SPARX Incarnation: Mark of the Green Dragon (SPARX Series I Book 1)

by K. B. Sprague

  I shrugged my shoulders and tried one; it wasn’t as good as taffy, but it wasn’t bad either – oversweet. I took my uncle’s offering as a sign of goodwill. He wasn’t mad at me, and if he had been, it was water under the bridge. The next time Paplov visits, I am going too.

  That day came sooner than expected. Before long, I had a compelling reason to have serious words with Uncle Fyorn. Not because I wanted redemption, or maple taffy, but because I needed his advice. Uncle Fyorn knew the woods and the lowlands better than anyone did – like the back of his weather-beaten hands. And he seemed to know a great deal about abnormal things. In particular, he was the only one I could think of that might know something about a certain artifact that originated in the bog. Above all else though, he was the only Elderkin I knew personally.

  CHAPTER III

  SPARX

  I was not the only one to have discovered a corpse or two in the bog. My experience was the most bizarre of them all though. Besides me, there was this man and his son that found a bog body while digging for peat to burn as fuel. Then there was that lady’s head with red hair that popped up the same way – digging for peat. She had a braided leather noose around her neck. Even “Pops” – a good friend’s father – had once stumbled upon a soup of pickled body parts while setting footings for a building in town. One might think bog people were everywhere. Well, as far as I know, they are not. But the stories accumulated over the years and decades into one long list of celebrity bog-body appearances. They became the sources of many a legend and the stuff of tall tales.

  I was, however, the only one to have discovered a very ancient seed in the bog from the long-forgotten past; a kernel of admittance into a world I did not even know existed, a world not so far from any of us. I was the only one to have found a SPARX stone.

  *

  We never should have strayed so far from the creek that day. But the water was high and my usual path flooded. Despite the fact the day had not gone as planned, Gariff seemed content enough. It wasn’t easy to tell though; he looked on the grumpy side normally. It’s the way his heavy brow seems to scrunch his eyes into narrow slits.

  The Stout took my hard-earned prize and held it up to the sun, one eye squinting. His broad head appeared to sit directly upon his solid shoulders. The first thing he did was shrug, as though it were no big deal. Perhaps the sunlight had made the flicker barely noticeable, or perhaps he’d seen better quality stones similar in basic appearance. After having eyed the piece for a long minute, with a quick toss he sent it spinning up into the air, then caught the stone in his thick-fingered grip. He nodded his head in satisfaction, and plunked the bog stone back into my hands.

  “Not a bad find,” he said. “I wonder what it’s good fer.”

  “Lots of things,” I said, not having thought of even one, but knowing there must be many. “Something this rare has to be valuable.”

  Spearheads and rusty suits of armor were more Gariff’s kind of treasure. “Useful things have value, like this here hat,” he said, and went on to adjust his favorite “adventuring” headgear – faded red, floppy and wide-brimmed. The hat was a wayworn monstrosity, and he was the only one that didn’t know it was ridiculous.

  Gariff Ram and I had known one another since before he could remember. The Stout’s severe lack of free-spiritedness and imagination didn’t stop us from being good friends though; it just got in the way at times. Gariff was in town from the Bearded Hills. He had dropped by my place early morning on his way to the Akedan ruins. As part of what had become an annual tradition, his father worked in Webfoot and lodged at the Flipside. Together, Stout father and son labored through spring and the better part of the dry season. Gariff’s apprenticeship afforded him just enough time for a day trip now and again, usually when work was slow or materials late in arrival.

  “Well, a rare stone like this can buy lots of useful things,” I responded.

  “Aye,” Gariff nodded. There was no arguing with that.

  “Gariff, we both have to promise not to tell anyone about the stone, especially Kabor.”

  “What about the sinkhole?” he said.

  “The sinkhole’s fair game,” I replied, “but not until after we know more about staking claims.”

  “And the bog bodies?”

  That one I had to ponder.

  “We should keep the bog bodies under wraps too,” I decided. “There might be more stones and we don’t want to risk giving away the location. People will start digging around while the paperwork is going through and who knows what they might turn up.” As the words came out, they struck a chord inside of me. I smothered it with a solid dose of denial.

  “OK, I won’t tell a soul,” he said.

  A voice cut in from across the creek. “Too late.”

  “Kabor doesn’t count,” said Gariff, snickering. “He has no soul.”

  I flushed at the sound of those words. It was the mischief-maker himself. Impeccable timing, as usual. Caught with the flashing stone still in hand, I deftly closed my fingers around it and slipped the stone back into my pocket. It’s bright outside, I consoled myself, and he probably didn’t notice anything unusual from that far away, not with his eyesight.

  “Whatever,” I said to Gariff. I closed my eyes and let out a heavy sigh before turning to acknowledge the Stout’s sly cousin.

  Kabor removed his spectacles and shoved them into his pocket. Then he moved to the edge of the Crossing – a convenient deposit of small boulders that served as stepping-stones across Blackmuk Creek. This time of year, the high ground on our side was far more navigable than the mud flats on the mire side, especially for the likes of Gariff and his heavy, mud-sucking boots.

  From across the gurgling watercourse, Gariff’s cousin turned his head sideways until I was well within his peripheral vision, which was his way of looking straight at me. He wore soft, black boots and dark clothes better suited for a wake than treasure hunting; always form fitting with him and never a hat. He carried his cloak in one hand. The two cousins were both about my age and height, but the similarities ended there. Slight of build and a bit of a runt in comparison to his cousin, looks-wise Kabor was not your typical Stout – thin and wiry while most were wide and squat like Gariff. Also, Gariff liked simplicity. Everything was black and white to him. He was stocky, strong and completely inflexible. Kabor, on the other hand, was slippery as oil and to him everything was a shade of grey. I could never get a straight answer out of that one.

  “So, what all did you find?” said Kabor.

  Gariff’s cousin grinned from ear to ear while he waited for the answer – a mischievous, conniving grin that he alone owned. It bothered me to no end. I don’t know if the look was practiced or genuine, but whatever it was, I could hardly bear it.

  “Should we tell him?” said Gariff, anticipation in his voice.

  “Fine,” I replied, “you can tell him about the sinkhole. Leave the rest to me.”

  Gariff erupted with excitement. The words nearly burst out of him. “We found bog bodies!” he exclaimed.

  “I heard,” said his cousin. “You’re not the first in these parts.”

  “But we’re the latest,” said Gariff.

  “I suppose,” said Kabor. “Jhinyari?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “That would be a stretch.”

  Kabor acknowledged with a nod.

  “Did you see any metal at all?” he continued. “There might be bits of it stuck to body parts or just lying around. Jhinyari would be wearing armor.”

  “Really?” said Gariff.

  I could see the sparkle in his eye.

  “No,” I said. “I think these are just regular bog bodies.”

  “Well, maybe not,” said Gariff, ever the optimist. “You never know.” The Stout went on to describe all of the grizzly details about the sinkhole and the blackened appendages sticking out of the mud. He started over the Crossing as he spoke, and nearly lost his balance on a wobbly stone while talking about a decapitated head
“winking” at him. The Stout bounded stiffly from stone to stone, one hand clamped to his head to keep his hat from blowing off. He forded the creek with all the grace of a pig on hind legs. I, on the other hand, bounded across effortlessly.

  The three of us headed for the Mire Trail. Kabor listened intently to our tale and probed for more details, especially about what remnants of clothing still clung to the bodies and if there were any other unusual items or signs of structures nearby. Gariff spilled the beans about finding a bog stone, but I stopped him before he said too much. Kabor didn’t seem to suspect anything unusual was afoot.

  My secret was still mostly a secret, but if Gariff’s weasel of a cousin found out then everyone from Webfoot to the Bearded Hills would know too, soon enough. Kabor was a talker, a whisperer, and above all a shady dealmaker – all cause for alarm. All I could hope for was that he would quickly lose interest and that my find would be overshadowed by outlandish rumors of bog bodies and buried treasure.

  “So, where is this fancy stone, Nud?” said Kabor. “Is that what you put in your pocket?”

  How does he do that?

  “Stone-s-s-s,” I said to the cousins. “Clean out your ears.”

  Gariff gave me a look.

  I fumbled through my pockets and pulled out some common crystals I had picked up along the creek bank, thinking they might have something special about them as well; a stroke of luck.

  “Three diamonds in the rough,” I said. “You can each pick one if you promise not to tell. I want to go back and get more. Kabor, you first, since you’re the ugliest and I feel sorry for you.”

  I held them up for Kabor to see. He turned his head to the left and examined the three stones the way he always examined things, with a sideways stare and untelling eyes – dark and hollow looking. A long moment passed. Finally, he shrugged and contorted his face into a pained expression.

  “They don’t look like much,” he said, shaking his head as he grimaced.

  “Of course not, you can’t see anything,” I replied.

  I sent Gariff a cold stare to confirm his silence. He fell in line, scrunching his forehead as he struggled to hold his tongue.

  “I can see enough to tell you those aren’t diamonds, you simple-minded duck!” Kabor mocked. “But I like them anyway. I’ll take this tiny nugget off your hands… partner.”

  Naturally, Kabor grabbed the biggest one. Then he turned to Gariff.

  “Don’t worry Cuz,” he said, “I left the girly one for you.”

  I held my hand out to Gariff and raised my brow. He caught my look and graciously took the smaller of the two remaining – an elongated tablet shaped stone.

  Kabor smirked. “That’s the one,” he quipped.

  Gariff frowned. He had passed the first test and held his tongue about my true find. I put the last stone back in my pocket, next to the real one.

  “I bet there are artifacts too,” said Kabor. “Good ones, well-preserved, not like the rusted out junk from Akeda.”

  “Hey,” said Gariff. “Akeda has the best stuff.”

  “No,” said Kabor. “I mean ancient. Really ancient. You should have brought back an arm or a leg or something. Where exactly did you go? Did any still have hair?”

  Gariff answered. “It’s just along the creek where it starts to bulge out into little ponds. There’s a section that’s flooded – it’s easy to spot.”

  Kabor stopped. “I’m going to check it out then,” he said.

  “You’re not even dressed for it,” I said. “The place is full of bugs like you wouldn’t believe, and they love the color black.”

  “And best to go in drier conditions,” Gariff argued. “The ground will be more stable.”

  “Nonsense,” said Kabor. “It’s easier pickings after a rainfall. You both know that.” Kabor turned towards the site.

  Neither Gariff nor I budged.

  Kabor shrugged and started on his way. He took one look over his shoulder and sputtered at us. “Cowards!”

  “So long,” I said, content to let the little runt go rummaging through the graveyard blindly and without us. Maybe he’ll fall in. I shrugged my shoulders at Gariff and continued homeward, only to halt at the sound of his grumbling. He still hadn’t moved.

  “Ugh. What now?” I said.

  Gariff scrunched his lips to one side. “C’mon Nud. Yer not still sore ‘bout the flag incident, are ya?”

  “What do you think?” I said. “I got slapped with three weeks of voluntary service and a lashing for it – could’ve done with just one week if only I had ratted out the rat. He deserved it.”

  Gariff’s eyes shifted down to his feet, and then to his cousin in the distance. He knew Paplov could not have taken lightly to finding the Webfoot banner in my possession, whatever the reason, being on the council and all. Indeed, given the nature of the offence, Paplov had been unusually strict in his punishment. He seemed to think it was a black mark against my future in local politics. “They’ll never forget,” he had said. They being the other council members.

  “What heat did he get for it?” I asked.

  Gariff’s silence said everything.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  The Stout raised his head and looked over to me. His grumpy face turned apologetic and the two narrow slits beneath his brow widened into the darkest brown eyes. “Kabor doesn’t mean any harm’n it… he just does it in good fun.”

  “Fun for him you mean,” I said, shaking my head. “I didn’t even want him to take it down. And I told him not to do it. You know the connections – Town Hall, the mayor… Paplov.”

  Over the years, Gariff had done more than his share of apologizing on behalf of his younger cousin. Granted, Kabor’s parents were lost in a caravan raid when he was very young and so Gariff’s family had taken him in. Plus, he couldn’t see that well. The two combined had earned him more than his fair share of sympathy. I admit he had it rough, but I made it a point that he was not to receive any special treatment from me. Kabor wasn’t the only one who had it rough. Still, I had to acknowledge that taking the town flag the way he did, when he did, was rather gutsy. And there was a certain thrill to it all…

  “It’s a wonder he didn’t get caught climbing up there in broad daylight,” I said, “right under their noses.”

  Gariff smirked and let out a reflective chuckle. “He never gets caught.”

  “Yeah, well, he will one day,” I said.

  There was a long, awkward pause between us. I knew what Gariff was about. Finally, he let it out.

  “I gotta go after him, Nud,” he said, shaking his head. Gariff slumped. He turned to follow his cousin, and started back towards the creek.

  A couple of complaints later, I followed.

  When we arrived, the three of us split up and poked around the site for the better part of the remaining day. The sinkhole had completely filled in with groundwater. Kabor tried to fish unseen body parts out of it with a stick, to no avail. Gariff dug for stones along its edge, feeling through the wet earth and pulling up all kinds of debris. I showed Kabor the tangled mess of tree roots where I found my stone, careful not to mention the flickering.

  When the two Stouts were busiest, I stole away to peek at my find, and every so often I put my hand in my pocket to check that the stone was still there.

  After much searching, nothing grand turned up. Near the end of our stay though, Kabor did happen to stumble on a slim, orange post in the ground. An orange ribbon with writing on it was nailed to the top. He took his spectacles out of his pocket and put them on. Kabor’s eyes suddenly looked three times bigger.

  “HME-226,” he read aloud.

  Over the years, more and more of the posts seemed to be popping up throughout the Mire and surrounding territories. It meant that the location had been claimed already, probably for mineral rights. Kabor pulled the stake out of the ground.

  “Stop,” I said, flushed with anger. He had no idea the administrative processes people had to go through just t
o stake a claim, plus all the careful mapping and measurements required. The sharpness in my voice drew Gariff’s attention.

  “We could all get in trouble for what you just did,” I went on.

  “Oh ya?” said Kabor. His eyes narrowed. “Watch this.”

  Without hesitation, he tossed the wooden post high up into the air, towards the creek.

  I closed my eyes in an attempt to contain my irritation. It was all I could take. A distorted buzzing sensation welled up in the back of my mind, like nothing I had ever experienced before. It spread, growing to an all-consuming volume. It pushed at my skull from the inside. Then suddenly, the pressure inside released. I heard a snap.

  I opened my eyes just in time to see the stake whiz past Kabor’s head and whack the bushes right behind him.

  “What the heck?” I said.

  “That was weird,” said Gariff.

  “Huh?” said Kabor, oblivious. He shot me a sideways glance as he squirreled his glasses away. Gariff spoke up.

  “The stake went into some branches overhanging the water there,” he said, looking to Kabor, “and then she flung right back at you… What are the odds?”

  Kabor looked behind him, picked up the stake, and shrugged. “What are the odds of it happening twice?” he said. He then whipped it back in a low arc. This time, it landed with a splash and was whisked away by the current.

  “How does that even happen?” I said, looking to Gariff.

  The burly Stout shifted his weight back and forth with unease in his stance, eyes scanning the treetops. He had no explanation to offer. His cousin broke the silence.

  “It’s a bit gusty up there, that’s all,” said Kabor. “The wind bowed a branch and it snapped back to hit the stake just right.”

  “It didn’t look that way to me… but what else could it be?” said Gariff, scratching his head, eyes still searching. “I can’t think of any other way.”

  I peered into the suspect branches overhanging the creek. The entire incident felt a little unnatural, amplified by the simple fact that bog bodies were nearby. The uneasy feeling was not easy to shake.