Everman and Sparky (Prologue)

Everman and Sparky -- Prologue: A tribe of villagers and their kin is slaughtered by a band of well-armed mercenaries while Brice Watershaper visits his dying sister in the Clinic.

Everman and Sparky

 

A novel by:

C. A. Withey

 

The sun dawned on the day of the tribe's impending annihilation. They set about their business, oblivious to their coming end.

Tribesmen selected fuel for the fledgling cooking fires. Vegetables and salted meats were gathered from subterranean storage. Water was gathered in pots from the nearby stream to be boiled. Their charges would be hungry from the night's fast, and would require the proper nourishment essential for their growth.

The scents of fired meat and wood smoke drifted throughout the small camp, waking their charges as surely as the sounding of an alarm. They awoke from their deep slumber, crying and mewing for sustenance and attention. Those that could walk, the tribeswomen ushered outside the flaps of the hide-strewn tents. Those that could not, the women carried.

They were a simple people, charged with the simple but demanding task of seeing to those kin who were unable to see to themselves. Whether too weak, or too ill, or just unable to survive in the wilds with their fellow kin for whatever reason, they were brought here for special care. And here they stayed, until which time they were deemed fit for the wilds once more, if at all.

Meal was prepared, and their charges took to their rations hungrily. The tribesmen, clothing themselves in heavy furs and leathers, took up bows and spears and readied themselves for the morning hunt. The women, dressed in simpler fare of plain dresses of cloth, began to groom and wash the younger kin. Those that were older understood to lick their fur clean on their own. A few of the kin were reaching their maturity; soon they would have to endure the rite of passage before setting out on their own to find a mate. Once they passed the rite, they could not return back to this camp.

One of the women, an older lady who had tended this camp all her life, took one of the smallest into her lap. She had dark brown hair, slightly grayed, and was wearing a patched and dirtied brown dress. She loved their charges, and she looked down lovingly at the small thing in her lap. She combed its red and white fur neatly as it curled up into a small ball and purred deeply, wrapping its long, curled tail around itself. It was content and happy with its simple life. She stroked behind its ears, causing its eyes to slip shut and its purring to intensify.

It yawned suddenly, stretching its four tiny legs, latching its feeble claws onto the fabric of her dress. It rotated in her lap, facing the opposite direction, and curled once more into a tight ball of warmth and rhythmic motoring.

Of all the kin they had been charged with overseeing, this one remained the smallest. It was the runt of the litter, dwarfed by its brothers and sisters who were now bulking up in size. Soon they would leave the encampment, strong enough to face the wilds; but not this one. It had grown hardly at all, and would no doubt require special care all its life. The woman doubted that the creature would ever leave their village, and she felt pity for the small thing. It would never know what it felt like to roam the wilderness and be free, or to find a mate and nurture a family of its own. Still, she was as happy as she was sad that this one would be staying with them. She loved them all as any mother would, but could not help but favor this one, so small, frail, and innocent in her arms.

It was then, as the tribesmen readied themselves for the hunt and the kin had finished their din, that the attack came from the surrounding wilderness.

A dozen men ran out from behind the trees, clambering loudly under bulky suits of armor. Their weapons were massive; their armor exuberant. The tribesmen took up arms, combating the force with skinning knives and wooden arrows. Their blows were turned aside by their heavy mail without so much as scathing the soldiers hidden within.

One soldier stepped forward, the champion of the group. He was completely encased in black mail armor of elaborate design. His breastplate bore large jewels of many kinds, the spaulders atop his shoulders bore fashioned eagles, captured in flight by a skilled metallurgist. His helmet completely encased his head, leaving nothing but shadow looking out from the small slits carved for eyes and mouth. It, like his shoulders, bore carved wings that swooped back from his head, honed with great skill and detail.

He surveyed the encampment wordlessly as his fellow soldiers spread around him. They set to work firing the fur skin tents, scattering the piles of fuel, and slaying the tribes people. The men stood their ground as well as they could, shoving sharped sticks and stones against men wielding enormous battle axes and longswords. Terrified, the tribeswomen rounded up their charges and hid them inside the tents. The soldiers sought them out, slaying them as they found them, women and kin alike, and fired each of the fur skin huts. The elderly woman with the runt kin ducked down in the midst of her tent as it erupted into smoke and flames around her. She cried out in panic, crying silent tears as she crouched low, covering her charge with her body. One of the soldiers heard her, entered, and smote her upon the back, taking her breath. She collapsed, and the tent was razed to the ground around her.

Mere minutes later, when the patrol left the area they way they had come, they left nothing behind but ashes and the bodies of men, women, and kin strewn about the ground.

After their passing, a mighty roar of unsuppressed rage echoed throughout the valley, shaking the very ground and scattering birds from their boughs for a hundred yards around.

The creatures whom had placed the charge upon those tribes people had taken notice.

 

Brice Watershaper, aged just a hair over eighteen years, stood tall underneath a finely trimmed covering of surprisingly blond hair. His body was trimmed and lean, sculpted well from having vigilantly combated the ever-present menace of fat cells by participating in marathons and academy-sponsored athleticism. His facial features were sharp, punctuated by stark lines and harsh angles, and completely unhindered by a shred of hair. He took great care in his appearance, but bore no specific pride for it.

Complimenting his grooming etiquette and structural physique, Brice bore special attention to his studies, having surpassed his basic academics to move on to specialized instruction well ahead of the others of his age-group. He was developing a passion for engineering and mechanical science, taking keen interest in the design of the aero- and aquafoils. The relatively recent discovery and manufacture of these two pieces of engineering genius had radically transformed the technological landscape of his world within only the last few decades. Based on pictures from his history books, the changes between the now and the back-then, before those two engines, were stark and bewildering, comparable to when men beat each other with sharpened sticks and lived in caves.

With a well-honed and sharpened mind and body, one might think that Brice did this for personal gain, but they would be mistaken. Brice desired to advance himself and pursue life to its fullest for the sake of those that could not. He desired only to live when surrounded by so many that were not granted even the privilege of drawing breath.

Lily Watershaper, his younger sister whom he loved dearly, was one of these unfortunates. Brice looked in through the large viewing window of his sister's room, located on the fourteenth floor of the most prestigious Clinic in the city, and knew her to be dying. The powers that be, the cruel and heartless sons-of-b*****s that they were, had chosen to allow him to live whilst forcing Death down the throat of this fourteen year old girl, stifling her with agony and suffering along the way.

Lily Watershaper had contracted the Black Spot. It was a widespread plague affecting a staggering percentage of their population, bringing their world to its knees. Many people contracted it. Others did not. The targets of the Black Spot seemed entirely random. Scientists were baffled when trying to predict its movements. It swept across the nations like an invisible serial killer. It seemed uncaring, just as cold and heartless as the higher powers that had conceived it and allowed it to be.

First, the victim suffered mild symptoms similar to that of the cold bug. Then, three days later, a large dark spot, for which the disease is named, formed on the victim's throat. The symptoms then intensified. Then a week later, two at most... they died. From healthy and full of life to morgue tenant in only three weeks. It was maddening. It was completely unfair, and utterly irrational.

And it was beyond anyone's power to control.

Brice pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window, looking in on his younger sis. He closed his eyes, imagining better times, which had been only two weeks prior. Half a month ago they had been a family. Now, Lily had less than a week. Mum was devastated, unable to stop crying. Her heart had been ripped from her chest, Brice knew, and he did not think she would ever recover.

Their father was but a ghost of himself, naught more than an empty shell with motorized legs and arms. He rarely spoke. He rarely even looked at Brice anymore. The few times he did, Brice could not hold his gaze, because the light behind father's eyes had gone out. The person who was his father had all but died, perhaps forever, leaving an automaton in his place, carrying on his duties as breadwinner.

Soon Brice would be the only son, he knew. As much as he did for himself, in his academics and physical routines, to atone for the misery of the community around him, he could do nothing more for them. He could do nothing more for his own sister; could do nothing to save her life than he could to save the life of his neighbor's son, or his grandmother, or his two uncles. He was helpless against the onslaught of the Black Spot. The helplessness led to unbearable sadness. The sadness fueled the fires of his rage. His anger led him to keep living, and to keep himself toned. During his exercises, should be become tired, he need only think of the suffering around him, of what his own sister was enduring, and he found that he could push his body to great limits.

It was anger now that Brice felt. This was the umpteenth time he had entered the Clinic since Lily fell ill. His visits were innumerable. And it this anger Brice felt that balled his hands into fists as he leaned against the glass. He leaned back slightly and beat his forehead against the glass once in frustration. It hurt. That was good.

Dazed slightly, Brice glanced around out of the corner of his eyes to see if anybody had witnessed that. The impact had sobered him up somewhat, and straightened together his thoughts.

Pushing aside his frustrations at powers he could not control, Brice pushed open the door to Lily's room and strode inside.

 

Lily lay on her Clinic bed, a stark-white, square, inhospitable-looking mattress if Brice had ever seen one. Her room had been fashioned with many things of color to comfort her during her stay. Greens and foliage of many sizes stood sentinel; leaves and flower heads nodded in mourning. An air synthesizer hummed silently from where it sat on the end table, exchanging their exhaled exhaust for re-breathable air. A single window, its bleached drapes pulled aside, provided the room's one source of natural lighting, and the only view of the world outside that she would never again witness first-hand.

Lily herself was covered in a most unbecoming, ungainly paper-like gown of hostile white. Covering her lower half was a sheet of white. Behind her were a stack of half a dozen pillows. All white. The clock on the wall was white. The table was painted white. The goddamned television set was molded in plastic, painted white! Two weeks ago, Brice saw white as just any other color. Now he loathed white, hating it, carrying an unhealthy obsession to destroy, vandalize, and kill anything that bore a hint of white. Oh how he hated that blank, cold shade of white, that stark, colorless nothing that was everywhere in this accursed place!

Lily herself, mercifully, was far from white, her skin still cream and full of color. Her hair was dirty blond, darker than Brice's own, running down waist-length, scattered currently over her pillows. She was sitting up, ignorant of his presence due to the R.E.A.L. goggles on her face.

Good. Brice was glad that she had taken to the game so well. It made him smile to see her happy, doing something she enjoyed during her last...

No. Brice had not meant to think that. He had not intended his brain to go that direction. No, no, best to think about her adventuring around the world of R.E.A.L., happy and free and not bed-ridden in this godforsaken Clinic. It had been a gift, from Brice himself, who worked directly under Clayton Wardell, overseeing the project. Brice had explained his circumstances, and Mr. Wardell had agreed to give Lily her own copy of R.E.A.L. free of charge.

Which was great, because it was a six thousand dollar piece of hardware.

Brice walked over to her, kneeling down beside her on the bed. She was smiling now, the big innocent smile of a girl who has a whole lifetime to live. Brice loved that smile, but at the same time hated it, because he knew she had only a limited amount of those smiles before...

No. Brice recoiled, as if physically hit, choking back tears. That one hurt, more than the others usually do.

Best to concentrate on the task at hand.

He almost didn't want to disturb her, she seemed so happy where she was in the land of fantasy and make-believe. Brice wondered if she had made any friends within the game.

Brice placed a friendly hand upon her shoulder.

“Oh!” Lily cried out in surprise, her voice ceaselessly cheerful and upbeat. That was the worst part about it. Nothing brought her down, nothing ever made her upset or angry, and still she continued to let nothing get to her, even with that large dark blot upon her neck. She knew--she knew what was going to happen to her, but she didn't let anyone realize that she knew. The little sneak.

“Who's that?” she blindly inquired the room around her.

“Pizza delivery guy,” Brice called back easily. “Got one large with spinach and double anchovies.”

“That sounds icky,” Lily observed, punctuating with a show of her tongue. “Can't be for me. Probably for my brother, he's a real sicko.”

“I hope you're not referring to me,” Brice said with a grin he could not repress.

“Thought you were the pizza guy,” Lily called back happily, plucking the goggles from her head, bringing her back to the real world of barren white and visiting brothers.

She turned to her brother with bright eyes, dazzling blue, and a full smile. She threw her arms around him in the biggest hug she could muster. He returned her embrace with a bear hug of his own, lifting her clear off the mattress, causing her to cry out in surprise. She slapped him once on the shoulder playfully, but could not look away from him, even in play. She was just so happy that she had a visitor; it shown nakedly on her face.

“I'm glad you're here, big bro,” Lily beamed.

“I'm glad I could visit,” Brice replied truthfully.

“I wanted to tell you something!” Lily exclaimed brightly. She was so energetic and playful at fourteen. Shielding one's eyes from her blotched neck, one would never guess that she was ill.

She never should have been ill at all.

“Oh? What's that?”

“I met a friend!” cried Lily. “In my game you gave me!”

“Well, that's great,” Brice hailed back cheerfully. He had hoped Lily would come to make a few friends during her time here.

“Yep! He's cool, too. All kinds of flashy armor and big swords and really neat stuff like that! His name's 'Bonegnasher,' which sounds scary, but he isn't really. He's a big baby!”

“That does sound scary,” Brice agreed. “Do you know him?”

“Well, not really, but he's really high level, way above me.”

“Is he cute?” asked Brice, inquisitively. Playfully.

Lily laughed, hitting him on the shoulder again. Damn, it was good to hear her laugh. Maybe if she kept in high enough spirits, should would pull through this thing.

Maybe...

“I don't know!” Lily exclaimed. “Besides, I don't like boys!” She sounded suddenly very resolute, very assured of herself. “They're stupid.”

“Boys are stupid, eh?” Brice asked. “So, what am I, then?”

“You're my big brother!” called Lily, embracing Brice again, looking up at him with an over-exaggerated grin.

“Ah, I see,” Brice replied, nodding sagely. “You like the game your big brother got for you, then?”

“I like it!” agreed Lily enthusiastically. “I like it a lot! I'm big and strong, and can beat people up!”

“Ah, well that's good.”

“I play a warrior. I chose a boy character, because everybody else is a boy and I didn't want to be different.”

“Didn't want the boys chasing after you because you play games?”

There was that big grin again. She was so quick with a smile, just as she had been her whole life.

“No...” Lily countered. “I chose someone big and strong, and am leveling him up so that he won't get sick, too.”

That one struck hard, harder than the blow he had reeled from before disturbing her. It hurt so much because he hadn't expected it. Reality had shattered through the paper-thin facade of make-believe as suddenly as a balloon popping. He hadn't prepared for it; his defenses had accidentally lowered during their happy exchanges.

Brice turned away quickly, dabbing his eyes and sniffing into his sleeve. She couldn't see him like this. Not like this.

“Are you okay, big bro?” Lily asked, naked concern riding on her tone as only a fourteen year old could muster. The youth of that age disguised nothing of their feelings.

“Yea,” Brice hesitated, sniffing again. “Yea, I'm fine. Just my darned allergies. All these plants...”

“I'm sorry.” The empathy in her voice was genuine. It struck Brice deeply. “I like them, but if you don't like them,”

“No, no,” Brice interrupted quickly. He turned back towards Lily, hoping that he retained the mask of his usual self. “They're nice, I like them. They're much nicer than seeing all the white.”

“Yep.”

Some of the enthusiasm had left Lily's voice. And Brice felt profoundly depressed, somehow even more so than when he had come in. He favored his sister with a smile that he hoped was genuine. She flashed him one of her own.

“I'd better get going,” Brice admitted, patting Lily's leg through her blanket. “Mom's gonna wonder where I am.”

This was an outright lie, one that Brice didn't feel bad about telling. Lily didn't need to know the truth about mom, not like this. Truth be told, Brice could be gone for a week and mom might not have noticed, her spirit had been so destroyed. She had ran out of tears long ago, but still she wept in the dark of night. Brice heard her when he could not sleep. Sometimes she cried during the day, too. She didn't cook anymore like she used to. Brice did what he could to help around the house. She barely even acknowledged his presence anymore, or that of his fathers. Lily had been mother's little girl.

Is. Lily is her little girl, Brice corrected himself. Stupid mistake; he hated himself for making it.

He hated returning home nowadays. There was nothing waiting for him there but pain and misery. That had been the secret motive behind his many visits to this Clinic, other than seeing Lily just for the sake of seeing her.

Brice had visited her at least once every day since she had arrived.

“Okay,” Lily sad, sadness creeping around the corners of her voice. “But you come back and visit tomorrow, okay big bro?”

“You can count on it,” Brice assured her with a smile. They embraced once more, an embrace that neither of them wanted to end. It continued on for some while before Lily leaned back.

“Tell mom and dad hi for me!” Lily bubbled at the thought of her parents. They hadn't visited in over four days. Mother's last visit, seeing Lily in her Clinic room as she was, knowing her fate... It had nearly destroyed her.

“Will do. You take it easy, alright?”

“Yep! When I get better, I'll come back home and we can all celebrate together!”

A javelin the size of a telephone pole impaled Brice's heart with the force of a jumbo jet.

“Goodbye!” Brice called, unable to bring himself to say another word.

He fled from the room, running blindly down the hall into the nearest bathroom where he wept loudly and pounded his fists against the wall until they bled.

Author's Note

Emotionally laced, like crack. Enjoy.