Spark City

by Robert J Power

  “Well fought,” murmured Erroh offhandedly as the procession passed by. The champion nodded and made to walk on until he caught sight of some fresh game in the form of Lea. He stepped through his admirers and in truth stepped a little closer than needed to shine a dazzling smile in her direction. She returned the expression.

  “May I ask your name little miss?” enquired the longhaired cur.

  “Lea sir,” she replied in a high-pitched tone Erroh suspected was flirtation, a tone she’d never used with him, he also noted.

  “Gracious that was a fine victory,” she added enjoying his attempt at charming her. He had a sharp chin and blazing blue eyes. She liked the agitation on Erroh’s face at the champion’s advances.

  “Aye it was,” he said kissing her hand in his most agile move of the day. “I am Stefan. Champion of Keri and elite,” he glanced at Erroh and, unimpressed with what he saw, smiled at his quarry and gave her his most disarming wink. Erroh got the sudden urge to knock the silver-tongued charmer out cold. He began to count in his head.

  “You’re Elite? Wow, you must be an Alpha,” Lea squeaked excitedly.

  “I’m no Alpha my dear. I’m so much more,” Stefan declared.

  “I’m sure you are, Champion,” she agreed dropping the smile a little.

  “We’ll be sure to meet later,” called Stefan, fighting the pull of his many devotees every step of the way to the stage in the centre of town.

  “Oh aye,” replied Lea, sniggering to herself at some joke only she was privy to.

  Quig finished his ale and checked his whisker-covered face for blood. He was still pretty. The girl attending to him certainly seemed to think so. Emir left his safe haven by the tree and commiserated with the bigger man. They laughed and displayed war wounds as only best friends could, while the crowd cleared from the arena through the gap in the valley walls down towards the revelries in the centre of town.

  “Hard luck gentlemen,” offered Erroh, raising his mug to both.

  “It wasn’t our year,” said the big man clinking glasses.

  “It might have been if we’d been sober,” said Emir shrugging. “Wouldn’t have been as much fun though,” he added.

  “I’m the Quig and this drunken wretch is Emir,” he said beckoning the two Alphas to join them. “And this beautiful lass is Lara,” he said of the maiden bearing gifts of ale.

  “I am Erroh and this is Lea, we’re wanderers from the road,” he explained, and it seemed reasonable enough. Lea couldn’t help notice a gentleness in Erroh’s voice and his usual confident stance was less dominant.

  “He’ll never shut up about this,” hissed Emir, staring ahead at the champion walking with his followers.

  “I tried my best,” the Quig said shrugging.

  “You did great,” Lara said quietly. She cautiously took his arm in hers and once he didn’t fight the advance, took hold as though she would never let go. They were an unlikely couple to most onlookers.

  “You should have just leaned on him,” Emir pointed out. “I hate that pompous fuker,” he added and Erroh laughed. He liked this drunken fool already.

  “I didn’t want to kill him. Sure ‘tis Puk,” Quig said before punching Emir lightly on the shoulder. The gesture almost sent the smaller man flying.

  “Friendly game of cards later?” asked Erroh nonchalantly.

  “Aye,” said the big man. “I have plans for the now though,” he said allowing the female to lead him towards a side street away from the walking crowd.

  “You have to watch the show Quig,” warned Emir but any person knew that look all too well. The big man was tired after his day drinking and fighting. It was obviously time for a few hours’ “sleep”.

  “What’s the show?” asked Lea. Her voice was high-pitched and laced with fragility. Perfect.

  “It’s the reason for this festival,” said Emir, only too happy to answer her question.

  “It’s their own version,” called the giant disappearing down the side street.

  “It’s less fun to watch without Quig cursing all the way through and I probably have a few idiots with runny noses banging down my door. It was nice to meet you both,” Emir said before wandering off through the crowd towards the only badly maintained building in the entire town.

  “You really thought it a fine fight?” muttered Erroh as they made their way back towards the centre of town where the stage was now empty of musicians. Perhaps they had retreated to catch their breath and work on a new number.

  “I thought he was a fine champion,” she replied, enjoying his prying. “He had a fine look to him too,” she pointed out.

  Silence.

  “I wonder what else he’s a champion of?” she teased.

  More silence.

  She turned to him to kiss him on the cheek and to tell him she was playing but there was a tremendous ruckus as the grand champion of Keri was led on to the stage. He raised his victorious fist in the air and the Holy Mayor presented him with a rapier of gold. Its pommel decorated with emeralds. It caught the light and sparkled as he swung it theatrically to the enthralled crowd before bowing once more and clearing the stage.

  “Shiny,” whispered Lea dreamily and nudged Erroh’s ribs. “You could have won me that and it may have earned you more than a kiss on the cheek,” she added mischievously.

  “A sword like that is not fit for battle. No great warrior has ever been struck down with a golden blade,” he said and regretted his decision not to enter. And just what did “more than a kiss on the cheek”, suggest anyway?

  The show was a comedy. Worse than that, it was an historic comedy. The four actors took to the stage in saggy regal gowns. They were both grand and playfully eccentric. Each of the men represented the kings of the different factions. Their outfits were matching but for each a different colour. White for the snows of the south. Yellow for the dead lands of the far west. Blue for the clear sky in the north. The emerald green king of the east faced heckling and he gestured crudely to the audience, while at the side of the stage the Holy Mayor read from a theatrically long scroll in a comical voice, much to everyone’s amusement.

  “The history of the Puk that would be king,” he pronounced loudly.

  It was splendid pantomime, it was entertainment, and Erroh’s mood began to turn sour as all four kings danced around with swords, clashing and proclaiming themselves true leader of the world. They fought, fell, and laughed in their ridiculously coloured clothing and the crowd kept shouting for the northern king to win. Most, but not all.

  Eventually the stage became still and a female with a burning torch jumped onto the stage screaming, “End the cycle,” and all four kings shuddered and yelped before dropping to their knees.

  “They agreed to meet in the city under protection of the Primary,” continued Jeremiah gleefully as a stunning female clad in barely anything entered onto the old creaking stage.

  “The whore Elise was present, however, and she was to choose a king.”

  The crowd whooped and booed and screamed and drank.

  The girl posed suggestively at each of the four kings.

  “I’m not sure this historical recreation is entirely accurate,” whispered Erroh.

  Lea was silent though she was certain her mother in law did not dress nor act in such a way.

  “I will choose,” giggled the whore as each king dropped to a knee like before and promised her the world.

  “Who will I mount?” she said.

  “Who will I mount next?” she asked the crowd. They screamed their own particular political views. A drunken member of the audience nudged Erroh in the back in a “this is the best performance ever,” gesture. Erroh smiled in agreement but his eyes told something else. Regardless, the drunken man was appeased and returned to ogling the near-naked female on the stage who appeared to have made a very important decision.

  “Perhaps I will take them all at once as are our ways,” Elise decided, and many agreed.

  “But the Puk showed up with
a fine set of horns,” roared the holy man suddenly and a man wearing a goats head and a beige shirt jumped onto the stage with an impossibly long theatrical blade and attacked the emerald king who fell with a whimper.

  “Fuk you Magnus,” shouted another drunken spectator. Holding his sword in one hand Magnus mounted Elise to the mock horror of the remaining kings, the holy man, and most of the crowd. The three remaining kings danced around howling their disgust until the “Puk” ceased his act and the stage went silent. Released from his grip the girl fell at his feet and began to worship him.

  Fuk this town.

  “The Puk felt bad for he had done little to ease the tensions between the kings,” Jeremiah continued in a hushed voice. The crowd agreed and the mayor raised his hands for silence. “He met each king in turn to right the wrongs of his actions.”

  “I am not of these lands. I am but a savage. I will embrace the three remaining and war no more,” declared the Puk before comically sneaking to the first king and putting his arm around his neck in a warm embrace. The second hand produced a little dagger and struck down the figure in blue. He repeated the process to the rest of the men laughing loudly as he did. Some of the crowd roared in anger but all could agree that this year’s production was the best one in years. Elise stood behind Magnus and whispered in his ear while feeding him grass. He nodded and agreed with whatever she proposed.

  “I decree,” announced the character of Magnus, “that no king shall rule this land ever again. The world will be ruled by one man and that man will be me,” he cried out.

  Jeremiah silenced the mob and prepared for the great finish.

  “But thank God that the Primary saved us all from the Puk.”

  The female with the torch arrived back on the stage. Behind her stood two men in painted wolf masks. Their outfits were snug and as dark as night. She waved the torch in the goats face and Magnus and Elise cowered in fear.

  “The city will rule fairly,” screamed the Primary.

  “We will vote for the leader of the Spark or the Wolves will tear your pelt,” she decreed and the wolf made tearing pelt gestures. Magnus jumped up and down in exaggerated rage. The crowd booed, cheered, and drank even more.

  “You don’t need to see this my love,” Lea said gently and took his fist in her hands and led him through the crowd.

  Ace of Queens

  Lea struggled to keep up his pace. His heavy boots echoed loudly as they marched through row after row of identical homesteads of thatched roofs, wooden arches and freshly painted walls. He turned up a little side lane to escape the throngs of sweaty bodies taking delight in his tainted heritage, and cool air came rushing down from the mountain striking his face. He thought once more how well this town was hidden from the world. He kept walking until he met the river where the sounds of revelry were lost in the rush as it passed. A man could be sucked along in its current and never come ashore, he mused. She said nothing and just tugged gently at his hand.

  “Is that what you believe too?” he snarled, thinking of the show.

  “Are you okay my beo?” she replied.

  “My father is no betrayer.”

  “Aye,” she agreed.

  “My mother deserves far more respect than that,” he snarled.

  “Aye, she does,” Lea agreed placing her arms around his neck and pulling him in close.

  “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” he whispered loud enough to hear above the flow.

  “We speak a different legend in the city,” she said.

  “Thank you,” he said and left the riverbank to find the nearest tavern willing to gift up his payment for stay in the grand shithole of Keri.

  “It was a terrible performance anyway,” she suddenly quipped, and spat into the water dramatically.

  “I love you,” he said shaking his head before turning away, and she froze mid step. He said love. It was a strange little word with enormous ramifications. Her heart skipped a beat.

  “I love you too,” she said in reply after only a wonderful moment’s hesitation. The beautiful words carrying weakly in the wind were lost to him as he turned the corner and the sound of the festivities grew once more.

  What Cull?

  What river?

  As night drew in, the cool breeze of the mountain range turned to an icy gust. Rain fell upon the impeccable weavings of straw and cascaded like a thousand miniature waterfalls all around the empty town square. It was a terrible night to be out under the stars but inside “The Sickle, Star and Hammer,” the weather was just perfect and the sweet alcohol was alarmingly inexpensive. It was Erroh’s kind of place. The musicians had moved their little troupe into the corner of the large room. Thankfully, the actors were nowhere to be seen. The two-storied tavern was the biggest in the town with rich woollen carpets adorning its polished wooden floor in all places but the dancefloor. There were no empty frames to sing at in this dwelling for there were colourful paintings of tropical locations and fantastic landscapes hung neatly on all walls. Stained tables with deep cracks and deeper tales were filled with emptying tankards, flickering candles and huddled elbows and the pattering of rain outside was lost in the crackle of the raging fire burning in the corner where Erroh and Lea sat playing cards. In truth, Erroh was playing cards and Lea was losing at cards. She was good at it too.

  The scruffy Emir sat nearest Erroh and attacked his pint of ale with the same relish as he did with a sword. Drinking was a skill he was better suited to though. His hands shook constantly. Perhaps this was because there were a countless number of deaths he was responsible for. He did not think of himself a good man even though he was. He was good looking despite his unkempt appearance. He had a wicked sense of humour but hid his smile behind a miserable grimace of wretchedness, bitterness, and intelligence. He’d seen the city and lived there for a time though such a life had left his heart broken and untrusting. He did not like his hometown either, though there were enough reasons to stay. Most of them were at this very table. He looked at his shaking hands and willed them to stop. He imagined cutting into flesh with precision, and his hands became still.

  To his right sat the tall figure of Aireys. She was pretty and only a handful of years older than Lea but many considered her a little old to be unwed in this town. It wasn’t that she had refused all thoughts of marriage. She just never found a man that could hold her interest for longer than a night. In truth, it was more that the man she had always loved showed very little interest in seeing her for even one night. She was quick with her wit and quicker to show a kindness to those in need. Some whispered that she was the greatest fighter the town had ever produced and that was why she was destined to rule in the next elections. She was popular with all who engaged her but only Quig and Emir knew her best. Especially Emir.

  Quig shuffled his cards across from Erroh and grinned to himself. There was something in the air tonight. He eyed his two closest friends and once more resisted the urge to say anything more. Instead, he gestured for another round and placed a bet. He was doomed to lose but it was a small matter. Every moment played was a gift. Quig’s farm was a few miles west of the town beyond the roaring river. It had nice grassland with a healthy herd of cows and fields of wheat. Perhaps such a farm was why many females sought his hide for marriage despite his lineage. He was a consequence of the Faction Wars. He’d never known his blood family but his first memories were of older brothers and a wandering clan. He remembered loud roars of thunder, charging horses, smoke, and ruin and screaming. Then he remembered the wilds for a while until an elderly farmer and his wife found him and swiftly took him in. He’d had a wonderful childhood until inevitable age turned on his adopted parents, and though it was already the sixth season without either of them, he still missed them every day. He did not think himself an ample swordsman or fighter of any sort. In fact, despite his great muscles and fierce stare, he was gentle, kinder, and a great deal smarter than most people believed. He did not crave conflict like most Keri residents and found himself happiest
out in the fields with scythe in hand reaping his work.

  “No Lea, don’t raise again,” cried Erroh in desperation. Lea raised the pot and Emir laughed. Quig matched the bet and upon revealing his last card, took the winnings with a chuckle. Pretty girl, terrible card player.

  Above them in a private section, the champion of Keri stirred another outburst of applause as he raised the golden sword in the air to his entourage.

  “That sword is so pretty,” joked Lea.

  “I hate that fuker so much,” spat Emir.

  “Most of us do,” agreed Quig.

  Aireys said nothing. She took the cards and dealt a fresh hand. They all passed on the first round of betting apart from Lea who raised to nobody. Nevertheless, she did it with a delightful grin. Erroh sighed and added to her bet. The hidden cards remained unused. It was less sport when the company was so grand. Besides, through fair means he’d earned more than enough to pay for their lodgings as it was. He kept them safely in his breast pocket while the rest were for his beloved to squander with careless play. The smile on her face was worth it.

  “All in,” squeaked Lea.

  “Call my dear,” laughed Quig matching her bet.

  “Fold,” she replied after a moment and Erroh’s head dropped to the table.

  “More please,” whispered Lea, and Erroh dutifully split his own meagre stack and pushed it across the table.

  “Lara. Can we get a bottle?” called Quig above the noise of the room. The barmaid nodded and dared a quick smile in return. She dropped her current order and quickly went about choosing a fine bottle of sine much to the irritation of her previous customer. She was new to the skill of waiting upon drunkards but in the darker days ahead, she would improve.