The Spark

by Howell, H. G.

  “No, ‘tis I Druxan.” Lillian smiled as her favourite wine merchant limped out of the shadows. Lillian was pleased to see he had healed most of his injuries; despite all odds, the fat wine merchant somehow managed to recover from his wounds in the time Lillian had been gone.

  “But how?” Anna pulled herself to a sitting position, covering her womanly parts. “The guards proclaimed you dead.”

  “Aye.” Druxan agreed.

  “They did, yes.” Lillian looked over the shocked faces of the small group of survivors. There weren’t as many as she remembered, which would make her plan even more unlikely to succeed. “I feigned death. I am sorry. The guard was drunk and unsteady, which only aided my ruse.”

  “Then why are you still here child?” Anna asked. “Why have you not fled to Brixon?”

  “I couldn’t.” Lillian admitted. “I couldn’t leave these vile men in our lovely town.”

  “Ah. It is you then?” Druxan smiled. “The ghost of Le Clos Noire is none other than Druxan’s most favourite lady.”

  “Yes.” Lillian smiled. “I have stalked these men for the last little while, driving fear into their hearts.”

  “Most wonderful lady did most excellently.” Druxan laughed, a good hearty laugh. “The paestichios have been nothing but feared to walk at night.”

  “Good.” Lillian felt tired, and famished. She still had not found anything to eat, but she did not have time. Blinking away her fatigue she reached down for Anna’s hands and pulled the cardinal to her feet. “But I could not do it forever.” Lillian looked over the survivors again. “I had to do something. We have to do something.”

  “What can we do child?” Anna asked with her soft voice. “We are not warriors, nor are we strong in numbers.”

  “We don’t have to be.” Lillian said. “Listen to me, people of Le Clos. There are two options at your door. You can choose to stay here in this makeshift prison, to suffer the treatment of the Order and slowly fade away to death. Or, you can do something.

  ‘The forces that hold us captive are alone. They have not received the reinforcements they thought they would have. Their faith is dwindling, ever the more quick through my actions. I know of a cache of weapons and ammunition that we can use. If we are to die in our home, then let us do it trying to retake it. We may all die in the end, but at least we will have taken many of their number with us.”

  The room was silent.

  Druxan nodded his head as he weighed his options, and Anna hung her head in prayer. Many of the other residents looked away or chewed their lips.

  “In mother Pozo,” Druxan broke the still air. “This plan would do well. Druxan is behind most wonderful lady. If Druxan is to make an end, then he will do it with gun in hand.”

  “Thankee ser.” Lillian smiled as her most favourite wine merchant puffed his chest in defiance.

  “Del Morte has given me guidance.” Anna’s soft voice was next as the cardinal raised her head. “He is loath to see the blood of his children spilled. But he consents to this course of action.”

  “You can count on us!” The other prisoners began to voice their consent to the plan, each one eager to bring the fight to their captors.

  “Good.” Lillian said smiled. “Then here is what must be done.”

  After revealing the plan to the prisoners, and releasing their bonds, Lillian ascended the steps to the main floor. This would be the first challenge for the party. Lillian did not know if the tower guard would have returned, but she did not have the time to check. The jailbreakers needed to make it back to the Rhume household as quick as they could.

  Lillian opened the heavy doors to the hall a crack, letting its loud creaking ring in the night. If there were guards, she would hear their movement and voices to see what caused the noise. Thankfully, luck seemed to continue to favour her.

  “They must still be at the festivities.” Lillian whispered peering into the darkness. “Let’s go, the bush on our right.”

  The party sped across the parched earth, headed for the cover of the undergrowth. Just as before, Lillian skulked through the brush, trying to move as quick and silent as she could. She had informed her conspirators to do the same, and, to her surprise, they were quite silent; if Lillian had not known any different, she would have sworn she was alone in the night. They soon came upon the edge of her household. The light in the dining room still shone bright, and the shadows of men could still be seen.

  “Druxan,” Lillian’s voice was little more than a whisper. “Take them ‘round the back. When you here two gunshots, count to five and run into the house through the rear entrance. Make sure to latch both the front and back doors. I will make my way through the bush and come to the back entrance. I will knock three times.”

  “Most magnificent lady takes great risk.” Druxan stated. “But she has proven to be crafty. Druxan will do this.”

  “Good.” Lillian peered through the bush, watching the men inside her home. “Remember, board those windows, and front door, with anything you can and as quick as you can. Arm yourselves with anything from the secret larder in the dining room. Now, go!”

  Lillian waited several minutes in the dark bush, alone once more. Each time she looked at her house, she thought she might see Dalar, or her darling Jakob come running out of the house. She knew the thoughts were moot, for they were both gone, but, she still longed to see their shining faces. Who knew? Perhaps tonight she would join her beloved family in the halls of Del Morte before the night was out.

  Satisfied enough time had passed to allow her small fighting force to wrap around to the back of the house, Lillian slid back towards the town hall. She didn’t go too far, for she would need to make it back to the manse before the area became surrounded with Imperial troops. She reached into her belt and withdrew the ornate pistol. Raising it high above her head, Lillian squeezed the trigger. A loud crack signaled the release of her round, followed by another as she fired again.

  Not leaving anything to chance, she darted back towards her home. She did not suspect the revelers at the market square to come inspecting, for they would be deep in their drinks and bawdiness to take note of gunfire. It was the officers within the cabin she feared. Just as she suspected, the whole troupe of them sped out of the house, their own weapons drawn. Lillian counted to seven. The front door slammed shut at the correct moment; the light from the front window disappeared as her fellows blocked it off with a heavy object.

  Following her own plan, Lillian sped around back, ignoring the cover of the bush to make for a quicker escape. She rounded the back corner of the house and came to rest on the back steps. With a heavy hand she knocked three times, always watching the dark bushes for sign of pursuit. The bright light of everflame lanterns lit the step as the door opened. Not wasting time, Lillian entered her home.

  She was pleased to see the escaped prisoners busy at work securing the doors and windows. Lillian was even more surprised to see a handful of them waiting for her to clear away from the back entrance with supplies to board up that entrance; a fact she had over looked.

  “Most wonderful lady!” Druxan proclaimed as Lillian entered into the dinning room. The robust wine merchant was coated in a thick layer of sweat, but grinning from ear to ear. “Your plan worked. Now we wait to make our end!”

  “Aye.” Lillian smiled. “Thank-you, all of you.” She looked at each man and woman in turn. “Tonight, is our night. We will be hard pressed and out numbered.”

  “Aye.” Druxan agreed. “But, there is something these bastardos do not have.” The Pozian reached behind his back and revealed two beautiful pistols; one of ivory and the other of ebony. “Night and Day have found the great Druxan again!”

  Lillian couldn’t help but laugh. The weapons were beautiful and deadly. It had taken several waves of Imperial forces to bring Druxan down when he wielded his weapons during the invasion. After the assault, the pistols were confiscated and Lillian had never heard of their whereabouts. She did not know where Druxan fo
und his prized items, for she had not noticed them on her initial inspection, but, she was glad to have their might on her side.

  “What was that?” Anna asked when a loud crack shook the house, echoing into the night.

  “That was no gunfire.” Druxan readied his pistols.

  As if on queue, there was a foreign sound pit patting upon the roof. The noise grew steadier. It was so familiar and yet so long forgotten, the citizens of Le Clos Noire looked at each other with curiosity.

  “Rain.” Lillian said with a smile. “It’s raining!”

  “Aha! So it is!” Druxan laughed. His laughter was cut short as a loud rapping and angry voices sounded at the front door.

  “And now it comes to it.” Lillian said, gripping her own pistol. “Prepare yourselves, citizens of Le Clos! Tonight, we meet our maker!”

  There was another blast of thunder, which deafened the angry voices on the front step. Lillian knew it would not be long before the officers retreated to gather the rest of the occupying forces; it would not be long now before the battle for Le Clos Noire started once more.

  Julien DiMarco walked alone down the length of the stone corridor. It was a path he had trod often since losing his dear Rosemary. Every sunrise and nightfall the old kinetic retraced the steps that led him to where he had found the poor woman being beaten and electrocuted. The black scorched stone was all that remained of that fateful night.

  Even though he walked the long hallways of the college, Julien was never truly alone. It had been a week since he had enacted the Emergency Security Protocol; a week since the halls he revered became locked down under the ever-present legion of mechanical constructs. Many of the professors were amazed by the antique design of the hidden arsenal, yet none seemed to care for the eventual consequences the act would bring. Julien hated having to resort to such measures, yet he had gone against his baser warnings, hoping his actions would be more justified for once.

  Julien let his cane lead him past the remains of the skirmish behind. Before long, and after many junctions, he came to stand in the grand gallery, which was truly no more than a wide, towering hall with over sized arching windows to match. The panes were severely frosted and snow collected along the cast iron framework. Outside the world slept as the snow fell in fat flakes. Even with all that had happened in the past year, Julien DiMarco still found peace watching the dancing snow descend from heaven above. Every so often, the distinct movement of a patrolling construct in the Garden D’Lune disturbed the serenity.

  “Lovely, isn’t it?” A woman’s voice asked.

  “It is,” Julien agreed, turning to greet the speaker. To his surprise, he was alone.

  “Whom do you search for?” the woman asked again.

  Julien turned his gaze back to the window. The visage of his dear Rosemary stood beside his reflection. Curious, he looked to either side, only to conclude he was alone. The only place he seemed to have companionship was in the spectral world bound to his reflection.

  “You.” He admitted.

  “I am with you,” Rosemary’s apparition smiled, fading from view. “Always.”

  “Master Julien!” A winded voice called from the base of the great stair. “Master Julien, there you are!” It was the college’s librarian, the terrakinetic Gillard.

  “What is it ser?” The old pyrokinetic asked, turning on his cane.

  “There has been a sighting.” Gillard said, ascending the stair two-steps at a time.

  “Of Rosemary?” A hint of hope leaked into Julien’s tone.

  “Ser?” Gillard asked, confused almost.

  “My apologies,” Julien’s cheeks burned bright with embarassment. “Only an old man’s grief.”

  “No need ser.” Gillard reached the top landing and angled his wire frame spectacles back into position.

  “What were you saying about a sighting Gillard?” Julien asked to avoid a prolonged conversation.

  “Three airships have been sighted over the ocean waters by the fishermen of Duetermont.” The librarian huffed.

  “What of it?” Julien’s pyrokinetic lenses slid down his thin nose as he furrowed his brow. “Airships make their way to Driftwood Isle daily. A little less than normal with this abnormal weather, but the sighting should mean nothing to these fisher folk.”

  “Normally I would agree with you ser,” Gilllard agreed. “If not for the flag these ships bore. The telegram said it was a solid field of black with a single gold cog.”

  “The Imperial Order.” Julien’s voice trailed off. In truth, the old kinetic had not bothered himself with such details as this Order’s choice of flag and designs. He did recognize the single cog, however, as it was emblazoned on the small crate of kinetically imbued ammunition Lucian Margoux’s steward presented to the council to try and stir them to action.

  “Aye.” Gillard agreed. “They are headed for Driftwood Isle.”

  “We must warn Gossac. The people must make for safety.” Julien began to walk away, eager to reach the telegraph room to send the warning off to the city.

  “There is no need.” There was a sadness, and fear, in the librarian’s tone.

  Julien stopped, turned to face Gillard, and asked; “Why not, ser?”

  “The ships were seen on a course for the college.” The terrakinetic sighed, as if he had just released the heaviest weight off of his shoulders. “This Order is coming for us.”

  “How long ago?” Julien asked.

  “I…”

  “How long!” The old kinetic slammed his cane on the stone floor.

  “The ships will be over our skies in no less than an hour.” Gillard looked to the floor. “We should leave now while we still can.”

  “And give up our history to these upstarts?” Julien snapped. “I think not, ser.”

  “Julien, the others have already fled for Gossac. The constructs will protect our campus long enough for an army to be marshaled. “

  “You are cowards.” Julien was disgusted. He had never been a man destined for war. He had never desired it. In fact, his whole career Julien abhorred the idea of man killing his fellow man. But now he faced a situation that threatened his proud history. There was a fire burning in the old man’s heart, a fire he was not going to run from.

  “Julien,” Gillard protested. “You must come with me. You will be the only one able to rally the people of Gossac together. You can bring the true hearted kinetics together to stand against this Order.”

  “No, Gillard.” Julien said. “My time has come. I am old. I might not make the trip to the city. I may not wake in the morning, or the morning after that. No. I will not wait for the dark shade of death to come for me. I shall meet him head on. You, dear Gillard, must rally our people. You know my truths and desires for this world. ”

  “Ser,” Gillard wiped a tear from his cheek. “Is there no way I can convince you?”

  “Not this time.” Julien smiled. “Now, go before it is too late.”

  “It’s been a pleasure,” Gillard whispered before descending the great stair.

  Julien watched as the young, portly man take the steps one at a time, feet falling heavy every step of the way. It pained the old kinetic to have turned away such an offer, for the truth was he did fear the end. It was true he was incensed and wished to make a stand for his people; to be a lasting image in the minds of kinetic and non-kinetic alike. But that did not alleviate his fear of the unknown. The heavy doors of the college swung open as Gillard departed the hall. Once again, Julien DiMarco was truly alone.

  The old kinetic wondered what he would do to pass the time. He thought a visit to the library would be nice, to read once more from the great scholar’s compendium of Wynne. Being alone in the college meant the larders were free to him, yet the idea of eating didn’t feel quite right. The only thing that seemed to truly appeal to the pyrokinetic was a visit to the snow covered gardens. But, even that did not seem to truly appease him, for if the Order made their move while he was caught out of doors, his kinetic abiliti
es would be all but useless. So, Julien DiMarco did what he always did, walk the vast corridors of the college.

  As his cane tap-tap-tapped down the stone hallways, leading him past mechanical construct after mechanical construct. Julien wondered if he should formulate a plan to increase his odds.

  “Of course you should, ser.” Rosemary’s voice said. Julien looked around himself again, not finding the woman he could have loved.

  “Rosemary.” Julien whispered, a deep sadness filling his heart. “What can I do?”

  “Anything.” Her voice said as her apparition formed out of a nearby statue. “Anything other than waiting to die.”

  “But what?” He begged.

  “You will know.” A soft smile played her gentle lips. “You always do.”

  “Rosemary,” A warm trickle of a tear rolled down Julien’s cheek as the woman’s specter faded back into obscurity. Julien adjusted his lenses, and looked at a nearby golem.

  “You,” he tapped his cane on the stone floor to get the things attention. The machine whirred to life, turning its faceless head in Julien’s direction.

  “What can this one do for ser?” It asked with a gentle voice.

  “Rally your comrades to the grand gallery.” Julien ordered. “And make it quick. There will be battle tonight, and we do not have much time.”

  The golem did not reply, it simply sprang to action. Julien watched with the faintest hints of a smile as the beast fled down the corridor, collecting its mechanical comrades as it went. Julien turned on his heel and began the return journey to the grand gallery.

  What was most surprising to Julien was seeing almost all of the constructs already assembled by the time he made his way back into the gallery at the top of the stair. They were magnificent constructs, albeit antique by today’s standard.

  Before Julien could address the assembled security forces, a loud bang echoed from without. The sound of battle echoed in outside as the few patrolling constructs engaged an unseen foe. The walls of the college shook as a blast from a canon hit one of the towers. Another blast caused the towering window to crack in several places.