son of Magnus,” she said, gesturing slightly with frail fingers. “You have come far. However, it took quite a time to get here. Perhaps you are a slow walker or perhaps you were not ready?” she said. It sounded like an accusation.

  “I am ready now,” he answered weakly. She sighed. It was worth more than a thousand mocking words. His hands shook from the adrenaline of war and he held them behind his back.

  “I also hear you have news of the road. I would imagine you have quite a lot after so many years walking,” she said, almost but not entirely hiding the derision in her tones. This is how a politician mocks you, he thought miserably. “Go on then Erroh, tell me of the news.”

  He did.

  He spoke quietly of the smoke and the dead town, the message and the pyre. He left out the details of Leather and Steel. Speaking of the other horrors was strangely comforting, for knowing she could act on such matters was reassuring.

  “The bandits responsible will be hunted down and punished,” she said evenly when he had finished. He almost argued that it couldn’t be so simple but, with a heavy heart, he accepted the bitter truth. It would appear that such an attack was a common enough occurrence. How hard must any person’s skin be, to learn of such horrors and brush it off? The podium creaked as the old female straightened her back and stood a little taller.

  “Will you take the pledge?” she asked, her voice laced with formality and unexpected excitement. All depressing talk of burned females, broken towns, and shallow graves forgotten, they were lost in the dark rafters above.

  What pledge?

  “Aye Mydame,” he said as humbly as he could. He hoped his face didn’t show his confusion.

  She spoke loudly and distinctively and gestured for him to repeat her words. She’d done this before, he could tell.

  “I shall never reveal what occurs within these walls. I shall answer in only truth, like my father before. If I am chosen, I will never leave her side. Nor shall she step from me. On my name, on my legacy and on my child’s birth-right,” Erroh repeated and she seemed happy enough with his words. She offered a few of her own. It was more information than he’d garnered in a decade of asking.

  “We have seen you tested and worthy to present yourself. There is nothing else to face but the questions. Tomorrow, at first light, return here so we may know the measure of you as a man. You are forbidden to leave this city until a female chooses you,” she spoke as if addressing a large crowd. He offered a deep bow. His thoughts now consumed by choices, questions, and mates.

  “Thank you, Mydame,” he said and the world exploded into brightness all around him. A thousand electrical lights roared into life like a cruel uninvited dawn and Erroh could only stifle a scream from the shock of blindness. He shielded his eyes until the burning passed and he could make out shapes again. He looked back up to where the Primary stood and was not disappointed with what his bleary eyes met. Dia had gifted him a glimpse of something wonderful, intimidating, and teasing. If truth be told, he was suitably impressed. Standing side by side in a circle above him along the same balcony were the fabled females he’d heard so much about. A hundred or so but who was really counting. He suddenly felt like a prize bull at a market. They were expressionless and they were beautiful. As still as delicate porcelain statues, they looked down at him with piercing lovely eyes. So deliciously alluring that he ignored just how much they stared right through him. He’d seen females of beauty through his great walk. He’d even dared a few shared words with them, but never had he seen such goddesses. Many wore wild colours in their long flowing hair, while others expressed their beauty in lavish gowns of silk and lace. And he desperately tried to drink each one in and commit them to memory. He spun around, unable to focus on any particular beauty until his gaze returned to the Primary. She was grinning cruelly. Beside her, a female with startlingly red hair whispered in her ear before the terrible darkness returned and once again, Erroh was blinded for a few breaths. Fine trumpets indeed.

  “Each of the females in the room are of age but at most, only four may step forward to win you,” she warned. To win him? Would somebody please explain this entire event once and for all? He bit the frustration down. He had an audience after all. They’d seen everything. They’d heard everything.

  “You are the first Alpha to arrive this season and my girls are patient. Do not presume you will taste success,” she said before bowing and disappearing into the darkness theatrically leaving Erroh alone with a hundred hidden females. Unsure of what to do and no stir above, Erroh bowed in turn to the darkness and retreated to the doorway swiftly. To his eternal relief, the door creaked open and he slipped away from prying eyes. His retreat carried him quietly down the dark hall to the offices of Seth where in uncomfortable silence he accepted his belongings and scribbled directions to his lodgings. He made to ask the older man further questions of the Cull but thought better of it. Soon enough he found himself out on the streets of Samara, staring up at the strange bulbs alight.

  His mother was right about the beauty of Spark City.

  Night had fallen completely and the lights had answered in turn. The shadows cast from the little glass bulbs danced everywhere and he watched them in amazement. They were like frozen fireflies, suspended in the moment for eternity, their will bent to the hand of human so that darkness could never prevail. Unprepared for such a sight, he found himself strolling through the streets wearing a stupid grin of astonishment on his face and though the air still felt thinner than out in the wastes, in the darkest hours the city felt vibrant and alive. This was their race’s symbol of progression. Spark City was the future of this fledgling civilisation.

  He followed the lights through archways and stone pathways without too much trouble. Few people walked the streets since the markets had shut down and the only noises filling the night were drunken revellers in the
busy taverns he passed. Eagerly reading the name above each inn but meeting little success, Erroh followed the instructions until he finally came to a less impressive tavern than those before. A low murmur of subdued chatter slipped out of the unvarnished front door. He could see a few shadowy figures through the cracked and grimy windows and he felt right at home as he stepped through the creaking door of the “Pig in the Hole,” and immediately made a stupid decision. He ordered a drink.

  First Impressions

  Erroh stumbled into his quarters long after midnight. Fine quarters indeed. Below the main floor of the tavern, deep in a musky basement, it resembled a single-bedded jail cell. It was about the same size as well. Only the best for the son of Magnus, it would appear. He stripped his clothes, draped them carelessly on the back of the only chair, and waited for the room to stop spinning. Removing the key from the bedside, he locked the door and felt the claustrophobic atmosphere immediately. It had only been a handful of beverages. He shouldn’t be drunk or at least this drunk. He tasted the sediment from his last glass of sine on his lips and shook his head foolishly. A bad tavern, a bad brew. Fuk it anyway. He’d only had enough coin for a drink and a few hands but the absent gods had seen to it that his hand had stayed steady enough to earn an extra little bit of wealth. It was only a little cheating on his part anyway, enough to pay for a few extra celebratory glasses and a few more hands. His thoughts were on honey bread when he fell against the door loudly and reaching out in the dark to steady himself, he found a switch pleading silently to be flicked. This he did with relish and the room immediately turned to bright. Wonderful. He flicked the switch again and found himself in darkness once more. This too was wonderful. After repeating the process a few more times, with a childish grin on his face he turned to the bed. It had looked more appealing in the dark. The pillow was worryingly heavy with an aroma of sour milk on one side and a seeping, damp stain on the other. The mattress was a suspiciously coloured brown sheet, covering some straw. The tattered blanket was reasonable enough, apart from the long forgotten chunk of meat clinging to its surface and the small nest of grubs that had made their home within. He ripped the bedding away and flung it at the door. After clicking the switch a few times, he fell into the straw and closed his eyes.

  The beast ran at him. He could not move. His feet were stuck to the ground. He could feel the thunder of its hooves on the sandy ground. It sounded like hammering. He lifted one foot up. He tried to step forward. The great beast just thundered nearer. It was behind him, hunting him, shouting at him. Screaming profanities. So terribly loud. Then everything settled. This was nice. He was back home. He was walking for a few days across his land. It was his father’s land. And he had boar. He had also learned to fly. It had been a lot easier to accomplish than he had ever imagined. The land began to shake again. He fell out of the sky. Then a birch tree started shouting profanities. Then it was all dark. He had fallen from the sky and he was dead. He lay there, being completely dead while the darkness called him a “useless tyke.”

  “I called you an hour ago,” the tavern keeper spat. He stood over Erroh, his fingers flicking the wonderful switch up and down. It had the desired effect and Erroh rose drowsily from his bed. “It’s not my fault if you’re late,” he shouted, returning the spare key to his pocket. It’s not my fault you would sleep through a storm,” he added before disappearing up the stairs to the inn above leaving Erroh with his bleary thoughts.

  He was late.

  Stumbling over to the bucket of waste in the corner, he lifted the lid and retched violently. Cursing the brew, he wiped his mouth and lamented his decisions. The room spun again and he steadied himself against the doorframe. Wearily he dressed and splashed some fresh water from a basin in the corner and dared a glance in the mirror. A scruffy city urchin looked right back at him and grinned maniacally. It was his attempt at an endearing smile. He splashed more cold water on his face and pulled himself away from the mirror. The sun had come up, the city was coming to life, and he was really fuken late.

  By the time, he’d made it upstairs his stomach had begun to settle. He was even beginning to feel like himself but for the poisonous smell on his breath. The unimpressed innkeeper was at the bar, cleaning up from the night before. He looked as tired as Erroh felt. He looked like a man who didn’t want to be up this early in the morning (or indeed this late). Perhaps it explained the tainted alcohol he’d served.

  “Do you have any oranges?” Erroh croaked in his most hung over voice. Without a stick of eucalyptus or a few fresh leaves of mint at hand, he was desperate.

  “No,” growled the innkeeper.

  “Do you have any fruit at all?”

  “No,”

  Erroh sighed.

  The innkeeper sighed as well.

  “Do you have anything for my breath?” Erroh asked desperately. He couldn’t help notice how bright the morning sun was. He rubbed his eyes and lamented his foolishness.

  “I have some orange mead,” shrugged the innkeeper.

  Erroh watched the last flight of his breath in the dimly lit room. It left his mouth in little puffs, hung in the air and disappeared forever. He tried to slow his gasps but the run had exhausted him. He’d only taken one wrong turn through the winding streets before reaching the offices and being shepherded back into the arena of the Cull by Seth. He shivered and glanced back up at the illuminated balcony. There were no secret females today. There were no females at all. He kept an uneasy eye on the door opposite lest they felt the need to challenge him once more. It was something to do while he waited. And oh, he was waiting here quite a time. So late. He tried not to imagine that attending so long after dawn would have consequences. The mead churned in his stomach and he fought the burning sting of bile and citrus until he heard footsteps.

  She was small. That was his first impression and he immediately straightened up as she walked along the edge of the balcony above. Her dark hair was tied in an intricate bun with delicate strands flowing out behind her. Her painted lips were an unnatural red and he immediately wanted to kiss them. Calm yourself Erroh. He decided to stare at her neck as she walked around to the podium. It was easier than leering crudely at her enthralling shape barely hidden beneath her bright gown of silk. She had a fine walk and when she reached the podium and faced him with her stunning dark eyes, he was quite certain it was love at first sight. At least on his part. He soon realised her eyes were narrow slits of annoyance.

  He was late. Sorry about that.

  She spoke gently with a little quiver in her voice; it was reassuring to see someone else uncomfortable. Such a pretty voice too.

  “My name is Lea. As lowest standing, I will lead this choosing,” she announced as bravely as she could from the podium.

  He nodded again. What did the lowest standing mean?

  “Four have found you of interest,” she said quietly. “All of whom you may choose to accept as potential mates,” she said.

  Excellent.

  “Do you have questions?” she asked when he said nothing.

  Did he have questions? Aye, he had a few. So many that his head was likely to shatter if he held them in a moment longer. So many that unless he was careful, he was likely to betray his complete ignorance.

  In a sense, my dear Lea, I have a fuk load of questions.

  “What happens?” he asked hesitantly.

  “We talk,” she said, as if it was no matter.

  Go on.

  “About?” he asked when she didn’t go on.

  “Anything we feel like.”

  She frowned as if trying to explain to a child. “We ask questions and you answer.”

  “And what if I answer incorrectly?” he asked.

  She almost smiled. “There are no incorrect answers Erroh. There is only the truth.”

  He didn’t really understand this at all. He was here to participate in the Cull. The actual Cull. Wasn’t this where they sorted the finest of the bloodlines through feats of strength or daring or some such? H
e hadn’t come here to talk. He had come here to claim his birth-right.

  “Are there any more tests?” he asked.

  “No more tests, just talk,”

  “So when does the Cull begin?” he asked.

  “It began the moment you bested the Black Guard. Your skill is not in question. Your participation is no longer in question either. The city and the Primary deem you worthy to be a mate but it remains to be seen what type of a man you are,” she explained rigidly as if reciting from memory, as if this was etiquette for this youthful age. As if this separated the weak from the strongest lines: as if this was how it was done. He always considered the Cull as barbaric, in a way, but this was something entirely different.

  “And then what happens, after the talking?” he said quietly.

  She raised an eyebrow and he thought he sensed a smile, though not a terribly warm one.

  “One of us may choose you as a mate for life.”

  He said nothing. He merely weighed up her words. He was here to attend and he was here to win a mate. Hearing her say what he already knew did unsettle him somewhat. All thoughts of freedom were now lost. It was simply too late. Staring at this beautiful female above him should have settled any lingering trepidations but he felt no better.