Spark City

by Robert J Power

  “They hurt,” she replied peacefully, lifting each one in turn from the water and dropping them back down again. He was no great judge of feet but they were fine enough, he supposed.

  “I remember the pain,” he said wading across and throwing the shirt to dry in the blazing sun. He started to undo the belt in his trousers then stopped himself once he realised the problem with this routine.

  She watched him, and she was far more disappointed than she expected when he stopped removing his trousers. There was nothing wrong with being curious was there? She kicked her feet in the water casually, and silently willed him to stop looking at her. He did have the right idea though. She could feel the sun warmer, this close to the cool water.

  “I’m going to go bathe a little further upriver,” he said turning his back and striding slowly against the current. He disappeared behind the bend leaving her to remove her own shirt and then after a moment’s thought, her trousers too. It felt terrifying and exciting. Stimulating and liberating.

  She didn’t know exactly what happened because she always thought of herself as a good swimmer. She never imagined herself the clichéd drowning damsel in need of rescue but that’s precisely what she became. She dropped into the river and immediately lost balance. She stumbled forward and sank down under. The sudden shock paralysed her. The sweeping water gripped her in its embrace and refused to let go. Pulling, dragging, and strangling the last breath from her chest. The dull noise of the world filled each ear and the cacophony of her struggles terrified her as her squeals became nothing more than the bubbling calls of the dying. She pushed forward and tried to raise her head above the current. Beautiful daylight appeared in her vision all too briefly followed by the crashing horrific world of drowning. Her feet struck painfully against rocks and her screaming mouth filled with water. Her lungs tightened and the world turned black and yet somehow she knew she was crying.

  Then Erroh was beside her. She felt his sturdy arms grab hold. His strength matched her involuntarily thrashing limbs but she couldn’t stop herself kicking and punching wildly at him regardless. Until he struck out at her with a clenched fist beneath her chin and the shock brought her back to the world of normality. He took hold again and she let him. He held her in close and she stopped struggling completely. She tried to flee from the river, the panic surging back but he held her above the water and he never let go and pulled her to shore.

  “You drown really loudly,” he said, gently slipping away from her claw like grip. It was here that he dropped the guise of the stereotypical hero. He took a moment to enjoy the view of the half-drowned damsel wearing next to nothing shivering pathetically by the water’s edge. After a few breaths, he pulled his eyes from her body and tightly fitting garments and sat up on the bank. “Don’t think about it too long Lea,” he said as if nearly dying was a simple event out in the wastes. “You can be the one to save me from drowning the next time,” he said warmly and made room for her beside him.

  “Thank you,” she said and smiled a smile only for him. He nodded casually but inside his heart melted.

  A little.

  While her clothing dried out in the afternoon sun, Lea sat and watched him carelessly assemble the pieces of his bow and string it up. Observing such a mighty weapon being put together brought calmness, but the awful thoughts of suffocating water quickly returned when he left the bow against a tree, and dropped the sparring blades at her feet and began stretching.

  “Come on then,” he muttered and tapped the tips against his chest. She didn’t bother to stretch properly, stepped up to him timidly, and was immediately made to pay. He leapt forward and struck fiercely. She blocked but his power drove her backwards and a second blow sent her crumbling to the floor like a rag doll. She said nothing. Instead, she got to her feet and waited for his next barrage. A few breaths later, she was lying in the long grass along the river edge nursing the beginnings of a fine new bruise across her cheek. He spun away and spat at the ground irritably.

  “You were better last night,” he said reaching out to help her. She rolled away from his hand. “Maybe it’s just hunger. Maybe with a full stomach you’ll move a little better. Maybe if I hunt us a little meal you will recover some of your grace,” he said nodding towards the bow against the tree. “Or maybe it’s just too much for a female to spar every day,” he said, shrugging indifferently and dropping his sword to his side. Anger flared inside her but she caught the biting retort before it left her lips. All thoughts of drowning and rivers were lost for the moment.

  “I’ll do better,” she growled, changing her stance again and waiting for the next assault. When she did meet it, she countered two strikes before a delicate sweeping kick sent her flying once more.

  When the dust had settled and she nursed her pride and a few bruises, he did something unexpected. It was a simple gesture that brought a smile to her face. He handed her the bow and quiver and led her through the treeline into a clearing. The bow was sturdy and reassuringly heavy and in a life lived well among priceless objects of Samara she’d never seen any piece as remarkable. The body was carved from dark oak and the faded finish was smooth to the touch. She ran her finger up and down its curve and plucked delicately at the cord as they walked. She was in love with the piece but played it coy.

  “I think it’s strung a little tight,” she said.

  “Loosen it so,” he said passing across the key and taking their packs and dropping them in the shade where he took a seat to watch. She adjusted the weapon for a few moments before testing the draw. All it needed was a coat of varnish and some unconditional love. There weren’t many arrows to waste. Not that she would.

  She let the arrow fly. The string whipped back and snapped against her forearm, the usual pain shot through her arm but she hissed it away without thought as she always did. She and Lillium had spent much of their lives hidden away in a dark dungeon hitting straw targets in everlasting competition. They’d been sisters in arms, trying to best each other to the point of mastery. Lea was the finer shot. Lillium would argue differently.

  The arrow embedded itself in a tree trunk.

  She took out another arrow and pulling back, released a second.

  The arrow hit an inch from the first.

  “Impressive,” he said nonchalantly. It was an incredible shot. He reached out and snatched the bow from her.

  “Watch this,” he said confidently. She frowned as he took the joy from the moment. Erroh pulled the string back, thought of pigeons and let loose. The arrow shot wide of the target. A few feet wide of his target in fact. It lodged in a defenceless patch of wild flowers. It definitely killed one. Fuk you, wild flowers. He dropped his head dramatically and handed the bow straight back to her.

  “You should keep this,” he said.

  “To keep?” she asked in surprised, in disbelief, in excitement.

  “Aye,” he said, gently shrugging. “A gift.”

  She squeaked. He was sure she squeaked. It was a nice sound. Her smile was a wonderful spectacle to behold as well. As was her little jump in the air. It was a fine bow. It was fine when she fired it. He had owned it since he was a child and treated it as nothing more than a tool but she saw it as something grander. She was welcome to it.

  As the sun set on another day he prepared a little fire. She watched him make the spit and tend to the little flame. He did so effortlessly and she committed his technique to memory as best she could. He gave the impression that a wild storm or torrential downpour would be little challenge to him. Perhaps that was why he had few worries about marching through the snow. When the time came, she would be happy to offer suggestions. She prepared the four birds, stripping the feathers and then the viscera. It made her dizzy and her appetite was lost for a time but soon enough that gnawing hunger stirred once more. She speared each piece and set them to cook only to hear the swords dropped beside her again.

  A second sparring session in one day?

  “Come on beo,” he said, stretching. “It’s t
ime to prove my prowess to you again.”

  She tried harder and he was made to pay for it.

  They sat opposite each other by the fire again and despite the searing pain he chewed heartily, for his hunger was ravenous after the day. Though he’d struck at her in sparring, she’d still caught his ribs badly once more but he dared not show weakness lest she go even harder at him or worse go easier. She attacked her own dinner with the same vigour, deriving as much pleasure as she could from each bite. The fury in her eyes from hunting and combat was fading and now she ate in honour of the kill. Drenched in sweat from the sparring she looked incredible. More than that, she looked far more at ease than before.

  “You beat the pulp out of me,” she said tearing at a leg.

  “A few lucky blows,” he replied. It had been a fine melee altogether and good for shaking off lingering thoughts of drowning.

  “No, you were faster,” she said without bitterness.

  “Sorry,” he said, looking at the fresh bruises along both her arms. Who knew what discolours lay under her blouse. He chewed his food guilty. She had obviously trained with highly skilled teachers but years under Magnus and his watchful cruel eye had driven Erroh further. Was it far enough to challenge his master? Perhaps not yet.

  “Why do you want me to be so good anyway?” she asked.

  “So you can be elite,” he replied.

  “I don’t need to be. I have you to keep me safe,” she said mocking him.

  “Well then, I need to practise to keep you safe,” he countered.

  “You certainly need practice with the bow,” she said glancing at her new gift with unabridged love.

  “You sound like my father,” he muttered under his breath.

  “He sounds wise,” she laughed, finishing the piece of meat and tossing the bones into the fire. She had christened the weapon “Baby.” She was in love with Baby. Not Erroh. Not yet. “No one has ever given me a gift,” she said gently. “Thank you,” she said, squeezing his hand, and letting it go just as quickly.

  “What about your family?” he asked in mild surprise. Thoughts of lavish gifts Lexi had received from their parents came to mind: silken and gold and embossed with jewels. All he’d received were weapons, broken bones, and suggestions how best to rule the world should the time ever come. In truth, he was happier with his lot.

  “Fuk my family,” she spat thinking darkly of her clan. He was her clan now. She looked at the bow again and her mood improved.

  “Where are they from?” he asked.

  “A little south of here, where the green meets the white,” she replied sheepishly. The meal had been going so well. The further south he travelled, the less Magnus had been welcome. In truth, the Southern Faction had suffered most under his march. Her father’s estate lay above the border of the south. Magnus was still considered a tyrant and a coward at her family table. It would be interesting times if Erroh sat down to a meal with her father and brothers.

  He nodded thoughtfully. He even smiled.

  “When you meet Magnus, you can decide which stories are true,” he said evenly.

  “Agreed,” she said.

  It was the worst type of night. The air was sultry and dry, with the heat from the day appearing to be trapped by the heavy-laden branches all around them. So for the second time, he dropped into the water. He would admit that bathing was somewhat of an obsession with him, but cleanliness was only part of it. Body odour and hunting was the other.

  “I promise I won’t try anything if you want to cool down,” he called over to her.

  “I’m fine right here,” Lea said quietly from her seat at the bank. She dipped her hands in and splashed water into her hair. She would face water again; she just wouldn’t befriend it yet. Maybe tomorrow.

  He swam over and wedged himself gently against a patch of reeds beside her.

  “Why did we have to spar twice today?” she asked, examining the bruising on her arms, her legs, and even her fingers.

  “I just want you to be as capable as me in case I die,” he said.

  “Please don’t die,” she whispered.

  “I’ll do my best,”

  “Do better than that.”

  “I’ll try.”

  He climbed from the water and sat beside her.

  “I’m right here in case you get into trouble,” he nodded towards the dark pool. She pleaded with her eyes and he almost melted but that was not how things could be out here. If she let fear overcome her now, she may never swim again. She needed to find her daring, the same daring that would serve her well out here in the wastes, and keep her alive with or without him. Hopefully with him. He didn’t want to die either. Not for a while.

  She slid carefully into the dark water, the fear dissipated with the cooling pleasure and she let her head go underneath.

  “It’s cool in here,” she whispered when she resurfaced, bobbing gently in front of him. Her hands waved gently in the dark water keeping her afloat. Once again, she proved herself with a simple display of courage. He wondered just how courageous she was, then he wondered about himself. His stomach turned and shivers ran up his spine as though someone had stepped upon his grave.

  The Stain

  “I prefer to walk anyway,” he snapped at the mare petulantly. It seemed to agree and walked off on its own merry way. He dropped his shoulders and hated the beast a little more. From atop her own mount Lea stared with undisguised glee. He sighed loudly. The horse made an annoying nickering noise and began eating some long grass. He wanted to curse it. So he did. Loudly.

  “We could share my mount if you can’t catch your own,” she called over from her perch. He repeated her words in a mocking tone under his breath, which delighted her immensely. “She doesn’t like you,” said Lea, patting her own newly acquired horse. She knew the skill well and took great enjoyment in seeing her mate flounder spectacularly in a simple task. His skill making the mount’s harness was dubious at best, but it was his ineptitude in trapping his chosen mount, which surprised her most. She considered offering a few suggestions on both fronts as he was always willing to share his teachings at every moment but instead she held her tongue. It was too funny. And so was mocking him.

  “Aye but she’ll get to like me,” he replied, desperately grasping the looped rope in his hands; waiting for the moment to snare the animal. She was magnificent. Black and grand was certainly pleasing to the eye, but her legs won his heart. They were thick, muscular and built for speed. Moreover, there was fight in her. “In time, she’ll get to adore and love me,” he added through gritted teeth. It hadn’t taken too long to track a herd of wild horses out in the great northern plains but herding their choice of mounts into a dead end was the trickier part. Lea had little problem but Erroh was in his second hour.

  “Just like our love,” he mocked and side-stepped the beast and sent her cantering back towards an enclave of briars and shrubs. She whinnied disapprovingly but by now was becoming accustomed to his presence. She chewed some grass for a moment but kept an eye on Erroh as he stepped carefully near her once more.

  “Oh yes my dear Erroh, poets and bards will write great tales of the love we have for each other,” she mocked and brought her mount forward by gently kicking her feet in the stirrups of rope. It hesitated but she patted it a second time. Their maiden ride had been fierce and swift. The chestnut horse fought her every inch of the way but now, at rest and back where they’d begun, she was serving a new master while Erroh was still trying to introduce himself.

  “There are other horses Erroh. You can take this one, and I’ll just get another one that doesn’t have such good taste in males,” Lea suggested helpfully.

  He hissed her suggestion away.

  “I want this one,” Erroh declared, nearing the beast and finally slipping the loop around its head. He stepped closer and patted it. No problem. He rubbed the sweat from his brow. A long few hours chase but worth it. In truth, he hated horses and they hated him back. He would much prefer to continue
walking but if he wanted to reach Conlon by season’s end, it was wise to ride a horse at least some stretch of the way. He brought the rope up and around her and secured it tightly, patting the beast as he did, and with a heave, struggled onto the startled horse and immediately fought its erratic protests. It kicked and neighed, and he grunted and cursed in reply, but eventually the horse settled enough that he could run some of the fire from its will. No easy task. He kicked the animal forward and it took off like the wind.

  Lea had almost expected him to be thrown, if only from his inadequate tack, but miraculously the knots held and the rope tightened. A petty part of her was disappointed. He charged the beast down along the water’s edge, his pack bouncing with each powerful stride. She urged her horse after him, not just keeping pace but also challenging him further. They raced the sun across the sky with barely a rest and the miles disappeared under them.

  Elise had instructed him well enough not to push too much lest he injure or even kill the beast mid stride, so when he felt the weariness in her run, he brought the animal to a stop. The sun was already beginning to set. The sky was a beautiful crimson and blue. The night would be clear with a sweetness to the air, and they’d covered many miles: a fine day.

  With less cover from trees, they sheltered themselves from biting winds behind a mound of moss-covered boulders. Exhaustion and new pain from the day’s ride made them weary and after a reluctant sparring session, they nestled down under the stars with salted quail and muted conversation.

  She finished her fine meal, leaned back, looked up at the twinkling sky, and silently began counting. It wasn’t long before her breathing became a little louder and he knew she had fallen asleep. He sat and watched the shifting logs burn in the little flames. He thought about her laughing and it warmed him more than the fire ever could. He lay down and fell into troubled sleep. His dreams were of the town.