One Spark

PC Nottingham

Dead leaves descended in a spiteful breeze–one stuck in the new hair on Konk’s forearm. He clenched his fist and shards of frozen sweat fell into his stitched fur animal skins.

The lifeless boar before him wouldn’t feed anybody. Not encased in ice. A tear welled in Konk’s eye, and it solidified the second it touched his eyelashes. He plucked it, as he had for the last few weeks since he turned. 

Approaching, Yerz shivered beside him, rubbing her exposed arms, as if the movement could warm her. “You killed it?” she asked.

Konk shook the frost from his body and knelt over the frozen hog. “Don’t tell Dad.”

She huffed. “He’ll know, bonehead.”

Konk rose enough to meet her eye level. “Can you do something about it?” 

The need in Yerz’s eyes twisted like a flint in his heart. “I’m not Mom.” 

Heavy footfalls stole their attention. Dad approached. “Konk, you’re not like your mother, either.” Dad poked the dead boar with his club and hissed. “Freeze the hooves, then club the head. I can’t keep telling you.”

“Sorry, Dad. The cold came so fast… Can we take it back to the cave?” Condensation formed with each exhale, which solidified to ice and plinked to the ground.

Dad placed a calloused hand on Konk’s shoulder. “Maybe the next one. I’m sorry to push you. You’ll learn to control the cold.”

Konk stared at his Dad’s club, with crimson stains on the blunt end. Memoirs of all the hogs he’d killed the bloody way. 

Things had been easier with Mom. But the cold always won in the end. 

“Yerz,” Dad said, “Go to the caves. I patched your furs. Stay warm, child. Leave me with Konk.”

Yerz nodded through a shiver. As she left Konk and Dad, her shivering stopped, and the grass bent more naturally under her feet. 

When she was out of sight and halfway to the caves, Dad’s knuckles whitened while grasping the club. He let out a long sigh, and his chilled breath formed snow. 

“Turn around, Konk. Look at that tree behind you.”

Konk gulped and complied. 

“That was your mother’s favorite. Under that tree, she rocked you to sleep. Her spirit of fire saved your life many times.” Dad let out a half-chuckle. “She almost burned it a few times, too. She said you’d have her spirit of fire when she saw your ruddy hair.”

The temperature dropped a few degrees. “Why are you saying this, Dad?”

“We can’t keep feeding our whole family. If you don’t have the spirit of fire... there’s just not enough.”

“Dad?” 

Dad sighed. “I’m sorry. I wish you weren’t like me. This wasn’t what we wanted for you. Please... don’t turn around.”

The wind’s chill shocked Konk’s system, getting colder again. The cold grew so intense that Konk’s heart slowed.

An image of Mom, Yerz, and Dad standing in front of Yerz’s first cave painting flashed in his mind. In front of the fire. Mom’s fire. She’d made a long-lasting one with thicker sticks. They were warm all night. So long since Mom. So long since summer. So long since cooked meat. Wherever she was in the spirit world, maybe he’d see her soon.

He hadn’t felt cold like this since the night Mom died, when Dad screamed for hours into the night—the leaves began to fall the next day. Maybe Dad was doing this to Konk so he could join Mom. Maybe it was punishment for the boar. 

Defying Konk’s expectations, his heart returned to the normal cadence.

Konk bit his lip and turned around.

Dad’s bone club teetered back and forth on the ground, covered in a dusting of snow. The body that was once Dad’s lay supine, with a mammoth icicle rising from his chest, rivulets of blood trickling from the tip.

A lump formed in Konk’s throat. The question of “why” retreated from his quivering lips. Konk knew why. Dad wanted to be with Mom again.

Fists and teeth clenched, Konk grunted. 

The frozen grass blades around Dad’s corpse faded to a deep blue. Condensation sloughed off Dad’s body, as the air itself froze around him. Konk shook with the force of the cold radiating from him. Proper burials were meant to go into the ground, with flower garlands. Not covered in a miniature cave of ice like this. But this would protect Dad’s body. At least until the thaw… if it ever came. Or if Yerz had the spirit of fire when she turned. If she survived that long. 

Konk’s breathing devolved into gulps as his body convulsed, refusing to shed tears that would only tear up his skin. Konk wondered if his own blood would freeze as the temperature around him plummeted. But within a minute of his shaking, the freezing was complete. Dad was encased in ice, thick enough that his face was concealed. 

Snow and hail joined the falling leaves, and Konk gasped. The cold was from him, not just in his immediate area, but his environment. Dad’s despair at Mom’s death was what started this whole process. Maybe the warmer times could come if Konk stopped using his spirit.

But Yerz needed the warmer times now. 

Konk didn’t know where fire would be if not within a person, so he sprinted. The direction didn’t matter, as long as it was away. He’d return to Yerz with fire. As he accelerated, clumps of dirt and grass didn’t have enough time to freeze to his skin.

He passed by bear scat, and nearly tripped in the tracks of a mammoth. 

A growl interrupted his thoughts. 

Konk stopped in his tracks. He’d heard a growl like that before. Snapping around revealed a massive feline, with teeth descending like sharpened bones. A rib-tooth, with lowered ears and bared fangs. 

Konk cursed and sprinted away. 

Not that it mattered.

The rib-tooth snarled, and a hurricane of claws and teeth pounced on Konk. 

Konk grimaced. He couldn’t risk joining his parents. Joining them meant Yerz would, too. He spun around to face his feline predator, and convulsed. 

The raised paw, claws on display, slowed in midair. Breath meant to be warm and hostile condensed and turned to snow. The animal’s wild yellow eyes glossed over, turning to a solid blue. A single drop of saliva from its gaping maw escaped, turning into an icicle and pinching Konk’s skin. 

Grunting, Konk shoved the animal, but to no avail. It was too heavy, and he lacked Dad’s strength and stamina. He pushed, but the only movement was the frozen corpse crushing him. It pressed on his ribs, forcing the air from his lungs. 

Konk squirmed and writhed out from under the beast, letting it fall stiff and lifeless to the ground.

Clambering to his feet, Konk ran, unsure of what else he could possibly do. After a few minutes, no breath left, Konk hunched over on a rock and rubbed his sore feet to get the frozen rocks out. But as he massaged them, his feet felt warm. Not from a spirit of fire but from the running. From the friction.

He didn’t need the spirit of fire.

He could have something new. 

❄️🦴❄️

Konk scanned the forest floor, and grabbed some sticks. He slapped them together. Nothing. He slapped them together faster. Nothing. He tried to remember Mom, and what she did. She would place a gentle finger on a small stick. It would glow the color of the sun… then Dad would place more sticks on top of it until they started burning. Konk always tried to touch the glowing sticks, but Mom would shoo him away. They were too hot.

So not slapping.

He grabbed two larger sticks and rubbed them together. He rubbed them until the bark peeled off, revealing the smoother wood. If it didn’t work, he’d try something else. His spirit of ice wouldn’t define him. His drive would. 

One spark.