The Spark

by Howell, H. G.

  There was another deep, terribly, rumble from the western cloud cluster. The clouds came alive as several shocks of streaking blue bolts of lightning arced through the sky. The quick flashing of light illuminated the shadow of the other ship. Just as Edward thought the men of the Defiance, or his father, would take note of the other vessel, did it once again disappear into the roiling mist of the storm.

  Edward quailed as the skies boomed once again as he pointed to the approaching weather. He did not do well with storms on the ground where there were no immediate risks, but being miles in the air aboard a wooden ship sent an all new wave of paranoia through his young veins.

  His father turned his attention to where Edward pointed. The clouds of the approaching storm sat dark and heavy in the air. Edward saw a shimmer of fear in his father’s eyes as a bolt of electricity sped towards the Defiance, leaving the shadowy decks of the other ship in its wake.

  “Let’s go papa!” Edward cried as a thunderous boom reverberated the heavens. “Papa, please!”

  Fear gripped Edward’s stomach as invisible fingers pulled at his nightclothes and slow, howling wails resounded in his ears with each new gust of wind. Tears flowed down Edward’s face as another dart of lightning set the sky ablaze. Edward knew in a matter of minutes the Defiance would be consumed by the approaching storm, with he and his father standing on upon its deck.

  Fat drops of rain began to pit-pat upon the deck when Edward’s father finally stirred to life.

  “Sorry son.” His father gave an apologetic smile. “Let’s go.” He took hold of Edward’s trembling hand and led the way towards the waiting door. The rain fell harder and heavier as the pair raced across the deck amongst the frantic movements of the numerous deckhands who were bracing the ship for the storm.

  Through the whipping wind and curtain of rain, Edward thought to make out the other vessel lining up its broadside. He found it curious how none had seen it, hanging there so defiant amongst the clouds. Even from his distance from the opposing ship, Edward thought he could make out the shapes of a half dozen men standing on the guardrails. It seemed to him they all stood with one hand outstretched as their other gripped the support tethers to prevent themselves from falling. As Edward watched the men on the other ship, he considered that, perhaps, the crew of the Defiance had seen the shadow of the opposing vessel, and their preparations were not bracing for the weather, but rather a storm of another sort.

  As father and son reached the yawning threshold that lead below deck, the great airship shuddered and rocked as a finger of lightning cracked into the Defiance’s hull. Edward fell to the wet floorboards with a sickening thud. Another blue bolt of lightning raced across his vision, followed by a loud snap and creaking moan. Edward was at a loss as to what was happening. The deck beneath him shuddered and heaved. Men were shouting amidst the chaos, as others screamed, falling away into the abyss.

  His head was swimming and his stomach reeled from the pain in his skull. Above him the deck hands ran along the steel gangway, checking the bladder’s support tethers. Small pieces of sharp wood fell hard like rain, and a soggy, black smoke smoldered into the air. Edward thought he could hear the faint sound of his father calling after him amongst the rolling thunder, the patter of rain, and echoes of yelling deckhands. Edward tried to stand, but, as he found his footing, the Defiance buckled with a sudden blast. Edward fell once more, tumbling towards the bow of the ship.

  He was greeted with a sharp pain in his ribs, taking his breath away as he hit the far guardrail. The force of the blow sent his head out over the railing into the open space beyond. His vision swirled and swam as he stared at the world below him, which looked at peace despite the raging storm above. Through the pain, Edward began pull his weight back to the safety of the ship.

  The storm had other plans.

  As Edward brought his head back over the railing, the Defiance bucked and heaved, causing the boy to bite his tongue as his chin hit the wood. His mouth filled with the bitter taste of blood as he fell back onto the deck. The pain was surreal. Edward’s mind fell into a swoon, making his fears shy away from the engrossing rage of the storm.

  With shaking arms Edward pulled his aching body up against the observation platform. He spat out a glob of blood as he looked out over the deck. The boy did his best to search the chaos for his father. It was hard for him to concentrate the way his mind swam, but even so, the scattered debris across the observation deck filled his heart with dread. Most of it was pieces of wood that had been blown from the hull and deck. The rest of the debris consisted of support broken tethers, luggage and bodies of the deck hands fortunate enough to not have fallen into the empty skies. Panic gripped his young heart as he failed to see his father.

  Edward wasn’t sure if the way his mind swam from his injuries was causing him to hallucinate but it seemed to be that the lightning strikes had come to an end. He pulled himself up far enough to look out over the rail, daring to peer into the western sky. The rain fell lightly now, allowing his swooning sight a hampered view of the other ship.

  In many ways, Edward thought it looked wonderful and proud as the soft rain fell. At its head stood a golden statue of a stoic warrior with his blade drawn high. Several flags adorned the riggings, all displaying a single, golden gear on a black field. It was a wondrous sight, magnificent and fierce. On her rails, half a dozen men stepped down and were replaced by a new group. The encroaching light of dawn caught the edges of the lenses the men wore. Like those whom they replaced, these men reached a single hand outward, and set a new storm to rising. The sky ignited and roared with the sound of an angry inferno as gouts of fire burst from their hands. The fires licked and danced, racing like hungry demons into the Defiance’s hull.

  A loud crack and shudder caused Edward to lose his footing as the solid wood beneath gave way. He was greeted by the angry, slapping mockery of wind as the final fragment of deck fled from Edward’s feet. Panic caught in his throat before a surge of adrenaline pumped into his veins. The new sensation calmed his nerves, despite the realization of his most dreaded fear.

  As the skies rushed him by, he watched the Defiance hang in the air like a piece of limp thread with half of its support tethers snapped from the violation of the elemental strikes the ship endured. There were great gaping holes along the length of the hull, with more being blasted every minute by the pillars of fire coming from the other ship. A rain of luggage and passengers littered the sky as dying vessel released its hold of them. Edward gave a final wonder about his father, not doubting that he now raced to meet him in the halls of Del Morte.

  His head throbbed, his stomach lurched, and his body swooned as the wind howled past. Yet, Edward felt at ease as everything came to a sudden, deep blackness.

  Julien huddled deeper into the folds of his fur cloak. With a wince, he looked down at the splitting skin upon the ridges of his knuckles. He knew if this cursed frost were to stay, he would have a need to invest in a pair of leather bound gloves. More than likely he would pay the extra gold to have the interior of the gloves made from the fur of the hibagon beast. The thought of the soft, smooth, fur of the majestic creature against his withered hands brought a smile and sense of warmth to Julien’s old bones.

  In and amongst the towering homes that lined the winding streets, the sound of Julien’s slow, methodical footfalls and tap-tap-tapping of his ebony wood cane seemed glaring and intrusive. As he made his way through the sleeping city of Gossac, the soft rays of the new sun broke over pointed rooftops, igniting the frost-covered cobbles below into a dazzling array of blue and purple crystals. Pausing for a moment, Julien faced the rising sun, basking in what warmth she offered. He closed his old eyes and took a long, slow breath. A smile crept across his face as the cool air coursed throughout his body, threatening to extinguish his fire inside. Julien allowed his vision to return before continuing on his way.

  He made his way past the final houses on the row and came to a large, moss-covered archway. Julien follow
ed the cobbled roadway under the heavy arch. On the other side the way became pebbled, running through the heart of the Gossac City Center Garden. In the best of times, the garden was a place of beauty unrivaled. Florescent flowers nestled the walkways and large trees of many exotic, and common, types provided shade from the tropical sun.

  Now the flower’s petals were pale, and many wilted with the encroaching bite of cold. The trees grew barren and forlorn, yet still managed an endearing beauty. As he entered the garden, the first few larks greeted the morning sun with a simple song. Julien noted their shape as the birds flittered in and out of the low hanging mist.

  With great effort, Julien knelt down and gently picked up a four-pointed leaf that at some point in its recent life altered to a vibrant gold. Much like the trees of the moderate climate regions of Wynne, the trees of the gardens had lost their leaves due to the onset of the cold. Just as their northern cousins, many of the leaves burst into an array of reds, golds and oranges. The vibrancy of the colours reminded Julien of the wild fire that burned in his heart; being a pyrokinetic born, Julien felt a sense of oneness within the gardens as the trees took on the colours of fire. With a deep sigh, Julien let fly the golden leaf and watched it dance in the chilly air before it came to rest on the pebbled path below.

  Tucking his cane under his arm, Julien adjusted the way his pyrokinetic lenses sat on the bridge of his nose. At one time, he had no problems with his lenses, but, as he grew older, his body grew thinner. The most recent loss of weight had fallen from his face, causing his lenses to consistently slip from their ancient resting place. As he prepared to take foot again, the lenses slid down again.

  “Del Morte be damned!” He cursed. “Why must Ynouxian crystal be so thrice damned heavy?” Julien huffed and continued along northward leading path.

  Rising out of the mist on the far side of the park was the towering pinnacle of the world, his destination, the Grand Tower of Time. The spyre stood as a beacon of hope; an edifice for continued peace, and memorial to the lives lost during the terrible Great War. More than two centuries had passed since its construction, which came on the cusp of the Great Peace of Wynne. Its design was simple. Terrakinetics had wrought it as a single, towering piece of rich limestone. At its peak, stone workers carved mourning women, whose visages were hidden by heavy hoods.

  There was a fondness hidden behind Julien’s smile as he admired the lonely tower. He held a deep admiration for the message it evoked in his heart; the message of the continual peace of Wynne and the hopes for an age of tolerance and prosperity. Everytime Julien let his eyes come to rest on the magnificent effigy he could not help but feel elated. Even in troubling times as these, when tolerance and patience ran thin, he was still able to found strength in the Grand Tower of Time.

  “Such a wonderful construct, whose meaning is lost in our modern world. Wouldn’t you agree Master Julien?” A woman’s soft voice asked from behind.

  Startled, Julien turned to face the speaker. He was surprised to see the kindly face of Rosemary Sharpe, the Speaker of the Commons, smiling at him. She was not an overly beautiful woman, nor was she plain. Her beauty came from a kindly demeanor under russet hair with shocks of silver and a caring face with deep-set emerald eyes. She was of an age with the others on the council, which was a good twenty or so years behind that of Julien. Rosemary had been known to wear lavish gowns and typically wore her hair in cascading curls, but this morning she was dressed rather modestly in riding leathers with her hair pinned under a fur cap.

  From behind his lenses, Julien admired her figure. His own, rheumy eyes studied how the leathers she wore accentuated her hips and breasts. His fire within coursed through his veins, racing to the hardly used member between his legs. Guilt burnt Julien’s cheeks as he stood next to her, embarrassed by the impure way he had examined the Speaker’s body.

  “Aye, I’d agree to that Miss Speaker.” Julien gave a polite nod of the head, hoping in earnest to hide his shame.

  “Please, Julien, call me Rosemary.” She said smiling. “‘Miss Speaker’ is far too formal and is best suited to the council chambers.”

  “If that is what you will.” Julien bowed his head again. “Forgive me, Rosemary, but I must ask – is it not a little early and cold to be out riding?”

  “No, no riding for me this morn ser.” Rosemary looked at her attire. “My mechanical steed is still stabled away.”

  “Than pray tell, why are you dressed in such a manner with the impending session?” Julien asked, adjusting his lenses.

  “For the very reason you huddle under those furs, dear Julien.” She laughed again. “To keep warm in this unnatural weather.”

  “Of course,” Julien looked to the shadow of the Grand Tower of Time. An awkward moment followed as the pair stood in the mist-enshrouded gardens with the morning light steadily rising.

  In truth, Julien had always been awkward when dealing with women. He had spent the whole of his life in pursuit of perfecting his pyrokinetic skills and never developed the proper aptitude for handling love and desire. Despite his fortunate life, there were moments such as this when Julien wished he had found someone to share his life and passions with. In many ways, his mistress was his studies, his wife his career, and his children were those whom he taught at the College of Kinetics. Thinking about his long, professional life filled Julien with a deep sadness for the missed opportunities of youth. His career and ambitions were all he cared for in his younger days.

  But now, in the twilight of his life, he found himself longing for companionship.

  “Ser,” Rosemary said, breaking the silence. “Since we are both headed to the same meeting, might I find the way with you?”

  “Of course,” he said. “I do not see why not.”

  With a smile Rosemary wrapped her arm around his. Her touch set the warmth to coursing through his veins again and his heart to feverish racing. Julien had never been so close to the Speaker of the Commons before. Being so close Julien could see the subtle cares around Rosemary’s eyes; shallow, but noticeable, wrinkles arced to and fro the Speaker’s features, giving the noticeable impression of one long over worked. It saddened him to think such a modestly lovely woman such as she would be ruined by the weight of duty and station.

  Silence befell once again as the two traced their way through the gardens. Only tap-tap-tapping of Julien’s cane and the song of the morning larks filled the air as the pair headed north towards the Grand Tower of Time. With Rosemary on his arm Julien found it easy to forget all the cares of the world and simply enjoyed existing.

  “Have you heard from headmaster Cyril?” Rosemary asked. “Has he more to say about the issues the College faces?”

  “No,” he hesitated for a moment. If being able to associate with women had been something he failed to master in his life, than politics and scheming came in as a close second. The only thing Julien knew about the political scene was to never trust anyone.

  Yet Rosemary wasn’t just anyone, she was the Speaker of the Commons. It was a title, and duty, that he should be able to trust. As he walked with Rosemary on his arm, Julien could find no just reason to not have faith in her, perhaps more so since his tidings were nothing more than conjecture. For the first time in his long career, Julien DiMarco went against his baser instincts.

  “No, poor Cyril has not sent us word regarding the college’s troubles. It is not like him to be so slack. In his defense, word as reached my ear that the headmaster has been stricken with a terrible ailment.”

  “Oh my, how have I not received this news about the headmaster being ill?” Concern, whether fake or real, emerged in her tone. “Might I inquire as to what he is stricken with?”

  “I…I am unsure as to what Cyril has,” Julien lowered his voice, “however, it sounds to be quite distressing and I intend to travel to the College to discover the truth of the matter for myself.”

  “And what do makes it so distressing?” Rosemary looked up at Julien with innocent green eyes.
/>   “I would rather not say Madam Rosemary. I would not want to frighten you.” Julien said, trying to sound chivalrous.

  “Oh, my dear ser,” she laughed, “I do not think there are horrors worse than what occurs within the council chambers when session is in. Please Julien, I know you are trying to be chivalrous and it is sweet, but I am more staunch than many men might think.”

  A stern look crossed her face – the same look she was known to give when sessions became unruly and out of hand.

  “I am also the speaker for the people,” she continued. “And if there is an ailment striking the kinetic folk, I have the right to know.”

  “They say this infection has degrading symptoms.” Julien relented. “There are many claims indicating this sickness prohibits a kinetic’s attunement, costing the ability to control our elements. There are physical effects of this illness, which cause the body to hollow, forming a man into nothing more than a shallow husk. Once infected, death soon follows. It is not an easy passing.”

  “And…Cyril, he has this?” Rosemary asked, skin as pale as a new moon over a crescent valley.

  “I have been informed so, yes.” Julien admitted.

  “Is it catching?” She asked.

  “I fear I do not know.” Julien smiled, hoping to quell Rosemary’s anxiety. “But it is why I must leave to investigate. I have an auto chartered after our session this morning.”

  “What is wrong with the world Julien?” Rosemary’s voice was soft, distant almost, as she absently watched the approaching Tower of Time. “It must be the end times and Del Morte has finally stirred against his people.”

  “Now, miss Rosemary,” Julien said. “I would not go so far as to say that.”

  “Wouldn’t you Julien?” Rosemary asked, with only the faintest hints of despair laced in her tone. “First, we have the issue with the College, now capped with a potentially severe and threatening infection. Next,” she began counting on her fingers. “Next, we have this godly unnatural weather occurring all over Wynne; Drought in Valvius, torrential rain and flash flooding in Pozo and Di Delgi; even the northern provinces are seeing uncharacteristically warm weather that melts away the deep snows. And finally, we have the very severe issue surrounding the continuing threat against the Valvian people. It’s as if the world has gone mad.”