The Spark (29 page)

“Not a worry Madam Sharpe.” The headmaster smiled.“One cannot blame you after your unfortunate…experience with Lom.”

“I would rather not speak of that, ser.” Her jaw clenched, agitated and embarrassed.

“Of course, of course.” Zehr reached for his wine, swirling the contents as he brought it to his lips. “But, did you really have to burn his cock?”

“You fight fire with fire, Zehr,” Rosemary stated with an edge as cold as a knife’s blade.

“Too true madam!” His laugh crackled the air in the room, sounding almost like a gathering storm. “At any rate, Syrah himself extends the most sincerest of apologies for Lom’s unruly actions. It would seem we gather a real
fanatics
.”

“Give him my thanks.” She said, once again feigning a smile. Rosemary despised the pyrokinetic Garius Syrah and his Imperial Order. She despised the hold this he held over her. But, they had her dearest sister, a fact that she was often reminded of.

“You can thank him yourself madam.” Zehr’s eyes lit up with excitement, like a child waiting to meet his favourite tumbling artist.

“Oh?” she asked.

“You see,” the headmaster began with eyes alight and a broad, pointed smile across his face. “Syrah is coming
here
.”

“Here? To the college?” It was an odd move on Syrah’s part.

“Aye Madam Sharpe.” Zehr finished his wine with a deep swallow. “It seems Syrah himself would like to treat with you.”

“And why is that?” Something about this turn of events seemed off to Rosemary. It was unlike Garius Syrah to want to meet in person. It was a risk, a big risk. He knew it and she knew it. Something was amiss, but what, she could not say.

“Why?” Zehr chuckled, rolling his pale eyes. “He is upset Madam Sharpe. This war was not meant to happen yet. He is not ready. Our funding may be pulled prematurely by the Syntar government and his other supporters so they can prepare their own militaries.”

“Are not your Order and Syntar more than financial allies?” she pointed out.

“Oh, that they are indeed.” Zehr admitted, leaning in his chair. “Syrah is no fool. The added might of the Syntaran military and our own numbers will be sufficient.”

The headmaster rolled his head side-to-side, letting his neck crack as he stretched the muscles and joints.

“The issue, madam,” he continued, “is his grand machinations are not prepared. The Order is under manned. We have not yet completed our greatest military inventions yet, and those that are ready are…well, like the Order itself, undermanned. Syrah needs the funding of our provincial allies to continue paying his own men, and, more importantly, to fund his latest and boldest military creation yet.

“If it were a war against the Order alone, there would be no immediate issue.” Zehr continued, leaning into the table. His voice grew sullen, almost like the calm before a storm. “Yet that Valvian, Margoux,
knew
about Syntar. The slimey bog-fiend knew and it is this in which our glorious leader loses sleep over. How, I ask, how did this Valvian know is the question on the hearts and minds of all involved?”

Rosemary sat quiet in her seat, playing with the corners of a red napkin on the table. It scared her to think Lucian Margoux had discovered secrets, such as the Order’s funding. What frightened her more was the fact the Order itself feared the implications of these recent events. They now realized they were not an impregnable force, hidden away until they are ready to spring on the unexpecting world.

“Perhaps your Order’s actions against Valvius became too close together near the end?” She suggested. “You hardly gave them time to let your attacks fade into obscurity.”

“No.” the headmaster stated. “No, it cannot be that simple.” Leaning back into his chair, he let out a long, shallow sigh. “If it were so simple, this war would have started months ago. No, someone with insider knowledge revealed us.”

Rosemary did not like the way the headmaster’s tone made her skin crawl. It seemed to her the man was implicating more than he was letting on.

“I would hope you are not referring to me, ser.” She said hotly.

“Oh?” His eyebrows rose, as if he were thinking as such. “Why is that madam?”

“I have been here, at the college.” Rosemary reminded him. “And your Order holds my sister.”

“It all means nothing.” Zehr said, almost beligerant to her protestations. “That husk of a kinetic dotes on you more than we would like. Perhaps you let slip information over tea. Or, mayhaps the lovely idiot Lom and his…over zealousness has given you desire of ridding yourself of us.” His sly smile returned as the headmaster coaxed her. “You see madam, there are many motives for the deception to fall on your shoulders.”

“I do not have to take this, least of all from you.” Rosemary rose from her seat, not caring for the flagon of wine she knocked to the floor in her haste to rid herself of Zehr’s company.

“First you people take my sister. Then blackmail me into providing information to you. This service is then returned in kind by one of your lackey’s forcing himself on me in a drunken stupor, and now I am standing accused of betraying your Order’s trust?” Rosemary shook her head as her anger fueled her words. “Tell Syrah he got his war. He no longer has need of me, or my sister. I am
through
helping him.”

Rosemary huffed across the small space to the chamber door. Her hands were shaking with anger as she reached for the handle. Without pause, she threw the door open wide, only to be greeted by Zehr’s two serving boys.

Each boys’ skin was pale as milk, a feature she had not noticed until now. Either boy had an expression as deadpan and devoid of emotion. Rosemary had not given the boys much attention during dinner, but they seemed to share the expressions common with simpletons or those unfortunate to receive a lobotomy. Even their eyes seemed rheumy, overcast, milky, and as devoid of life as the rest of their body. Rosemary noticed something else off about the serving boys, something so strange she surely thought to be going mad. It seemed to her the outer edges of the boys eyes betrayed a soft, blue glow from some source within.

“Madam Sharpe.” Zehr called from behind, his voice firm and reproachful. “I must insist you stay for dessert. We have much and more to discuss before this evening is out.” Rosemary was certain she felt her skin bruise under the inhuman strength of the serving boys as they snatched her arms upon the headmaster’s command.

“What is the meaning of this?” She protested through the discomfort in her arms. “Call them off Zehr. If it is all the same to you, I have had quite enough of your insults this evening.”

“Of course, madam,” the headmaster said through gritted teeth. “Boys, let the good lady go.”

At once, their grip slackened and Rosemary wasted no time in shaking off their icy fingers from her body.

“I apologize, Madam Sharpe.” Zehr sighed.

She turned to face the headmaster of the college. “Not as much as I.”

“This is true.” He agreed with that sly smile again.

Rosemary furrowed her brow, trying to understand his meaning. She had no time, however, to get far, for the air in the chambers crackled to life as Zehr rose from his seat, stretching his hand before him. A streaking blue bolt of lighting arced across the space between his fingertips and her body. The force of the electricity hitting Rosemary’s chest sent her sprawling into the corridor without, knocking the two serving boys down as she flew past.

The pain was incredible, terrible and frightening all at once. Rosemary had no control of her body as she lay in a convulsing heap on the cold stone floor of the hallway. Her lungs seared and burned as she gasped for breath. There was wetness between her legs, leaving no doubt the electrical shock caused a weakness in her bladder. Rosemary tried in vain to call out for help, but her muscles were not under her command. Only a weak gurgle of a weep emitted from her lips as she tried to recoup from the shock of the sudden jolt.

Soft, padded soles shuffling over the stone surface brought her attention back to the threat at hand. Standing over her were the two, pale serving boys. Zehr himself had joined them. He did not seem to care to watch for witnesses, wholly intent on his prize strewn on the floor. Little blue sparks rained from his finger tips, reminding her of the slow drip of a broken water pipe, albeit a very dangerous drip.

“You should never have crossed us.” He said.

Rosemary rolled her head to face her attacker, starting from the soft-soled electrokinetic boots, up his metal plated shins; to the intricate wiring, which ran from his groin to the square resistor unit on his chest. The headmaster looked every bit a daemon of old with his fine, white hair standing on end, wavering as the air filled with static electricity and his pale eyes alight with little arcing streaks of lightning.

She tried to protest, but all she could muster was a haggard, strained gurgle, which seemed to echo in the empty halls.

“A pity,” Zehr reached his hand forward again, letting fly another bout of electrical energy from his fingertips. “You served us so well, yet in the end you betrayed our trust; you failed your darling sister.” His voice strained to be heard over the cackle of the raw energy filling the air. Rosemary couldn’t hear his words though, for the pain seared her muscles and joints like an angry storm.

Then it all stopped. The pain ceased as quick as it began, even though her body twitched and convulsed as though she were still being fed the electrical stream. Except for her ragged, hoarse sobs, the corridor fell silent. Rosemary, in all of her pain, was surprised her heart had not given out and that she still drew breath.

“You’re lucky, Madam Sharpe.” Zehr’s voice sounded distant, even though he was so near. “You’re lucky I don’t kill you here and now for your betrayal. It is good fortune for you Syrah desires you to be breathing when he arrives.”

Through her fits, Rosemary noticed the headmaster had stepped near her face, kneeling low to look over her wretched body.

“But that does not mean you cannot be taught a lesson.” His feet disappeared as quick as they had appeared, just as a new wave of pain descended on her.

Rosemary hadn’t seen or heard their approach, but she certainly felt the familiar inhuman strength of Zehr’s serving boys bear down on her. Their blows hit hard and fast, gaining in intensity and frequency as each strike found a mark. For her sake, Rosemary was glad no blow hit the same mark twice. It was difficult for her to gauge the damage being caused, her body was weak, worn and battered by the electrical strikes. The sick sound of boot against flesh filled the stone corridors like some twisted, devils beat, calling forth a daemon of the nether.

Rosemary tried to be strong, despite the pain. Del Morte only knew how hard she tried. As time wore on, she became accustomed to the searing in her muscles and bones.

At least, until, the silent bastards found a soft spot, which would cause a violent release of collected static electricity. This sent a new a surge of wild pain through the courses of her body.

As she lay curled on the hard floor, weeping, bleeding, she prayed for a saviour; Rosemary prayed to Del Morte for some relinquish from the pain.

Then she heard it.

Tap-tap-tap.

It was the only sound in all of Wynne Rosemary had grown to loath, and now it came to her aid. It came in methodical procession, quicker than normal, sounding every bit like an ancient war drum. Somehow, hearing that familiar sound made the pain seem moot. Rosemary knew Del Morte heard her. She found a new resolve budding in her chest, knowing her ordeal would soon be over.

Tap-tap-tap.

Through her swollen eyes Rosemary watched the far corridor as an ancient pyrokinetic, the victim of so much of her disdain, appear from the darkened shadows. Julien DiMarco, the man known to shuffle bent and crooked under the weight of age, approached tall and proud.

Tap-tap-tap.

He said not a word as he came to a stop just shy of Rosemary. With a quick, graceful movement he adjusted his lenses at the same moment the serving boys broke off their assault. The corridor grew silent and heavy, as if the world held its breath. The two kinetics stood across from each other, with only Rosemary and the serving boys between.

“DiMarco, how glad am I you are here.” Zehr’s voice cracked in earnest. “This woman is a member of…”

“Of the Grand Council of Wynne, headmaster.” It was strange for Rosemary to hear the pyrokinetic’s voice as cold as ice. “I know, now, your loyalties ser.”

“Julien…” Rosemary pleaded, crawling her way across the stone floor towards her saviour.

“Lay still madam.” Julien said, never taking his gaze from Zehr. “This shall take but a moment.”

“Yes, madam, this will take no time at all.” Zehr echoed, moving into sudden action. His hands swirled into motion, generating a tight, wild ball of electricity between the dancing movements, all the while Julien remained still. It was clear to Rosemary her pyrokinetic saviour held some trickery of his own as he stood in the face of this adversary.

The hairs on her neck stood on end as the electrical currents in the air swirled and condensed between Zehr’s hands. She noted the soft glow she thought to have seen from behind the serving boys’ eyes was, in fact, not a hallucination, for the softness grew more vibrant as the static pressures built. Curiously, the boy’s twitched and fretted, at first subtle and slow, but growing far more pronounced the longer Zehr pulled electrical energy to him. Both of the serving boys’ faces remained as still as death, as if there were no discomfort at all.