Spark City

by Robert J Power

  The females probably loved that.

  He tried to rise, but a heavy boot kept him in place.

  “Stay down friend,” whispered Wynn from above. It was a fine suggestion and Erroh finally admitted defeat with a gasp. The lights erupted to life and Erroh knew his task was done. All three tested, all found to be worthy. This one was probably worthier than most and as for himself? Well he had been as disappointing as expected. At least he was consistent.

  On cue, the magnificent Primary made her appearance and his opponent fell back to one knee and bowed in respect. Erroh rolled away from the light and climbed to his knees. He didn’t bother to bow. It would just hurt more. He was content to wait for permission to leave the arena with his tail between his aching legs and leave the females to ogle a proper Alpha male.

  “Well fought, Wynn,” Dia said coldly. She tapped the edge of her podium irritably. “Line of Magnus, you may leave,” she spat in disgust.

  Nobody came for him. He didn’t know why he expected them to. His mind was little more than misery and loathing. Better that than concentrate on every single ache in his body.

  After an hour of waiting, the excited noises of a hundred females filled the tower, wilder than before, and Erroh suspected why. Who would pair with this god of a man? A fresh Cull was in the air and Erroh was simply nothing special. Ancient heavy doors opened and closed far above, little feminine footsteps hurried up and down stairs. Some sounded as though they passed by his doorway but no spiteful little witch looked in. He thought about the four females and wondered if they’d witnessed his destruction. It was likely they would have enjoyed it. Good for them.

  Bitches.

  When the last footstep disappeared into the silence, he was still alone. A terrible empty silence surrounded him and all he could hear was his laboured breathing. Moments passed and the silence became unnerving. His waves of anger left him, replaced by droplets of sorrow instead. The droplets formed into a stream and so on. In the lonely silence, he lamented. He did not belong here in the great city of Samara, the fabled City of Light, the fuken Spark. He belonged at the far end of the world, the place he used to call home. He wanted to go home. A fresh trickle of blood broke through his bandaging. It flowed down his grubby, bruised face and he ignored it. His thoughts were on the silence.

  Still he waited and nobody came. When the lights went out all around him, the first tear slipped from his eye. He could have blamed other things, like the pit of acid in his stomach, the concussion, or the broken ribs. All were dignified reasons to cry, but it was the loneliness he felt, and the desire to feel kindness again. They’d forgotten to come for him. Erroh made no noise as the tears fell freely from his cheeks. He cried in silence so no one would hear, at least that was something.

  When enough time had passed that he was ready to face the harsh world once more, he dragged himself to his feet. This monumental task took more out of him than he would have cared for and sliding along the wall; he slowly reached the doorway before blindly tripping on the step and collapsing backwards back into the cold cell. Fortunately the bucked of waste broke some of his fall. It was still warm. He didn’t know how and he didn’t want to know either. It covered his chest in a warm blanket of hideousness and he cursed loudly. He may have cursed a few of the females while he was at it. When that failed to solve his miserable predicament, he pulled himself to his feet. Aiming for the doorway, he once more began his treacherous journey from this cursed place. He managed three steps. It started as a stumble, continued into another fall and finished with complete and devastating unconsciousness. As he fell, he had a last little depressing thought about how lonely he was going to be in life. He dropped heavily against one of the walls and then to the floor where he lay like discarded wreckage, invisible in the dark.

  Only one person in the entire city noticed his absence.

  Worrying News from the Wastes

  The old healer produced a small bottle from his satchel and held it open a few inches from Erroh’s face. Nothing happened so he shoved it right up his nose. Something happened. His eyes shot open and his body jerked violently, trying to escape the horrific odour. A female held him down, calmly whispering in an accent he recognised, and he relaxed.

  “Hi Lexi,” he groaned, looking at his younger sister in the dim light. She had grown so much, her hair was a darker brown than he remembered, but her face was the same apart from one or two blemishes, which accompanied youth. It was something she would grow out of and she was becoming quite the little lady. She looked like Elise. How many years since she had left? It was eight at least. He coughed and tasted blood and terrible pain all over. An old man dressed in a fine suit of satin with a long sash of leather hanging down his chest, kneeled above him and stared into his eyes irritably.

  “I cannot treat him here,” declared the healer, shaking his head as if standing over a dying body without recovery.

  “He will walk. He will not be carried,” hissed Lexi from beside him. She was far younger than Erroh but she was giving the orders. That was how it was, he supposed. A master healer had little to argue with a female Alpha of the city.

  “And if he can’t walk, you will treat him here until he can walk,” she added and sat back against the far wall. “No one will see him in this way,” she warned. The healer sighed and began with the ribs. His bony fingers dug deeply into Erroh’s side and explored painfully. He mumbled a few times under his breath, Erroh thought he heard him mutter that the “break was not bad” or else he “needed a break badly.” Something along those lines. At some point, like a weasel, Seth appeared and exchanged a few heated words with Lexi. She sounded like Elise as well, apart from the cough. By the time the healer had treated him there was more bandaging covering his body than skin. Not that he dared complain, his healer was not gentle but he was thorough. The prodding and cleaning hurt just as much as the injuring.

  “I’ll get him a day’s rest for the blood loss and the ribs,” the healer muttered as he left.

  “You need a wash Roro,” Lexi suggested, helping him to his feet. She still had a way to grow but already he could feel her tremendous strength. She would be strong like Elise. He took his cloak and shuffled from the dismal building through the city as it began its changing of the light. With his cloak to cover most of the damage, and leaning on her when the pace was too much, they made it back to his decrepit chambers without drawing too much attention. Evidently, it was quite important to keep up appearances in the city.

  Lexi paced back and forth radiating a perfect fury from her petite frame. She kept her hair in a simple ponytail; her green eyes were untouched by complementary paints. She was not of age, so she cared little for beautification. At least for now. Soon enough she would break hearts. Perhaps she would someday cause wars with her appeal. Perhaps she would end them too with her brutality. Just like their mother.

  “You took your time,” she growled, turning the anger of his treatment right back at him.

  “Aye, they told me to take my time,” he admitted guiltily.

  “They were here only two seasons back,” she said running her finger along the edge of a shelf and was not surprised with what she found.

  “They’ve both been here since I left?” he asked in surprise.

  “Twice.”

  “All is well?” he asked sheepishly. He didn’t think they would make the journey again.

  “Aye Erroh, all is well,” she said quietly blowing the dust from her fingers. If she was sad, she hid it well. If she was concerned about her mother’s health, she hid that too. If she was happy living in this city with her countless sisters, she hid that as well.

  “That’s good to know,” he whispered. He wondered how worried they might have been when they learned he had not arrived. When Magnus and Elise journeyed to the city, they didn’t spare the mount’s charge. It was a big world with more than one path and his path taken was the longer way round. Perhaps he would consider attaining a mount when he returned home. Was he that excited
about telling them of his failures?

  “I heard about the town, Roro,” she said when there was nothing else to say.

  “Let’s not worry about such things,” he suggested, braving a smile.

  “How was the road before that?” she asked instead and it was a fine question.

  “It would not have made much of a tale,” he admitted. The gods watching him may have disagreed.

  “Do you miss home?” he asked, and wondered how much she even remembered of their parents’ stronghold. Oh well, sacrifices needed to be made for the rebuilding of a race.

  “Not at all. Do you?” she lied openly.

  “Not at all,” he lied in that same tone.

  “I’m no great fan of this city,” he said after a moment’s pause. He didn’t want to insult her and he certainly didn’t want to add salt to her life if it was a deeply hidden wound. She was free to leave the city if ever she decided. Aye, there were repercussions and not just the taint on the glorious family name. There was less chance of finding a fine mate with a good bloodline out in the wastes, and was that not the entire point of their lives?

  “I love it here,” she said quietly as if it embarrassed her. She had more to say but fell silent.

  “It is an impressive thing,” admitted Erroh, realising he may very well have insulted her home without thinking. “It’s a marvel of our civilisation,” he added quickly. His words sounded hollow and they both knew it.

  “No it isn’t Roro, it’s a collection of bricks overly protected by an ignorant wall, built by the ancients to compensate for manhood issues,” she snapped, playfully. Aye, he had insulted her home. She’d obviously been working on that little speech as well. “It’s not about the city. It’s about the ideals of the city,” she said as if explaining to a child. Of all the unpleasant tone of voices he’d heard that day, this he liked the least. “We rule the world and we do a fine job of it as well,” she said, sitting at the edge of the bed.

  “Alphalines?” he suggested lightly.

  “The females of this city,” she snapped and flicked his head dismissively. “Males had their chance,” she said grinning.

  “The four kings?” he suggested.

  Silence.

  “You’re speaking like one of the wretched who were beaten in the Faction Wars,” he said.

  “There were five kings Roro, and nobody won the war,” she pointed out.

  He pushed her away in mock irritation, groaning in pain as he did. “Ah whisht, you’re sounding like Elise,” he hissed. It was quite the compliment and she smiled wonderfully.

  “I’m sure Dad would agree with you,” she jested.

  “We certainly share the same distaste for the city and its ways. Fuk this place,” he said grinning. For just the briefest of moments, it felt as though they were back at home, arguing as siblings did.

  “The world has known peace for decades since Dia accepted rule. It is the longest peace there has ever been,” she said seriously. She was Alpha female; hear her roar.

  “Aye, but there is always something in the wind. Peace will diminish and armies will clash. It’s why we train,” he argued.

  “Spoken like a true male Erroh. And when the wars do come, will you seek to protect us? Do you think the females of Samara could never be your equal in battle? Do you think we haven’t spent hours honing our skills in battle or learning to survive out in the wilderness? Do you think we have spent an entire lifetime knitting, giggling and waiting for a strong male to plant a seed in us? Do you think this is all we are?” she countered.

  “I didn’t say that, but it’s probably true,” he shrugged taking silent delight in the flash of anger in her face. “We are physically stronger, we are to protect you, are we not?” he declared pompously. Was it not in his pledge to protect his mate?

  “If Elise faced Magnus in battle, who would be left standing at the end?” she asked pointedly.

  Well played.

  “That would never happen but I see your point,” he said smiling. It was good to see her. It was even better getting a rise from her but what pleased him most was seeing how happy she was here. This was no place for him but it certainly was for her. He stretched out on his bed. The warmth was making him drowsy and made him forget the aches in his body. She pulled the blanket up to his neck, lest there be a chill.

  “You should sleep, I’ll see you before you leave,” she promised.

  “This Cull will never end, I’ll be here a while,” he muttered pulling the blankets tight. Warm was good, warm make all pain fuk right off.

  “I think your Cull has gone on a little too long already,” she said lightly but her eyes betrayed her worry.

  “I’m not making a strong impression on the females,” he admitted.

  “Oh, I’ve heard you are,” she said.

  “What have you heard?”

  “Enough.”

  “From who?”

  “Does it really matter?”

  “I suppose not,” he said yawning.

  She stood up and walked to the door. “In truth Erroh, no Cull should last more than three days. If you don’t win them over by the next day I believe it will end,” she said turning slowly.

  “Would that be so bad?” he said quietly. He had liked his lonely life before, had he not?

  “It would be shameful,” she said.

  “I can live with a bit of shame after this,” he said gesturing to his broken body.

  She nodded sadly. “I suppose that is where we differ. You wouldn’t be the first not to attain a mate, but you are the son of Magnus and Elise. To waste that bloodline would be a terrible loss.”

  “I’m no prize mount out to stud. I’m sure the city will survive,” he muttered.

  “There have been fewer Culls than ever,” she said quietly. “This one matters,” she added.

  Maybe it mattered because it was her brother participating.

  “Do you know the girls I Cull with?” He asked sitting up painfully. What do they like, what should he say?

  She looked around guiltily, as if the walls were listening. After a few breaths of struggle, she nodded.

  “Lea is fine, I suppose. A little unremarkable and her status in Samara is low but she is quite attractive and I’m sure she would get along with you, though from what I heard you aren’t terribly interested in her anyway. Beggars can’t be choosers Roro,” Lexi warned.

  And she’s not to be trusted, he silently suggested.

  Lexi continued.

  “Lillium is a strong choice but she’s not easy to get along with. She is highest lined, like you and I. We have never been friends but we could be sisters, I suppose. I don’t know, her hair is fuken crazy,” she said shrugging. He could see the guilt in her face of speaking these things aloud. Still, what is a little sister spy for anyway.

  “Roja carries the world on her shoulders; but don’t let that get in the way. She behaves differently to most females, but that is the price of becoming future Primary.”

  Erroh’s eyes widened.

  “She is Dia’s granddaughter. She is strong and wise and loyal, she is kinder than most, and a female I care for deeply,” Lexi whispered.

  “She hasn’t shown me this kindness you speak of,” Erroh said.

  “Perhaps she was not ready. Perhaps you should try convincing her,” Lexi said in all her childish glory. If only things were that simple.

  “And Silvia?” he asked.

  Her face darkened. “She smiles a lot,” Lexi growled. “Don’t try to win her over, it won’t make a difference either way,” she warned.

  So not Silvia then?

  "I’ve said more than I should Roro. Please try harder,” she pleaded and disappeared out the doorway. He thought miserably of the females for a few moments more before falling into a deep, unsatisfying sleep.

  He never fully awoke the following day. His lucid dreams were laced in wonder, fear, sadness and joy. He remembered nothing but the dull ache of his entire body every time he woke up with fists clenc
hed and his body covered in sweat. At some point the master healer returned to apply a warm menthol balm across his chest, and administer a spoonful of dark green medicine supposedly assisting with the pain. In truth he wasn’t entirely sure if that too was a dream, but the room’s scent had unquestionably improved. It was only the sound of heavy knocking in the late evening that pulled him fully from his stupor and the continual knocking, which pulled him from his bed.

  “This is a shithole,” his visitor declared, thrusting a bottle of sine into Erroh’s hand and slipping through the doorway before he could bar him entry. The tall Alpha with the annoyingly perfect ponytail took a seat without invitation and made himself right at home by gesturing to the bottle and smiling devilishly. There would be no drinking alone tonight.

  “I have a view and everything in my room,” the ponytailed Alpha said and Erroh disliked him immediately.

  “My name is Wynn, it’s a pleasure to meet the son of Magnus,” he said bowing. Erroh took two glasses and poured small measures into each. Just enough for a mouthful. Just enough to be courteous. Just enough to display his irritation at Wynn’s presence. He made a point of grimacing with each movement.

  “My friends call me Erroh,” he said handing the glass to Wynn who drained it immediately and handed it right back before Erroh could sit down.

  Outmanoeuvred once more.

  “Another?” Erroh asked.

  “Aye Erroh, that would be grand,” he said grinning slightly.

  Erroh refilled generously and took a seat at the bed.

  “A fine vintage,” Erroh lied, grimacing at the poisonous taste. “Thank you for the gift,” he said swallowing and coughing slightly.