Spark City

by Robert J Power

  “We have to go,” Wrek shouted. He dragged Sigi through the courtyard out into the nearest line of trees. It wasn’t a great plan but it was all he had. Get to the thin line of trees; figure something out from there. Behind them, the first rider appeared at the tavern’s outer wall.

  “We’re fuked,” Wrek hissed through gritted teeth ducking under branches. He still held Sigi’s arm roughly. “They’ll catch us here,” he hissed falling up against a tree. He took a deep breath and spun around looking for salvation. He couldn’t remember belting his scabbard but he was grateful that he had. He looked at the tavern keeper gasping for air against another tree and he wondered if leaving him behind was the smarter move. It probably was but it wasn’t in Wrek to do such a thing. “Not enough cover,” he whispered, searching and failing for the next part of the plan. Any moment now, the attackers would discover the inn was near empty and the tracks they left behind would be easy to track.

  “When they come, you have to run for it,” Wrek said unsheathing his sword for the last time in his miserable life. He kissed the blade for luck. May it take many of the fukers out before he fell. He heard the first troubling movements from the tavern behind them; loud voices with a foreign tongue and then a wet scream of pain before falling silent. The last few weeks had been bad for business but one traveller had arrived at the door the previous night. He’d been a nice enough wanderer, but not much of a drinker. He’d slept in the barn like most guests.

  “I have an idea. I have a place they won’t ever find,” whispered Sigi, this time grasping the shirt of the bigger man. They heard the crack of branches breaking as some of the Riders turned from the tavern and into the trees. They found fresh tracks and so began their hunt.

  Fresh fear brought wings to their feet and they sprinted through the green. They tore their clothes on brambles, scraped their faces with stubborn branches until finally a quarter of a mile from the tavern Sigi came to a sudden stop near a cluster of trees.

  “We made it. We can hide here,” he gasped falling to his knees.

  It was a bush.

  It wasn’t a particularly impressive bush and Wrek, deciding that the innkeeper had lost his mind, reached for his sword again.

  Sigi dug his hands deep into its leaves and pulled. The difficulty was in keeping the roots of the shrub alive and attached to the metal opening of the trapdoor. He hated farming bushes to cover the entrance to his brewery. An exhausting and usually a futile task but these roots were particularly strong and the bush had taken nicely. The hinges creaked and the trapdoor revealed its safe haven.

  Sigi slipped down into pitch-black, his feet silent on the steps cut roughly into the hard soil. Their every blind step led them deeper into the ground and Wrek followed without question. He could hear one of the searching hunters only a few branches away. He pulled the trapdoor shut. “Lock it behind you and don’t take a step,” whispered Sigi from the nothingness. Wrek kept his hand on the handle of the trapdoor. Above him, it sounded like the end of the world. Thunderous hooves passed above them and he held that handle as tightly as he could. It was one hopeful piece of shrubbery against an entire army. For the love of all the absent gods, stay strong little shrub.

  A spark was struck, illuminating the little cavern and Wrek saw the dim figure of Sigi bringing a second candle to life, and then another. He saw two little bolts at the hatch and he slid them across carefully.

  “It’s my little distillery,” Sigi said quietly from the bottom of the steps. It was rather impressive. It was at least half the size of the tavern and each of the walls were lined with sturdy red brick. Built to last. There were a few barrels lining the walls and the faint smell of sine was in the air. In the centre of the room was a large wooden table that held the distillery itself. Wrek tried and failed to make sense of the milliard of funnels, wires, tubing, and beakers.

  “Sorry about the darkness, can’t light too many with the trapdoor sealed,” Sigi said offering Wrek a seat at the table. There was still a breeze and Wrek spotted a small chimney at the far end of the room which led up to the surface. Its mouth was hidden in a tree trunk, no doubt.

  He sat down on the offered stool and sighed deeply. Above them vibrations could still be heard but it sounded as though their hunters had already given up the chase. In their defence, who would consider searching for two men under a bush?

  The innkeeper, ever fulfilling his sacred duties, took two small decanters from a shelf, unscrewed both corks, and sniffed the contents. Unhappy with one, he resealed it tightly. The second however he approved of and handed it across to Wrek. Wrek took a swig and passed it back. Breaking from tradition, Sigi joined him. His mind raced but the fear was already leaving him. They would ransack the “Nest” but the distillery was still secure and with it, the means to rebuild or indeed relocate. He took a second mouthful and grimaced at its almost but not quite perfect fermentation. Still though, he was alive. War was coming and war was good for business. He looked carefully at the giant who’d offered to sacrifice his life while giving him a chance to survive and nodded thoughtfully to himself. A strong ally to have for the places they would need to go.

  “What next?” Wrek asked, his eyes distant, his attention on a little flickering flame doing battle with the breeze. He didn’t want the candle to blow out.

  Escaping the City

  “You look a mess,” Erroh muttered, checking his pockets for some cloth to clean the mud and blood away from her.

  “I heal well,” Lexi replied trying to deter him. She was a mess. Excursions outside the city were apparently tough. So was the way of the young Alphaline in training. He wondered just how fierce the lessons were. Were they tougher than a life under Magnus’s eye? He wondered how many bones she’d broken already.

  “You’re still limping Roro,” she said, taking the rag he offered and daubing it against one of the scrapes. It did little good, as there were too many. It did little good to draw out a long goodbye as well.

  “A few days out in the fresh air will do me the world of good,” he muttered. His hands shook and he pulled them behind his back. It could be years before he would see her again. That was just how things were, he supposed. He reached over and hugged his sister warmly.

  “So you tricked a poor girl into keeping you?” she whispered leaning against the city wall.

  “Aye,” he replied nervously.

  “You have to protect her Roro. You have to let her protect you as well,” she warned.

  “Aye,” he promised, completely lost in thought.

  “I have to get back,” she admitted sadly. The parting of ways was hurting her as much as it was he. They barely knew each other but that didn’t matter.

  “You’re not staying to meet her?” he asked anxiously.

  Lexi shook her head.

  “I’ve met her before. And what type of idiot shares their first few moments alone with anyone else,” she said quietly. He could see the regret in her face. Lea was fine, but it was Roja she had always favoured.

  “Is she a good match?” he asked hopefully.

  “Only time will tell,” Lexi said and suddenly grabbed Erroh and hugged him once more tightly. She did not weep, though she shuddered a few times and let him go. He felt the tears threaten but he too held firm. He was Alphaline after all.

  “I need to go before I fall to pieces,” she whispered.

  “May the wind be at your back,” he said gently.

  “May the road rise to meet you,” she replied and she was gone. Would he ever see her again? Deep down where sorrow found a home, he had his doubts.

  As usual, Lea kept him waiting. There had been no trumpets announcing their coupling, merely a signature upon an ancient parchment with Seth as witness. He recalled her hand shaking just as much as his own. Her sweet smell of flowers and then with the drying of ink, he was mated for life. Even now, he was still in shock. At least Wynn and Lillium had spent an evening together before leaving the city together but Lea had gently insisted they meet the f
ollowing morning to depart.

  He closed his eyes against the morning sun and thought about his new mate. She was beautiful. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen and she was his. It didn’t matter that she was a nasty piece of work. What if she only mated with him out of necessity? Her standing was lower in the city than the rest of the females and he was the son of Magnus and Elise. A cold shiver ran up his back. Could she be that deceitful?

  Could she?

  When she did arrive, it was awkward from the start. She did not smile. Of course she didn’t. A smile would have helped but instead she glared at the ground as if it was an enemy to be defeated, while noticeably struggling with her pack strapped on her back. At least she was dressed for the road in simple leather garments, looking less extravagant but still annoyingly enthralling nonetheless. He was sure there were customs or etiquette upon meeting under the shade of the wall, but nothing came to mind. He thought of saying something reassuring, warm words to melt the ice and make them both feel better. He searched for something, anything. He noticed her hair. It was magnificent, with each strand pinned and styled to perfection. How many hours had she spent making herself pretty for the wilderness?

  Far too many hours.

  “I’ve been waiting for an age,” he muttered when she stopped in front of him.

  “I’ve lived here a while,” she countered and adjusted the backpack. “It took me a while to pack what I needed,” she said looking past him. She looked sad. She also looked irritated. He couldn’t decide. “We’re walking?” she asked. She sounded irritated. He decided she was irritated. That was fine. He had a lifetime to learn her mannerisms. He imagined there were warmer ones deep down beneath that spitefulness.

  “I thought it might be best to walk the first few miles, we can pick up a few mounts along the way,” he said sniffing. Maybe this princess was too good for walking. And perhaps for now, riding a horse with damaged ribs sounded about as enticing as a diet of pigeon and tree bark.

  “You know best,” she muttered quietly and he did not rise to the bait. This wasn’t the Cull anymore. Out here, he was king and she; well she was to be his queen. He sighed dejectedly and strapped his own pack around his shoulders before leading his glorious mate from the fabled City of Light.

  She walked beside him from the start. She studied the ground as though dirt and brush was new to her. Her laboured breathing in the burning heat soon began to grate on his nerves but he said nothing until they reached the crest above the city. She stood beside him and stared back at the city. She wasn’t to know that life on the road was far better. He was sure she’d learn swiftly. It would only take a few bruises.

  She knew it would be awkward once they were alone and she was right. This was probably a good thing, she reassured herself. She wasn’t sure her voice would hold up under the torrents of emotions coursing through her so she remained silent. She took deep breaths and tried not to think how monumental this day was. This was how it was. Her life had led to this day. She wondered why it hurt so much. The last few days had taken its toll and standing looking at Samara and saying goodbye was almost too much to take. She sighed loudly and shook thoughts from her head. It had all worked out, had it not?

  It had all gone to plan.

  It was a fine plan.

  “Do you need help with the bag Lea?” he asked from beside her.

  “I won’t slow us down,” she said defiantly.

  “You know best,” he said before turning his back and walking away.

  They travelled in silence for a few hours. Relative silence. She stumbled a few times under the weight and exhaustion. It wasn’t that she was unfit or unprepared for uneven trekking; she was simply out of practice. After a few hours when she was weary of the march and her breath struggled to catch in her lungs, he turned around suddenly and suggested they rest. As exhausted as she was, she saw there was barely a bead of sweat upon his brow. He looked irritated and she declined straight away out of principle. She was tougher than she looked.

  Erroh shrugged his shoulders and sat under the welcoming shade of a tree regardless. He left his pack to his side and enjoyed the relief in his feet. He closed his eyes and stretched his legs out gloriously. She could do whatever she wanted, he was going to sit and rest from the heat. He heard her move back towards him and felt her presence as she sat down beside him. She smelled of a sweet aroma that enamoured his senses. It was wonderful. Still though, harder to hunt, smelling nice. He would have to say it, when they were hungry. For now though, he kept his eyes closed. It was safer that way. He knew he was being a coward, sitting under a tree with eyes closed, hiding in plain sight from his mate but he was afraid to talk. Walking in silence was much easier. Brave Erroh, afraid of little Lea and her shapely figure. He listened to the forest, the chattering of birds, the sway of leaves and the gentle hum of insects. He didn’t miss the city’s drone in any way.

  Eventually after a time, he grew bold. He opened his eyes, to start a conversation. Wasn’t that the sort of thing mates were supposed to do? She had her head resting against her massive rucksack. Her cruel eyes tightly shut. She was playing the same game as well. That was fine. Small talk could wait a little while longer. How long would he be like this? Would he ever look at her the way Wynn had looked upon his Lillium? He reached for the metal flask and unscrewed the top. She stirred a little at the movement and opened her dark eyes. She was so beautiful, and there were moments when he forgot such things. She reached out for the flask casually. He passed it over in silence and she drank too much before handing it back.

  She let down her hair, then began tying it back up in a less extravagant ponytail. She’d spent an hour tying it up perfectly. She’d done it for him but he wasn’t ready to see anything beyond the events of the Cull. Was she ready to? Not at all, but it was a small matter. They had the rest of their lives to sort out their issues.

  “Your rucksack is too heavy,” he muttered, stretching his body. His ribs were beginning to hurt and they were only a few hours walk from the city.

  “I can manage it,” she replied lifting the overfilled bag onto her back. She shrunk under its weight and Erroh decided to make life easier on both of them. She wouldn’t last a hundred miles before burning out to nothing. He pulled the bag from her and dropped it on the ground.

  Enough was enough.

  “Your rucksack is too heavy,” he repeated hoping she could take his hint. Instead, she stood with irritated arms on hips. She was quite slow on the uptake. She also had wonderful hips.

  “I said I’m fine, Erroh,” she replied coldly.

  “You need to lose something in here,” he muttered and reached in to pull out the contents.

  “Don’t ever touch my pack,” she screamed. It was an effective tactic. He dropped the bag and raised his hands away.

  “You never touch a girl’s bag,” she roared again, grabbing it up as if it were a little defenceless cub. He started to argue but she moved to the other side of the tree and began slowly removing the contents while cursing quietly to herself. He didn’t understand what the problem was.

  Females.

  She removed the carefully folded yellow dress first and placed it on the grass, smoothing it out as she did. Then she removed a little metal box and put it beside the dress. He waited at least five seconds.

  “What’s in the box?” he asked curiously.

  “My things.”

  “Nice things?” he asked.

  She sighed irritably and flipped the lid. Inside were little capsules of oils, sweet scents, and small colourful boxes of different makeups. It was everything essential for a pretty young Alpha female, to remain pretty and young.

  “We’ll be keeping these,” he noted.

  She pulled out the book and ink and put them aside. Instinctively he reached for it and she snapped it from his grasp.

  “My journal,” she muttered.

  “I lost mine a while back,” he said, and thought about his own little writings, sunk in the bottom
of a river somewhere.

  “I’m sure it would have been an interesting read,” she said. This was good. This was easy small talk. She pulled out two pairs of shoes and placed them by the dress.

  “You only need one pair,” he said.

  She pulled out a third pair guiltily. After a painful internal debate, she tossed one pair into the grass.

  “And you can’t bring the dress either,” he said dismissively. He lifted the silk piece up for closer inspection. It was bright, yellow, and completely unsuitable for life on the road.

  She started to scream. To be precise, she started screaming at him. Wonderful colourful curses fit for any true wanderer of the road. Unprepared for the tirade, he took a step back lest sharp words turn to violent actions. He knew he’d said the wrong thing and it certainly involved the dress, but beyond that, he was mystified. Whatever the reason, she was insistent they keep the yellow dress and he quickly agreed. He was clever like that. He tried to offer a helpful suggestion for the walk forward.

  “You should wear the sword against your back,” he said carefully, pointing to the ungainly scabbard strapped at her perfectly shaped waist. “It won’t trip you the further into the wastes we travel. This is a fine path here, but there are plenty miles ahead over uneven ground.”

  She nodded but made no move to undo the strap. Instead, she pulled out a metal chest plate that was thick and sturdy. Even an axe would find it difficult to penetrate its body. In truth a fine piece, perfect for warfare but like the dress, completely unsuitable for the road ahead. It was far too heavy. He shook his head and her face flushed in embarrassment or annoyance.