It wasn’t Mea’s night to cook but her usual lessons with her son and crossbow were overlooked for the evening. A young cub could only learn so much in a day. Instead, she had poured a great deal of energy into creating quite the spread. Upon a long mahogany table, fine chunks of peppered steaks lay on a wooden platter, piled high with roasted salty potatoes. Surrounding the meat were various bowls of buttered vegetables still steaming from the pot. In front of each placemat sat a goblet filled with an expensive looking red wine. Aye, it was a fine meal indeed. Fit for a king. Above the meal, a crude wooden candelabra emitted a warm light encouraging comfort and Erroh felt very welcome. Mea raised her glass and toasted their guest while Tye, bested, took a few pieces on a plate and retired to his room to stare at his new broken souvenir.
Mea sat at the head of the table. Gesturing to Erroh to eat merrily, she cut up a few pieces and ate daintily herself while Jeroen attacked the vegetables with relish. Throughout the meal, they spoke of trivial things like the turn of the crop, the brew of decent wine, and the suggestion that the city’s economy was weaker these last few seasons.
Eventually, Mea just came out and asked.
“Why give the appearance of just a wanderer?”
“It’s quite difficult to get a card game going, when every opponent believes you can spit fire from your mouth at will,” Erroh replied between wonderful bites of buttered sprouts.
Jeroen laughed loudly. It was a great noise. “Don’t they know that only happens when we get truly enraged?” he declared.
Erroh smiled and began to relax.
“The old lies serve us well,” Mea agreed.
“In the first days walking, I wore my pride a little too openly, but I quickly discovered it brought more trouble than it was worth. So I decided to fit in like everyone else.” It was a half-truth. “I am line of Magnus.” That was the rest of the truth.
Mea stopped chewing. Her eyes flashed with excitement.
Jeroen was quite vocal in his approval of this revelation. “We’re in the company of some right royalty here,” he said toasting Erroh and his apparent royal ancestry. Erroh smiled, taking the jest on the chin. Most people, Alphas and lower, considered Magnus to be nothing more than a fierce barbarian from the Savage Isles, a brutal and violent warrior who’d stormed through the Faction Wars leaving ruin behind. To his vanquished enemies, this was probably a fair criticism. Erroh still thought him a good man, all savagery aside.
“I heard he had a son named Erroh,” said Mea. After a moment she added, “I’m sorry about Tye’s behaviour.” She hesitated as if she were to say something else, perhaps an apology about his mother Elise. There was no need.
“Let us hope Tye can learn some humility from today,” Jeroen said. “We hoped if any Alpha showed up on our land, we could let him thrash some sense into the boy.”
“And you did,” quipped Mea happily. “It was fortunate that you played the hapless wanderer perfectly. You had me fooled for quite a time in truth,” she admitted.
“I shouldn’t have punched him,” Erroh said.
“No, you really should have,” said Jeroen.
“It’s true, he’s a little shit sometimes,” agreed Mea.
“It’s good to see a young Alpha. There haven’t been any at the city for quite a time. You will have quite the choice,” Jeroen said lightly. He smiled but there was a little worry behind his warm eyes. Erroh wasn’t sure if this was a good or bad thing. What choice?
“He’ll have no choice in the matter,” hissed Mea. She held her glass out and dropped some pieces of steak onto the ground for her hounds and Jeroen took the apparent hint. Don’t say anything of the Cull. Apparently, there was a choice. Or there wasn’t. He knew so little. It was so fuken frustrating.
“You are here for the Cull, are you not?” she asked, just to be certain.
Everything in life led to the Cull.
“The Cull was great,” blurted out Mea. “Then again, it usually is for females,” she said as helpfully as possible. Jeroen snorted a laugh that could have been disgust.
“It’s not great for Alpha males,” she admitted. “But you will do fine. It’s not nearly as bad as it sounds. You will not die within. Like I said, the lies have served us well.” She went to say more but her eyes lit up and she changed the subject. “What word is there from the road?”
Erroh thought himself comfortable enough to reveal his last few days. He began where most good stories should have begun, the night he awoke to some thundering noise. His voice broke gently describing the horrors he’d seen. Terror, revulsion, and self-pity were simply not poetic enough for a good tale. A skilled bard or storyteller would shamelessly omit gritty truths in the telling, but Erroh included them all. Taking lives was no casual task either and Mea placed a comforting hand on his. It was a small maternal gesture but it was welcomed.
Cheer finally returned to the table, as the night turned to morning. Finishing the last of the wine and safe in the knowledge that the city would likely offer answers to the mysterious attack, Mea and Jeroen regaled the younger Alpha with their own stories from the road, wonderful humorous tales from when they were young themselves. Erroh sat silently watching them. Still in love, still mated and deep down, he desired something similar.
The following morning, Erroh became acquainted with a new beverage. He sloshed the contents of the cup around in his hands, its soft aroma in the steam catching his nose as he studied it.
“It’s cofe,” Mea said. “It will become your best friend,” she promised. It was terrible. He ventured a second sip. It tasted just as terrible.
“What is it made from?” he asked dubiously.
“Not really sure, it comes from beans but beyond picking it up at the city market, I’ve never seen a plant,” Jeroen said. His eyes glanced longingly towards the varying patches of crops. Perhaps a cofe farm lay somewhere in his future if no war was to break out.
“We’ve been buying it for a few seasons now. Since it first appeared,” Mea said. “It costs a fortune. There’s a lot of money to be made in exotic beverages,” she said thoughtfully.
“A man could rule Samara’s economy with the right exotic beverage,” Jeroen muttered to himself. Mea nodded absently. Maybe they had ideas above simple farming.
Whatever the reason, the cofe was disgusting.
“I hate it,” he said drinking it down.
The Master
They suggested he wait a few more days before walking the last few miles. Without his journal, he had miscounted how early it was in the year. The Cull began in the last week of every third season. It was either their hospitality or the overpriced beds in a ramshackle tavern. He chose their offer of friendship but he was loath to sit around idly waiting for boredom to sink in.
“My attack will come from both sides at any time Erroh,” Jeroen said grinning from across the sparring arena. He was strong despite his holding back. Erroh parried his next attack but still received another sharp hit in the stomach. He countered and hit nothing but fresh air as Jeroen danced away. I asked for this lesson, Erroh thought bitterly, looking at both swords in his hand. The two figures clashed for hours. A tangle of wood and limbs, and Erroh struggled terribly. At least he showed the watching Tye how to behave when being outclassed. Every time Erroh found himself sprawling in the dirt spitting blood and chippings from his mouth, he offered no complaint. Instead, he caught his breath, thought about what mistake he’d made, and invited the next attack. This offer Jeroen was happy to accept.
“My right hand just doesn’t want to help me at all,” Erroh said between bouts. It was not a complaint or an excuse. It was a request for an answer. They had sparred lightly with one sword at the beginning and Erroh had easily defeated the taller man but when Jeroen picked up a second, he had struggled to land cleanly. In any attack, Jeroen’s blades acted as both a shield and an attack. It was most impressive.
“Your father is an able swordsman. I expected he would have taught you how to handle a second sword
,” Jeroen said.
“I chose a shield as my second,” Erroh replied. His father had pushed him towards duel wielding but he knew that once he mastered that skill, Magnus would have pushed him towards the Clieve. His love was for the blade. The Clieve were something else entirely. It was the only thing both master and apprentice could never agree on. In the end, Elise had swayed her mate’s mind and it was something Erroh was eternally grateful for. You had to be a certain type of brute to wear such vicious weapons. Not to mention the need for shield bearers on either side at all times. Erroh was happier alone.
“A shield is fine against arrows but a skilled swordsman can use a second sword just as defensively,” Jeroen said, “but with far more efficiency. All you need is practice,” he suggested with a twinkle in his eye. “About a year of sparring should do the trick,” he jested.
The painful lessons continued for the rest of the day. Tye was an excellent partner as Erroh strived to learn how to fight a new way. The child attacked with his usual vigour, driving his opponent back. This time however, Erroh was not controlling the fight and Jeroen watched on, quick to offer advice where needed.
For a few wonderful days, Erroh found himself in routines that he enjoyed. Wake up, work the farm with Tye, and then train brutally under the watchful eye of Jeroen. After dinner, sometimes armed with nothing more than a glass of wine and a deck of cards, he would laugh and mock the night away with the family of Alphas. Before sleep, he would venture to the far end of the farm, look north to the strange glow beyond the horizon and think about how fine a life he could have, were he to meet a female like Mea. Perhaps, it would be someone strong and passionate to compliment him. Then fearful thoughts would take his mood and he would slink away and find solace in dreamless sleep.
On the last night, she joined him at the wall.
“You should smile more,” she suggested. She startled him but he returned his gaze to the city.
“I find that when I smile, all females swoon, so I keep that weapon to myself,” he said lightly. Perhaps she made a point. He’d fallen out of the habit of smiling. He was very good at it, he recalled. A wolf howled from nearby. Its call was lonely, primal, and threatening. Somewhere beyond, a second howl filled the peaceful night.
“We’re the dominant pack here, they will soon pass us by,” Mea assured him confidently but her eyes watched the darkness, just in case. It was the hunter in her.
“Wolves can’t be trusted,” muttered Erroh, and another howl echoed from far away. The wolves were moving on as quickly as they arrived.
“It’s alright to be afraid of the Cull,” she whispered.
“Aye,” he agreed, feigning bravery and failing spectacularly.
“You are a fine catch, Erroh,” she said.
“I certainly am,” he lied.
“You will have no problem attaining a mate,” she said.
“I’m sure too,” he lied and she laughed.
He was terrified at any thought of spending an entire life with a stranger. No matter how appealing she could be. They would have to share food out on the road. And other things. He’d taken a life but he’d never actually attempted to create a life.
“Did your parents tell you anything of their Cull?” Mea asked.
“They told me nothing,” he muttered, shaking his head in frustration. If she wanted to hold him and say all the most reassuring things she could imagine, she made no attempt. Not that he needed such comforting. He was an Alpha after all.
“I just can’t imagine walking the road, hand in hand with another,” he said.
“I’m sure she’s just as nervous,” Mea said. He hadn’t thought of that. That this fabled mate he was destined to meet had real thoughts and real worries of her own. He had just seen her as nothing more than an ominous eventuality.
“Tell me something about the Cull,” he whispered. Something, anything.
“Do not lie,” Mea whispered after a few breaths. Though they were alone, miles from eager ears, her eyes danced from side to side as if speaking of the Cull would bring doom upon her household and line.
“As long as you are honest, you will find success,” she said. It sounded like a warning but then her face brightened. “I expect the highest of the lines will try to fight it out for you. It will be quite bloody,” she said. Her eyes ceased their frantic searching for eager ears and stared at him with delight. “Words will be spoken,” she whispered.
He didn’t understand, but he wasn’t going to interrupt.
“What do you really understand of the females of the city?” she asked. He knew about bloodlines, he knew about Alphalines, and he knew about a Culling. He shook his head, fearing that to speak aloud might stem the flow of her words. And she did not stop speaking. She spoke to him as though he were a child or an enthusiastic apprentice, the way his own mother had when teaching him the ways of the world. And, like his mother, she used the same careful tones, which endeared and educated at the same time, a skill they had both learned in Samara, no doubt. Oh, how he missed Elise terribly.
“Though there is nothing as obvious as a class system between the females, there is still an unspoken divide. All females are bound to earn an education within the great walls, but there are a select few who carry higher standing above all others. A privileged position within the city is a fine place to be, but such a place is not simply bought or earned through small deeds. It is earned in blood. In lineage to be exact,” she said in that wonderful, familiar tone.
He knew most of this already.
“The finer the heritage, the richer the bloodline. Such things are very important in a prospective mate. Such things are very important for the bloodline to continue and grow stronger. For our children to outdo us. This is why we Cull. This is why we are called Alpha,” she said. The wind began to blow and the trees above them began to rustle their leaves. It was a haunting call of loneliness only sounded when the world was darkest. The horizon appeared to grow brighter in reply. So close.
“When the son of Magnus and Elise walks into the Cull, it is likely you will attract some attention. Though remember, it isn’t a name which will win her heart,” she said, though her words sounded a little hollow.
“I was under the impression that a name like mine would not serve me terribly well among some quarters,” he said trying to disguise the irritation in his voice.
She nodded sadly. It was all she could do.
“What if I rejected this honour?” he asked. “What if I just go find a mate somewhere out in the wastes?” It sounded like a plan, and an ill-conceived one at that. Her sigh certainly suggested as much. Perhaps the Cull really wasn’t at all as bad as they made out. Perhaps a life of wondering what it could be had led him to a paranoia. Perhaps he really was a coward who favoured the simple life of solitude. Then again, was his life not perfectly acceptable as it was? Certainly, he had urges and bouts of loneliness, but there were ways to deal with such things. This close to the city, was he ready for a mate for life? And when it all came down to it, there was always the fear that he would fail. He didn’t know in what way he could fail, only that he could.
“You’ll find whatever you seek little one,” she whispered.
There were no tears the following morning though he felt a loss. Tye walked him to the edge of the farm, the younger Alphaline even offered a deferential bow as they parted ways and Erroh began the last stretch of his great march.
By late afternoon, he broke through the deep trees and came upon a well-worn road. Anxiousness and perhaps a little excitement drove him forward. He followed the road through mile after mile of dense forest and never realised how tired he was even when the ground at his feet turned from mud to rock. A few miles further and the trees opened up at the crest of a hill revealing the great walls of Spark City in the valley below.
They were ancient, like every remnant of the times before, but these massive stone walls were greater than any he’d ever seen or even read in his young life. They stood hundreds of feet high
, reaching deep into the sky above. A lone beast of grey rising up above an ocean of green and Erroh felt insignificant in their magnificence and in their terrible ugliness as well. Hidden somewhere behind them was Samara, the fabled city of light, home of the divine Primary and her daughters, in every sense but blood. He felt elated and terrified. His prize was so very near.
“It’s a big wall,” he muttered to the wind and continued walking down through the valley, which opened out into wide fields of crops. The many farmers working the fields of wheat or caring over the countless mounds of potatoes ignored the lone wanderer as he passed. They only cared about their field. Perhaps they were not impressed by a solitary wanderer of the road; perhaps they did not care if he was an Alphaline coming to claim a prize.
There was more than one path leading to the city. Erroh imagined it was symbolic that all were welcome from each faction of the world. Or else it was just an overzealous road builder, eager to earn a few extra pieces for a job excessively done. As it were, he took a fine cobbled path down alongside the “Great Mother,” where she flowed at her wildest, passing the city, and meeting a vast lake beyond before streaming out into a thousand channels, sating the thirst of the lands beyond. He’d heard many people suggest that from the city’s harbour, it was possible to sail a galleon to the edges of the world. If one knew the right route that is. He suspected this too was just another old lie. He’d seen few rivers on his travels capable of holding anything larger than a dozen handed barge. Nevertheless, the massive river did serve a purpose. Elise had explained the use of cylinders in the water, and a wonderfully sounding word called electricity, and he had nodded along with her, smiling his complete understanding and concealing utter bewilderment. She’d smiled knowingly; he was only able to fool her for so many breaths. She’d told him the river was a beast to be controlled and left it at that. Even now, watching a long line of massive wooden cylinders digging into the heavy flow, he felt just as lost. Their low humming noise suggested he could be no further from the reassuring silence of the wilderness. All suggestion of solitude was lost as the paths converged into one fine road at the front of the city where Erroh encountered many other travellers, who congregated loudly at the gates where guards dressed in black armour sorted them into wanderers, farmers and general traders with calm efficiency. Not that it was an easy task. Erroh listened to fine compelling arguments between soldier and lowerline as they challenged their value to the city. Curses, mocking and suggestions of greasing wheels filled the air. Erroh couldn’t help but notice they all shared the same desperate ambition of gaining entry to the city. Luckily, the guards in black were eager to help them on their way. At a fair cost of course. In truth, most were granted access, once coins were gifted. It was quite a profitable station. Those wretched few without a strong enough argument or the riches to gain access were denied the shifting metal scream of the city gate opening. Instead of returning to the wastes, they moved down along the side of Samara where a few other similar wretches scattered out between great wall and water. Erroh could see crudely erected tents and shacks lined up unsteadily and he felt a sense of sympathy for these unwanted exiles. For whatever reason they had walked to the city, they now found themselves unwanted. Worse than that, they were simply unnecessary. Regardless, nothing could be done for them, so he fell in line and waited for entrance.
Spark City Page 6