Greater than Gold

By Morgan J. Manns             

Spark Spaulding never lingered anywhere for long. It wasn’t safe—not for him, not for anyone near him. He was, after all, a cursed man. The Darkness, a malevolent mist that devoured everything in its path, followed him everywhere. Perhaps it sensed his unpredictable magic. Perhaps it was simply chance. Regardless, it always found him no matter how far or fast he ran.

But he’d never been in love before. And maybe, just maybe, an extra day in the city of Shine would be worth the risk.

He’d arrived a fortnight ago, determined to leave before the Darkness caught up. Yet here he was, wandering the bustling market, thinking of Jesma. She hadn’t been impressed by his gold-embroidered cloak or the rings on his fingers. No, the pear seller who’d stolen his heart—with her sharp wit and tighter right hook—seemed immune to his usual charms.

Perhaps a dazzling gift would catch her attention.

He stopped at a yellow-canopied booth displaying pendants. A ruby-encrusted one caught his eye, its fiery hue reminding him of Jesma’s crimson hair.

Ah, Jesma. She’d won Spark’s heart with the same easy confidence she used to chase down a smuggler who dared to rob her fruit cart. She was an amazing woman—one who deserved finery.

As he picked up the golden pendant, a faint vibration trembled through his arm.

“Strange, ain’t it?” the merchant said to another customer. “The deer migrating south so early.”

Spark’s stomach tightened. Animals sensed the Darkness long before humans. “Wolves, probably,” he said quickly, pulling out coins to pay for the pendant.

He needed to leave soon. But first, Jesma.

***

Jesma wasn’t at her usual stall, so she’d likely returned to her orchard. Spark ran his thumb over the pendant in his pocket. It cost more than he planned, but its craftsmanship was unmatched. If this didn’t catch her attention, what would?

As he left the market behind and followed the winding path into the countryside, he felt someone watching him. He turned sharply, scanning his surroundings. “Who’s there?”

Only the long afternoon shadows shifted. Unease prickled at the back of his neck. Spark tightened his grip on the pendant and continued down the path, his steps quickening.

He hesitated at the gate of Jesma’s cottage. Her home, with its white fence, neat rows of pear trees, and cart with its mare grazing nearby, was practical. Like her.

He took a deep breath and walked to the porch. Straightening, he raised a hand to knock.

Before his knuckles met wood, the door swung open.

Jesma stood there, her red curls framing an unreadable expression. “What do you want?” she asked.

Her bluntness was poetry to his ears. Spark smiled. “Jesma, I wanted to—”

She cut him off with a hearty chuckle. “If you’re here for pears, you’ll have to wait till tomorrow.”

A sudden chill swept past, and the pendant in his pocket grew warm against his palm.

Spark glanced toward the unnaturally still orchard, unease prickling his skin. He cleared his throat. “Actually, I wanted to give you something.”

He pulled out the pendant, but before he could explain, a flicker of movement inside the cottage caught his eye. A handsome man with broad shoulders sat by the hearth, his figure half-hidden in the shadows.

Spark’s chest tightened. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

Jesma frowned. “Company? Nobody’s here.”

He glanced back to the hearth, but the man was gone.

“You’re alone, then?”

“Always,” she replied softly.

Feeling the weight of time, Spark handed her the pendant, closing her fingers around it. “Look, I wanted you to have this before I left the city. To remember me.”

Jesma’s eyes widened, and a faint flush colored her cheeks. “It’s been a while since someone gave me a gift.” Her gaze drifted to a small portrait above the hearth. It depicted the man he’d seen moments ago.

“Who’s that?” Spark asked, his throat dry.

Jesma followed his gaze. “My brother, Gregor. He…died last year. Hunting accident.”

Brother. Not a suitor. Relief mingled with confusion. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said quietly.

“He loved this place,” she murmured. “I never got to say goodbye.”

Another chill swept through the room. Spark’s eyes darted to the hearth. The man was there again, standing now, his form shimmering.

“Jesma,” Spark said, his voice catching, “is that…”

Jesma turned and gasped. “Gregor?”

The figure’s eyes widened. “Sister, you can see me?”

Tears streamed down her face as she stepped closer. “How is this possible?”

Spark glanced at the pendant in her hand. Its ruby core pulsed like a flowing heartbeat. His curse—had it imbued the trinket with power, bridging a gap between life and death? He sighed. Another unintended consequence.

“Jesma, listen,” Gregor said. “Something’s coming. Something worse than death. You need to leave.”

Jesma reached for him, and the pendant flared and filled the room with light. When the glow faded, Gregor was gone.

She sank to her knees, sobbing.

Spark knelt beside her. “I’m… sorry.”

Jesma shook her head, tears streaking her face. “I saw him. Even for just a moment, I saw him. But, how? Are you some kind of magician?”

Spark hesitated, staring at the pendant. “Not exactly.”

The sky darkened, and Spark winced. Tendrils of inky mist crept over the hills, blotting out the sunlight.

“Jesma,” he said, gently. “Gregor was right. This place isn’t safe anymore. You need to leave. Now.”

She looked up, her brows knitting together. “Where would I go?”

“Anywhere but here.” He stood, helping her rise. “We can go together.”

One look at the encroaching darkness was all the conviction she seemed to need.

In moments, they jumped on her horse, racing away from the orchard.

The pendant glinted around Jesma’s neck, its ruby core now dark and still.

For the first time in years, Spark felt the weight of his curse lessen.

The Darkness may follow him always, but at least for now, he wasn’t running alone.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Morgan J. Manns is a speculative fiction writer who firmly believes that the world needs more stories filled with magic and wonder. Captivated by the realm of intricate world-building since composing her first fantasy tale at the age of ten, she now ventures beneath the endless Canadian prairie sky with her supportive husband and two hobbit children, all while eagerly contemplating her next literary creation. While her current occupation is that of an elementary school teacher, her dream job will always be dragon rider, soaring through the skies of her imaginings.

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