The Spark

by Howell, H. G.

  Sudden, wild flames erupted around Garius’ high reaching hand and swirled like a vortex down the length of his arm. He let the licking tongues of the fire engulf his body in a spiraling torrent before coming to rest as a small ball in his cupped right hand.

  “Still one for show?” Katherine smiled. She had forgot how wonderful and beautiful his control of fire was.

  Garius looked over shoulder and gave a sly smile. “Always my love.” His voice was soft, distant almost, as the swirling embers sat in his hand. “Come, the way is not far.”

  “Lead on, ser.” She joined his side and let him lead her into a wide cavern.

  Despite the gaping space they entered, the pair had been confined to a narrow dirt path. Katherine could not see much beyond the glow of Garius’ flame. They did not say a word, for flickering shadows of the stalactites of the cavern danced like heavy creatures of ill repute. The rock ceiling above weighed down upon them, threatening to collapse at the slightest of sounds. Katherine laced her arm through Garius’ free arm, letting the warmth of his body chase her fears away.

  The path soon began to rise and a gentle current of fresh smelling air filled Katherine’s nostrils. Above, a dim light broke the dark cavern like a welcoming beacon. She noted the path led directly to the source of light, meaning the exit was nigh. Deep in the base of her skull the throbbing began to ring like a warning bell. She prayed to Del Morte the pain would subside as Garius led her into the light of day. The sudden brightness of the sun and the pounding in her skull caused Katherine’s mind to swoon, and her step to falter.

  “Are you well m’lady?” Garius asked, catching Katherine as she stumbled.

  “Yes.” She lied, despite her own fears. She winced as the pain stabbed the base of her skull. Katherine grabbed the lapel of Garius’ jacket as she faltered again.

  “Katherine?” He wrapped his arms her, trying to prevent Katherine from falling to the ground.

  “Garius…” Katherine’s breath came hard and heavy as yet another sharp spike of pain struck. “Help me…”

  “Katherine!” Garius’ voice sounded hollow in her ears as the world began to fade from view.

  She did not know what was happening. Her chest raised quick and heavy as panic set in. The pain beat against her head like a Wildman on a skin drum. Yet despite everything that was happening, she still desired to know one thing.

  “Why…rape?” She forced out between her failing breath.

  Garius held her in his arms, staring into her eyes from behind his pyrokinetic lenses. “Not now Katherine.”

  “Please…”

  “Katherine,” Garius’ tone was laced with concern.

  “Please…” She begged, trying to keep the fear from her meek voice. Katherine took deep, penetrating breaths as his handsome face drifted from view as Katherine’s world became a deep, black void. Garius’ final words echoed in her oblivion like a tempest storm.

  “To breed.”

  Marcus stood with his back against a stack of supply crates, watching as the Valvian women loaded the waiting airships with supplies for the coming excursion.

  “We probably won’t need half this shit.” He said.

  “Normally I would agree with you Marcus,” James said. He wasn’t much older than Marcus, but his hair was shocked with strands of pure white hair. It was a side effect of being a man in charge of salt crews, or so James claimed. “But word has it Valvius has been in drought these past months.” James gave quick wink and a knowing smile. “Must be something unnatural in the air.”

  Marcus chuckled, catching onto the joke. “I guess we don’t want to be caught over there with nary a bite to eat or drink to enjoy.”

  “I suppose your right,” James agreed. He turned his back to prevent the light wind gutting out the match he struck to light a tightly rolled cigarette.

  A steam whistle sounded in the distance, signaling the end of the shift. A train of tired women departed the landed fleet of airships in single file. They were dirty and haggard with matted hair with smears of dirt and grime over their exposed flesh. Some of the women cradled their bellies, a telling sign they were with child. Others walked with a slight limp from being over used. This progression would be led back to the dark, where they would then be taken to the crones for bathing.

  “How many have you had by now?” Marcus asked, letting his lusting eyes follow the line of nude women.

  “Now Marcus, you should know a gentleman does not divulge in such taboo talk.” James winked with a puff of his smoke. “But if your perverted little mind must know, this past week I’ve gone diving thrice.”

  “So few?” Marcus teased.

  “Aye.” Sighing, James rubbed the nape of his neck. “It ain’t an easy task to plan an invasion. Much of my time has gone to check lists and arranging the printing of the battle plans for the lads. The dark has had to wait.”

  “You poor man.” Marcus chuckled. “Still, you’ve gone diving more than I have no doubt.”

  “True,” A big, proud smile crossed James’ face. “I lost count at three hundred trips this past year. Each as memorable a fuck as you could want.” He slapped Marcus’ shoulder, laughing at his own achievement. “You’re at how many trips now Marcus?”

  “Not nearly as many as you I am afraid.” Marcus gave a weak smile, full of shame.

  He continued to watch the progression of women pass as they wound their way back to the dark. One woman, though, truly caught his eye. She was not but a few years older than he, with heavy-laden breasts, dove white skin and clearly several months with child. Big, blue doe eyes met his as she trudged past. “Not that many at all,” his voice was distant as Marcus repeated himself. “Perhaps two dozen trips to the dark.”

  “So few?” James nearly choked on his cigarette. With a hearty, teasing chuckle he said; “If I were a private again I would be diving in the dark as often as my loins would let me!”

  “That, I do not doubt.” Marcus laughed as the wonderful woman rounded the corner. “But when you work so close to Syrah as I, there is little time to be had for the dark.”

  “True I s’pose.” James took another drag of his cigarette. “What about that bitch he keeps as a pet? Does our glorious leader let you have a go with her?”

  “No.” Marcus admitted. “Especially now. She has not moved since we brought her back up. I'm no surgeon or doctor, but I don't think she's going to make it.”

  “All the more reason for you to take a special trip no?” James flicked his smoke into a patch of nearby weeds. “You’re owed a little taste of her cunt for saving her from the baths if you ask me.”

  “I suppose.” Marcus said, trying to make the matter no big deal. In truth he desired a real go with the Valvian woman more than anything.

  After she fell in the waters of the bathhouse, it had been Marcus that rushed to her aid. It had been Marcus to flush the water from her lungs. Hell, it had even been Marcus who had informed his superiors that she had been calling for Garius Syrah in her sleep.

  Instead of a go with her, Syrah had chosen Marcus as a personal servant for his quick thinking. Marcus was with Katherine Margoux everyday after his drills, and most nights when he was not assisting Garius with mundane tasks, or down in the lab where the kinetic folk constructed wonderful tools of war.

  “No one has had her.” Marcus admitted. “Not even Syrah.”

  “The man must be queer then.” James shook his head. “No one has ever seen him venture to the dark, and he now has a pet to call on and still he hasn’t fucked any. If I had that cunt in my bed every night, I would be a well-and-spent man.”

  “I don’t doubt that as well.” Laughing, Marcus stepped away from the crates he leaned on. “Speaking of cunts, what shift just ended?”

  “Ah, me boy found something he likes?” James asked, reaching for a clipboard.

  “Perhaps.” Marcus felt his cheeks burn bright, embarrassed knowing another man knew what he sought.

  Despite being a member of the Order for
as long as he had been, there were still many elements and practices Marcus still had to accept.

  His lessons taught every man was expected to do what was necessary for the success of the Order; be it providing strong seed for the whores in the dungeons, or by running errands for the senior staff. Strength of mind, soul and body was demanded of all members of the Order, and any sign of weakness would be terminated.

  One of the first real lessons Marcus the other men of his regiment had learned after moving into the official ranks of the Order was how to deal with weakness.

  It had been a wet morning with a light drizzle of rain. Marcus and the regiment were on the return from a grueling morning of firearm training. Garius Syrah, the glorious leader of the Imperial Order, descended on the troupe along the coastal roadway with a small party of electrokinetics. Syrah called on a fellow soldier, accused him of sympathizing with a Valvian woman. Of course, the man denied such claims, but Garius revealed the woman in question. The truth of the matter became clear immediately; the man was weak of heart and held the woman in his arms.

  Garius reminded the regiment the importance of doing what was necessary to achieve the end goal the Order diligently strove towards. Without so much as a second glance or word, Syrah and his lackeys turned their kinetic gifts on the two lovers. The sight and smell of scorched, electrified flesh haunted Marcus to this day, but the lesson learnt ensured he stayed true to the Order’s teaching.

  “Let’s see,” James said looking over his list. He made a ticking sound with his tongue as he silently read the scheduled teams. “Looks like it was Orson’s twelve-thirty.” With a deep sigh, Simon returned the board to where he had found it. “Poor girls.”

  A small pang of guilt tugged at Marcus’ gut, though he did not voice his concern. He knew better. It was hard, knowing full well the type of man master Orson was.

  Master Orson was a vile individual who took twisted pleasure with his wards. It was no secret of the games he played with the woman’s minds. One of his favourites was selecting which prisoner would be available for divers, letting her suffer physically. The other woman could do nothing. She was forced to sit and wait, always wondering when her time would come.

  “Man’s a beast.” James spat a glob of phlegm into the weeds. “Don’t go getting me wrong, them women are still Valvian whores, but no one deserves the kind of treatment he subjects the woman too.”

  “James,” Marcus hissed, looking about to ensure no one was near. “Don’t talk that way out here. You know what happens!”

  “Nothin’ will happen Marcus.” James said with that confident smile of his. “Not unless you go running your tongue.”

  Marcus looked at his old friend from the salt mines, only ally within the Order, confusion mounting in his brain. He knew the truth, as did every man and woman of the Order, but he knew to keep his mouth shut. In all his months of service he never once thought he would be put in a position to question the integrity of one of his own. He stood there, chewing his lip and fingering the pistol at his hip, letting James continue on his tirade.

  “Had me a beautiful girl once from Orson’s lot. She was wonderful. She had long blonde hair, soft green eyes and the warmest smile. She was a woman I could have loved in another time.” James’ voice grew soft as he recalled this long lost beauty. “I frequented her often, but once Orson found out…let’s just say he let the worst of them have a go with her. Her teeth were bashed in, her thighs cut, bruised and her cunt swollen from the fucking she got.” James spat again. “I left her. I couldn’t stomach having a go with her after that. Found out later she had her cell mate strangle her.”

  “James…” Marcus said. The boy in him understood James’ position. The man of the Order that Marcus had become thought different. Marcus’ mind struggled with everything he was hearing, and what he should do with it.

  James was a long time friend, but he was showing signs of weakness. There was no room in the Order for weakness, especially so close to the looming assault.

  “What we’re about is right and noble,” James continued. “But some of these men Marcus…they abuse the power given to them.”

  James dug out another cigarette, lighting it with a quick flick of a match. “It’s one thing to fuck to breed, but quite another what Orson does.”

  Silence fell over the pair as James took small, quick drags of his smoke. Marcus was so utterly torn to the point his nerves ached. Hearing what James said was not an uncommon train of thought, but his training and indoctrination screamed for him to do what was necessary to preserve the strength and integrity of the Order. Marcus shook his head in disbelief, trying to shake what he had just heard from his mind.

  “James, you know you shouldn’t be talking ‘bout this.” Marcus repeated, rubbing his face in frustration. He looked at his senior officer, his friend, seeing him in a new light and he was not sure if he liked what he saw. “You know what happens to sympathizers.”

  “Now hold on just a minute boy.” The old salt mining supervisor said, throwing his cigarette into the same weed patch as the other. “I am no thrice damned sympathizer.”

  A sudden wave of defiance filled Marcus, a feeling he had not felt since he dealt with his mother.

  “You sure sound like one” Marus said, jutting his chin out. Both men turned to face each other. “You don’t have a problem fucking them bitches until one shows up worse for wear, then you get all weepy.”

  Marcus was amazed at the words coming from his mouth, how automatic they seemed. It was a strange feeling, for he knew the boy in him would not speak so hotly to a commanding officer and friend of long standing. It was as if all the lessons he had been taught and witnessed on a daily basis were speaking for him, like his mind was no longer his own.

  “You best watch your tone Marcus.” James took a step towards Marcus.

  “Or what James?” Marcus met James’ step, and took another while loosening his firearm.

  James didn’t say anything. A quick flicker of a smile crossed his face as he noted Marcus ready his pistol. James reached for his own weapon, readying it in answer to Marcus.

  “Be a good friend Marcus.” James said with a wild spark in his eyes. “Keep your mouth shut and no trouble will come to you. Run your tongue, and maybe I’ll turn Orson’s lot on you, have them make you their bitch for a night.”

  Marcus stood his ground, gritting his teeth with his fingers laced tight around his pistol’s handle. His teaching urged him to pull the weapon and down the weak man, while the boy in him screamed for compliance.

  “The Order needs strong men with strong seed.” Marcus recited, ignoring the threatening stance of his friend. “You have proven yourself otherwise.”

  Within the span of a few seconds, Marcus withdrew his weapon and brought it to bear on James. Marcus didn’t hear the first round release from its chamber. Nor the second or third, all Marcus heard was the stunned squeal As James fell in torrent of bullets and gore.

  Marcus’ breath came excited and heavy as adrenaline raced in his veins. He looked at the gun in his numb hand, smoke rising from the muzzle. The boy in him wept for the friend he just lost while the man in him filled with pride for doing what was necessary. Marcus stood in dumb disbelief, staring at the man he had just killed.

  James lay in a crumbled heap on the same patch of weeds he tossed his cigarettes into. Six small holes littered James’ black coat and the white linen shirt he wore underneath was quickly turning a deep ruby as it absorbed the blood.

  A troupe of men rushed around the far side of the crates. They all looked at the body, then at Marcus. Each man looked curious to what happened. The leader amongst them came forward, lowered Marcus’ gun arm, and asked what happened.

  Stunned, Marcus looked into the man’s eyes and said; “I did what was necessary to preserve the strength of the Order.” His eyes wandered back to James’ lifeless body. “This man was a sympathizer.”

  Marcus was surprised at how distant and cold his voice sounded, as if h
e was seasoned in killing men. The leader of the troupe nodded his head in grim approval, while his men gave James’ body solid kicks.

  “Excuse me, I must…” Marcus paused for a second, not know what he had a need to do. Then he remembered the dove-skinned woman from earlier. “I have a need to go diving.”

  “That’s a lad,” the leader of the troupe said, slapping Marcus’ shoulder. “A kill is not a kill ‘till you get yourself a nice wet cunt to follow.” The troupe all had a laugh as Marcus departed the grisly scene.

  With his head low, and hands shaking, Marcus stormed away. He passed groups of troops examining the newly invented repeating muskets, rifles and pistols they would be using the next evening. A small handful of the men carefully handled kineticly imbued ammunition to ensure each round had the integrity to survive the transit to Valvius. In a large open space between the supply crates and dormitories, troops marched in formation or practiced their combat drills. There was an air of excitement and hidden angst amongst the busy men and women of the Order as they prepared for the first major offensive against their enemy.

  The original plans had the invasion three months off, not the next day. Rumours abounded as to why the sudden haste. The most accepted theory spoke of a member from the first sortie into the village of Le Clos Noire had been captured and interrogated into revealing the Order and its ties to Syntar , prompting Syrah to make his move early. Regardless of the reason, Marcus was unsure if he were ready for what was to come.

  Rounding a corner, he came upon a small, slacken oak door. He paused for a moment before pushing the moss-covered wood inward. Stepping onto a flagstone landing, Marcus closed the door behind him, letting the dark consume him. Taking a deep breath he leaned against wall of the stairwell. His body still ached from the confrontation with James.

  Marcus had never killed a man before. He found the experience oddly empowering, yet terribly frightening. There was a hidden thrill that coursed through his veins as he played the scenario in his mind over and over. Somewhere deep inside, the boy in him wept, but Marcus was finding that boy was becoming a smaller and smaller nuisance. The lessons the Order provided had Marcus growing into a man each and every day.