The Spark (14 page)

“You Marcus Seyblanc?” the taller of the men asked as he brought an everflame lantern to a low light.

Marcus blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light. Still blinking he looked up at the man whom spoke. He was mid-aged and wore a fashionable mustachio that cascaded down either side of his face and his hair shone sleek and black in the dim light while a single, gold-framed lens sat on his left eye.

“Aye,” Marcus said after a minute of gathering himself.

“Good. Yer t’ come with us.” The shorter, but stockier, of the two men proclaimed. “tis time ye get taught proper ‘bout the Order.”

“I don’t understand.” Marcus admitted.

“Fear not lad.” The monocle wearing man said. "You will be learning more about the Order as promised – just not from here.”

“I still don’t understand.” Marcus said.

“They nev’r do at first,” the portly man said as he set to gathering some of Marcus’ things. “But by the end they always do.”

“Just know, lad,” The taller man said. “You have been selected to advance into our ranks proper. We cannot afford loose lips to discuss with lesser men what we are about.”

Marcus let the two men gather the things he would need before getting himself prepared for the departure. He realized he forgot to grab the letter for his parents as the two men in black uniforms led Marcus from the small room. He meant to say something, but the two men walked at a brisk pace.

No word passed between the men as they traversed the silent corridors of the former airship hotel. The shadows from the low-lit everflame lantern sent cascading shadows up the high arched windows of the halls. The angled corners and sharp filigrees of the masonry seemed to come alive as the little light source walked past. It was eerie and disconcerting, but Marcus worried more about where he was headed than about the dancing shadows.

The tall man came to a site concave hollow in the wall. Hidden behind a black tapestry was a shallow well in which the glow of moonlight protruded. They indicated for Marcus to crawl through first

The floor was rough and coarse against his knobble knees as he crawled through the small expanse. Beyond the confined space the fingers of fresh air tickled against his cheeks. Passing through under the far side of the passage, Marcus came to stand with the group of students that had all been chosen to proceed further into the Order.

The night air held a crisp bite to it that Marcus had not prepared for, but not wanting to seem meek he kept his discomfort to himself. Off to the east, where the tower stood watch, Marcus noted there was indeed a light feeding into the sky.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the mustached man said after he and the portly man joined the group. “I am Frederic Belmonte and this gruff little man with me is Gerwino L’Mare.” Frederic said, giving a curt a bow. “Let me welcome you officially into the Imperial Order of Wynne.”

“What do you mean? Weren’t we already members?” A woman asked.

“In a word, yes.” Frederic said. “In another, no.” Confusion fell over the assembled students.

“To all outside of the Order official, you were indeed adepts.” Frederic clarified as he brought the everflame lantern to a brighter burning. “The truth? This past month was really an elaborate way of weeding out those whom we felt held the qualities that we desire, and those who do not. But, before I spoil too much, let us continue on our tour.”

“What tour? We already have had a tour when we first arrived.” the same woman said. Annoyance flashed across Frederic’s kindly face, but he smiled and gave a simple reply,

“Have you now? Tell me then, what is the purpose of the contraption atop the spyre over yonder?” he asked as he pointed to the weather device.

“It is a weather machine.” Marcus announced, pleased he knew the answer. “It takes wind readings and aids in predicting weather patterns.”

“You are incorrect Marcus.” The matter-of-fact way in which Frederic spoke stung Marcus’ pride. “That is what our professors will tell you if you ask after it. The truth, however, is much more grand.” Pride filled the man as he turned to face the distant tower.

Marcus watched the tower as well, eager to learn its true purpose.

“Do you see the blue ray of light that feeds into the night sky?” The students murmured in agreement. “That light emits from a central cortex fueled, turbine mechanism from deep within the tower. It sends controlled positive and negative energies into the heavens, altering wind directions and weather outcomes. From that one location,” Frederic pointed proudly, “the weather in all of Wynne can be controlled.”

The tall man lowered his outstretched hand and turned to face the shocked expressions on the student’s faces. “Come, there is much to learn.”

Marcus fell in behind Gerwino as the group began the tour. He was surprised when the two men led the group towards the stone tower.

“Most of you have come to us from Syntar,” Frederic stated. “I am sure you are quite aware that, of late, the snows have been lacking. Our great leader, whom you shall be meeting shortly, grew up as a salt child on the streets of Malefosse. He knew the pains and sufferings of his people. When he returned to Syntar from many years of forced servitude, he had a bold vision – a vision for the future of Syntar and her people. We are that future.

‘Through our ingenuity and our drive to do
what is necessary,
we have created the
Steuerung
.” Once again Frederic indicated to the contraption at the top of the tower. “Our goal is simple; we will create a Syntar that knows no winter. The salt kin will suffer at first, but as our fields become supple and moist, they will be given lands to farm.”

Marcus was stunned by this revelation. He did not know if he should be proud and eager for the prosperous future that lay before the salt families; or if he should be angry and bitter over the difficulties this future has caused in the present. Marcus chewed his lip anxiously as, once again, he felt torn between the life he knew and the life he chose.

“The Imperial Order of Wynne,” Frederic continued as the party made its way over the stone walkways of the newly fashioned parade grounds, “has destined itself to create a world of possibilities - and opportunities - for man of all walks of life. However, it is not going to be an easy task.” Frederic’s tone dropped to a more serious level as the troupe came to the base of the tower.

Behind him was a simple oak door that was lined with little rivets. Upon the center of the beams a massive cog had been burned into the wood.

“As of now, the Chancellor of Syntar has provided the Order with the tools needed for our ambitions. She has pledged us unrelenting support in our most turbulent of times.” He looked at each student’s face, letting the seriousness of the matter weigh on each student. “There are those in the world who do not share our progressive passion for utopia. There are those stuck on traditions of antiquity. Sadly, before we are able to truly bring the vision for Syntar, and all of Wynne, to fruition, we must prepare ourselves for a looming war against our enemies.” Not giving his words a moment to set in, Frederic pushed open the wooden portal.

The door did not give way to an entry hall, but rather a descending stair. Dim orange light guided the way down, illuminating each step that fell into the earth. Anxiety built in Marcus’ chest, not really knowing what to think. Marcus had to remind himself that he had come to the Order for a better life, to be something more than a mere salter. Now he was learning the Order intended to provide that same future of possibility for all of Wynne, but at a cost that frightened Marcus. If being a soldier in war was what was necessary to bring about that future, then Marcus resolved to accept that fate.

Frederic was the first to descend the spiraling stair. Marcus wasted no time in following the mustached man, wanting to prove himself amongst his peers.

Each step brought the troupe deeper into the bowels of the earth. As he made his way one step at a time, Marcus kept his right hand firmly on the outer stonewall. The roughness of the stone helped give the youthful man a sense of peace in the claustrophobic environ. His heart beat wild with excitement, fear and panic as the imagined weight of the massive spyre weighed heavier on his shoulders the deeper he travelled. Just as Marcus thought he would lose his self-restraint to the building panic, his foot touched down on a solid landing of polished marble.

Frederic stood a few paces ahead, illuminated by the orange light of his lantern. Several minutes passed before the group was fully reunited, with Gerwino bringing up the rear.

“There is much and more we do here.” The tall man announced once the troupe was all in attendance. “We will train you to be resilient, resourceful and efficient. Some of you will find your skills tasked with mundane acts, such as being a gaoler or stewardship. Others will find their skills in the employ of our kinetic teams, ensuring their inventions work and are created efficiently. The rest of you will be trained as soldiers for the coming battles.”

Frederic looked over the assembled students, hints of pride behind his eyes. “All of you will be taught our core principals and procedures.” He said. “We will begin our first lesson now. Please, follow carefully. The floors of this structure can be quite slick.”

Frederic brought his lantern to a maximum brightness and led the gathered down a dank, dark corridor.

Mildew, must and filth intruded Marcus’ nose as they passed several heavy oak doors
.
It seemed to him the soft sound of weeping and despair lay behind many of the rotten doors. He did not think much of it, for he was certain it was simply his mind playing tricks in the gloomy tunnel. After several minutes of traversing the twisting corridors, Frederic finally came to a halt.

“Beyond this door, you will receive your first lesson. Do not hesitate from what is asked of you. Everything is for the good of Syntar, and of Wynne. Always remember, we do
what is necessary
for the future.”

Turning again, Frederic pushed open yet another door that was hidden by the darkness. As the door swung open, a dazzling display of bright light filled Marcus’ eyes. Even though he could not see clearly as his eyes adjusted, he could feel himself being ushered into the room. With several blinks his vision returned and he was amazed by what he saw.

In the center of the room sat a man who wore a simple linen shirt that exposed his chest. The man’s breeches were a deep, rich red and met with a high black boot. It wasn’t his attire that struck Marcus as amazing, but it was what the man wore on his face. Nestled upon a thin nose was a pair of the oddest-looking goggles Marcus had ever seen. The light of the room sparkled in the deep crystal lenses the contraption housed.

His whole life, Marcus had dreamt of meeting one of the much talked about kinetic folk. He knew every attunement brokered various physical disadvantages, but there was always something mystical about the stories that he envied. Now, sitting before him at what appeared to be a raised bath, was a pyrokinetic in the flesh.

“Greetings, and congratulations.” The man said with a smile. His voice seemed to dispel Marcus’ wonder, bringing the rest of the details of the room to light.

Littered amongst tall pillars and statues were dozens of naked woman being tended by covered, withered and bent crones. Marcus felt himself begin to stiffen at the sight, for he had the passions of youth and in youth, the beauty of a single exposed woman was enough to raise his lust; let alone a room full of women.

He noted each woman’s privates had been shaven clean, exposing their sacred lower lips to the world. The women did not try to cover themselves as the newcomers gawked at the women’s exposed bodies. Marcus also noted several of the women’s bellies showed signs of slight swelling.

“The first lesson,” the kinetic said, perhaps noticing the attention the nude women were garnering. “Is to learn to love your enemy.” He swept his hand in the direction of the naked women.

“Some of you may be wondering who I am,” he continued as he ran his other hand through a mane of stark white hair. “And to that I answer this; I am the founder of the future, the mentor of ages. I am a man that is doing
what is necessary
to bring about the changes our world so desperately graves. I am the head of the Imperial Order of Wynne. I am Garius Syrah.”

Marcus felt his breath catch as the kinetic rose and gave a sweeping bow. Marcus did not know how to act in this situation. Aside from his professors, Marcus had never run into a man of such esteem and worth. He felt himself bite his lip anxiously as Garius stepped towards the group.

“Behind me you will see women of our greatest threat and foe.” The kinetic stopped short from where Marcus stood, before turning his attention back to the assembled Valvian women. “Yes, each of them Valvian, rich or poor. There is a lesson here, like I stated, and you shall be taught on it more in the days to come. But know this, we are not monsters. We are people who believe in a world of perfection, and perfection comes at a cost. A cost many of us will have to pay before the end.”

With a nod to Frederic, Marcus and the other adepts were ushered away to their new sleeping quarters.

The rest of the night passed with no great fanfare, but for the youngest member of the Seyblanc family, the greatest moment of his life had come to pass.

T
he sound of wet flesh against flesh brought Katherine from the deepest of sleeps. Across the short distance of the prison cell, the silhouette of three men stood crowded around Katherine’s cellmate
.
Katherine shuddered as one of the men grunted as he reached his climax.

This was the norm for Katherine and the young woman, Belle. Every night, a group of men would come and have their way with the young beauty, often forgetting Katherine even existed. For that much, she was thankful. For Belle, on the other hand, Katherine’s heart went out to her. At first the younger woman had given a fight, protesting the nightly incursions. As time wore on, however, Katherine noted the fight left poor Belle as the young woman came to terms with her situation.

The man waited inside of Belle to give his seed the chance of taking before he withdrew himself. Katherine figured he was the last to have his way with poor Belle, for as he worked at lacing his trousers, the other two made their way for the cell door.

Katherine hugged her knees, pulling them close to her naked flesh. The sound of her movement brought the tallest shadow over to her. The familiar scent of onion and stale ale filled her nostrils as the man crouched beside her.

“Thought ye were sleepin’ t’night love,” he said with an unnerving softness. “I s’pose watchin’ yer friend get fucked must o’ got ye all hot like a bitch in heat.”

The man’s rough hands began searching her lower thighs for her womanhood. It was the same routine they played most every night. Katherine had learnt to feign sleep while the men came to ‘perform their service’. If she didn’t, the bald headed man would taunt her and violate her most sacred of areas with his callous fingers. Tonight she hoped against hope she had been silent enough to go with out notice, but clearly she had not.

After the gaoler took several dives with his fingers, the man licked his lips laughing and left the cell with his cohorts in tow. Like every night after the guard’s visit, Katherine shuffled over and wrapped Belle in her arms to comfort the younger woman. Katherine had never been a prude, but the stagnant smell of the men’s sex and sweat slowly began to repulse her. For Belle’s sake, Katherine tried her best to bury her disgust.

As Katherine lay comforting the younger woman, she began to feel motherly. It was not the type of mother role she had envisioned for herself, but at this point in her life, it was all Katherine had.

The hours rolled on, and sleep never came. All Katherine had for company was the young woman in her arms, and the throbbing pain in the back of her skull. For the most part, Katherine had learned to live with the discomfort, but there were times when the pain would be simply too much to bear. The worst of it seemed to fire up when she tried to recall anything of her past.

“I’m scared mum,” the younger woman admitted, pressing her cold flesh closer to Katherine’s.

“I know Belle,” Katherine said, thankful for the little warmth the other woman’s body provided. “What you endure is terrible. Del Morte shall smite these men, and their Order.”

“No mum – well, yes. But, I am no longer scared fer m’self.” Belle shifted beneath Katherine’s arms, turning her head to face the older woman’s.

Despite the darkness, Katherine knew her cellmate was trying to look into her eyes.

“Ye’ve been so kind t’ me mum, I don’t want to see ye go through what I have.” Belle buried her face into Katherine’s chest weeping uncontrollably.

Katherine was confused. She did not understand what Belle was trying to say. Pulling the younger woman closer as she wept, Katherine then knew what was happening. At first, Katherine had not noticed it, but now as Belle pressed close, Katherine felt something she never noticed before. There was the softest touch of firm, tight skin pressing against her hip. Katherine did not need to know what she felt; for she now knew the poor woman in her arms was with child. Tears of her own began to roll down Katherine’s cheek as the sad realization hit her. She pulled the younger woman in close, comforting herself as much as the other.

“Sorry mum, I’m terribly sorry.” The young woman said as she pulled away, wiping the pooled tears off of Katherine’s chest.

“It’s alright child,” Katherine lied. Belle shook her head in defiance.

“I jus’ don’t understand.” Belle said. “I don’t understand what this leader o’ theirs wants.”

In the dungeons, the only people the two women had a chance to speak with were the crones at the bath hall, and the men whom came calling every night. There was always a constant reference to a glorious leader, a man named Syrah.

For some reason or another, Katherine knew in her bones she should know that name. But every time she tried to think about it, the throbbing in the back of her skull would flare up, preventing the memory to rise.

Katherine did not know when, or for how long, she and Belle had slept. The sudden grinding of rusted hinges startled her awake as the warm rays of an everflame lantern entered the cell.

“Time t’ get up bitches,” a familiar, despoiled voice grunted as the same stale onion and ale smell wafted into the prison. “It’s time fer yer washin’.”

Rough hands grabbed Katherine’s arms to bring her to stand on the cold stone floor. Katherine was led out into the dimly lit corridor on the opposite side of her cell. Belle was brought out shortly after. Katherine greeted Belle with a sad smile. The swelling of the young beauty’s lower abdomen seemed exaggerated in the dim light.

Fear gripped Katherine’s throat, knowing her own nightly visits were sure to be near at hand.

As the party began its progression through the twisting dungeon towards the bath hall, Katherine noticed a new face amongst the men.

“I see ye ‘ave noticed our new man,” the bald headed leader said, clearly noticing Katherine’s staring eyes.

The man was young. His face showed all the signs of being a salter; long, sharp jawline, gaunt cheeks and a complexion as pale as ghost. Yet, Katherine detected the slightest hint of innocence about him.

“’Handsome chap aye?” The leader said, slapping the boy’s shoulder. “Boy’s name be Marcus. Part ‘o the new lot Syrah brought in the oth’r day. Lad will be joinin’ us t’night. Smart lad too, gots himself the tinkerin’ hands.” His rough hand patted the boy on the shoulder again.

The soft footfalls of the women’s naked feet intermingled with the heavy scrapes of the booted men. Katherine couldn’t be bothered with the irritating noise, nor the idle chatter of her captors.

Hearing the name, Syrah, again sent her mind reeling as she tried to understand why it was seemingly important to her. Her skull screamed in pain from the effort, but Katherine knew she had to figure the connection. There was something telling her the revelation would somehow save her from the raping she was destined for.

Upon entering the bath hall, Katherine was ushered to what she called the shearing table. Her mound had, once again, grown too stubbly for the likes of the crones. As she lay upon the cool surface of the shearing table, Katherine noted Belle was whisked to a hidden room off of the main hall. Katherine did not doubt the crones were most likely examining Belle to ensure she was indeed with child.

When she was freshly cleansed of her womanly hair, Katherine followed a crone to the steaming waters of the bath. As she stepped into the scalding water, Katherine found herself trying to recall the significance of the name Syrah. She asked herself over and over again as the older woman’s boney hands scrubbed at Katherine’s body. Perhaps it was the intensity of the crone’s working hands, the heat of the water, or even the constant building tension in the base of her skull; no matter the reason, Katherine was hit with a sudden, terrifying wave of nausea.

Her knees became weak and lax as they gave out from her, causing her body to topple. Katherine tried to stand, but she had not the strength to be found. Just as quick as she fell, Katherine found herself submerged in the steaming waters of the bath. Panic coursed through her veins as she struggled to come to the surface again. With her body not responding to her pleas, she began to scream. No voice left her lips, only a cascade of bubbles racing to the surface of the water. The last thing Katherine saw was the long, gaunt face of the boy Marcus above the steaming waters.

“Katherine, don’t go!” The boy pleaded. “Stay with me, we can run away and get married. It will be how we always talked of.”

His broken heart betrayed his composure as he faltered over every word. The boy spoke of love as some over ruling, whimsical force, like that found in children’s fables. Her heart yearned to give-in to him, but her reality lay in a pact made before she was born.

Katherine sat on a log looking down on the poor young man as he begged her to stay. With gentle hands she brushed the soft brown of his hair, trying to console him the way her mother would console her.

“You know I cannot,” Katherine said with the softest of voices. “It is my duty to go. It is the duty I owe my father, my family.”

“You’re father did not mean you well Katherine. You know this as well as I.” Anger laced the boy’s tone. “You have spoke long with me how he would mistreat you, much like he had mistreated me when I was child.”

The boy rose, sun glinting off the lenses upon his face, and turned his back on her. “You have confessed to me that your father saw you as nothing more than merchandise to sell to the highest bidder; or to one whom he would have gained much from. This marriage you run too is a product of your father’s desires.”

Katherine left the rough surface of the log and came to rest her chin on his shoulder. “I admitted such truths, yes. I will admit them to you time and again. But I do not come from your world where love is all that matters.” She stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“You mean the salter’s world.” The young man turned bitterly before her lips could grace the soft stubble on his cheeks. “I have grown in the care of your family for nearly sixteen years. I was but a child when the courts brought me here. I am as versed in your ‘higher’ society as you, or your thrice damned brother.” The boy adjusted his ornate lenses, seemingly to distract himself from his own, tumultuous emotions. “Love transcends every station in life, Katherine. One day, you shall love me the way I love you.”

“If you think I love you not, then,” Katherine’s lips quivered as anger and hurt boiled in her young heart.

All she was doing was her duty, and she had hoped he would have understood as much. Not being able to contain her emotions any longer, Katherine fell to her knees in a heartbroken wreck. She did not care if the soft morning grass and dirt stained her skirts. All she cared for in this world was the young man before her, yet circumstance was preventing them from pursuing one another.

“I know you love me Katherine,” he sighed trying to regain his composure. “It pains me to see you run off to another man for station and duty.”

“If there was anyway I could undo my father’s pacts, I would.” Katherine declared. “But there isn’t.”

“Go do your duty then.” He turned his gaze on her for the first time. The light of the sun sparkled bright from the crystal of his pyrokinetic lenses. Hidden behind the rich glass, his grey, sad eyes acknowledged the truth of the matter.

“Is that the way of it then?” Katherine asked, trying in vain to contain her heartache. “You would resign our final moments with such dismissal?”

“How else would you have it Katherine?” He threw his arms up, clearly frustrated. “ The woman I love is leaving for another, and there is naught that I can do or say to convince her otherwise.”

“This is why we don’t love.” Katherine proclaimed. She now used her own mounting anger as a final means of defense. “Love makes us weak. Love makes life complicated.”

“Love is all we have in this world Katherine.” Her love said, defeat heavy on his lips. “Love is what keeps us going. Not duty.”

“Duty is my world!” Katherine threw her arms up in exasperation. “Garius, why can’t you understand that? My world is built by the foundations of one’s duty to her family, where yours is built on the heart.”

Garius Syrah sighed. His grey eyes continued looking at her from behind his heavy lenses.

Katherine rose from the ground, flattened out her skirts and joined her family’s servant – her lover. She took his hand in hers and beyond the thick, Ynouxian crystal of his lenses and deep into his eyes. They stood for long moments, knowing this would most likely be the last time they shared such a private occasion. Katherine noticed the way his lower lip quivered with emotion. She gave his rough, working hands a tight squeeze as she let her gaze shift to watch the afternoon sun begin to crest the far rise.