Spark City

by Robert J Power

  “The males were slain and the women,” Erroh gestured to the fire. They nodded. They’d noticed the lack of females among the dead. They’d noticed the unusual mounds of ashes.

  “Very strange,” Steel twisted the meat again. He was no Alpha. An Alpha would be horrified.

  Silence but for the crackle of swine beast.

  “Your family?” asked Steel as if it were no small matter.

  Erroh shook his head. “I’m just passing through sir,” he answered in his most humble tone. As long as he was not a threat, they would leave him be.

  “Yet, you attempt to bury them in a mass grave?” Steel sneered motioning the spade still stuck in the ground. The grave itself was taking shape. It would hold a dozen but it would be shallow. It was better than being gorged upon by beasts, he told himself.

  “Aye.”

  Leather began to snigger, then went on eating. Smears of grease dribbled down his face. He did not bother to wipe them away. It was so easy to hate this man. Perhaps that was his intention. “I like the flavour,” he said letting food pop out of his mouth with every word. He stared intently at the half-cooked flesh. “The way the meat was smoked,” he muttered. He watched Erroh hopefully. He wanted blood. His fingers played at the pommel of his weapon. Erroh refused to react. Show them you are not worth it, he thought to himself. He sensed they too were eager to know what had occurred here. Until they were certain he had little information to offer there would be a decision to make on their part. To slit the throat of a young man in a dead town would be easy enough. To let him live would be easy enough too. Steel took the chunk of meat off the fire. He tore it free and threw the fallen warrior’s spear aside.

  “Females always make the best meals,” he joked, biting into his perfectly prepared meal. His eyes watched for perilous insult to be taken and Erroh felt a shiver run down his spine. Perhaps he hadn’t played these bandits well enough at all.

  “I need to finish the task,” he said quietly, climbing to his feet and walking off towards the grave. There was bile in his mouth but that may have just been the bitter retort he’d swallowed. This was no tavern, where charm and cheek were appreciated, or at least tolerated. He thought about the last brute he’d met in that tavern. What had his name been? It was a small matter now. That brute had shown warmth in his eyes. These two, however, had the look of killers.

  As the hours passed, Erroh found the going even tougher. His body was ravenous and his hands slipped on the handle while digging. He dug into the soft soil without slowing though his body ached. Dig, hoist, and repeat. It was a miserable mantra of movement and as darkness drew near, the mounds of dirt became plentiful and terrible. By nightfall, the bandits had procured for themselves a wandering cow, sturdy enough to pull an emptied vegetable cart. With the produce cast aside, all of the weapons from the blacksmiths now lay neatly in rows. They would fetch a fine price in the Spark, or some other settlement out in the wastes and the scavengers were delighted with their spoils. They stripped the pieces from the dead as well. They wouldn’t catch as fine a price, showing the signs of combat in their finish, but some diligent cleaning would clear most of the blood. They did not take all blades though.

  Erroh leaned over the little broken body of the boy. There was a fine sword still clutched in his blood soaked hand. There wasn’t a blemish on the steel, despite the many wounds dealt to its former owner. The bone pommel was simple, yet carved out with great care, and with a leather grip that felt comfortable to the touch. He held the piece in the air and its balance was excellent. The edge was as sharp as Mercy’s even though it lacked the decoration and age of his father’s blade. It was new to this world without any heavy history, and perhaps this is the reason he liked it so.

  “Thank you,” he whispered into the little ear, which would never hear again.

  The child’s armour was not a fit. All it had accomplished was prolonging the little one’s torture. The tiny frame had been unable to move properly under the weight and his attackers had known this. The fear he must have felt. The scuffs in the dirt told Erroh the tale of this battle. All of the town’s defenders were slain swiftly in a fierce charge, but the boy had endured a worse fate. Erroh could see the embedded footmarks in a circle around him. He imagined the show; he could almost hear their bloodthirsty cries.

  He closed his eyes, but he could see it all. Another set of far larger footprints had faced the boy. He must have fought so very bravely with the beautiful sword. He had no training. He had just swung wildly. The child’s killer had dodged and counter attacked with a flick of a blade across his face. Erroh wanted to wipe away the little tear stains, which ran down the young warrior’s cheeks; mixed with dried blood. Erroh placed the blade into its covering and strapped it around his waist. Then he picked up the boy and brought him to a bed where he could rest as a hero.

  “Work of Alphas, no fuken doubt,” Leather suggested, sitting down for the evening. He dropped a dried log onto the embers to keep them smouldering a little longer.

  “Don’t think any Alpha is capable of such an act,” Steel replied, sitting opposite the fire. One of his newly acquired axes lay resting in his lap. He teased the edge with a whetstone. Erroh sat at his kerb eating a scavenged piece of bread. He said nothing though he had quite a few opinions.

  “Aye but a pack of them, driven demented by their whores in mating season,” laughed Leather.

  Both of them laughed. Erroh just chewed. All conversations came back to Alphas no matter the company. If the wind blew too hard, it was an Alpha’s fault no doubt. If he told them the truth of all he knew about Alphas, they would just laugh and slit his throat. Or they would argue his points and then slit his throat. Erroh swallowed his bread. He liked his throat.

  “I reckon I could play with an Alpha whore,” smiled Leather. He twisted his sharpened blade and caressed it gently with oily twitching fingers. He was smiling to himself, lost in thought. “It would be fine times,” he added poetically. This time Erroh did laugh as he climbed to his tired feet.

  “You came into town with a fine looking sword.” Leather muttered quietly, rising effortlessly with him. So began the end.

  “Aye,” replied Erroh, his eyes flashed to Mercy still in its scabbard in the centre of the town. He’d left it there to make a point. From behind him, he heard Steel rise.

  “A boy like you has no need for such a weapon nor the new treasure at your waist,” Leather added. The meaning was clear. Surrender his weapons to them and they would leave him be. Steel grabbed his hammer.

  “I think it suits me,” Erroh said coldly. He backed away from both men. Around his waist, the child’s sword bumped awkwardly against the cart full of weapons. Leather drew out his sword and circled Erroh while Steel moved into range.

  “Don’t do this,” Erroh said. A last plea as both menaces closed in around him.

  “Close your eyes little one,” hissed Leather. Erroh bit back a witty retort. It was too late for charm to find a resolution. Leather leapt forward.

  He slashed his blade across the undefended chest of the young gravedigger who called himself Erroh. Instead of a kill, there was a blur of movement. His sword missed its target and the parry sent the blade down into the ground. He tried to swing a second time but his opponent stepped in and ducked under his attack. Erroh thrust forward violently and he felt his body twist as if he was nothing more than a plaything. The sword punctured through his leather suit and into his chest and suddenly he was unable to support his weight. The moving blur pulled the blade free and he fell to his knees. His vision darkened, his bladder released and he watched a fetching blade, swiftly embed itself deep in the face of his attacking comrade. Somewhere a hammer fell to the ground and a wet scream fell silent with it. Then something heavy crashed among some barrels a few feet from him. His mind couldn’t hold any thoughts beyond these last few breaths.

  Blood tasted in his mouth and he lay by the fire dying. He tried to breathe but his lungs felt heavy. They were filling up but he was not
near a river. His killer leaned down beside him and he tried to speak. To explain that whatever had just happened, was not how things were supposed to be. His voice left him and all that remained was terrible pain. He could barely feel the presence of the young man leaning over him, helping him on his way with a quick slice across his throat.

  Hunted

  Erroh managed a handful of steps before his body betrayed him. Somewhere between the grave and the freshly killed, he fell to his knees and began to retch violently. He replayed the fight in his head again. He had offered them a chance, had he not? This was not his fault. He held that thought, he held it tightly and then he locked it away. He wiped the bile from his lips and shook miserable thoughts from his mind.

  Though to sit in melancholy would suit his mood, he made a fresh fire for himself at the far end of the town and sliced some swine meat and set it to cook. Adding some onion and honey to the meal, he ate a second portion. His body ached from the day but soon the fire’s warmth comforted him with whispered suggestions of sleep. Instead of succumbing to necessity, he stripped his shirt off and scratched at the three little scars upon his sword arm. There was one for each regretful memory. Now there were two more to add. Steel had been a clean kill but Leather had left behind a spray of crimson across his shirt. Whatever would the female Alphas think of him if he presented himself in the city, drenched in blood? Perhaps they would clap, cheer, and demand to know of his prowess. There would be questions. He wiped his sword clean and placed the blade’s tip into the blaze and sat back patiently. When it was hot enough, he wrapped the middle of the blade in cloth leaving the exposed tip just below the third scar.

  “Steel,” he whispered and placed the sword down on his bare skin. The sizzling was unbearable. The pain wasn’t pleasant either. After a few agonising breaths, he lifted it back up.

  “Leather,” he whispered through clenched teeth. After a moment’s hesitation, he pressed the sword down and fought the scream growing in his throat. He knew the searing pain would pass. It was all about controlling it until it did.

  He pulled the blade away and muttered a curse under his breath. Staring at the cooling tip he took a few relieving breaths. The pain began to subside a little, leaving behind two perfectly acceptable welts. He held the sword out and studied it in the flickering light. He had taken two lives with it and felt a bond. He made a foolish oath of revenge on the perpetrators and then he christened it “Vengeance.” He thought it would make him feel better but it really didn’t.

  The following morning Erroh pulled the last body into the large shallow grave and covered up the twelve fallen warriors, sleeping now in the darkness beyond. He left the bodies of Leather and Steel where he’d struck them down. Let them serve as a meal for the carrion birds.

  He gathered himself, his belongings and prepared to depart. He left the cart of fine weaponry behind. The thoughts of profiteering from those he’d buried now disgusted him. The embers had finally burned down to nothing and the dust had already begun to take flight. In a few weeks, nothing would remain but the scorch marks on the ground. Strapping both blades behind his back, he gathered his belongings and left the town. The riders’ tracks accompanied him for a few miles until they followed a river west while he needed to walk north. After agonising over the decision, he followed his own path. The oath could wait until he settled matters in the city.

  The boar was fast. Most boars were but this one appeared to enjoy the thrill of the chase. Erroh enjoyed a good hunt himself. He crashed through the thicket in pursuit of the wild beast with bow in hand and all thoughts of the dead town were far from his mind. The boar had turned towards the sun and now charged effortlessly through the endless green. Clever little boar. It was harder to see through the cluster of leaves and branches with the sun in your eyes. Deeper and deeper into the quiet woods Erroh ran, eager not to taste defeat. He hated to lose. It went against everything he’d ever been taught. Sometimes winning was more important than attaining what the heart desired. He sprinted through heavy shrubbery with its sharp briars and rough animal trails and he’d never felt more at peace. His knee was strong, he was sure footed, and the Hunt was a fine way to spend one of his last ever days alone. Alas, the quarry took another sudden turn and Erroh lost it in the greenery. Slowing to a jog, he heard its hooves thunder off into the distance. He tried to be magnanimous in defeat. He still cursed the boar quite colourfully for a few seconds until he fell against a tree and took in as much air as possible. His entire body was drenched in sweat. His breathing a desperate panting, he dropped the bow and unused arrow. It had been a good run and a great chase for miles. He imagined the great boar would become a legend among its clan for surviving a battle with the great Erroh, line of Magnus. It would have its choice of many mates despite one tusk being slightly smaller than most. He opened his water tankard and drank the disappointment of the chase away. He should have taken the shot earlier. It was a small matter. He wasted some water by pouring it through his hair. He felt he deserved it. Cool and re-energised, he found a path and returned to his wanderings.

  From her hiding place, a tall female with hunter’s eyes watched him. She made no stir and simply waited to see what route he would take beyond his failed hunt. She had already loaded a thin bolt onto her crossbow. She checked the sights and watched the leaves for wind. She moved gracefully, at one with the canopy of green all around her. She thought him quite good looking and she thought him prey. Her eyes were blue and beautiful. She was wise and strong like most Alphas. She thought he had a strong walk, he was proud and from the way he carried two blades upon his back, she sensed his threat.

  Wonderful.

  She slipped between the trees, close enough to strike, but her padded feet were silent in each step for she knew the art of the hunt. He was completely oblivious to her. Silly boy. She enjoyed the chase for a few hours until he found a campsite and she seethed silently. Why couldn’t he have just walked a little further? It was not the first time she had stalked careless travellers. Her family would fret for her, though no more than usual, as this was the only real hunting she could do these days. She climbed into a tree and nestled herself in. Relaxing her head on her slim powerful arms, she sat and waited. He could take two obvious routes. One was a worn path, which would lead him to the edge of the forest and from there he could follow a road that led to the glow of Spark City. If he followed the stream, he would be walking on her territory. As he slept, she leaned back in her branch, whittling a thin strip of wood into something a little more deadly.

  The following morning, she watched him stretch, strip, and practice with his sword for a short time. He was skilled after all. This pleased her. Then he bathed in the stream. This pleased her more. Then he set off on his travels, following the stream. This did not please her greatly but sensing an opportunity, she dropped down from her branch and followed. She did not reload her crossbow. Maybe when she spoke with him, and looked into his eyes, she would know.

  “Little Cub,” a female voice called gently from behind and Erroh spun around and lost balance. He flailed his arms wildly and tripped on a root and ended up in a puddle of mud.

  “Cub,” the female repeated, ducking elegantly beneath the branches. He looked up and met her blue eyes and decided she was stifling a laugh. He remained in the mud and willed it to swallow him up. There were probably finer ways to meet a pretty lady. No, not pretty. She was more than that. She was beautiful. Her long dark hair was dishevelled and wild but it shone in the morning light. Her mocking grin from a shapely jawline was appealing. Her ears, well, they were nice too.

  “You’re talented with the blade,” she said, making a show of loading a bolt and letting the crossbow hang carelessly down her shapely waist. All parts of her were shapely. She wore snugly fitted leather trousers with a simple blouse that complemented her perfectly. She was regal, as though her bloodline was stronger than most. He could sense such things. Then she smiled a smile that could flatten any male. Fortunately, he’d already knocked
himself to the ground.

  “If you try to unleash either sword, this bolt goes through your teeth,” she said smiling.

  Such a lovely smile.

  “What a waste of teeth,” Erroh agreed. She was older than he was by at least a decade and the absence of fear on her face was disconcerting. She looked through him into his soul, if he believed in such things, and he recognised her for what she was immediately.

  “Am I on your land?” he asked and bowed his head. It seemed like the thing to do. He knew his place in the world and in that moment, it was in the mud.

  “Aye,” she replied.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “What’s your name little cub?”

  “My friends call me Erroh,” he said quietly. He didn’t grin.

  “That’s an interesting name, Erroh.”

  The Alpha turned from him and strode down along the stream as if their meeting was no great matter. Before disappearing from view, she turned and waited. Her eyes were burning in excitement. He scrambled to his feet and followed.

  It was incredibly rare for any Alpha to live so close to the city, and the forest seemed to fall silent in her magnificent wake. She wore her lineage proudly. Birds stopped their busy conversations, as she floated across the rough terrain. Especially the cooing of the pigeons, but that could have been the presence of Erroh. His fame may have spread in avian folklore. They walked a few miles through thick brambles and dense woodland. Wherever she had settled was not a journey easy to take.

  “I’m Mea,” she said suddenly. He thought it a fine name but said nothing. Alphas were careful in the company they kept. They took mates to create a stronger line for this new world. To make little attractive Alphas that would come of age and mate with other attractive little Alphas and so on. This one would have a mate no doubt. From her age, she may have had young cubs of her own. Erroh had never properly met a female Alpha of the city, and for once, he understood the mystique. She was refined, but she was very much the same as he.