AN: warnings for swearing, dark themes, blood, etc. Sorry if this chapter feels a bit time-skippy. As always, this chapter is subject to rewrites at any time I feel like it.
Da nile is more than a river in egypt.
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Winds of Change Volume 1: The Oncoming Storm
Chapter 5: Consequences
“The strength one carries in their final moments is the strength of the God watching over them. So remain pious and devout, for the Divinity may choose to take you into their home, or give you a second chance in this Mortal Realm.”—Annals of the Divinity
“You’d be surprised what you can do while on the verge of death. But sometimes… there’s just nothing you can do to save yourself. At those times, it’s good to have friends.”—Unforseen Dangers of Adventuring
Agony. Spark’s mind was empty except for the burning pain. He was still in the broker’s house. His hands were pressed against the wound on his stomach, blood flowed sluggishly over them. So much blood had soaked him today, this time it was his.
Am I going to die? The thought should have brought fear with it, but instead brought anger. To die, like this. He didn’t accomplish anything. Carv-she would be ashamed of him. He was ashamed of himself. He didn’t want to die. He hadn’t forgotten that bastard’s smug words. If you’re strong, you’ll survive, huh. Spark already knew that, but isn’t this a little fucking much? He was irritated, even though he’d sworn he wouldn’t be as helpless as that time, he hadn’t been able to do anything to protect himself. The difference between them had been too great.
He tried to stand, but his legs wouldn’t move beneath him. Instead, he was forced to crawl, dragging himself towards the slightly open door. The small strip of moonlight was mocking him with its distance. He was going to die if his wound wasn’t treated, if nobody found him. He needed to get out of this house. He pulled himself forward, each inch an agonizing stretch. He didn’t even think of how he would get help once out the door, his goal was just to get there. He was lightheaded, and a traitorous little voice said it would be nice to sleep. A deep dreamless sleep, one he hadn’t had in over a week. It would be so easy. And it would last forever. He gritted his teeth, biting down so hard that it hurt.
The door got closer bit by bit. It seemed impossible that it had only been a few steps away, but he finally made it there. He pushed on it and it opened, revealing move moonlight. He almost sobbed in relief. Maybe if he just stayed in the doorway someone would find him. The border was arguably the best place to be for something like this. In the outskirts or the middle area, someone as bad off as him would just be robbed. His vision was spotty, and it was getting difficult to keep his eyes open.
He pulled himself forward another few inches. Ah, this is bad. He was still wearing the ring. He tried to wriggle it off. His hands were slippery with blood, so it came off after a few tries. He clutched it as tightly as he could in his hand. He didn’t want to lose it. A beautiful, empty blackness started to fill his vision.
I can’t stop here. I can’t let everything be for nothing. Spark refused, pulling himself forward one more inch. I can’t die so pathetically. I-I wanted to become stronger. Damn. If I had been stronger, she wouldn’t have-we could still be together. He could forgive neither his own weakness, nor the world that had taken her away.
As his vision faded, he thought he heard a familiar voice. Carver?
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He honestly wasn’t expecting to wake up, let alone wake up on something soft. At first he couldn’t figure out what it was. He opened his eyes and was immediately accosted by bright sunlight. It was midday. He slowly looked around the room as his eyes adjusted.
He was on a bed. This was a first for Spark. It was even clean. He had to take another moment to let that sink in. There was a sitting chair in the room, a heavily cushioned one. There was also a bookshelf, thought it seemed filled with more trinkets than books. There was also a bed stand to his left with a glass-real glass, perfectly clear and without distortions-filled with water on it. Beside this was a small pinkish object. It would be a while before Spark realized it was his ring, stained from blood. He would be told that it had to be pried from his bloody hands, and would see crescent-shaped scabs on his palm.
All of this was what Spark saw from only moving his head. His body didn’t want to move. He was so warm under the thick blankets. And whatever was cushioning his head was so soft that he felt he could sink into it.
Spark was snapped out of his reverie by voices and footsteps outside the door. The door swung open and a woman in a dark black dress and white apron entered back-first. She was obviously a maid, and she was carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming…something. Whatever it was it smelled good, and Spark’s stomach let its emptiness be known with loud growls. It reminded him of just how long it had been since he ate something.
He was concentrating so hard on the food and his empty stomach that he didn’t pay much attention to the girl. She set the tray on the bed stand. It was only when she spoke that his eyes darted towards her.
“I’m glad you’re awake, I was worried.” It was that same sonorous voice that he’d heard last night, the same voice he’d heard a few days ago.
Her dark brown hair was pulled back and her black eye had faded completely, meaning she no longer needed heavily caked on make-up. Her lips looked less obscene without the red paint, and curled into a smile they looked almost charming, if you didn’t remember where that mouth had been. The whore he met outside the broker’s house.
Spark immediately rose in alarm, thinking this was a whorehouse. It would make sense, soft beds and clean sheets to make the experience better for-. The pain cut the thought off there.
She immediately darted forward with a cry, “You shouldn’t get up yet! You’re badly hurt!”
“No kidding.” He didn’t want her to touch him, didn’t want her hands on him, and most of all, didn’t want to smell that musky scent that would remind him of things he wanted to forget.
She pushed him back into the bed. “I told you ‘a stubborn little bastard,’ knew that the playing nice was just an act.” It was the same voice, but it didn’t come from the maid. Spark stared at the second woman; she wasn’t dressed in a maid outfit, but something far more daring. A blue something that was similar to a nightgown, only it had a plunging neckline that exposed more cleavage than any respectable woman. It was also thin and half see-through in the light, but then it was never intended for the day. Spark suddenly felt dizzy. Twins.
He didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything.
“You shouldn’t say that about someone who’s been hurt. It’s obvious that the child is scared.” The maid said. Spark wasn’t scared. He was just… surprised.
“No surprise he got hurt, hanging out at that sort of place.” The whore who’d saved him turned to chastise him. “I told you to try this place instead.” It took a shocked moment for Spark to remember what she was talking about. He was in the noble’s house. The one that bought slave children and made them disappear. His stomach started to hurt for an entirely different reason from the stab wound and hunger.
“You?”
“Saved you? Yes.” She seemed smug about it, her lips twisted upward at the edges, he couldn’t help but feel the expression suited her better than the kindly smile she had sported last they met. Her eyes were too dark, had seen too much. A smirk gave the more mature charm that he doubted her identical sister could pull off. The maid’s eyes were far too soft and gentle.
“Don’t be rude, Sherry.” The maid scolded. The one called Sherry scoffed but fell silent. “Now,” the maid turned to Spark, “Do you remember what happened?”
Did he remember? How could he forget? That mocking grin of the bastard that stabbed him. The blood of the people Spark had killed. The cold numbness that had made him able to do what he needed to. The broker slumped against a table, Spark’s target taken from him. And most importantly, Carver’s death.
“I remember.” He said simply. He didn’t know what expression he was making. He didn’t know that his eyes had turned dull and empty or that his voice was flat. So it came as a shock to him when the maid’s eyes welled up with tears and she reached out for him.
He instinctively tried to move away from her reaching hands; but, constricted to the bed as he was, he couldn’t escape them. The maid wrapped her arms around him, making shushing sounds.
“It’s okay, it’ll be okay.” She had pulled Spark against her chest-as ample as her sister’s. Spark knew it was going to be fine. The world doesn’t stop for just one person after all. And he was still alive; he hadn’t bled out on the doorstep, so that meant the wound would probably heal.
“It gets better,” so why did the maid’s voice sound so heartbroken? “I promise.” Promise what? She continued to murmur such nonsense at Spark. He honestly didn’t understand her. Why would she make such empty promises? It was pointless. She slowly started to rock him like a child. It was demeaning, but Spark didn’t do anything about it. He didn’t know how to deal with a crying woman. Carver had never cried in front of him, he doubted she had cried at all.
He looked at the wh-other woman, Sherry, hoping she would remove her sister. She just smiled a little sadly. “It’s okay to cry, you know?” She spoke with more experience than her gentle sister.
What? Why would I want to cry? It doesn’t hurt that badly. The maid was still hugging him, and Spark remembered Carver’s arms around him, only from the back. He’d never been hugged like this.
And that thought opened a floodgate. Carver had been hard in body and in mind. She was all bone and muscles and had little fat to speak of, not like this soft maid’s chest. Carver had never looked at him so gently, had never said it was okay to cry. She wasn’t one to give comfort, but she wasn’t one to need it either. Even though she was tough on him, it was only to make him stronger and to make sure they both survived. Even though she made him work to exhaustion, she was always waiting for him. Even the lessons he’d despised had been for his benefit. He just hadn’t been grateful. That was probably why she got rid of him. Killing her murderers had been as much an apology as revenge.
As long as those two guys had lived, Spark’s hatred had allowed him to seal off these emotions. As long as he was planning their demise, or carrying out their destruction, Spark hadn’t needed to mourn. That was part of why he’d gone after the broker too, to keep these feelings at bay for a bit longer. Now that it was over, there was nothing stopping these feelings. Carver was dead. He had been abandoned. He had killed two people. He had almost died, been forced to feel helpless again.
Even though he didn’t want to be comforted, even though he didn’t want to be weak, he didn’t try to break the maid’s grip. He turned his face more fully into her breasts, so his expression wouldn’t be seen. He didn’t bring up his arms or cling to her, but he wasn’t pulling away.
He wasn’t crying. He was stronger than that. He would use them, these feelings. Use them to get stronger. To never be so weak. Strong enough that no one could look down on him anymore. Strong enough that he would never be helpless again. In order to never have these feelings again, he would become powerful. He wouldn’t cry.
Somehow, even though he wasn’t crying, her chest became wet. She clung to him harder, she was sobbing now as she rocked him. Spark didn’t make a sound. He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t doing anything, completely still in her arms. He finally took a pained breath. She didn’t smell like her sister, musky and overly perfumed. She didn’t smell like Carver, of sweat and dirt and last night’s dinner. The maid smelled like dish soap and clean linens.
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Spark spent the next few days in and out of consciousness. He had lost a lot of blood, and now he had a fever. During that time, it was the maid, Mari, who took care of him. She carefully tended his wound and fed him, though she let him clean and bathe himself after he insisted forcefully that she not to remove his clothing. It took saying that he was a boy and didn’t want a girl to bathe him to get her to let him, though it caused her to look at him sadly.
His rags, the outer layer of his clothing, had been removed. Discarded, he was told, because it was unsalvageable and covered in blood. He’d been reduced to wearing one tunic instead of both, and they’d been patched of the hole left by the knife.
When Mari had told him that he could stay as long as he wanted, he almost walked right out. Too bad his stomach wound kept him from doing much. He was too weak right now, and he had nowhere to go anyway, so he resigned himself to it for now. But as long as he was here, Mari said, he would have to follow her rules.
She was very demanding of him, only in a different way than Carver. Mari was always making him eat. She shoved rolls at him at every opportunity. She would give him broth and even spoon feed it to him if he refused it. He did refuse it for awhile. At first he hadn’t had any appetite. There was also meat, which Spark had very very rarely ever had. The food was too rich for him and left him with an unsettled stomach. Sometimes he would vomit afterwards, which only prompted Mari to feed him again. She also gave him healing tonics in order to help him recover faster, they were bitter, but Spark honestly took them better than the food.
She demanded that he washed himself before every meal and changed clothes every day. She even gave him more clothing to choose from. She also demanded frighteningly regular bathing and that he is in bed at dark. The last wasn’t much of an issue. It seemed he was always tired. The fever took a lot out of him.
She explained to him, when she was giving him broth or tending his wound or cleaning his clothes, about the house he was in. He was too tired to tell her to shut up most of the time, and besides, he could use any information he could get. Carver had always said that knowledge could be a powerful weapon if used correctly.
The lord’s family had once been very powerful, but was caught in a scandal that Mari didn’t detail. Since then, they had slowly lost their power, but had retained most of their wealth. Since they couldn’t be seen in polite society, they had moved here, where their movements weren’t monitored. The current lord was a good man trying to make up for his family’s misdeeds. His name was Lucent Falriun.
The three of them were working together in order to protect children, Mari had said. Mari and Sherry had been twelve year old children when they were sold into slavery, only Sherry had been forced into prostitution, while Mari had been bought by her master. Mari had a collar around her neck as proof. He had only demanded that she be his maid, and had never demanded anything else from her. He had even helped search for her sister, though they didn’t find her until three years later when Sherry became available to a wider range of clientele.
Sherry had refused to be bought, saying she was content where she was. That it was only a way to make a living and she’d rather not change her situation now. It was then that Lucent-master Falriun, she called him-had thought up a plan. Sherry would use her connections to find child slaves, the lord would buy them, Mari would nurse them back to health while Falriun searched for their homes or other places to return them.
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Mari was content with her current situation. Though her sister chose not to live with her, she visited, and Mari wasn’t the only slave Lord Falriun kept. There was a beast-tribe bodyguard too. Spark felt his hackles rise at the knowledge of another beast-man near him. But this one had dog ears; one of them was notched and raggedy. He had brown eyes that seemed honest enough, not mocking and full of amusement when he looked at Spark.
Spark didn’t like this place. Mari was too soft and gentle and talkative. He didn’t know how to handle her. She was also painfully idealistic. She didn’t realize the hypocrisy in any of her or their actions. She didn’t believe in slavery. Mari said that she was only a servant; she wore the collar and acted differently in public in order to protect herself. Someone without an owner was open game, she said. Not realizing that she labeled herself a commodity. She said their entire purpose was to end slavery by buying the child slaves. She didn’t realize that they were furthering the profits of slave dealers. Each slave they bought gave a dealer more incentive to get a slave of that type.
Once, when they went out together-not one of Spark’s better ideas-she tried to give him a collar like hers to ensure they went unmolested. To say that Spark had not reacted well would be an understatement.
Spark couldn’t help but feel that it was wrong to pay for someone’s life. Perhaps that was only because of his personal experience with the matter though. He was almost sold after all. He understood acting in order to protect yourself. He understood that sometimes people had to do things they didn’t want to. But she was so… naïve. She thought that the three of them would be able to save the world. Spark didn’t get it. They probably weren’t even saving half the children they bought. After all, if they just returned them to their families, they would probably be sold again. Families that sold one child either did it because they had too many, or did it because they couldn’t support themselves anymore. Putting a child back into that would only cause a repeat in the cycle.
As for the beast-man bodyguard of the lord, Doergan, Spark was interested in him. He seemed strong and Spark had decided to pursue strength. If he was here for any length of time after his injury healed, he decided he would learn from him. It may have helped at bit that Doergan wasn’t as talkative or as idealistic as Mari. Spark found himself desperately in need of some quiet time after being with her for too long.
He had changed his opinion about Sherry. Though her lifestyle wasn’t something he liked or approved of, she was strong in her own way. She used what she had in order to survive and help others survive. Spark wasn’t like that; he wouldn’t help random strangers at such risk to himself, but he acknowledged that it took a strong will to do it.
As for the lord… he really couldn’t deal with that type of person at all.
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Before he knew it, it had been 3 weeks. His wound was finally healed enough for him to move freely, but he was still painfully frail. The fever had taken a lot out of him. As he healed, he wondered when he would be kicked out, but Mari never seemed bothered by his presence and the lord was… well… like that. Spark decided to stay as long as he was getting free meals. He didn’t have any other place to go anyway.
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Spark hadn’t been able to break his habit of waking before sunrise. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to, for all Mari insisted that he should get more rest. Besides, before sunrise was when Doergan practiced. Spark made it a point to watch him. Members of the beast tribe were naturally stronger and faster than humans or most other mortals, beast-tribe that intentionally trained were a force to be reckoned with. Doergan was no exception to that. Though he didn’t seem as strong as the assassin Spark had dubbed Wolf, he was strong enough for Spark to see him as a goal. It was the only he had at the moment, since he didn’t have a means of pursuing magic.
Doergan did a variety of exercises, push-ups, sit-ups, and various twisting movements before using his skills on a practice dummy. The man would attack with fists and feet in a form of martial arts, and then he would use a sword. It was a short sword, designed for one-handed use. Spark, realizing he wouldn’t be capable of performing those movements as he was, made it a point to try to memorize them for when he was stronger, or at least less frail. He paid the most attention to the beast-man’s feet. The man moved silently and quickly and tried to minimize movements as much as possible.
Spark noticed, belatedly, that Doergan was intentionally slowing his movements so that Spark could follow them better. Apparently, the man didn’t mind being watched. Spark definitely would have been irritated if their situations were reversed. Doergan even, occasionally, looked at him with expectation.
It wasn’t until another week had passed before Spark became confident enough in his body strength to ask for training. Doergan seemed, while not quite pleased, receptive to the giving the training. He started Spark off small, only teaching him the basic exercises. Spark would slowly extend fists, palms, and legs and slowly retract them again. Then he would increase the pace until each move was like a strike, then slow down again. Spark would be exhausted after only this small amount of training, but he felt his body gradually getting stronger.
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It was after one such day of training, a few months since first arriving at the manor, the Spark was beginning to feel restless. He should be around nine by now, and couldn’t help but feel he wasn’t making progress.
“Distracted.” Doergan said. He was always blunt, and rarely spoke first. He also didn’t feel the need to respond to anything that wasn’t a question directed at him.
“Sorry,” Spark replied. He got back to practice. When he finished, he started to go inside. Mari should have breakfast made. Part of Spark hadn’t been able to get used to always having food available.
“Sword soon.” Doergan was looking at him, as though he saw through the impatience. Beast-men were like that, able to read someone’s intentions through body language, or even smell.
“Ah, yes.” Doergan was straightforward. He only thought of training and following orders. When Spark had asked him why he stayed, Doergan had simply said, ‘Owe lord. My life, his,’ and hadn’t elaborated further. He wasn’t exactly comfortable with the Human language, and didn’t know Elvish at all.
Spark went into the kitchen, and was promptly thrown out by Mari and told to wait in the dining room. Spark scowled, that meant he was eating with the lord. Sure enough, the lord was sitting at the table, a cup of tea in hand as he awaited breakfast.
“Good morning, Spark.” He smiled at Spark. Spark had, over the course of the last few months, learned to hate that smile. Not because it was malicious or gentle, but because Spark couldn’t read it at all. He would rather the guy glare at him, at least it would tell him something.
“Morning.” Spark scowled. Mari had also tried to drill manners into him, with only moderate success.
“How was practice,” the man asked, still smiling.
“Same as usual.”
“Doergan mentioned he might start giving you sword training soon.” He gave no indication of whether he thought it was a good thing or a bad thing.
“Yeah.” Doergan and Falriun knew about what he’d done the night they took him in. Not because Spark had told them, but rather that they guessed close to the truth and confronted him. He saw no reason to lie, and the fact that they hadn’t kicked him out had made him both suspicious and oddly grateful. He really didn’t like gratitude either.
“Hmmm. Still decided to follow that path? There are plenty of other jobs you could get you know. I can help you. You could get an education and work in anything you wanted.” Not this shit again. This happened every time they ate together. Doergan and Mari ate in the kitchen; Spark desperately wished he was there with them.
Spark was honestly interested in an education. He had decided that knowing things is just as important as having the power to do something about them. However, he didn’t want to be any more in this man’s debt than absolutely necessary.
Apparently his expression said it all because the lord chuckled wryly. Then he returned to his usual unreadable smile, “You can always change your mind.”
“That’s not what I want to do,” Spark wanted to achieve power with his own hands. He didn’t care about being trained, since it was ultimately Spark’s dedication to training that made him stronger. He didn’t want to rely on someone else. He didn’t want to be like Mari and depend on someone to keep him safe, he didn’t want to be like Sherry and need someone else’s money to survive, he didn’t even want to be like Doergan and devote his life to someone else. He never wanted to owe someone that much.
After that, it was a quiet meal. It left Spark feeling more restless than before. He wasn’t DOING anything. He didn’t have work, he didn’t have chores, he didn’t have to explore caves or catch dinner or anything else.
These thoughts led him back to Carver and their small house. He had the feeling that he was starting to forget hardship already. He was starting to forget what it was to be so hungry that it hurt. He was starting to forget how it felt to work until you bled and to get almost nothing for it.
He was starting to get attached.
He had just promised himself that he wouldn’t get attached to anyone or anything, that he wouldn’t care about anyone but himself, that he would gain power enough to make sure he never experienced those feelings again.
He left the house; the others didn’t stop his movements, though they did note them. He slowly walked back down the streets, deeper into the slums. His steps were lighter than ever. Not only was he physically stronger than before, he had noticed that the boots from Carver’s bundle had been inscribed with the rune for [Lightness] just like that bucket from long ago. When he remembered back to the night he had killed those two, it made everything more clear to him. The boots and the ring were the only things he had left of her.
As he walked back towards the outskirts, towards the place where everything had started, he noticed the beggars looking at him, the pickpockets targeting him. Not that they would get anything from him of course, he knew all the tricks and wouldn’t be fooled. However, he wasn’t surprised at their actions. He looked so much different in clothes that actually fit him, in boots even though they were too big. He was also not as skeleton-thin as before, though he suspected he would never be called burly. Either way, there was no way anyone would recognize him, not even Cy.
The outskirts were the same as he remembered them, dirty, poor, and desperate. He ended up back by his former home. He took a moment to observe it before entering. It didn’t look like anyone had taken up residence in it. Not that that was very surprising, it wasn’t in an ideal place. It was too far downstream of the big nets to guarantee a catch and too close to the rat-infested caves to give a sense of safety.
He pushed open what remained of the door. There was, of course, no body. Someone had taken care of that long ago. Spark didn’t want to think of that though. He looked around, he hadn’t left much behind, but everything he had left was gone. The rags they used to sleep on, the wooden bowls and utensils that Carver had painstakingly carved, the pot they used to cook in, all were gone. Spark sat in front of the fire pit for a moment. A few small sticks were still beside it. He picked one up, idly writing the Elvish and Human words for death in the dirt.
The restlessness, rather than decreasing, only got stronger. He wanted to do something. This place was a symbol of what he was; he couldn’t go back to it. He went back outside and started gathering more sticks, eventually just pulling down a few half rotted wood boards. He brought them back to the pit, and then used one of the bigger sticks to scrape at the bottom of it. The river muck that had been dumped in had settled and partly dried, but it must have been damped by the recent rain, he’d have to dig deep enough to find dry dirt before starting the fire.
The stick hit something hard and heavy. Spark didn’t really want to reach into the pit, remembering what had happened last time, so he just scraped at it. When it was obvious that the whatever-it-was wasn’t going to jump out at him, he reached down and pulled at it.
It was so dirty, the only thing that he could make out was the general shape. He slapped some of the dirt off of it, and it clouded the air in front of him. It was some kind of leather wrapped thing. His stomach roiled. He suddenly remembered one of the last things Carver had said to him, that she had dropped something, something important. She wasn’t lying to him. It wasn’t a ploy to get him bitten, or maybe it had been. Maybe Carver had hidden this thing in the pit with the snake so that anyone who went after it would be bitten. He wasn’t going to be blindly loyal, and he wasn’t going to hope that she was doing what was best for him. Nothing would take away the fact that Cy’s coins were in that bundle and that Cy had come for him.
This is what Carver’s life was worth. He couldn’t help but think it. He hadn’t wanted to know, but now that it was in front of him… He didn’t give himself time to dwell, he just hastily unwrapped it. It was a book. Books were practically unseen in the outskirts, but weren’t particularly rare in cities. At first Spark felt disappointed, until he looked at it more closely. It was small and had a binding of black leather, but that wasn’t what Spark cared about.
On the front, in Elvish, was the word for magic.
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AN: This chapter was originally going to be several. All the characters would have been fleshed out and expanded upon (yes, they do have backstories, just like Carver), however, these characters aren't super important in the long run and I am ready to start getting into the magic part, so... yeah, I cut their screen time. So sue me.
Btw, speaking of Carver, she actually had a very interesting backstory, what with being kicked out of her village and being forced to become an adventurer. Then she joined a party with Spark's real mom and they also had an interesting relationship, and eventually Carver ended up where she was. Spark doesn't know any of it, and probably won't ever know it, but I might write her story in the future. Though her death would become much more tragic if people knew her motivations for things. Of course, all of this would be after Spark does things like visit the elves and stuff. Spoilers. If no one is interested in it, it will remain my own private headcanon I guess.
Once again, it is important to note that the only thing YOU know about characters are things that SPARK knows about them. Ergo, you won't know everything about them unless I answer questions.
Next update: Unsure.
Questions? Comments? Ratings? All of these things help motivate me and help me improve.
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