Don't Fight the Spark

by Kasia Bacon

  "It won't be long now." Yüu clasped my hands in his, fixing me with a long, steady look as he leant forward. "You understand that, don't you? I need you to be ready."

  My vision blurred. Squeezing my eyes closed for a moment, I exhaled in a ragged breath, holding back tears and fright.

  Ready? How could I ever get ready for something like this?

  I couldn't pretend to comprehend the cruelty and brutality that defined rules for the world Yüu'd lived in. Yet he wasn't cruel or brutal himself. The gods' jest at his expense? I hated the idea of him paying dues that weren't his own. It scared me, his quiet, unflinching acceptance of death and doom. I couldn't wrap my head around it, conditioned by my profession to focus on preserving life whenever possible---or at least prolonging it when not.

  Clearly, Yüu hadn't entertained any illusions as to what the ultimate end would be for him. For us.

  Me? Deep down, I'd always hoped we'd elope into the sunset one day.

  The sense of unfairness constricted around my chest like a rope. "Please, I can't just..."

  ...watch you go and meet your death? Relinquish my dream? Move on if you're gone?

  My tongue felt thick and awkward. I couldn't have finished that sentence even if I had a clue where I was going with it.

  Yüu's expression radiated calm. "You can," he said. "And you will. You're the strongest person I know."

  He'd mentioned something to that effect once before. I questioned not the sincerity of his belief, but rather, the accuracy of the statement. What the poor sod didn't appear to have grasped after our three years together was quite simple: if I had any strength at all, he'd been the core of it.

  "Look, maybe we could---"

  "Don't," he stopped me again. The pain in his voice froze me rigid. Shaking his head as if in an attempt to rid his mind of bad thoughts, he added, "You've done more than enough for me, Ĥaiatto. But even you can't save me every time."

  Under his watchful gaze, I managed to get hold of my emotions at last. "I can damn well try," I said, setting my chin high. "And don't you try and fight me."

  A real grin tugged at his lips this time, his face aglow with it. "Fighting's the only thing I know. It's what I do."

  "Not with me, it isn't," I huffed.

  "No. I stand no chance fighting you," he agreed after a pause, likely indulging me. "Besides, it wouldn't be a fair match. I'm trained to use my head and muscles. Not my heart, like you."

  "Silly Barbarian," I whispered with a little smile of my own. "The heart is a muscle, too."

  The next moment, I found myself enveloped by his heat, his soothing hands at the base of my spine.

  "Let's go and rest, all right love? Healer's orders." My point would've sounded a lot firmer if I'd kept the quaver from my voice. The worry had exhausted me and I refused to let it gnaw at me any longer. Not when I could enjoy the rare luxury of having Yüu right next to me and for the whole night, too. "I just want us to fall asleep and wake up together."

  Whatever assurances I sought from Yüu that night, he provided them merely by allowing me to gather him in my arms, remaining in my embrace after he drifted off. For a long while, I lay awake, comforted by the soundless rhythm of his breathing.

  Rhēn's warning had come just in time. The man knew the pits, no doubt. But he'd got one thing wrong.

  To me, Yüu was irreplaceable.

  The desperate urge to protect him---however laughable such an idea may have seemed, considering who we both were---stemmed from nothing more than self-preservation, not an altruistic act of chivalry. Yüu had become a part of me. His staying safe enabled me to feel whole and worthy myself.

  All I had at my disposal were my wits and my abilities as a Spark. I could hardly be called a fighter. But, so help me gods, I intended to put up one hell of a battle to keep this ih'mohrô unharmed and mine. No matter the cost. It really was that simple.

  I knew of one person in the entire country whose power and influence exceeded Emperor Xenedor's himself. If Lu Feninghan of the Order chose not to help us, nobody else could.

  HEALER

  I'd lied to Yüu. I hadn't planned on us waking up together after all.

  The dawn hadn't yet broken when I opened my eyes. For a moment, in the greyish half-light, I observed the folds of the heavy curtains dancing in the breeze carried through the open windows, savouring the salty freshness of the sea it invited inside. While listening to the screeching of the seagulls and pelicans, I ran through the details of my plan in my head once again.

  At last, I unwrapped myself from behind Yüu's hard body, but not before planting a quick kiss on the back of his neck.

  The first thing I needed to take care of was ensuring Yüu stayed in bed, resting and healing as much as possible. I'd made him promise he wouldn't leave the shelter of my rooms under any circumstances. Taught by experience, however, I didn't trust the man not to move about too soon, or gods forbid, start training. Slight guilt nagged at me as my fingers clasped my jade necklace. I trickled a sturdy booster of Magic over to Yüu, who remained curled on his side and dead to the world. A deep sleep would allow him a few more hours of valuable recuperation and, at the same time, supply me with peace of mind during my absence.

  On such a conclusion, I sneaked out of my bedroom.

  I started the day over my usual cup of chicory coffee, composing a short letter at my desk. The moment the ink dried, I sealed the parchment and secured it within my inside robes' pocket. Having left instructions with the servant boy to feed my patient a nutritious plate of food containing lean meat, fruit and nuts, I left for a brief visit to the ih'mohrôs' dormitory.

  It often happened that the fighters didn't report soreness until the next morning, when Master Trainer's watchful eye detected any sign of bruising, swelling or movement restriction. As I expected after the previous night's matches, a few men required a healer's once-over, those who had gone against Yüu, in particular. The fact that their injuries didn't count as life-threatening stood as testimony to his competence and magnanimity. Patching them up, I somehow doubted the bastards had lost any sleep over it. So I tended to them with all my assiduity, but minimal compassion.

  When I stepped out onto the cobbled streets of Něssyr, the sun emerged low on the horizon, piercing the cloudless sky. The temperature hadn't yet reached a bothersome degree but promised to do so well before mid-morning.

  Despite the early hour, the square buzzed with an ever-flowing rush of people, carts and horses. In the run-up to the most important holiday of the year, the city would, of course, appear busier than usual. Women, baskets hanging from their arms, hastened to the marketplace, no doubt in pursuit of seafood from the dawn catch. The sugary aroma of baked dough, butter and spices swirled up my nostrils, a clear indication the pretzel vendors had set up their stalls nearby, offering traditional holiday treats. Colourful lanterns, artfully crafted from paper and ready to be lit in celebration of the winter solstice, adorned roof compartments, tree branches and shop entrances all around, adding to the festive touch.

  Něssyr was the busiest port of the southern Empire, often nicknamed Stewpot for its abundance of strays from all over---pirates, whores and mercenaries---who dwelt in relative harmony within its walls, not counting a murder or two and an occasional abduction. Eight years spent living on the coast had allowed me to adjust to the ceaseless heat. For a native Ysêmyrian, however, it never seemed more out of place than around midwinter. The Light Festival deprived of snow, frost and bonfires continued to faze me even after all this time. Here, people watched the firework displays on the beach, seeking to cool off in the sea breeze rather than fretting over freezing their important bits off in the icy wind.

  Lack of seasons aside, the simple lifestyle I led in Něssyr suited me far better than the stifling pressure and opulence of the capital. The port town had become my home ever since I left Ysêmyr. Or fled it, with my tail tucked between my legs the instant I'd completed my medical training. Me---the biggest failure of the esteemed Ẽkana
family, renowned for producing generations of Creators and ranking as the top tier amongst the Magic-able community. Me---a Spark, without a source of my own, forced to pay for what should be naturally flowing through my veins. A lowly healer and never mind how damn competent. A write-off, who dared to choose the employ of brothels, prison hospitals and fighting houses over the splendour of the Emperor's court. An embarrassment.

  On impulse, I turned my head back towards the seashore. My gaze wandered in the direction of the gleaming black rock of the mighty Order fortress towering over the city, grand and menacing.

  Chiding myself for stalling and getting distracted from my task, I got on the move. After crossing a couple more narrow alleys, it didn't take long to reach my destination. The tall, white building in front of me, tucked behind a neat row of yellow rose shrubs, housed the Guild of Mages, Alchemists and Healers.

  I took the entrance steps two at a time. Inside, a bored-looking warden waved me in after glancing at the silver brooch that embellished the fold of my robes. Shaped like the Elven rune standing for the plant of variñya---both a powerful toxin and a potent remedy---it represented the symbol and motto of my profession: A dose makes the poison.

  "Phhhf! The fuck?"

  The disgruntled inquiry came from the Guild's Resident Healer, Seiji Rūsu, with whom I collided as he exited the opposite corner of the corridor.

  Stopped in my tracks, I looked down, massaging the sting out of my jaw, which had taken the brunt of the impact.

  Seiji mirrored my last action, applying a similar treatment to his forehead instead. "Ĥaiatto? Watch where you're going with that godsdamn pointy chin of yours, will you? Tall people are so obnoxious. Think they own the world and whatnot," he hissed, wrinkling his freckled, upturned nose at me. Yet the next moment his wide mouth curled upwards in a genuine grin.

  I couldn't help smiling back. I'd always been fond of little Seiji. Said fondness had led to several enjoyable rolls in the sheets with him in the past, before a certain fighter had robbed me of my heart.

  "Have you come to lend a hand? Too late! I got the food poisoning under control," he said, not waiting for my response. As usual. "It was well grim, though. The stench! Thirty-something casualties going at it from both ends, can you imagine? And first thing in the morning, too." He gave a shiver. "Thank the gods, healers Yvaru and Agissa were in the building and volunteered to help. I would've been deep in shit trying to cope on my own. Literally." His cheerful laugh echoed across the corridor.

  "What food poisoning?" I said, taking advantage of the fact that Seiji had paused for a breath.

  "Sheesh. You haven't heard? About as useful as syphilis, you are! Well, remember that tavern on the strip by the docks? We got rat-arsed there one time before the pandemic of cholera hit the city four years ago. Anyway, the proprietor decided to make some quick coin before the holiday, shifting dodgy shellfish. Way past its prime. He flogged some ten crates of it, served in a stew. People will buy any old crap if it's cheap enough, right? Special offer, my arse. So there you have it. Fucking shellfish. It reeked like a motherfucker coming out."

  "Yes. I quite believe you," I agreed, not wanting him to delve further into the details.

  "I'm knackered," Seiji flashed me his tonsils in a giant yawn. "It's off to the bathhouse for me. Oh, have you heard? They recently hired this looker from Trovo with the sole purpose of smacking patrons' behinds with bunches of eucalyptus leaves and birch twigs while they steam? Ha! Doesn't it sound like fun? Built like a town hall he is, too!" Suddenly energised, Seiji winked. "But never mind that. Why are you here, did you say?" Seiji peered up at me with unrestricted curiosity. "Stocking up on Magic?"

  I shook my head. "Not today." Gods only knew why, but I still found the topic of purchasing Magic uncomfortable. Pathetic, considering I'd been doing so for ages. "I came to see Master Revendi."

  "Master Revendi?" Seiji's blue eyes had grown to the size of tea cakes.

  I tried to keep my voice nonchalant as if popping by for chats and giggles with the famous vampire---the Order's alchemist and Grandmaster Feninghan's confidant---were a normal part of my routine. "That's right. He attends the Guild meetings on Freedays, doesn't he? I want to catch him before the council begins."

  "What d'you want with him then, eh? Is he expecting you? He won't see you otherwise---"

  The sudden rush of air prickled the skin at the base of my scalp.

  "He will, actually," declared a melodic voice in an accent that rang with traces of the Old Language.

  "Fuck," I breathed in unison with Seiji, startled. As if controlled by the hand of an invisible puppeteer, we continued to move in a synchronised manner, turning to face the newcomer.

  The compelling presence of the onyx-haired man in front of us commanded attention, his unnatural beauty unleashing a sudden onslaught on the senses. His fine, two-toned attire, comprised of black silk and crimson velvet, emphasised the flawless pallor of his countenance, blackness of his long waves and luminosity of his garnet-coloured eyes.

  Master Revendi stood unmoving for a while, clearly allowing us time to get our wits about us. "Apologies, gentlemen," he said, raising his arm in a calming gesture. "There is no reason for alarm. I could not help but overhear my name. I dashed from the hospital pavilion to see how I could be of assistance."

  Hospital pavilion?! That's five hundred paces away!

  I exchanged a loaded glance with Seiji.

  Master Revendi's tight smile exhibited a frost-white glimpse of his elongated canines. "Healer Rūsu," he addressed Seiji, "I am told you dealt admirably with the spot of bother that occurred this morning. Please, do not let us keep you from pursuing your deserved relaxation. I hope your visit to the bathhouse delivers on all expectations."

  Seiji's cheeks turned pink. Knowing the cocky sod, it was more from the pleasure of receiving praise from such a source than from discomfiture. Either way, with such a send-off, he daren't do more than bow in thanks and take his leave. Before he walked off, he aimed a pointed look in my direction, which read What the shit is this about? and I'll find you and pester you until you spill the beans. I knew it well enough to sigh.

  The alchemist appeared somehow amused. "Would you care to walk me to the council's chamber, Healer Ẽkana? I do not wish to arrive late for the meeting. We could talk on the way."

  The pleasant phrasing aside, his request came across like an instruction rather than a suggestion. Without protest, I fell into step beside the vamper. As we strolled, I began gnawing on my bottom lip, feeling my confidence dwindle.

  Master Revendi kept up the conversation, likely in a bid to help me overcome my sudden reticence, "This past week, some trouble in the Ysêmyrian Guild required my presence. So I paid a brief visit to the capital."

  I nodded, despite myself wondering what must've happened that warranted the vampire's expertise.

  "While at court, I had the opportunity of working with your father. Not many Creators about these days, and certainly not quite like himself. A rare and strong talent indeed."

  I suppressed a grimace. If Revendi was attempting to put me at ease, he sure went about it the worst way possible.

  The alchemist turned towards me.

  I replicated the movement, allowing our eyes to meet.

  "Which is more the pity," he enunciated, "that someone of such magnitude chose to pursue the path of the Emperor's arms race." A shake of his head sent a long strand of his hair over his shoulder. "And to think what having a Creator among the healers could achieve for the advance of medicine!"

  Surprise grabbed me by the balls. In contrast with his old-fashioned manner of speaking, Master Revendi proved himself quite a progressive thinker. His reasoning had my full support, of course, if only because of pointing up the importance of my profession, often snubbed by my more esteemed confraters. Yet I didn't anticipate an influential Guild official to criticise the Emperor's obsession with warfare and weaponry. Nor did I expect him to find fault with the actions of a high-profile Mage w
ho happened to be my estranged father. An odd sense of gratification warmed my insides.

  "You were not fond of Ysêmyr yourself, Healer Ẽkana?" he asked with a soft smile.

  I didn't doubt for half a heartbeat he figured out precisely why I hated every moment lived back home. "You could say that. The climate disagreed with me," I ground out, to a nearly inaudible laugh from my interlocutor.

  "In more ways than one, I presume," Master Revendi displayed the tips of his fangs once more. "I cannot say I blame you. Five days at court were enough to bring about a migraine. Or rather they would've been, if I still suffered from those. Mercifully, a lack of migraines comes as the main benefit of being a vampire." He stopped, tilting his head in indication of the door frame that came into view ahead of us. "Ah, but here we are. As much as I have enjoyed your company, Healer Ẽkana, perhaps it is time for you to reveal what you need my help with?"

  Recognising that my action couldn't be postponed any longer, I felt for the grainy texture of the parchment inside my robes. A dry feeling started at the back of my throat. "I've got an urgent request I'd like to present for Grandmaster Feninghan's consideration. I'm hoping he might agree to meet with me tonight." I turned over the letter in my fingers a couple of times before offering it to the alchemist. "Master Revendi, would you do me the kindness of passing this message to him? Along with a word of recommendation?" A long exhale escaped me. "I know you spoke up for me once before. I'd be grateful if you'd be willing to do so again."

  My words were met with a scrutinising look from his purplish-red eyes and a wall of silence. The letter remained suspended in my outstretched hand.

  I stiffened. Something about his quiet appraisal reminded me of being assessed and falling short of approval.

  A son of mine with no Magic of his own? Just a Spark? Impossible. Worthless. Worthless. Worthless!

  The sound of my pulse thudded louder and louder in my ears. My vision blackened at the fringes. I balled up my fist.