by Kyle Prue
Saewulf clucked his tongue. “Those are terrible last words,” he said, reaching out to crush Jonathan’s neck. Lilly screamed.
“And for that disobeyed order,” Jonathan choked, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the grenade, “I am sorry.”
Lilly knew what was going to happen and had time to throw herself out of the way. Saewulf saw it a second too late, and all he could do was raise his arms to protect himself. “Goodbye, Miss,” Jonathan said, closing his eyes.
Lilly screamed as the grenade went off, consuming Saewulf and Jonathan and all the guards behind the gate. The deafening sound rang through the air and, in an instant, silence fell. The only audible noise was the crackling of the remaining embers and Neil’s wheezing. “Jonathan!” Lilly staggered to her feet and tried to run back. Darius got up and dragged her away from the gate. When he set her down next to Neil, she collapsed into a heap and sobbed.
Neil looked helplessly at the sobbing girl. He met Bianca’s eyes but she just shook her head, obviously also at a loss for how to comfort Lilly. Instead he turned his head away from her and looked out over the horizon for the first time.
The vast rolling hills of green grass were illuminated by the full moon. This was the same full moon the teens had seen a thousand times inside the city, but somehow out here it seemed brighter. Its light was strong enough to reflect off the lush blades of grass, so the whole landscape glittered as if the ground was adorned with the finest jewels. Layer upon layer of sparkling hills laid out at their feet, each one a little taller than the one before. And yet, the most unsettling, wonderful thing of all was that no wall interrupted nature’s flow. It was breath taking.
Neil sat staring at the hills with his mouth gaping. He was obviously lost in the beauty of the landscape. Lilly’s voice broke him out of his trance. “His ridiculous coat,” she said hoarsely as Neil remembered Jonathan. “He would never take it off.”
“We have to keep going,” Rhys said as gently as he could. “It’s only a matter of time before they open the gate and come after us. We need to be far away by then.”
Lilly wiped tears out of her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “We have to press on. I believe that was what he would have wanted.”
Bianca started to put a hand on Lilly’s shoulder, but thought better of it. She turned to Neil instead. “Where do we go from here?” she asked. The landscape was vaster than anything they had ever known.
Neil pulled his hood over his head and pointed out into the distance. “We move forward,” he decided. “Wherever that may be.”
“Time to run,” Darius said, flexing a bicep experimentally.
“Yes,” Lilly said, rubbing more tears out of her eyes. “Hopefully for the last time.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
THE MARKETS
CARLIN FILUS
Carlin spat some blood into the street and stomped away in fury. He’d avoided the blast from the grenade, but it had caused damage to his army. Not to mention his gate. The heat had fused the door into the wall. There was no way to open it now. The brats were lucky this time, he fumed, but he’d get them in the end. As he walked, he thought about what was to come—telling his father of his failure. He would be scolded and possibly even demoted. His hatred and anger grew until he couldn’t stand it any more. He reached the nearest stone building, removed his glove and began to strike his fist against the wall. He felt his face grow hot as blood dripped down his hands and he screamed in fury. After a minute or two, he began to tire and slipped his glove over the bloodied hand.
He continued down the street, calmer this time. Just when he was exiting the markets and nearing the nightlife district, an arrow flew and embedded itself into his shoulder. It had been perfectly aimed so that it went straight through the chink in his armor. Carlin howled and ripped the arrow out of his skin. He whirled around, looking for the source, but the streets were deserted. “Who’s there?” he yelled, drawing his broadsword and whirling it threateningly.
A calm voice came out of an alley. “Seek out the families,” it said, “and the next arrow will be in your neck.”
Carlin stepped closer to the alley. “I’ll kill you for this.”
A man in an iron mask and a blue coat emerged from the shadows. He pulled out a thin sword of his own and leapt through the air. Carlin raised his sword to block but his hurt shoulder and damaged hand slowed him enough for the masked figure to gain an advantage. Carlin’s sword fell to the ground with a clang. He gasped and backtracked hurriedly, examining his surroundings for another useable weapon. “Who are you?”
The masked man lowered his sword. “You have been a danger to the one I am sworn to protect,” he said in a hard voice. “I advise you not to remain a threat any longer.” Carlin leapt for his sword but the masked figure was too fast. He brought his foot across Carlin’s head so hard that he saw stars. He tried to stand but the figure stomped his head against the cobblestone street. Carlin felt his nose crack. He remembered that he had a pistol in the back of his armor. He pulled it out and fired blindly at his assailant.
He lifted his head and, with relief, realized that his attacker had vanished. He was able to pull his damaged body off the ground and spat a mouthful of blood into the street. He exited the alley, limping and bleeding heavily from his nose. As he walked down the street in the opposite direction of the gate, he fumed to himself about how badly things had gone. If the Vapros boy hadn’t suddenly developed his advanced powers, the Empire would be sleeping soundly. He heard footsteps running down the street after him and drew his sword viciously. A small soldier raised his arms in fear. “What do you want?” Carlin roared furiously.
“We … we’re still digging through the wreckage, sir,” the soldier said quietly. “The emperor needs to be alerted of our progress. What should we tell him?”
Carlin sheathed his sword and exhaled deeply as he began to remove the armor covering his shoulder wound. “First, get me a doctor and prepare my convoy. Tell him we lost his psychic but we’re on our way outside the wall. The fugitives will die. I’ll make sure of it.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
OUTSIDE THE WALL
NEIL VAPROS
“How’s Lilly?” Bianca asked, staring at the rising sun in the distance. She was fascinated with this new world; Neil could see it in her eyes. After traveling for hours, they’d made camp on top of a distant mountain. They had taken turns staying awake to watch for any soldiers who might be following them.
“She’ll survive,” he said, sitting down next to her. “Darius and Rhys were both with her all night.” Neil thought about Lilly sobbing beside him when they escaped through the gate. He’d wanted to comfort her but couldn’t. They all should have been used to this by now. He had wanted to say something, to tell Lilly her servant was a hero, or assure her that the pain of her loss would fade with time, but he couldn’t quite form the words.
Neil glanced covertly at his comrades. Darius was telling some loud, ridiculous story about his drunken, teenage grandfather unknowingly taking home some cross-dressed man. Rhys was smiling and writing in a small notebook, only half-listening. It was obvious that Darius was trying to cheer up Lilly and, surprisingly, it actually seemed to be working. That’s brave of him, Neil thought. Darius was covering it well, but Neil knew killing his brother had seriously traumatized him. Darius put on a courageous smile and told a story about his grandfather’s drunken exploits.
“It’s easier to hate people you don’t know,” Neil muttered to Bianca.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “It’s just an odd feeling. Being here with them…”
Bianca nodded in understanding. Darius appeared to be nearing the end of the story because he was getting louder and Lilly and Rhys laughed out loud. Neil was curious about the ending, but something weighed on his mind: a Taurlum had killed Rhys’s mother, Jennifer had killed Lilly’s brother, and Neil, if he had completed that first mission, would have killed Darius’ grandfather, th
e very same grandfather who had mistakenly brought home a rather questionable date. That nameless, faceless target that Neil had been coldly assigned to assassinate was someone’s grandfather. Neil thought about the countless others who had been murdered: the centuries of hatred and senseless violence, with each family convinced their side possessed righteousness and justice. And yet, there they were, sitting and laughing in each other’s company. It wasn’t the end of the feud, and such hatred and meaningless death could never be erased in a day. Neil knew that. But it was a step in the right direction.
“And how do you feel?” she asked quietly. “About being out of Altryon, I mean.”
He thought about it for a minute. “Free.” He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the brightness of the rising sun. “And I’m glad you’re here with me.”
She smiled, eyes still trained on the sunrise. “I’m glad to be here. I’ll be with you until the very end.”
He looked down at her, and she finally lifted her eyes to meet his. “I’m very glad you’re with me,” he repeated quietly, and before he could think, before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned down to press his lips against hers.
“You’re up early,” Rhys said from behind them.
“Just watching the sun come up,” Bianca said briskly, but she was grinning. “Excuse me.” She walked away toward the others and began to gather her gear.
The ground shook as Darius rolled up into push-up position and began to pump his arms vigorously. He let out an exhilarated yell. “First day outside the city!” he grinned. “Let’s go!”
“So are we splitting up now, or are we going to keep this partnership going?” asked Rhys.
Neil looked at the group and noticed that they appeared to be silently asking the same question. “Why don’t we stick together until we find someplace to settle—some civilization.”
Lilly cracked her knuckles and sighed loudly as she prepared to stand. Her eyes had a fading redness that had been caused by all her crying. She picked up her sword and stroked the blade thoughtfully. “So, Captain Vapros,” she said, looking at Neil as she stood up, “what are we looking for?”
“A new place to call home,” Neil said, giving her a half-smile. She returned it.
“Then let the search begin,” Darius said. He trotted down the mountain and into the unfamiliar expanses.
For the first time in his life, Neil felt truly free—free from the city that expelled him and his family, free from the emperor that wanted him dead, and free from the feud that had consumed his life. An unfamiliar feeling settled in his heart as he led the group down the mountain. For the first time in so many months, he felt hope.
EXCERPT FROM THE FLAMES:
BOOK II OF THE FEUD TRILOGY
The Marksman admired his rifle for a moment and then checked to make sure that all of his pistols were in working order. He set his sights on the village a few miles below the mountain on which he stood. He glared down at the entrance to his target’s home with his incredible sight and patiently waited. Sean Beaton was his target. Sean Beaton was a former friend; a friend with a daily schedule. This made him an easy target, despite his extensive security detail.
After hours of waiting any normal assassin’s attention would have wavered. Not the Marksman though. He was always focused and ready for anything. That’s how his kind operated. Not only did they possess super human senses, but they also had razor sharp focus. Their brains functioned on a higher level, and they never turned off.
This was one of the reasons that the Marksman despised being around people. In nature everything smelled, felt, sounded and tasted like it should. People complicated things. They added spices to their foods. They perfumed themselves. They sang songs. They wore makeup. They denied the basic genius and perfection of nature. Even thinking about it made Victor nauseous.
Finally he saw the troops making their way through the streets to Beaton’s home. The Marksman double checked his weapons and stood from his crouching position. He smirked and proceeded down the mountain. It was time to make his living.
Beaton hobbled into his lavish home and threw off his coat. A guard picked it up and tossed it onto a coat hook on the wall, “All right, everyone. I’m going to sleep,” he grumbled as he started towards the staircase. “Keep a perimeter. Those Imperial bastards won’t repel themselves.”
Suddenly the Marksman leapt through a glass window and rolled into Beaton’s atrium. Before any of the guards could react or prepare their weapons, he was already drawing pistols and firing. He pulled two guns from the matching holsters at his hips and fired them into the guards at Beaton’s side. He quickly dropped the guns he was holding and pulled out two that had been strapped to his back. He quickly unloaded them into Beaton’s remaining guards and whipped out his prized rifle to off the final sentry.
Beaton gasped as he realized his entire group had been disposed of in less than ten seconds, “Damn, Victor. I know you’re killing for the Empire, but somehow I thought you’d leave me out of it.”
The Marksman lowered the rifle as he began to relax. “It’s not the Empire who wants you dead. Well, actually they will welcome your demise, but it’s the other arms dealers in the area that are paying me. You can’t sell to the rebels and expect the competition not to be savage.”
Beaton glanced around his home with a sentimental look in his eye. “You really have the guts to put a bullet in me?”
The Marksman drew a pistol from a holster on his chest, “Of course not,” he said. His eyes settled on the chandelier above Beaton. “I could never do that to my old friend.”
He quickly fired straight through the chain holding the chandelier up. It fell and crushed Beaton as if he were an insect. The Marksman didn’t even blink as he watched it fall. He then strutted over to his fallen weapons and began to reclaim them; he stopped once he heard coughing coming from the pile of crystal where Beaton had been. “You’re still alive?” he asked. Beaton replied with a cough. “I’m glad. I just remembered that I wanted to ask you something. When we met in Abington about a month ago, you stopped in a pub for a beer. Do you remember what the establishment was called?”
Beaton finally dragged his crushed body out from under the broken chandelier. “The Golden Mug?” he asked as he coughed up a good deal of blood.
“That was it,” the Marksman said thoughtfully. “Your breath smelled like rosemary, honey and citrus. I didn’t think much of it at the time.”
“So?”
“Those are some of the secret ingredients used in the Vapros classic beer. Most people wouldn’t be able to tell, but as you know, I have a very refined pallet.” An idea struck him and he mused to himself, “The road between Abington and Shipwreck Bay is also near Altryon. It makes sense that they might have hidden there.”
Beaton tried to stand but then flopped back onto the floor. “You’re going after the fugitives?”
“Yes,” he said casually as he reloaded his favorite rifle. “I’m not the only one hunting, but I’ve got something the other assassins don’t.”
“What’s that?” Beaton coughed.
The Marksman pointed his rifle and fired it into the back of Beaton’s head. “None of the other assassins are Lightborns.”
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ABOUT KYLE PRUE
Kyle Prue is an award winning author, actor and comedian. Kyle wrote The Sparks: Book I of the Feud Trilogy when he was just 16 years old. The next two books in the series are The Flames and The Ashes. The Flames will be published in April, 2017 and The Ashes will be available Fall, 2017. Kyle has spent the past year on a national book tour visiting over 80 middle and high schools and meeting over 60,000 students. Kyle is now a freshman at the University of Michigan studying acting and creative writing. Kyle is a popular keynote speaker at conferences and his assemblies are a huge hit with teens. To book an event, email Kyle at [email protected].
The Sparks has won numerous
national awards including Best Book and Best Fiction for Young Adults 2015. The Sparks was runner up for Best Young Adult Fiction at the Florida Book Festival and won Honorable Mentions at the New England Book Festival, Midwest Book Festival, Southern California Book Festival, and the International London Book Festival. Kyle also won an International Moonbeam Award and a prestigious Indie Fab award for Best Young Author.
Kyle is the founder of Sparking Literacy, a non-profit dedicated to lowering the high school dropout rate by inspiring teens to read, write and follow their dreams. You can learn more at sparkingliteracy.org.
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One more thing, if you liked this book, please leave a review. As a new author, I really appreciate your help to spread the word about my books. Thank you so much!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to acknowledge and thank the following people for their special contribution to The Sparks.
First and foremost, I want to thank my parents, Kelly and Steve Prue, for their incredible support and endless man-hours as early readers and editors.
Secondly, I wouldn’t have been able to accomplish this without the help of the editors who pushed me into endless revisions over the past year. Elizabeth Feins, who was spectacular at trimming the fat and bouncing ideas back and forth; Kelly McNees, for 14 pages of single spaced feedback that forced me to dig deep and mold the book into something I could be proud of; and Julie Mosow, who helped as a fresh pair of eyes and was able to give instrumental plot advice. I would also like to thank those who we were willing to give me advice and guidance in my initial venture into publishing. That includes Michael Neff and everyone at the New York Writers Pitch Conference who initially taught me about what it meant to be original and assured me that I was on the right track with this novel; my acting manager , Cinda Snow , who has always stood by me and who I hope to repay when I’m a big movie star; and Howard Schott for teaching me to put in every last bit of work and for inspiring me to love reading and writing.