The Spark
The Spark
First Edition eBook
H.G.Howell
The Spark
© 2014,
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Cover art by Ksenia Mamaeva
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Published by Glenbrook Publishing
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.
For my family
The corridors of the passenger cabin deck were tight and narrow, twisting like a maze in the belly of the wooden ship. Edward admired the rich red wall coverings with their embroidered floral patterns of a golden thread. The floor beneath was bare hardwood with a simple sage runner affixed down the center of the hallways. Dispersed intermittently were simple darkly stained tables, which broke the monotony of the winding passageway. Atop these trestles sat vases filled with eloquent bouquets of vividly coloured spring flowers. The walls were adorned with rich oil paintings depicting various regions of Wynne.
“Ye know son,” his father’s voice was soft, respecting the other passengers who were asleep in their rooms. “If the designers left these halls bare, passengers would become ill at ease, claustrophobic an’ more prone o’ becomin’ a problem – which ain’t the best thing t’ ‘ave here in the heavens.” His father said matter-of-factly. “No good ev’r comes from a panicked person causin’ problems fer good proper folk.”
“Papa,” Edward interrupted. “Why’s the deck shakin’ like it is?” He looked to the floor underfoot, straining to see if he could see the floorboards vibrating.
“That would be the cortex workin’ away, keepin’ us afloat.” He reached down and mussed Edward’s hair. “Ye must still be half asleep eh? Thought ye’d know that since them cortexes run ev’rythin’.”
“Oh,” Edward’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. Several moments passed as father and son navigated the inner confines of the Defiance. “Papa, how do cortexes work?”
“T’be honest son, I’m not entirely sure.” His father admitted. “All yer ol’ man knows is that some o’ them electrokinetic folk managed t’ somehow configure these cortex things t’ replace ev’rythin’ that came afore. I guess it is sort o’ neat if ye think about what they can do now.”
Edward was still confused. “What d’you mean ‘come afore’ papa?”
“Ye don’t know what came afore cortexes?” His father furrowed his brow. “Though, I s’pose ye wouldn’t, since they don’t start teachin’ ye science an’ history ‘till yer ten. Cortexes have been ‘round nearly twenty years longer than ye have been alive. Afore any o’ this electrokinetic inventin’, ev’rythin’ was powered by large iron furnaces an’ boilers – steam powered was what it was called. The steam power made ev’rythin’ work, kinda like the way the cortexes do now.”
“Even airships?” Edward asked. “Did airships have furnaces an’ boilers an’ steam an’ all that?”
A soft chuckle and a tenderly placed hand on Edward’s shoulder was the initial answer the boy received from his father.
“Aye, son, even airships were steam powered then.”
The corridor they were following came to an abrupt intersection, which branched left and right to more passenger quarters. Sitting directly in front of the pair was the base of a wooden flight of stairs, which ascended to the upper observation decks.
“Ye ready to see somethin’ amazin’?” His father looked down at Edward, green eyes aglow with excitement. With a slow, forced nod, Edward indicated he was ready.
In truth, he wasn’t. His heart pounded and sweat formed on his brow. Aside from the morning they boarded the Defiance, Edward had not gone to the observation decks. Deep down he was terrified of the heights he knew they sailed; he was mortified by the thought of howling winds blowing his small, fragile frame over the edge into the open abyss below. Edward never revealed this to his father, for he did not wish to seem craven. Instead, Edward had made excuses to avoid going on deck.
The first night had been exhaustion from the excitement of the trip and the full meal at dinner. The next had been airsickness followed by an evening to sit and talk with his father.
Perhaps it was guilt that drove Edward up the creaking steps, or, perhaps, he was simply too tired to protest. Whatever the reason, his little heart raced in his chest as the pair made their way onwards and upwards.
The pair took their time, taking it one step at a time. Edward’s knuckles were white as he gripped the guide rail. His stomach churned angrily. A small groan escaped his lips as the pangs of fear attacked his stomach. With a nervous smile, he looked up at his father who maintained a calm expression behind his salt-and-pepper beard. His father’s confident demeanor settled Edward’s anxiety, only a little, and for that Edward was glad he had his father by his side.
“Almost there,” his father’s voice held a comforting tone. Edward looked ahead and saw the upper landing, which was backed by a large wooden door that seemed to await their arrival. A soft orange light seeped through the cracks; setting the threshold alight in a dim, but radiant, glow. As they stepped onto the landing, Edward could see an intricately carved scene of an airship fleet soaring through the clouds on the waiting door, even though the shapes were difficult to make out in the low light. Sitting to the left side of the door was a polished gold door handle, fashioned in the guise of a maiden’s head.
His heart froze as his father’s hand reached for that golden handle which would open the threshold to the decks beyond.
“Here we go,” his father said, turning the beautiful device. The mechanical click of the locking mechanism releasing filled the small space like a booming bell. At that same moment, a gust of wind beat against the door.
Edward’s eye flared wide in terror as he waited for the door to burst open and the wind to carry him away.
“’Tis okay son, nothin’ will hurt ye.” His father said in a calm voice as the thrashing without died down. “Know that yer ol’ man would nev’r take ye some place dangerous.” With a smile to his son, he pushed open the door.
Edward shut his eyes tight against the sudden, blinding light of the early morning sun. A gentle wind played at Edward’s mussy hair and tickled his eyelashes. Edward took a deep breath, calming his nerves. With slow determination, he opened his left eye. The sunlight, though blinding at first, became a dazzling display of colour that reached over the Defiance’s deck. Another brief moment of blindness surged over his vision as he opened his remaining eye. As his eyes adjusted to the morning light, Edward’s father led him onto the waiting deck.
“Look at those clouds, they’re as big and fluffy as a pillow!” Edward said the dawn’s rays blanketed the endless sea of clouds in a soft orange light. His father patted Edward’s back with a soft chuckle, which could hardly be heard for the creaking wood underfoot.
Scanning the deck, Edward espied several taught tethers fastened to metal hooks around the deck. Each length of the three-inch thick ropes ran from the deck to some heavenly body above. Tilting his head back, he followed the length of a nearby support rope. On and on its course ran, ending high above. At its peak hung a massive canvas bladder filled with nothing but air. Just below the belly of the vesicle ran a steel catwalk that spanned the length of the ship. Lazing about on the walkway, several workers sat with their legs hanging out into the free air. Edward waved to a scrawny man who had raised a hand in greeting to him.
�
��Edward,” his father said. “Have ye noticed the deck an’ how it doesn’t rock t’ an’ fro?”
Edward hadn’t. Being in the confines of the ship’s interior, Edward had easily forgotten he was even aboard a ship sailing the skies.
“Wonderful isn’t it?” There was a deep softness in his father’s tone, as if he recalled some long forgotten time. “If there’s one thing yer ol’man can’t tolerate, ‘tis the way the ships o’ the sea rock with the water.” His father rubbed the bald spot atop his head with a gentle smile. “Follow me, son, let’s look out ov’r the world.” With a sweeping hand his father indicated to the edge of the observation deck where a raised section sprouted from the ship’s guard walls.
Edward hesitated for a moment, fearful that if he continued, a strong blast of wind would almost certainly send him hurtling over the edge. Seeing the confidence and excitement in his father’s eyes, Edward took the first step forward. Trying to be brave like his father, Edward attempted to let go of his father’s hand while also trying to give his steps a casual gait. Despite his best efforts, Edward simply could not find the will power to do so. With great force of determination, Edward took a deep breath and stepped onto the raised platform to look out over the sleeping world.
He peered out over the edge of the ship and watched as the whole of Wynne stretched out before him. A mist-enshrouded mountain range lined the eastern horizon; while far below the valleys and plains of the world came together like a quilt his mum would make. The sparse forests of this region jutted from the land in small outcroppings, giving the impression of that of green pillows upon a throw. Streams and rivers cut through the land like glistening veins that sparkled in the light as their waters ran their course. From these heights, lakes seemed more like silvered looking glasses reflecting the sea of clouds upon their surface.
“Beaut’ful isn’t it?” His father asked, leaning on the railing.
“Yes papa, it’s…it’s,” Edward paused, not knowing how to describe the sense budding in his little chest. “I feel like Del Morte watchin’ o’er the world.”
“’Tis easy t’ feel like that up here.” His father agreed. “D’ye know where we are Edward?”
“No papa.”
His father pointed out towards the lumbering mountain range. “Those there are the Mortimer Mountains o’ Gryk. They run down the eastern border betwixt Gryk an’ Ynoux. In days long past,” his father continued, “ an’ afore the great peace o’ Wynne, those mountains served as a bulwark an’ natural ward between the two provinces.”
“Why are they called Mortimer?” Edward removed his gaze away from the jagged mountains, looking to his father instead.
“Well, the story goes that the last man t’ die in The Great War was a Grykan sergeant named Mortimer. So t’ honor him an’ his kith, the mountains were given his name once the peace began.”
“Oh,” Edward turned back to the bleak mist enshrouded mountain range. Edward wondered if the story were true when a new thought occurred to him. “What’s on the other side papa?”
“Ynoux.” His father winked at him with a smile. “But I s’pose ye want t’ know a lil’ more.” Edward smiled as his father mussed his hair again. “So, going’ east o’er the Mortimer Mountains, ye get yourself into Ynoux proper. If ye go further east, ye’ll come t’ the great Eerie Wood; beyond the forest will bring ye t’ the Olympic coast an’ finally to the Oceania Olympia. If ye really wanted, turn yerself north an’ ye would come t’ the Ynoux capital o’ D’argent.”
“Papa, what’s the great Eerie Wood?” Edward asked, intrigued by the foreboding name of the wood.
“Ye don’t know what the Eerie Wood is?” A hint of surprise betrayed his father’s tone. “Don’t they teach ye geography yet? No? Well, the great Eerie Wood is only the largest forest in all o’ Wynne. It’s a forest o’ red pine, oak an’ elm that stretches from the far north o’ Ynoux and travels as far south as Lake Tepid in our very own province o’ Valvius.”
“Oh.” Edward tried to peer across and over the lumbering mountains, hoping to catch some glimpse of this famed wood. After several minutes of silence, Edward turned his gaze out to the west, where a dark string of clouds hung heavy in the morning air. “What’s that way papa?”
His father turned to see where Edward was pointing. “That way…” his father gritted his teeth. “That way lays Syntar.” Edward was curious about his father’s change in demeanor and wanted to probe his father as to why, but his father continued; “Son, the folk o’ Syntar are vile, corrupt, an’ more destitute than even us. They have a surplus population their province can’t afford, an’ they think the rest o’ Wynne owes them somethin’.” He spat a glob of phlegm over the railing. “They are a folk who blame the world fer their misfortune, but take no responsibility fer their own courses. A Syntarian is as like t’ befriend ye as they are t’ kill ye. If ye ask me, they’re jus’ jealous folk who like t’ bother the good hard workin’ families o’ the world.”
His father turned back to the eastern skies while Edward kept his gaze out to the west. In the distance, the dark clouds began to approach the Defiance. Edward thought he caught a glimpse of another ship hiding in the distant clouds, but was unsure because a shock of lightning disrupted the cloud cover. Straining his eyes he watched for several fleeting moments trying to see if he could catch another sign of the other ship, but it failed to reveal itself.
With a heavy sigh, Edward turned back and rejoined his father.
“What’s t’ the south papa?” Edward asked through a gaping yawn. “I mean...past Valvius.”
“Well, beyond Valvius, our neighbours o’ Pozo an’ Di Delgi sit in nice, warmer climes.” His father rotated slightly, allowing his weight to sit on his elbow as it propped his body on the railing “If ye go further than them, Grubbenbrut. I hear it’s a beautiful place t’ go an’ visit, with lush trees o’ a different sort an’ miles o’ marsh lands not yet explored.” He smiled“An’ if ye really wanted t’, just t’ the west o’ Grubbenbrut sits Driftwood Isle where all them kinetic folk live and toil.” His father waved his hand in disgust at the mention of the kinetic people.
All his young life, Edward heard tales of men and women who could manipulate fire, water, earth, and, of course, electricity. He knew most, like his father, viewed the kinetic people with a certain disdain, as they weren’t ‘proper people’. Edward also heard those who showed signs of this kind of power were sent off to a special college removed from the rest of the ‘civilized’ world.
“Papa, how d’ye become kinetic?” He asked.
“Oh, m’ dear boy, don’t they teach ye anythin’?” His father shook his head with a light smile. “One simply does not become a kinetic in the way one becomes a porter, a banker or a blacksmith. Nay, one has t’be born a kinetic.”
“They’re born that way?” Edward’s brow furrowed as he tried to process the idea of people being born into such wild power.
“Aye.” His father said. “Though many o’ ‘dem don’t know it ‘till later in life. Ye see, from the way I hear it, a kinetic is born good an’ proper – like us – but at some point in their life, be it young or old, somethin’ in their blood sets a spark. I’ve been told this spark puts ‘em asleep. An’ then, they dream.” His father spoke softly, heightening the tension of his tale. “When they wake up, they can control an’ manipulate whatever element they dreamt o’.” He gave Edward a playful wink. “Again, so I been told.”
“I wonder if I’ll be one?” Edward pondered.
“Ye don’t want t’ be one son.” His father’s tone was sharp and blunt.
“Why papa?” he asked, hurt by his father’s curt response.
With a sigh his father knelt to eye level and explained; “T’ be Kinetic means ye’ll be forev’r changed. Ye just don’t get t’ control elements willy nilly, oh no. The power comes at a cost. Too great a cost if ye ask me. One none o’ my family will pay.”
“What cost?” Edward looked into his father’s deep eyes, s
eeing only fear and concern in their depths.
“Whatev’r yer attuned t’ will affect ye fer the rest o’ yer days.” His father reached out and placed his hand gently on Edward’s shoulder. “Have ye ev’r met a pyrokinetic?”
Edward shook his head.
“No? Well ev’ry one o’ dem has t’ wear special lenses after they become attuned fer they see the worldly heat, which hurts an’ obscures their sight. The lenses they wear make it so they can see the way you an’ me do. Electrokinetics has t’ wear special suits under their clothes ‘cause they become livin’ conductors an’ would run the risk o’ being shocked by electricity all o’ the time. That is no way t’ live.” His father’s lips parted into a thin smile.
“Oh.” Edward said.
“Aye,” His father agreed, rising to watch over the eastern skies once again.
Despite being curious about kinetic people, being a boy of eight had caused an anxious stirring in Edward’s heart. It was as if the knowledge his father imparted on him had driven the excitement and beauty of the observation deck away. In its place, Edward found himself examining the dawn sky. For whatever reason, the boy found his gaze drifting back to the west where the dark cloud formation had grown in size and now rode on the wind towards the Defiance.
A low rumble issued from the approaching coverage as the silhouette of the hidden ship returned for a fleeting moment. Edward watched, curious, as there was no strike of lightning to generate the thunder. The wind started to pickup on the Defiance’s deck as the dark clouds grew closer. Edward’s fears of being blown off the deck returned, catching in a lump in his throat.
“Papa, can we go back?” Edward was surprised to hear how desperate his voice sounded as he tugged on his father’s trousers to get his attention.
“But son,” His father’s brow contorted in confusion as he looked down at Edward. “Ye’ll not get a chance t’ see a sight like this fer many a moon.”
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