Spark City

by Robert J Power

  “We have a long walk ahead of us. Who knows exactly how good you may be when we arrive?” he said, shaking himself loose.

  When she was limber, she also took off her outer shirt revealing a wonderfully fitting blouse underneath. Their eyes met and he read her thoughts. She wanted no special treatment and she too was willing to accept a few sharp strikes of wood on skin. Albeit a little less skin.

  “You’re going to hit me really hard along my side, aren’t you?” he said, daring a smile. The taste of war was in the air. He felt the reassuring surge of adrenaline that only comes before battle. Perhaps she felt the same. He’d never fought another female with similar training to him before. She held only one sword in her right hand. It was not raised yet and it did not quiver. It hung ready at her leg ready to strike. It was a fine fighting form but his eyes dropped down at her shapely blouse again. She saw this and her arms closed over her guard ever so slightly. That’s okay my dear, we have all the time in the world.

  But until we do.

  The loud crack of both swords erupted in the darkness. She blocked his strikes easily enough but never tried to push home any advantage. She knew that would be a mistake. Any fool could see he was testing her. He moved gracefully, striking out with both swords while studying her movement. He took her in and she fell back and let him attack though not entirely of her own volition. His speed was something to behold. Walking he carried a slight limp but fighting he was divine. But for his arrogance, she could see the pain he endured with every strike. Back and forth in their first dance they swayed, spinning, thrashing, and awaiting the killing blow. Searching and finding a fine distraction from awkward thoughts and words.

  For the briefest moment amid the storm of their swirling bodies, it was Lea who spotted a weakness first. It was something barely noticeable beyond his careful defence of injured ribs. When he struck he led with his left every time. A stronger strike followed by a less impressive right. A simple weakness and nothing more than a bad habit from a young Alpha who’d spent many years training with one blade. Keen to take advantage, she met his next attack and countered with a clean strike across his chest before receiving a nasty blow against her own shoulder. She dropped her guard and he swung again. An instinctive regretful strike and it snapped loudly against her wrist and she shrieked in shock and pain. The blade fell clear and he spun away rubbing his chest irritably. She held up her aching wrist and bit down a curse as she examined the welt forming across her skin. At least it was better than forcing himself upon her, she mused bitterly. Still though, the night was young.

  “Well, you asked what it’s like being the son of Magnus,” he mocked.

  She picked up the blade and attacked. He countered a little too carelessly and his arm slipped from defending his ribcage. He hit her across the arm once again but at the cost of receiving a fierce blow against his injury. It was a satisfyingly dull sound and his accompanying yelp was the cherry atop the cake. She did not follow through as he stumbled backwards. She allowed him a few strained breaths between clenched teeth. She was kind like that.

  “Good shot,” he wheezed in agony falling to a knee. She ignored the suggested whisper of guiltiness in her mind easily enough. Had he not challenged her to fight instead of talking matters through? Still, there were far poorer ways to waste away the hours. Battle was ingrained in her. It always had been and she’d savoured the taste of pretend battle with her sisters of Samara where victory was met with polite applause and fatal loss with jesting and ridicule. After a few more breaths, he climbed to his feet and resumed his stance as if crippling pain was no matter. She didn’t hesitate and leapt forward with deadly intent and met his blades once more.

  Above them, the shattered moon passed further on across the sky casting deadly shooting stars here and there, as it did. In the distance dull echoes of ancient thunder rose above the dull clatter of wooden blows as shiny shards of stone struck the land. Some scarred areas of the world were common with such events. Some areas were well known for such things, as well. The young Alphas paid little attention to any of this as they sparred until Erroh’s recovering body could take no more. With a truce called, both figures collapsed down on either side of the fire’s dying embers, panting. They were exhausted, drenched in sweat, and exhilarated. It was a grand workout indeed. They were to be sparring partners for life.

  “So being the son of Magnus is painful and demanding,” she said when her own breath had settled, continuing the conversation from before. There was no mocking tone to her words and he had no need to bite back a retort. It was almost courteous and quite the improvement in civility. Perhaps hitting each other with sticks for half the night was the right way to go about things.

  “He pushes hard and it hurts,” he said lightly, though a thousand bruises came to mind. Just as many cuts quickly followed and bones breaking too. Oh yes, few Alphalines forgot the taste of their first broken bone at the hands of their master. “Training was tough, brutal even, and I’m eternally grateful for it,” he added, instinctively rubbing at one of his fingers.

  “That was certainly tough,” she agreed flexing her own fingers over the warm fire. Their eyes met and they shared a grin. At least they could bond over violence. That was something.

  “Your technique is smooth but fierce,” he said leaning over and taking out the canteen. After a sparing mouthful, he threw it over. She drank deeply. Far more than she needed to in fact and it was he who looked away first. Point made.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Give me a week and I’ll take you,” she said lying down beside the warm embers of the fire.

  “So I only have to wait a week before you’ll take me?” he asked playfully, lying down as far from her as the fire’s warmth would allow.

  “You’ll be waiting,” she said coldly. Her meaning was clear and definite. Nevertheless, with his mood lifted and no shrewd thoughts to let matters be, he jested once more. He did this because he was an idiot.

  “This little wanton cub will happily wait for amazing treasures,” he quipped, daring not just a smile but also a suggestive wink. His meaning was clear and definite. You have nothing to worry about my dear.

  “Oh fuk off Erroh,” she hissed in disgust.

  “I was only making a joke Lea. Guess you can’t take a joke either?” he muttered, hoping she’d retaliate. Hoping she’d put him in his place with some fine mock of her own. Was that not what people did? He waited and she did not reply. Instead, the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen turned her back to him and immediately killed his mood. He sighed and closed his own eyes. Tomorrow would be a better day.

  “You’re not going to make me cry again,” he heard her say with such revealing sorrow that it stung him. He raised himself up from his makeshift bed but she did not stir. He searched for the right words.

  “Lea?” he asked gently.

  “You’re a highest lined brute,” she hissed turning.

  “Aye,” he agreed, sensing she had more to say. Sensing it would be wise to keep her talking.

  “You never wanted me,” she said just above a whisper though it may as well have been a roar. He reached out and touched her shoulder. He didn’t know why he did it. Her skin was warm and she recoiled from his touch. Of course she did. Thoughts of the Cull flooded back and he instantly felt the rush of blood.

  “She’s my best friend and you want her more. And now, I have to live with that,” she growled bitterly, and he finally saw her true torment. Shame enveloped him. It wasn’t simply his hesitation upon meeting. It was the false words spoken in anger that cut her deeply and for the first time in days, Erroh thought beyond the pain of the Cull. He thought beyond his own misfortune and realised the part he had played in their miserable dalliance. Why did she deserve his revulsion more than the others did anyway? All the girls had been spiteful from the first breath and all the girls had attacked relentlessly. It had just hurt more from Lea.

  “From the moment I saw you I thought you were most pleasing of them all,” he said
gently.

  She glared at him, and took his words as lies.

  “The first time you saw me, you looked right through me. Don’t patronise me Erroh, don’t you fuken dare.”

  He had that coming. Mere words couldn’t pull him from the hole he’d dug for himself. He hated digging holes.

  “I beg your forgiveness Lea.”

  “No,” she replied quickly.

  “For everything,”

  “No,” she hissed.

  “Thank you,” he whispered softly.

  After a few breaths, she bit. “For what?”

  “For choosing me,” he said and part of him meant it.

  “You’re welcome, brute,” she replied.

  “I’m your brute,” he suggested lightly and something inside him stirred. A warmth he hadn’t felt before. Perhaps it was just tiredness. That was likely it. “Are we okay?” he asked.

  “Not really. Not yet,” she whispered, her face darkened.

  “It’s okay; we have plenty of miles to walk, plenty more words to share,” he said and began adjusting his blanket to form an adequate pillow, a fine technique his father had shown him when out on the march, where a good night’s sleep was worth its weight in reinforcements.

  “Don’t rape me,” she suddenly said. Her voice was steady and controlled.

  “I didn’t do anything,” he cried sitting up suddenly then checking his movements to make sure he wasn’t acting any way threatening towards her. There were some things worse than murder. A real male should never imagine some things.

  “Why’d you think I wanted to?” he exclaimed in shock. Where had this come from? He was no beast.

  “It’s not unheard of for a male to take his pleasure when he desires it,” she murmured, though she was blushing. Perhaps it was from embarrassment. Perhaps it was relief at speaking of unmentionable things. Perhaps it was seeing his surprise.

  “Why would I even want you like that?” he cried protesting his innocence and trying desperately to reassure her. Mostly though, he was caught off guard and unsure which words to use. Luckily, this wasn’t a terribly unfamiliar feeling.

  “You were doing so well,” she mumbled, taking complete offence because it suited her. It was easier to lash out than admit that she’d judged him harshly.

  “You know what I meant there. You know I didn’t mean it like that,” he said rolling his eyes.

  “Because I’m not the beautiful Lillium,” she reminded him and cursed herself inwardly. He’d lied perfectly about preferring her to the other females. It was a wonderful lie to put some matters to rest. It was probably best not to drag up that disaster.

  “You are far more beautiful and I was just angry. Besides, she’s with Wynn now anyway,” he admitted weakly. He didn’t understand females. They twisted everything he said. It wasn’t fair.

  “Wynn is quite the male,” sighed Lea dreamily and Erroh tasted the bitterness of being second choice. Well played, my dear. He felt the need to apologise yet again, or else smash his head against the nearest tree. Either would be a sufficient end to the night. There was a fine looking trunk a few feet away. He could get a good concussion from that one.

  “If I could have returned after the first test I would have,” she said. It sounded like an apology.

  Erroh poked the flames with a stick; a few delicious sparks took flight in the rising smoke. They were lost in the dark sky above; he watched them for a moment and then spoke from his heart.

  He began by admitting how unprepared he was for a life walking with another when he’d first walked into the city and why he had answered the questions in the way that he had. To her credit, she never interrupted and she never blinked away in shame. Even when he told her of his sorrow when the lights went out and he was left alone to weep and bleed. She never stopped staring into his eyes as he spoke, and when he had finished his tale of woe, the weight of relief was quickly replaced by embarrassment when she remained mute. So with a shrug, he turned from her, crawled into bed, and pulled his blanket over his head. Tomorrow would be better, he pledged. Sleep immediately began to take him.

  She didn’t move for a time. Instead, she thought upon his words and she knew most to be true. She listened to the living night and desperately tried not to miss the hum of her home. No, it wasn’t her home anymore. Her home was with her man. Her mate. Her Erroh. Cursed as such a life with him might be.

  The most beautiful girl in the world glided silently over to the only male she had ever wanted and stirred him gently from sleep by leaning in closer and kissing his forehead tenderly. Just the once. She took his head in her delicate bruised and marked arms and hugged him. She should have broken the Cull’s rules for such an embrace. She should have held him in the darkness when he was convinced the world hated him. For once, the uttering of a word didn’t ruin the moment. She released the hug delicately and slipped back to her bed. Erroh slowly drifted away into sleep, a grimace no longer etched upon his face.

  The absent gods knew something terrible was coming. Not just in the wind but a storm nonetheless. They could see the tempest of blood and blades that could kill them both. They could see that each step brought them a closer to the very eye. The gods were silent as the Alphalines slept, for they knew they were fated to a beautiful day before a tragic night.

  Routines

  Waking up was never the best part of Erroh’s day, but he still woke at first light every bleary-eyed morning nonetheless. It was all part of his routine and he liked routines; they kept him alive. A light mist floated through the green trees around him, dissipating in the dawn’s early rays of warmth. He blinked a few times and yawned lazily while stretching out. All part of his routine and she was messing with it already. She wasn’t actually doing anything in particular but that didn’t really matter. She was awake and fixing her hair across from him and his morning was ruined.

  “Any food left?” she asked quietly without looking back.

  “We ate the last of it last night,” he muttered smelling her fresh perfume.

  “It was a good meal,” she admitted, tying the dark strands up in a ponytail. She wore it well. She wore everything well. He wrapped his cloak up and stuffed it into his pack. Her own pack was sealed and sitting by the tree. Her damaged armour already strapped tightly across her chest. He took out his unreliable map and ran his finger towards the stain. It didn’t look any more promising than the day before but she didn’t need to know that. They were heading south, that was enough for now. He boiled a little water with the last embers of the fire and poured them both a steaming cup of cofe. She grimaced once more at the taste but with nothing else for sustenance, she finished the cup. She did however decline a refill. With their hearts beginning to beat a little quicker, they strapped up and began their walk.

  The road was difficult. Few wanderers had passed through enough to make a path and only years of walking allowed Erroh’s keen eye to spot the easiest route to take. Lea studied him and quickly learned that a slight break in the trees was enough to keep their progress steady. She also remembered that following the splashes of sunlight through the canopy above their heads were fine waypoints as they marched deeper and deeper into the eternal green. Aye there were obstacles, cutting briars and thick underbrush and she did notice Erroh’s wariness of fallen logs but still, they made better time than expected. The world wasn’t entirely covered in these trees; there was as much open plain as green where they were headed. She also knew there was a thousand miles of snow to be walked at the end of their journey, but snow was not something she was entirely unfamiliar with.

  “I have missed this. I’ve seen nothing but stone in too long a time,” she said, falling in step beside Erroh where the path opened up enough for two.

  “Your steps are lighter now,” he said and it was no lie. She avoided snapping most twigs and not every loose stone was kicked loudly through the undergrowth. A few more days and she would be just as silent as when her masters taught her the path years before. By late afternoon, their
path reaped rewards and a familiar wet music played in their ears. It was a wonderful ballad of water rushing north.

  “You can drink as much as you want now,” he said smiling when they reached the edge of the flowing river. He scanned the far side of the bank. Wild bushes and ancient drooping trees clustered together all the way along its edge. A slight wind jostled the green leaves making it challenging to track any hidden foe. He’d learned swiftly on his travels that any water source be treated with suspicion. He moved quietly drawing his sword. Beside him, Lea was bolder and he approved. Gracefully stepping along a long fallen log, she crept out over the water to the far side, her eyes hunting, her face flushed with excitement and fear. She hid herself among the undergrowth. It was only her perfume in the wind which would give her away. He smiled to himself at her instincts. He had not suggested she do anything of the sort. She was merely demonstrating her prowess. She was more a predator than she portrayed herself to be after all. Her masters had taught her well. He moved to the nearest bend in the river and waited. His eyes moved along further up and saw no sign of brigand, beast, or brute. After a time she appeared opposite, weapon sheathed and a content look upon her face. He bowed and began refilling his canteen.

  Their canteen.

  It called to him so he answered. In full dress, he dropped into the water. The clear flow was soothing and cool. Its hushed lazy song soothing as it continued its journey to meet up with the Great Mother somewhere beyond. He waded slowly into the middle of the river where it reached up to his waist. Its firm current begged him to come join its long journey back North but he resisted. Instead, he took to the task of scrubbing the filth of a hundred miles walked from his clothes. It was a difficult task with little more than soap and a wire brush. She appeared at the edge beside him and sat down letting her legs drop into the flow.

  “How are they feeling?” he asked of her bruised and blistered feet as he slid his shirt off and began scrubbing. The garment had once been dark black but the road and wear had turned it charcoal grey. Shame really, it was a nice shirt.