Spark City

by Robert J Power

  “Make me taller.”

  There was another flash of movement up ahead moving swiftly to the left. Perhaps it was boar. She grabbed her bow and notched an arrow straight away. Her horse whinnied and Erroh finally noticed that all around them an eerie silence had fallen. It wasn’t the silence of a beautiful goddess upon a stairwell nor the appearance of a decorative sword in the hands of a drunken fool. Something was out there.

  Maybe it was a boar.

  She held her breath and the taught cord. Her prey was human. Her prey was not alone. Suddenly they heard a familiar and menacing hissing sound and a crossbow bolt embedded itself in a tree between the two Alphas. A second shot went through Erroh’s calf and pinned him to the horse’s side.

  She heard him scream and she froze.

  Another bolt passed over her head and lost itself in the wilderness somewhere. The world was slowing down and she was frozen. Highwind bolted and Erroh cried out for her.

  She was too scared to move and he was gone.

  A figure appeared in a gap in the trees atop a great war horse. The animal was magnificent. It was built for marching, battles and cold lands like the south. Monstrous and intimidating and it wouldn’t stand a chance in a race against her own mount. The Rider was reloading a crossbow and he wasn’t doing it with any great haste either. He didn’t realise his magnificent beast had wandered straight into her firing line.

  Take the fuken shot while you still can, a voice whispered in her ear.

  The Rider wore heavy leather and steel armour with a thick layer of animal fur underneath. His crude steel helmet covered only his head. Behind him, other Riders were charging. Was it a scouting party or the entire army? She looked past their charge and got an answer and her body went cold. The world went still. She thought of the little girl. She thought of Erroh. She held her breath and put the arrow right through the Rider’s head. The only sound was the clink of the steel tip against the back of the helmet. He managed a final grunt as his limp body drooped and slumped over on his horse. The crossbow made more noise falling from his dead hands. His horse continued to walk forward slowly. She was a killer now, just like Erroh.

  Another projectile flew past her ear. She heard the air screaming as it did and it roused the survivalist in her. It was only a breath since Erroh’s panic-stricken mount had bolted and she spun her own horse around and raced off in pursuit.

  Highwind refused to break from her gallop. She vaulted through each and every obstacle in her path and tore the ground away with each powerful stroke, and Erroh was helpless. He pulled his foot loose and the animal cried in fresh pain. The bolt hadn’t gone deep and only a small stream of blood trickled from the wound. She would heal easily enough, whenever she stopped running. He stared at the object that protruded from both sides of his boot. It hung and bled him dry as if he were nothing more than an archer’s dummy but at least he would be a harder target to hit at this pace. He tried desperately to form coherent thoughts but most sense had abandoned him to the pain shooting up his leg. His eyes stung from tears and his lungs were raw from wailing for Lea to follow. He pulled desperately at the horse and felt a little give but Highwind was not ready to yield. For a few breaths more, they raced before he felt her resolve weaken a little. Branches and loose briars whipped and tore at his face but still he fought the animal until they broke through some heavy coverings out into an open meadow with waist high wild grass. It was here in the lazy evening sunset that she finally slowed and relinquished her control to her master. Behind him Lea emerged through the treeline, unharmed but for a few scrapes across her face. She’d never looked more beautiful. He would always remember how she looked in that moment before everything in the world turned to tragedy.

  “Which way?” she screamed.

  From beyond the treeline, he could hear the brutes atop their bigger warring animals. He felt naked out in the open as Lea raced towards him but he waited for her. He would not leave her behind again. What sounded like the felling of a hundred trees filled the air as their attackers drew nearer and Erroh’s mind raced.

  What if this little dell was already surrounded?

  What if there was a fatal arrow already notched?

  What if he this was his last breath?

  What if it was hers?

  What route would bring them through this terror?

  His eyes followed the river that would eventually lead them back to Keri through heavy undergrowth.

  Their second route led back into the deep of the green. It was a fine place to lose themselves but a finer place to meet an ambush.

  The third choice was an open pathway between two sets of treelines. It was the most obvious route for the pursuers to take as there was little cover but their mounts could charge as swiftly as the wind and speed was a fine advantage.

  His mind was awash with plans. None of which were simple and none of which could work.

  She pulled up beside him and reached for the arrow straight away. Their eyes met for a moment. Before he could give permission, the arrow was wrenched free and dropped into the grass beneath them. He let free a shriek and bit into the reins in his hands. Take the pain, a voice in his mind said. It may have been the echo of his father’s teachings or it may have been the absent gods revealing themselves to him a little more each day. Behind them, the rumble of killers crashing through the woodland grew ever nearer and he took the silent voice’s advice. Take the pain for now and worry about the bleeding a little later.

  “I killed one," she said in a voice she didn’t recognise as her own. Perhaps that was how it would be now that she’d drawn blood. Her eyes fell upon his foot and hatred overcame the terror and shock.

  “We race the wind,” he roared and drove his beast out through the dell down along the narrow slit of green between the trees. He dared not look either side lest he see an inescapable ambush. He kept his eyes on the route ahead and willed his mount to carry them from harm’s way. Soon enough the sound of their pursuers was lost to the delicious rush of wind and with a mile or so of clear path ahead a wonderful hope filled him. It was the right call and she charged with him a few feet behind, her cries of encouragement to her charging mount matched his own. They raced the wind and lost.

  He never heard the arrow and how could he?

  It was from close range and that’s what made the deadly projectile so devastating. They’d had the greatest intentions to fix her armour but there had been all the time in the world for such things. He heard her cry out. A screech of terror and wet agony that was terrifying like thunder. He looked behind and saw her leaning forward in her saddle. The reins had fallen from her hands. They danced and bounced majestically under each stride from the beast. Her hair was loose. It was beautiful and then he saw the arrow in her back. A trickle of blood came out of her mouth from biting down so hard on her lips but she didn’t scream. She held it in. She was so brave. He belonged to her and he was supposed to protect her. She slipped from the horse’s back and he couldn’t stop her falling. Her body was broken. She tried to break her fall with her hands but instead collapsed in a ruined heap in the dry grass. The arrow broke as she tumbled and he leapt from his own mount to help her. He could see the little piece of splintered wood jutting out from a little hole below her shoulder blade. It was deep. Far too deep.

  The Rider emerged from the bushes a few feet away still carrying his crossbow. He roared some unrecognisable language and reached for another arrow. Erroh saw tears streaming down her cheeks and her eyes blinked rapidly with every laboured breath she took. She was dying. He was no healer but he could feel it and the absent gods? Well he couldn’t feel them now at all.

  A little further back Lea’s vanquisher atop his warhorse casually began to reload. Without thinking, Erroh screamed and charged the brute furiously. He pulled Mercy from his back as he did and waited for the bolt to end his life. Unexpectedly, the Rider met the challenge. He dropped his crossbow, pulled an axe from his belt, and charged down on his prey. Perhaps it was honour amon
g killers or pride in death that he relinquished his advantage but he would never have a chance to regret it.

  He attacked from high but Erroh blocked with such fierceness that he knocked him from his saddle wherein Erroh pinned his axe wielding wrist with a foot and struck at his chest once, twice and then a third time. His sword cut through leather, steel, and flesh. When the Rider’s howls fell silent and his body fell still, Erroh pulled his sword free and returned to his fallen mate. If there were other attackers, he would meet their attack in a similar way but if these were her last moments, he would spend them holding her.

  She looked up into his eyes and saw he was crying. “It really hurts Erroh,” she said faintly.

  “We need to get you back to the town,” he whispered and wiped the blood from her mouth. She was prettier that way.

  “I don’t want to move Erroh. Just hold me for a moment.”

  There was a steady little flow of blood coming from her wound. She would likely be dead long before they made it back to the town but if he removed the arrow piece, she could bleed herself dry in a few painful breaths. He didn’t have time to think and neither did Lea so he did the cruellest thing imaginable and he did it selfishly.

  “I have to get you up,” he whispered.

  “I cannot ride,” she pleaded.

  “You have to try.”

  “I’ll never make it back. You have to leave me behind,” she groaned. She was so brave and his heart was breaking.

  “I love you,” he whispered and ripped a piece of his shirt.

  “I love you too,” she replied and a silent tear slipped from her eye.

  “I’m sorry,” he said wrapping the cloth around the protruding piece of wood. Please let it stem the flow. She moaned in agony and it tore him up inside. It tore her up a lot more though. How could such a small insignificant piece of wood do such horror?

  His clothes were damp. In fact, they were ruined. They were soaked in her blood. He wanted to burn them and wash himself clean but instead he wrapped a second tourniquet around his foot and embraced her before lifting her from the grass. She cried out loudly as he placed her broken body back onto the horse. He did so as gently as he could. It wasn’t gentle at all. He cut the reins and using the rope, wrapped her wrists to the saddle tightly. “Hold on my love,” he whispered and meant it in many ways. He took the remainder of the rope and attached it to his own mount. He pulled himself gingerly on top of his own mount and slid his injured foot painfully into the saddle.

  “It’s them Erroh. I saw them. Don’t lead them back to the town,” she begged weakly and he heard the terrible sound again. A sound he’d heard once before all alone beside a rock. Something akin to the sound of a thousand terrible things crashing through the undergrowth searching for a kill. He hissed his mounts to swiftness and they obeyed. Charging forward they escaped the noise and their attackers but Erroh felt no relief this time. His race was only beginning.

  He kept her dying wish as best he could. He drove both mounts through the undergrowth as night drew in and left a difficult set of tracks to follow. He knew every moment was precious but he took rockier ground where possible. It was in the river many miles from where she was felled that he knew their scent had been lost. He led both horses through the cold water. Walking the beasts slowly across the uneven surface of the riverbed was harder than the most painful of sprints. Night was upon them and still there were so many miles left to walk. He allowed both beasts a precious few moments to drink from the cool water and regain some of their lost stamina. He walked them for a half mile upstream until he came upon a path that would easily conceal their tracks at first glance. If the Riders discovered the town, it would be through no fault of their own. He had done what she asked. He could do no more.

  He kept his eyes on the way ahead in the dark light. He told himself that it was because he was wary of tripping and injuring his foot further but the truth was he was scared to look at her for very long. She hadn’t spoken a word in hours. Her moans of pain were growing weaker and weaker and her delicate face was deathly pale. Her features were stretched and tight. So much blood lost and she so very small.

  “Not too far,” he said quietly, pulling Highwind up the bank followed by Lea’s proud mount “Shera.” He patted the horse gently and willed her to stay strong for the final hour.

  “One more time for Lea, my ladies,” he asked of the mounts. He kicked off and raced one last time. He could sense her slipping away into the darkness with each bump in the ground, each dragging pull of the cold wind and each exhausted mile taken. He felt the tears, streaming back down his face. Like a river that would never stop flowing. Like each lonely hill climbed, like the land which never seemed to end; there was still so far to go.

  He knew he was running the horses into the ground. On some level of understanding, they felt her pain and he loved them both a little for it. Around midnight he looked back and still she took breath. Cruelly enough he began to believe she was going to make it but he soon lost that belief.

  The road worsened as he neared the town and she made no noise at all despite Shera bouncing her broken body roughly, as she tackled both uneven terrain and exhaustion. He dared a glance and his heart dropped seeing the outline of her listless body sagged across the saddle. Nothing held her but the ropes.

  Brave Erroh, too cowardly to hold her in his arms and ease her passing into the night. She had looked so beautiful in yellow. He groaned but kept the race going and his mind turned to prayer, unworthy as his absent gods were. He begged them to take his life instead of hers. He cursed them and challenged but his words were empty like his beliefs. “Fuk you,” he snarled at the end of the one-way conversation until the gods answered with a fresh downpour. Droplets struck his eyes blinding any vision he had, but the horses never faltered. They charged along the river and he trusted them to take them the last leg of the journey. His fingers bled where he held the reins and is body shook from the cold, but that may have been shock. His mind was awash with sorrow and hate. His foot was a dull numbness ready to strike him down. For the briefest of moments, he considered giving up. Bringing the horses to a stop and taking her in his shivering arms and saying goodbye. Like he should have, many hours earlier before dragging her through so much torment just in the grim hope that she could be saved. He considered this but he was a coward and never stopped the charge until they passed through a deep cluster of trees and met a familiar slope and a gap between the valleys. It was the most stunning sight he had ever seen but he never let his mount slow. They raced through the opening, down past the first few houses before crossing the largest bridge and almost killing a few tipsy merry goers along the way. The noises of the horse’s hooves on the cobblestone brought little relief, for he knew she had died a few hours back but he was unable to stop. He had a race to complete. He had nothing else in the world but he had that. He reached the centre of town and fell from the saddle in front of Emir’s office. His screams for help were not silenced even as his face crashed into the cold wet stone. He could taste blood in his mouth but all that mattered were his wild calls for the wretched drunken healer. He tried to rise but his injured foot was still stuck to the saddle and he thought how ridiculous he must look. He tried to free it but its numbness made it difficult. The world began to spin as running footsteps echoed all around him. There were a few shouts, curses, and hysteric arguments as a crowd gathered. He could hear the heavy panting of the mounts and he screamed for Emir once more. He finally freed his leg, it fell painfully onto the ground, and he screamed as numbness made way to horrific agony. Some desperate hands helped him with the monumental task of climbing to his feet. Beside him, dark figures were tending to his mate. He reached out and touched her hand.

  It was as cold as ice.

  He collapsed and wailed to the absent gods for failing her. He pledged to seek out each one and slit their throats. The hands reached for him again and with no will to fight, he was hoisted from the cold and wet ground. Tears streamed from his eyes fre
ely as he was carried like surplus lumber from a mill, ready for burning. So many voices but one familiar voice shouted out above the many. It was from a man he had met a lifetime ago. A man he had befriended.

  “Let Emir see to her,” Quig roared and the crowd parted.

  “Get them inside,” shouted another less familiar voice.

  Erroh moaned miserably. He could have kissed her until she passed into the darkness but he’d tortured her instead. Someone kicked the office door in and Erroh was carried towards it. Another lit a candle and he was brought into a cold room where he was dropped onto a hard surface waist high. He wondered absently how serious his own injuries were. Did he care if he’d join her in the darkness this night? Somewhere outside where rain still fell and races were lost, he heard some fresh bouts of shouting. They placed her gently on a long stone slab a few feet across from him and he reached out to touch his beautiful mate. She looked just like a porcelain doll his mother had kept in her study. It had looked beautiful, perfect, and fragile.

  “Who broke my fuken door?” shouted Emir stepping through the shattered doorway. Emergency or no, it was not right to break a healer’s door. “Oh fuk,” he whispered, seeing his patients for the first time. His head was spinning from the drink. This wasn’t actually a problem. “Everyone, get the fuk out of this room now,” he roared fiercely. This was his battlefield and he was a general.

  “Not you,” the healer muttered to some unknown girl.

  “Or you,” he hissed at Quig who stood over Erroh looking troubled.

  The sounds of conversation began to disappear outside in the cold wet night and Erroh felt a great exhaustion overcome him. He tried to lift his head but all strength deserted him.

  “Go see if Erroh will be a distraction to me while I deal with Lea,” Emir suggested to Quig. All authority now lost from his voice.

  “He looks fairly fuked,” suggested the big man helpfully.