The Spark (38 page)

T
here was a fierce chill in the air as fat flakes of snow fell upon the thick fur of Julien DiMarco’s coat. The faculty of the College of Kinetics encircled him in silence. He stood before the central fountain of the Garden D’Lune, its waters long frozen to the icy kiss of winter. Three angels of verdigris stained brass and copper huddled together atop the stone plinth. Julien put his weight on his cane, turning to face the assembled.

“I would like to thank each of you,” Julien began, voice strained with grief, “for braving the cold and snow this afternoon. I know many of you did not know Madam Sharpe as I had. Your being here has given me hope for Wynne.”

“Least we could do.” One of the terrakinetic professors said with gentle smile. “The Madam was more than just another person, dear Julien. She was the Speaker of the Commons – the voice of those who cannot speak for themselves.”

“That she was.” Julien allowed himself a smile. It was weak, pitiful even, but it was a smile nonetheless. His gaze turned from the gathered mourners to face the new copper plaque adorning the angel’s perch. Julien read its words perhaps for the hundredth time.

In memory of the Madam Rosemary Sharpe, Speaker of the Commons.

“Has anyone informed the remains of the council?” he asked, sliding his pyrokinetic lenses back up his nose. No one spoke. He turned on his cane, again, to face the faculty members. “Does the council know?”

“The council…” the librarian of the college, a terrakinetic named Gillard, said. Taking a deep breath the portly gentleman continued. “The council of Wynne no longer exists.”

“What do you mean?” Julien demanded.

“We all know of Valvius’ war with this…
Order
and Syntar.” Gillard stated, adjusting the wire frame spectacles that sat precariously on his nose.

“Aye, what of it?” Julien asked, fearing he already knew the answers to come.

“It would seem,” Gillard continued, “The other provinces have taken sides in this conflict, destroying what remained of our grand council.”

“Why was I not told?” Julien huffed as a low-burning rage bubbled in his heart.

“The telegram came when you were in your grief,” the librarian said softly. “We agreed it best to wait until after the ceremony to tell you.”

“All that we stand for is falling apart and you fail to tell me, the kinetic representative on the council?” Julien’s cheeks flushed as his anger continued to boil.

“We thought…” Gillard stammered.

“You thought wrong.” Julien snapped. “What of the other councilors? Where are they?”

“From our understanding the provincial representatives have taken the risk of flight and set off for their homelands.” Gillard said. “Our own representatives have remained in Gossac, taking refuge in their manses.”

“What do they intend to do there?” Julien spat. “Get fat on Pozian fire rum and Di Delgan cakes while the whole of Wynne bleeds around them?”

“Surely nothing so crass as that, ser.” Gillard stepped forward, placing a hand on Julien’s shoulder. “Master Julien, we have known one another for many moons. We must keep our heads in these trying times and not let our emotions lead us to turning on our own kind.”

“Do not presume to preach to me,
terra
.” Julien shrugged the other man’s hand away with a grunt. “The other councilors have abandoned their vows for the greater good of Wynne. Now we must try to maintain what order we can.”

“As long as Wynne is at war, ser.” Gillard’s tone hinted at a hurt pride that the round man fought to contain. “There can not be order. The most we can do is to protect what few kinetics remain here, at the college.”

“You wish to go to war is it?” His stern, judging gaze fell upon electrokinetics, pyrokinetics, terrakinetics and hydrokinetics all; each wore a mask of worry, dread, and fear. “While I still draw breath, the kinetic people will
not
take part in this war. To do so would create such a rift between our kind and the peoples of Wynne I fear it would be irreparable.”

“We do not seek war, Julien.” Gillard’s voice was soft. “We merely wish to defend ourselves, and this campus that we call home.”

“You are not suggesting…?” Julien’s voice trailed off as his ancient mind came to the realization of what his fellow kinetics desired.

“We are.” Gillard answered.

Julien sighed. In all the years he had been at the college - as pupil, professor, and headmaster – he had always hoped he would never live to see the wonderful campus grounds come under a threat so dire that the Emergency Security Protocol would go into motion.

It was an old protocol, created over two hundred years ago at the end of the Great War. The kinetics of the college devised a contingency plan to protect themselves in the case of another war. It was a plan that went against the guidelines set forth in the peace treaties, so it had been done in secret.

“The ESP,” Julien suggested, releasing a mournful breath of indignation. “I have lived my life not wanting to see these wonderful grounds turned into a fortress.”

“So have we all, ser,” Gillard did a remarkable job keeping his voice calm. “But we must protect ourselves. We are too few to fend off any major offensive.”

“And many of us are old,” a female professor from the electrokinetic school stated. “We simply would not have the ability to hold out for a prolonged engagement.”

A chorus of agreement flooded from the assembled. Julien was at a loss. In his heart he knew the right course of action, yet the doctrines he had abided for the entirety of his life screamed in protest.

Julien raised a hand, motioning for silence. He slid his lenses up the bridge of his nose and looked at each professor, again, in turn;

“I have protested every rash action, and decision, Lucian Margoux brought forward to the council these past months.” Julien tried to keep the hurt pride from his voice. “Mine was the voice loudest in urging my fellows to remember our mandates and vows. If it were not for me, this war would have been upon us far sooner than we would have liked.

‘Now you are asking me to make a rash decision, just as Lucian. You wish me to put the college under the influence of the ESP, even when there is no direct threat to our people.” Julien paused, letting his words bring a heavy weight to the silent air. A gentle wind pricked the tendrils of his scarf as snow fell in flakes that grew fatter with every passing minute.

“I refused Lucian. I refuted
every one
of his motions.” Julien turned his back on his colleagues, eyes finding the fresh copper plaque upon the fountain.

In memory of the Madam Rosemary Sharpe, Speaker of the Commons.

“Perhaps,” His voice was soft. “Had I listened, my dear lady would still be with us. Perhaps my instincts were wrong in the past. I will put the ESP into effect immediately.”

“Thank-you, ser.” Gillard spoke over the soft, excited murmur of the assembled faculty.

“I do not do it for you.” Julien did not intend for his tone to hold such an edge, yet there it was. “I do it for the future of Wynne.”

“Understood.” The librarian replied.

“Everyone, please, return to your dormitories. In the morning the protocols will be in full effect, so I suggest you enjoy the peace within the college’s halls while it lasts. Gillard, you will come with me.”

“Yessir.” The terrakinetic bowed his head, seemingly in an effort to honour Julien.

Julien did not wait for the others to disperse. He had much work to do before night fell and he did not desire to waste time conversing with his fellows. The cane in his gloved hand set a tart pace through the famous Garden D’lune. Gillard, being a much younger man, was able to keep pace. Despite the man’s efforts, Julien sensed the weighty librarian struggled with the speed simply by the way the man’s breath filled the air with sharp, ragged, sucking noises. Overall, the pair crossed to the far side of the campus grounds in decent time. Julien had to take a minute to gather his bearings, which provided Gillard a chance to catch his breath.

“Where are we going?” The terrakinetic asked. “Should we not be heading towards to the college?”

“A man as read as yourself should understand that if you want something to be secret,” Julien wiped his nose on the cuff of his sleeve, “you put it in the least likely of spots.”

“I see.” Gillard said, rubbing his hands together against the cold. “What is it you are searching for?”

“The mark.” Julien said. Through his lenses Julien squinted into a nearby outcropping of trees. He knew the mark was somewhere near that far location, but he could not find it through the cold. “Del Morte curse this damnable snow!”

“I think its lovely.” Gillard smiled, still rubbing his hands. “Graceful almost.”

“Aye, until you need to find something and need unobstructed vision.” Julien huffed. Sighing, he resorted to adjusting the crystalline concentration of his lenses.

Every child in Wynne dreamed of being kinetic, or at least meeting one. Yet what they are never told, or what they would never comprehend, was the pain being a kinetic brought upon an individual. Julien was destined to an attunement within the pyrokinetic school, a fate worse than death in his mind. Of all the kinetics he had met, all seemed to pity the pyrokinetics for their attunement came with an ailment of the eyes. Without the aid of crystal lenses, every pyrokinetic would be curled on the floor, eyes clenched tight to avoid the disorientation and searing pain that filtered into their orbs; without the pyrokinetic lenses, each man and woman attuned to the pyro school would be afflicted with feeling, and seeing, all the worldly heat.

The lenses acted as a filter, clarifying the often disorientating and obscured visions of the swirling heat waves. In the earliest iterations, the lenses were made of glasses made of wire frames with several overlapping lenses which could be flipped up or down to enhance or detract the clarification. Now, however, the lenses were made from the wonderfully light and clear crystals found in the Ynouxian mines in the north. To enhance, or detract, the clarity of the lenses, all one had to do was swivel one or two dials on the side of the lenses. This would cause the crystals to rotate within the frame, allowing a gradual change of clarity as opposed to the sudden changes brought on in the antique lenses.

The mark, which Julien searched for, would be impossible to find in the falling snow. But, being an object that housed an everflame lantern, he would be able to find its heat source.

“Julien, what is the mark?” Gillard asked, impatience hidden in his words.

“Hm? Oh, yes.” Julien said absently as he fiddled with the dials on his lenses. “A tree. A single, white tree.”

“Then why do we stand here and not search for this, white tree?” the librarian asked.

“The snow is too thick here.” Julien said. “We would spend too much time drudging amongst the brambles. Thankfully, the men in the past were of great forethought and embedded a hollow within this tree – a hollow where they placed a small everflame beacon.”

“Ah, I understand.” Gillard nodded his head. “But you forget I can raise us a path from the earth.” He stepped forward, reaching his hand out.

Julien stopped his search for a moment to watch the younger man. A smile played across his withered lips as the librarian’s hand trembled as he worked the very fabric of reality to cause a path to rise from the frozen ground.

“That is enough Gillard,” Julien smiles as the first few steps broke through the crust of snow, mere inches from where it began. “Save your strength.”

“I don’t understand.” The confused look on Gillards face as he turned to Julien was priceless.

“You have spent your whole life here on Driftwood Isle. You have only known its soft soils.” Julien stepped forward and placed a hand on the winded terrakinetic’s shoulder. “You are not used to working the frozen earth like one from the north. Come, I have found the way.”

Julien headed to the southerly corner of the small wood, letting Gillard take a moment to regain his composure. The old headmaster struggled his way through the knee-deep snows, often resorting to his cane as a makeshift plow as he trudged across the wide campus grounds. In his younger days, Julien would have attempted to use his control of fire to melt a path through the snow, but in his aged wisdom he knew it would be a moot attempt.

That was another thing many did not know of the kinetic people. Many of the schools, such as terrakinetic and pyrokinetic, relied on worldly situations for their control. For instance Gillard, being a man born in the south, had never worked or trained with frozen earth. The deep-rooted frosts were a beast the librarian was not able to slay, for he had never learnt how to manipulate such conditions.

Some schools, like pyrokinetics, were even worse off. In the south, where heat was always abundant, a pyrokinetic could create the most spectacular displays of dancing flame. Yet, in the north, heat was scarce. This forced pyrokinetics to expel great amounts of energy to draw enough heat to manipulate into active flames. Typically, the heat sources in the north came from people or animals, but here, in the deepest recesses of the Garden D’lune on the snow laden campus grounds, not enough heat could be gathered into any real use.

After what seemed an eternity of breaking snowdrifts and stumbling along, Julien and Gillard finally came upon the white tree. It was tall, proud almost, and certainly was difficult to see amidst the backdrop of grey clouds and falling snow. There were no branches, save for one that pointed into the wood.