The Spark

by Howell, H. G.

After the loss, Lillian’s only kin was her grandmother who lived on the opposite frontiers of Valvius. It had taken a week for her to traverse from the hamlet of her birth to Brixon, where her grandmother had arranged for an auto to cart Lillian to Le Clos Noire. There, Lillian grew and was schooled by her grandmother in the ways of lady hood and housekeeping. Despite having a stern outwardly demeanor, Lillian’s grandmother had a tremendous gift for comforting, and an aptitude for understanding other’s pain. At this moment, Lillian felt the same sense of persona within the old mayor.

  “Thank-you Madam Fernley,” Lillian said, stifling her tears. “I’m so sorry, I just…I don’t know if I could cope with losing another whom I love dearly.”

  “It is alright child,” the mayor said, flashing a comforting smile. “We all…”

  There was a loud crack, like that of rifle fire, outside in the village. The sound of shouting and commotion erupted beyond the walls of the homely cabin. The din of the town hall’s bell clanged in warning. Up! Up! Defend! Up! It’s tolling seemed to yell in protestation to the violent commotion in the night. Fear gripped Lillian’s heart as both she and the mayor froze, staring wide-eyed at each other.

  “What do we do?” Lillian asked. Upstairs, Jakob wailed, terrified by the sudden racket, though his cries seemed distant over the noise outside.

  “Is there any place for you to hide?” the mayor asked, frantic as more gunfire blasted the night air.

  “Aye, there’s a hidden chamber beneath the dining room floor.” Lillian said.

  “Good, good.” The mayor said. Upstairs Jakob’s cries became more manic. “You know your home better than I. Go. Find something to defend us with. I will gather your son and meet you in the dining room.”

  Lillian nodded in agreement, knowing of a hidden bauble of her husband’s. She watched as the old woman sped from the room with a speed Lillian thought not possible for a person of her age.

  With a stout heart, Lillian Rhume gathered her skirts and flew from the den to her husband’s study. .

  “Dalar!” She burst into the room and despaired at the mess. Lillian set about searching through the drawers of her husband’s cherry wood desk. “Where is it? Where do you keep it?” Lillian looked under parchments and papers atop the desk, knocking an inkpot over in her haste. “Dammit!” she cursed as the ink splattered on her skirt.

  Outside the bell continued to sing in earnest. Up! Up! Defend! Up!

  Lillian searched Dalar’s over stuffed bookshelf with panicked fervor. She tossed the tomes with reckless abandon, searching for her husband’s pistol.

  “Where is it?” Her frustration mounted as the shelves became bare as each bound article fell to the waiting floor. Lillian discovered a light, wooden box in the guise of a book at the very end of her search, bound in wonderful faux gold wrapping.

  Lillian didn’t miss a beat and opened the top cover to find an intricately carved ivory handled pistol laying in wait. Next to the weapon several silver bullets of a like Lillian had never seen before rolled around the inside of the box. The tip of the bullet was not a metal, but a glass bulb that glowed an iridescent blue, similar to the azure glow of her husband’s mechanical steed. Lillian was entranced by little dancing bolts of lightning trapped within the tip of the bulb.

  Not wanting to waste anymore time, Lillian loaded the round into the weapon as gunshots resounded nearer the cabin. Satisfied with the loaded weapon, Lillian fled the study and rushed to the dining hall. In her haste, Lillian came close to colliding with Madam Fernley as she descended the flight of stairs that led to the upper floor, Jakob wailing in her arms.

  “Did you find something?” Madam Fernley asked as Lillian led the way to her son’s favourite hiding spot. Lillian nodded revealing the pistol in her right hand. “Good. Let us pray to Del Morte that we shall not need it.”

  Without hesitation, Lillian knelt to the floor and threw the trap door open. Madam Fernley passed Jakob to Lillian. At her touch, Jakob threw his arms around her and clung onto Lillian for dear life.

  “Jakob, honey, we have to hide now,” Lillian said as she struggled to put the trembling child into the hidden compartment. The toddler quailed and kicked, not wanting to let go. “Jakob, please!”

  More gunshots went off, this time right out front the cabin. Lillian prayed the warriors would pass by and not look into the dining room’s large bay window. The town bell still clanged in the distance, but where before it tolled warning, Lillian felt it now sounded slow and ominous, very much like a death knell. Doom! Death! Doom! Doom!

  “Jakob, please, we have to hide!” She pleaded.

  “Mommy! Mommy!” Jakob screeched. Lillian felt his arm let go, reaching over her shoulder as he pointed in the direction of the window.

  Both she and Madam Fernley followed his little arm to the dining room window where a young man stood peering in with hungry eyes. Lillian’s heart froze as the stranger raised a pistol and took aim at the three. With her free hand, Lillian covered her son’s ears just as the stranger let fire his weapon.

  Glass showered into the dining room, spraying against Lillian’s back. The gunshot had been deafening and now her world seemed a daze. Lillian still protected her son’s ears, even as he wailed uncontrollably in her arms. With a quick glance, she looked to Madam Fernley to ensure she was all right.

  Lillian felt the colour leave her as she beheld the elderly woman’s body sprawled upon the floor, blood flowing from a hole in her forehead. Lillian averted her eyes. The image of the dead woman sent chills down her spine, whose lifeless, rheumy eyes fell on Lillian.

  Doom! Death! Doom! Doom! The singing message of the town bell echoed in Lillian’s mind as she cradled her son, weeping as the thought of hiding fled her.

  The sound of glass crunching underfoot brought Lillian’s attention back to the threat at hand. With swollen, red eyes she turned to face the aggressor.

  She was surprised to see how young he truly was, for he looked no older than twenty years. The lad was dressed all in black, save for a golden gear upon the left breast of his waistcoat. At his waist hung a sword belt, but the blade was missing. In his left hand, he wielded a bronze clockwork-repeating pistol, which never left Lillian and Jakob. She noted the lad was hurt as his right hung limp by his side, dripping fat droplets of blood onto her floor.

  “My, my, you are a pretty sight aren’t you mum?” he said licking his lips. “Not like this ol’ bat” he kicked at the mayor’s lifeless body. “We would’ve done her in sooner or later though. The Order can’t use dusty old cunts like hers.” He spat at the corpse. He brought his gaze back to Lillian, licking his lips again. Hunger fueled his eyes, like that of a dog in heat. “But you, on the other hand. Well, it looks like your cunt works just fine.” His pistol left Lillian and pointed at her son. “Too bad the Order can’t have any of your bastards runnin’ round before we get to you.” Without hesitation the stranger fired his weapon. Lillian acted faster than she thought possible, for the moment the youth shot his pistol, she brought her husband’s to bear, releasing her own round.

  Lillian watched horrified as the boy’s eyes turned from lust to shock as her electrically imbued round drove home. The intruder’s body fell to the floor, convulsing as the electricity jolted his body. A strange, choking, gurgle emitted from the young man’s throat as he fell in a heavy heap atop the mayor’s lifeless body.

  Satisfied the boy no longer proved a threat, Lillian quickly brought her attention to her son, who had grown still and silent.

  “Del Morte, no!” She screamed when she saw the wound in his little belly. “No, no, no!” Lillian hugged Jakob’s limp body, weeping wildly.

  Through the shattered class, a triumphant cheer drifted into the cabin. The death knell soon turned to a sad chime of victory. Huzzah! Victory! Huzzah! Lillian heard none of it, nor did she hear the town militia enter her home. For Lillian, her grief was great and all that mattered was the still body of her darling, beautiful little boy.

  The morning air cre
pt into the confines of the study like an intruding lover. Long tendrils of warm, repulsive heat filled the room to bursting. Sweet smells of fresh cooked food from the kitchens wafted under the oak door like an unwelcome guest. It was all Dalar Rhume could do to not wretch.

  How could he think of food now? It was no mere brigand raiding party that moved against his village. No, by all accounts it had been an organized, well-executed exercise of invasion. How could he enjoy the comforts of fine food and art when so many of his dearest fellows surely fell during the attempted sacking?

  “Dalar?” Edwin’s voice called from beyond the doorway. “Might we speak a moment?”

  “I suppose.” Dalar replied. Though, he did not care for Edwin’s presence, or any other member of the scholarhood for that matter. All he desired was to run north to Le Clos Noire to discover the fate of his family.

  A wave of cooler, yet no less stagnant, air filtered into the small study as the Chief Scholar entered. Edwin had not come calling for Dalar as often as he might once have, not after the events of Dalar’s first night at the Libatorium. Really, Dalar could not blame his age long friend, for it was a curious affair that had fallen over the pristine offices of his fellow.

  All visual cues led to the assumption Edwin’s personal study had been the victim of serious tomfoolery. Books, both new and ancient, had been blasted from the haven of their shelves. Poor Edwin’s desk was found against the far side of the room, splintered as if some great weight had fallen atop its once smooth top. The perpetrators of the heinous act even went so far to lift the very trestle table, which sat between Dalar and Edwin as they slept, and threw it against the wall. It was certainly a curious sight to waken to, considering two of the scholarhood’s top members had not woken during such wanton destruction.

  “How are you keeping friend?” The chief scholar asked as he entered the room.

  “As well as one might.” Dalar faked a smile, indicating for Edwin to take a seat. “Considering I have been restricted from leaving the city without the chancellor’s leave.”

  “Yes, well.” Edwin cleared his throat. “That I am sorry for Dalar, but you know how he can be, especially with the way of things recently.”

  “I know.” Dalar sighed. “I just wish there was some word on Lillian and Jakob. That is the worst feeling Edwin; not knowing.”

  “I cannot say I understand,” The chief scholar offered a comforting smile. “But I can say I can only imagine the weight of worry on your shoulders. In fact, that is why I am here this morning.”

  “Oh?” Dalar raised an eyebrow.

  “Aye.” Edwin said. “I thought it be best to get out of this stuffy old building, away from the politics of these blighted search parties and worry of hoodlums. I have come to whisk you from this chamber to enjoy the tardy atmosphere of the bazaar. What say you?”

  Dalar looked his old friend in the eye. A trip through Brixon’s bustling market place would certainly keep Dalar’s mind off of the tasks at hand, and, perhaps, help keep his mounting worry at bay.

  “I accept your offer Edwin.” Dalar said.

  “Oh most excellent!” Edwin chortled, rising out of his seat. “I will have the stewards bring you a fresh plate of egg and bacon. And you must simply try this drink we just brought in from the Far East. They call it coffee and it is certainly a delightful beverage to start ones day with!”

  “Thank-you Edwin.” Dalar smiled. “Sounds wonderful.”

  “Don’t you worry about another thing Dalar Rhume,” the chief scholar declared as he slipped back through the door. “Your old friend Edwin will take care of you.”

  Time did not seem to take long to pass before the stewards came calling with a silvered serving platter. The food was nothing short of simple, with hardly a spice or seasoning to enhance the flavours. Despite the simplicity and nigh on blandness of his meal, Dalar was undeniably impressed with the coffee. It was a thick, dark roasted beverage, piping hot, but filled with a wonderful array of soft fruit and woody flavours. The aroma of the beverage alone stirred an excitement in Dalar’s senses.

  Shortly after, Dalar readied himself for a day in the city. In normal times, he would have donned a linen shirt, coupled with a lace cravat and coloured waistcoat. These days, however, with the scorching heat of the sun, Dalar assumed something light and simple would suit his needs better. He dug out the lightest shirt and pant he brought with him, and even then he doubted that they would be enough to keep him cool enough in the bustling market.

  “Today is not about worrying though,” Dalar reminded himself as he fussed over his hair in a silver looking glass.

  “Are you quite ready?” Edwin’s voice called from the far side of Dalar’s door, preceded by a brief, but sharp, knock.

  “Yes, yes.” Dalar said, grabbing an ornamental cane from a nearby stand. He gave the small compartment a quick glance, committing the placement of his items and books to memory in the unlikely case of a brigand’s visit. Confident with everything, Dalar crossed the space and opened the door to join his colleague.

  Edwin led the way through the Grand Libatorium, by-passing many initiates of the scholarhood with not so much as a cursory glance. Dalar, on the other hand, gave a quick smile or ‘hello’. That is what separated the two life long friends the most, or so Dalar suspected. Where Edwin, Chief Scholar of the scholarhood, viewed his status and title as a mark of being above those lower than he, Dalar viewed all as equals.

  The pair wound their way down the winding stair of the main hall of the Libatorium. The great scenic floor of jade and other precious gems seemed to glisten as light shone down through the high vaulting glass dome of the ceiling. Particles of dust danced a torrent in the golden light, coming to rest atop the handrails of the wondrous staircase.

  As Dalar and Edwin crossed the floor from the base of the stair to the front entrance, Dalar noted a group of initiates sitting in seclusion in a small nook in the wall. Their attention was deep and impenetrable as they scoured over the large tomes upon their laps. The scene reminded Dalar of his own early years in the scholarhood, eager and rabid for knowledge.

  “The initiates they send us now, Dalar,” Edwin’s voice boomed in the great space as he reached for the great, looming doors of the Libatorium’s front entrance. “They are not like you and I.”

  “How so?” Dalar asked as his eyes adjusted to the incredible light of day as Edwin pulled open the heavy door. A blast of hot morning air rushed into the great hall in which they stood.

  “Oh many reasons to be sure.” The chief scholar laughed. Edwin motioned for a passerby to close the entryway as he took the first steps down to street level. “But mainly they ask questions they will never answer.”

  “Such as?” Dalar asked, humoring his old friend as they crossed paths with the shadow of the staggering tri-peaked monument, the Tower of Time.

  “The kinetic enigma, for one.” Edwin stated, leading the way through a crowd of noble women.

  “The kinetic people are an enigma now?” Dalar chuckled. It was an absurd thought, ancient, almost, in these modern times. “Have they not always been more of minority people the rest of Wynne has spat on since the first kinetic awoke two hundred years ago?”

  “Yes, yes.” Edwin admitted. He paused for a moment as the pair rounded a city corner. “Yet not at the same time. Persecution is one thing, an enigma another. It is one thing to study the human response of kinetic abilities in this modern world, yet another entirely to try to understand the idea of kinetics itself.”

  “Ah, I see.” Dalar said. “So this ‘enigma’ our initiates try in vain to understand is nothing more than a scientific inquiry into the creation of a kinetic person, and how they are able to manipulate the elements as they do?”

  “In a matter of words? “ Edwin said. “Yes.”

  “Well it is a fruitless effort, as you have said.” Dalar agreed. “But it shows spirit and determination, which are wonderful attributes to have amongst our younger ranks.”

  “Ha, h
a!” Edwin laughed, startling a couple of street urchins as he slapped Dalar’s back. “Always the optimist. I miss that about you. It’s refreshing in this city full of stuffy old sots like myself.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go as far as to call you a sot.” Dalar shared Edwin’s laugh. “Old is certainly an apt descriptor.”

  “Watch yourself lad,” Edwin chuckled as he wiped a tear from his eye. “What say you to a stop in the old Pozian sect of the bazaar?”

  “Ah, does old Fizwold still organize the section?” Dalar asked.

  “Aye,” Edwin said. “He has brought in a new style of fire rum from the south. It has been said to kill lesser men.”

  “That does sound like something Fizwold would share with us Valvians.” Dalar chuckled as he and Edwin continued down the congested street. “But I shall have to pass on any fire rum, or Pozian food for the time being. My stomach is still reeling from the other night.”

  “Yes, undoubtedly so.” Edwin said as he reached for his pocket kerchief. The chief scholar wiped the budding condensation off of his brow, seemingly disgusted that such filth formulated and dripped down his cheeks. “I would dare say we have all had enough of excessive heat these days.”

  “Aye.” Dalar agreed. He had hoped for some reprieve from the terrible sun during his stay in Brixon, but Dalar only came to find the sprawling city only proved to worsen the damnable heat.

  The pair fell into silence as they crossed a busy intersection where a dozen or more auto carriages sped past, nearly colliding with a patrol of mechanical golems. The machines did not seem to mind, for they knew not the fear of danger. A deep shadow fell over the intersection as a grand ship gently sailed over the city street. Despite an inherit fear of the majestic airships, Dalar always found himself in awe as the silent vessels lumbered overhead.

  “There is something I have been meaning to ask you,” Edwin said as the pair crossed the intersection. “There has been something bothering me these past several days, Dalar.”

  “Oh?” Dalar raised his eyebrow. The chief scholar cleared his throat, giving Dalar the impression his friend did not know how best to proceed. “What is it Edwin?”