Spark City

by Robert J Power

  A short clean-shaven man in a black cloak emerged from the doors and invited Oren alone inside. The rest of his Riders sat in silence among themselves and waited. Erroh sat back against his cart and thought about the last year of his life. When he had entered the city to claim his mate, he had imagined his life turning out far differently than it did. Had he lived a fine life?

  He had tried.

  A few hours passed and evening had begun to take hold of the day when the door opened suddenly and Oren emerged followed swiftly behind by a giant. Each Rider fell to their knees immediately and bowed as their lord walked out among them. In truth he did look like a god. He was bigger than Magnus and just as old, but that didn’t make him any less fearsome. He did not dress extravagantly despite his divinity. His boots were black, his trousers were leather, and his vest was plain and casual. His skin was tanned more than most other southerners with an overly muscular physique. He was awe inspiring and terrifying and almost familiar looking. Perhaps it was the godliness in him.

  Erroh felt the fear take hold and he stepped back absently. Then a curious thing happened. He thought about Keri. A simple thought out of nowhere. He did not think about the misery of their deaths. He thought about their magnificent stand against the inevitable. He would soon be meeting his brothers. He tried to remember what number his count was. Perhaps there was room for a dozen more. He touched the pouch he’d wrapped around his wrist with ribbon. He searched for the warrior inside him who’d faced an army. It was time for the Hero of Keri to appear one more time when all else was lost. There was no escape from this place.

  This was where his story would end.

  So make it a fine last chapter, whispered the absent gods in his mind.

  “Who fuk are you?” Erroh shouted in their language and the Woodin man started to laugh.

  The Fall of Erroh

  “I see what you mean Oren,” said the Woodin man in a low gravelly voice. A voice changed from an entire life of battle cries. It radiated power just like every movement of his entire body. “Remove chains,” he growled slowly.

  A Rider released him from his restraints and they fell loudly to the ground. The relief was instant but Erroh showed no emotion. He just watched and waited for the attack. Or for an opening to attack. Any opening at all. The ledge overlooking the drop was looking appealing and he wondered what it would take to convince the god to jump. Gods couldn’t fly. He wondered could he reach the blades hanging along the walls. Could he actually end the war before it even began?

  “You will make it to swords,” growled Uden smiling ominously.

  “I will too,” he added and Erroh held his charge.

  “Gemmil, get men feast,” Uden said to the smaller figure in black. He returned his gaze to Erroh and gestured to the open door, “follow me little cub,” he said before turning his back and disappearing inside. After a few cautious breaths, Erroh shrugged and followed him.

  Alone at last.

  Erroh followed Uden through another door into a dark chamber where shock stole his breath and words. It was a fine enough chamber in truth. The floor was covered in rugs. The wood was varnished and rich and there were just enough candles to draw the correct amount of attention to the skulls and stuffed trophies of a great many beasts that hung from three of the walls. It wasn’t any of these trophies that amazed Erroh though. It was the fourth wall and the thousands of little metal capsules that were the real treasures. They covered the wall. Each slotted into a perfectly whittled hole. The holes spread right across the width of the room, from the ground to the very top of the ceiling. His head reeled at the amount of knowledge. No man or woman could ever amass such a collection in a hundred lifetimes.

  Even a god would struggle.

  “I like look at them too,” whispered Uden from the far end of the room, the light from a great fire lit up his clean-shaven face. Stepping away Erroh could see his blazing green eyes were cold as he took his place at the head of a long mahogany table.

  “More words from past, than in Samara,” he whispered again and it sounded like a roar. Gemmil emerged baring two plates of steaming meats. He set them down at each ends of the table. Erroh’s mouth watered but the lure of the capsules was too great. Each one had an inscription and a date. Many were older than any history he’d ever known.

  “I know how world came to be what is,” Uden said smiling.

  Erroh nodded in agreement. He didn’t know why. Despite his terror, the man had an appeal.

  “They speak my prophesy,” Uden said.

  Erroh reached for a capsule. He couldn’t help himself. His fingers touched the seal and he gently pulled the words of a long dead race from its place of rest.

  “You will not touch scripture,” roared the god in a terrible voice that seemed to shake the world. He slammed his fist loudly down on the table and the sudden eruption of rage shocked Erroh, as though he’d had horns blown in his ear for half a day. He pushed the capsule back in its place and stepped away carefully. What would he have given to spend a few days reading the little pieces of history? Perhaps when he killed the god, he could slip back after and read a few with a piping cup of hot cofe. It sounded like a plan.

  “Why I here?” asked Erroh confidently. He wore his warrior’s skin well though his fingers touched the ribbon and pouch.

  “I like to make tainted believe before burn,” Uden said.

  “If I believe, will no burn?” Erroh asked carefully.

  The god laughed loudly. He was no fool but he was a lunatic. He coughed and addressed Erroh in his native tongue. His accent was flawless because fuk him, he was a god.

  “You will die after we have sated ourselves with this fine meal,” he declared while pulling the skin of the chicken free and placing it aside.

  “Make sure you chew thoroughly,” suggested Erroh evenly as though he was simply playing a bluffing round. “It would taste better with a few glasses of wine,” he added of the minor feast.

  The god laughed again loudly.

  “We need wine Gemmil,” he roared. His burning green eyes flashed rage and power.

  He’s just a man, Erroh’s mind whispered.

  Gemmil entered the room and poured two glasses for each challenger. He left the bottle by the burning flames. The wine was slightly warm in the glass. The Woodin man drank down deeply and chewed another hearty piece. Erroh didn’t touch the goblet. He ate though. The meat had just the right amount of salt. He thought about asking for boar.

  “You asked who I was?” the god said.

  “Aye,”

  “I am the south. I am the brothers of conflict under one banner. I am their god and my wrath is infinite,” he replied.

  What type of answer was that?

  “Can you discuss peace with Samara?” Erroh said evenly.

  “I could and Dia would probably believe me,” Uden said and poured himself another glass. “Gemmil is a loyal man,” Uden said. “Few from your whoring city ever come down to us frozen southerners, but when they do, Gemmil spins some fine tales of our dreadful barbaric nation to any and all bearing the messages of your queen. We don’t get nearly enough guests,” he whispered in a mocking sad tone. “I pledge myself to Mydame of Spark City,” he said loudly and smiled.

  It suited her to believe whatever the south claimed. Nobody wanted to invade the south. Nobody wanted to face those freezing conditions. Nobody wanted to even visit.

  “You are an Alpha are you not?” Uden asked.

  “I am no Alpha,” said Erroh warily. Only Nomi knew. Did she tell?

  The Woodin man stopped chewing and closed his green eyes. He swallowed his food and took a disappointed deep breath. “Lie to me again little one and I shall deny you the right to spill my blood,” he growled.

  Erroh decided not to lie anymore.

  “I am of Alpha line.”

  “Line of?” Uden asked draining his second glass. He looked at the goblet in front of Erroh “Drink,” he ordered.

  Erroh reached for the glass and s
ipped the warm sweet wine. He savoured the flavour and nodded his approval and thought of any way to lie without arousing any suspicion. After a moment, he shrugged. What was the harm?

  “Magnus,” he said carefully.

  A flicker of emotion appeared across the gods face and swiftly disappeared.

  “Does he still live?” he asked as if enquiring about an old friend.

  “Aye,”

  “Perhaps we’ll meet someday,” he said and tore into a fresh strip of beef.

  “Have you been to the city?” Erroh asked evenly, though he knew the answer already. The Woodin man was also an Alphaline. An insane Alphaline declaring himself a god. Erroh had hoped that he would face a mindless barbarian with delusions of grandeur. Such a foe could be beaten but now he would face a master of the blade with a lifetime of experience. That was something else entirely. Erroh would put up a good fight but ultimately he knew his fate was sealed. No fine meal and sweet wine could replenish the strength he had lost while captive. Nomi had tried to prepare him. She was one of the finest people he’d ever met. So was his beloved Lea. He missed them both so much as he sat here waiting for the madman to finish his meal.

  He hoped there was dessert.

  The Woodin man shook his head and smiled dangerously.

  “I imagine my father will be waiting at the gates to give you the grand tour,” Erroh said coldly.

  “I do hope his Rangers will be waiting with him,” the god said.

  Everyone is going to die, Erroh thought again. Maybe he could attack him in this very room without so many watchful eyes. He looked at his plate. Maybe he could skewer him with a chicken bone. “What do you plan to do?” said Erroh.

  The Woodin man stopped ripping at his meat to laugh that croaky smug laugh. “I don’t need to answer your questions little cub,” he sniggered.

  “Answer me Alpha,” roared Erroh and slammed his fist down on the mahogany table. His glass of wine toppled precariously and a few drops spilled across the polished surface. Erroh locked eyes with the god and refused to blink. He was a dead man either way, so he decided that insolence was the best card to play from here on.

  “I like you Erroh,” announced the giant happily and offered the bottle. “The words have said of what is to come. After the pain and fire there is paradise, and I will lead my people to it. The Spark is the shining beacon of decadence. Its tainted light blinds everyone but me. This started thousands of years ago and these are the final days,” he said and threw down the last chicken bone onto his plate.

  Erroh chose his words carefully “You’re a fuken lunatic,” he said slowly and the Woodin man laughed aloud once more.

  “I wish you were one of my generals,” Uden said shaking his head. “I’d have to rip your head off for showing such disrespect though,” he said. “All gods are a little mad I suppose,” he said standing up and staring at his beloved wall of scrolls. “Beautiful,” he whispered and walked up behind Erroh’s chair and placed his hands on Erroh’s shoulders before he could react. Big, strong and fast. Wonderful.

  “You tore one of my fingers apart so you’re worthy to face me with a blade,” he squeezed both of Erroh’s shoulders with his powerful grip.

  “What will be my fate when I beat you?” asked Erroh evenly, though he was terrified.

  “You may walk free,” he whispered in Erroh’s ear. The god pulled away and walked slowly to the wall. He ran his fingers along the line of capsules; they clicked delicately in the silence of the room. Uden closed his eyes in pleasure.

  “You are no god Uden,” said Erroh taking his glass of wine. “And a true feast would have included boar,” he added, knowing well the second criticism would cut deep.

  The god did not laugh this time.

  “Every person whose life I touch is changed irrevocably,” he faced Erroh and stared through him. “Can you claim as much little one?” he asked.

  “I do not claim to be a god,” replied Erroh. He began to feel a bout of coughing come upon him. He held his breath and waited for it to pass.

  “It is time,” Uden said with dreadful finality.

  He led him from the chamber back out into the courtyard. It was a strange thing to know these were his last steps. And they were taken in the shadow of a terrifying madman.

  “I see how fight will be,” Uden said as he stepped out into the cold clear night. “Speed will serve you but it not enough,” he said in the southern tongue. Erroh coughed in reply and followed the behemoth outside where night had fully fallen and the brightest lights were a dozen standing torches arranged in a large circle in the middle of the courtyard. Erroh wondered absently if such light could be seen all the way down at the bottom of the mountain range. Who would be watching at this late hour in this remote part of the world?

  It was a small matter feeling this alone.

  “Choose,” Uden said before removing two swords hanging from the wall and checked their weight. Each silver blade was forged to perfection, untouched by battle and encrusted with dazzling blue sapphires. He swung each one casually and went through a few forms. Satisfied that they would gut the non-believer, he let each sword drop to his waist and waited at the edge of the flames. Oren and his Riders stood outside the circle and watched on excitedly. Many chewed on meats or drank from wooden goblets. Only the best at their god’s house.

  He had the choice of at least a hundred weapons but none felt right in his hands. After an eternity, that was a handful of breaths to any other man, Erroh settled upon two mismatched swords. They were fine pieces but they were not anything like his own. Their weight was disproportioned or else his arms were weaker than before. He spun them in his wrists before stretching out. If the god wanted to fight, he would just have to wait a little longer.

  “Die well, son of Magnus,”

  “Go fuk yourself, Woodin man.”

  They faced each other in the circle. Erroh could hear the whispers of the many privileged Riders falling silent and he thought about the Cull and those hidden eyes watching in excitement from behind the darkness. It was time for the sacrament of battle and another gospel given by their lord.

  Goodbye Lea, I love you.

  Goodbye Nomi, I owe you the world.

  Erroh stood with his blades outstretched and tried desperately to calm his beating heart. Adrenaline surged through him and though his opponent stood a generous foot above him, he pledged to himself that he would at least scar the brute. It would likely be in the first few strikes and Erroh might catch him off guard with a quick counter. It was a simple enough plan but of course, the cur made no move. He just stood placidly with each blade at his side awaiting Erroh’s attack. Like a beast of prey ready to pounce on a little cub.

  The Riders held their breaths. The moment was coming and everyone in the courtyard felt it.

  Waiting.

  What would Magnus do in this moment? He’d rip the fuker’s head off and throttle the rest of the Riders with whatever limb was available. Erroh was not his father.

  The tips of his blades betrayed him slightly as they shifted from their position. He thought he saw Uden smile. Bile churned in his stomach and Erroh knew he had mere moments left. This battle would not take long. The Woodin man finally blinked and Erroh leapt forward.

  All four blades clashed with violence and menace. Erroh going against everything his father had instructed when facing a stronger opponent, attacked relentlessly. Uden blocked and watched with emerald eyes every movement he made easily and met each strike. They thrashed back and forth in a terrifying display of skill and the Riders whooped and cheered for the fine spectacle. The mountain range echoed with each scream of hate from steel and their shadows danced in a menacing flow of beauty all along the mountain walls.

  Erroh felt quicker than he thought possible as he hammered at the god with each strike. He dug into his reserves, threw everything into his strikes, and ignored the devastating fatigue, which began to grip each of his arms. Uden sensed this and struck back harder but Erroh would not yield
and, as the fight progressed, they met each other’s strikes more evenly. The bigger man attempted and failed to grind him down, for having endured months in chains walking against his own will, a trivial thing such as exhaustion would not bring about Erroh’s downfall.

  It would be something else entirely.

  They struggled for an age and Uden had to admit the little cub was the finest fighter he’d ever faced. He had assumed the clash would be over in the first few moments but the child was a wildfire. A handful of such creatures as fierce as this and any army could be defeated or indeed victorious. He wondered was he another demon sent to test him for there were many, but Uden had prevailed above them all. What if the child was of scriptures too? Such things were never realised until far too late. If he was, it was still the child’s destiny to die at his godly hands this night. They locked blades and Uden pushed the little maniac back across the arena. He took a breath and realised how tired he had become. Foolish to let such a thing as breath get in the way of the kill. Perhaps this was what he had needed. A reminder of the trials he needed to face to bring his people through the fires into nirvana. He was humble to realise his shortcomings. It was the human in him. When he eventually dispatched with the child he would push himself further from this moment on. There would be difficult tests to face, in the many days ahead. Complacency had allowed his body to be ravaged by idleness.