Chapter One

Sparks felt his head pounding and wondered if a person could die from hanging upside down. His tormentors were long gone, grown bored, and wanting someone new to terrorize. A too thin, gawky, big nosed, boy, who had never gotten the knack of simple balance, could only amuse them until he grew too exhausted to beg their mercy any further.

“Sparks?” That disappointed voice could only be his father’s. The man’s worn and craggy face dipped into view and a hand, gnarled from hard work in the fields, caught at the rope holding Sparks above the ground.

“I was heading for the field, honest, father!” Sparks protested at once. “Jeremy and his thugs-”

His father made a quieting motion, eyed the tree limb high above, and then made a decision. He drew a knife, meant for digging out the muck from their plow mule’s hooves, and used it to saw at the rope. It parted, with effort, and his father lowered Sparks to the ground.

Sparks sat up and the world dimmed and whirled as blood rushed from his head back into the rest of his body. His father was talking, stern and measured, but it was hard to hear him. Sparks suspected that it was the usual lecture; his father urging him to grow up and to stop his nonsense, as if boys, twice his strength and size, could be dissuaded by simply stating his maturity.

“… and that’s why I’ve decided to hire you out to Martin DeLuce for a summer.”

Sparks blinked and shook his head to clear it. He looked owlishly at his father, who was crouched near him and waiting for his reply.

“What?” was the only reply that Sparks could muster in his confusion.

Spark’s father made an exasperated sound as he helped his son to his feet. Keeping a hand on Sparks elbow, he led him slowly back to their house, explaining, “You’re useless in the field. You can’t even lead the mule. The gods didn’t give you the strength. You’re a danger, as well. You can’t find your feet and you ‘re always having accidents that cost me time and money, both that our poor family can ill afford. I have your brothers, and that’s a mercy, but you need to find your way in the world as well. Clerking may be something that you are more suited for.”

Clerking. Sparks felt an acute relief, but also shame.

“You’ll send your stipend to us, of course,” his father continued, holding Sparks up as he stumbled and tripped over his own two feet. “DeLuce will provide you room and board, so you won’t have any need of it.”

Martin DeLuce was the master of his own lands, a well propertied man who had friends at court, but who was also known for being an eccentric. Mad, a few dared to judge him, citing the odd things that he ordered from the blacksmith and the apothecary. Trucking with the devil, of few others dared, telling tales of strange lights and odd, eerie noises, near the man’s keep. Sparks had scoffed, at what he had considered, the tales of fools, but, now that he was being sent to the man’s very home, his mind revisited them and wondered if they were quite so unbelievable.

“Why Master DeLuce?” Sparks wondered as they reached their ramshackle home, tucked up underneath a hill, and his father helped him inside.

“Sit,” his father ordered as he pumped water into a bowl and snagged a rag from the side of the washing sink.

Sparks sat, almost missing the low stool, and barked an elbow on the kitchen table. His father made no comment as he dipped his rag into the bowl of water and began patiently cleaning Sparks scrapes and cuts.

“Everyone here knows you,” his father finally replied. “They won’t chance you as an apprentice to anything, for fear that you will ruin something valuable. Master DeLuce doesn’t know you from the next farm boy. It’s a chance for you to start fresh, Sparks. I suggest that you make the most of it.”

His father finished and then stepped back to look at him with serious, old eyes.

“Your mama was a woman of grace and beauty, too gentle for this world,” he said softly. “She managed to birth her children, but that was all the strength that was in her. My other sons take after me, but you…If you don’t leave this place, I’m afraid that you’ll end up the same. You need another way.“

Sparks felt tears, but held them in check, knowing that his father hated them. “I try… I don’t know why I’m so clumsy.”

“You’re head is always in the clouds,” his father grumbled.

Sparks took the bowl of dirty water from him and made to toss the water out of an open window. The bowl slipped from his fingers and clattered against the sill, water and broken bowl chips flying everywhere. He flinched and then looked guiltily back at his father. "My head's not in the clouds, father," he argued. "Things just... happen."

"All the time,Sparks," His father sighed unhappily. "On a farm, that's dangerous.You're the only one of us that learned to read and write. Those skills seemed a waste of time, but they'll help you now."

"But Master DeLuce..." Sparks protested.

His father tossed the rag to the kitchen sink and it landed with a wet plop as he bent with his son to pick up the broken bowl. Sparks bent forward at the same time and their heads connected painfully. Muttering a curse and rubbing at his forehead, his father replied, "Don't listen to fools, son. The man has property. He knows people at court. If you do well, he may even take you there."

Sparks felt a moment of excitement over ride his trepidation. In their little farming community, the court was a mystical fantasy land where glittering lords and royalty lived. It was a tale to tell children before bed time and something to dream over while working in the hot sun in the fields. It didn't seem possible to actually go to such a place.

"How did you get him to agree to take me?" Sparks wanted to know.

His father's expression revealed the briefest uncertainty, before he smoothed it over and ducked his head. "He didn't need much convincing. He seemed eager to have a clerk. I imagine one's hard to come by around these parts."

And so it was settled, and Sparks found himself packing that night. A summer was a short time, but Sparks could tell that his father hoped for longer, a permanent position for his unpromising youngest son. It hurt, but Sparks refused to show it. He kept on a happy expression, even when his brothers gave him bear hugs and wished him good journey, before retiring to their beds for the night. It slipped a little, when he sat on a stool by the hearth and watched his father smoke his pipe and stare thoughtfully into the fire.

“Don’t disgrace yourself,” his father said at last, as he tapped ashes into a bowl from his pipe. “Remember honor and where you came from. Avoid wickedness and indulgence. Don’t shirk hard work. Mind your elders, and remember to bow in DeLuce’s presence.” He reached out a hand, gnarled from years of work in the field, and let it drop heavily onto Spark’s bony shoulder. He squeezed, without once looking at his son, and then rose and retired.

It was a man’s way of showing his love for his son, Sparks thought, but grimaced and found it lacking. He needed more comfort than that, just then, more reassurance that his father might want him back one day, when he had proved himself.
___________________________________
Sleep refused to come, and the dawn broke, misty, uncertain, and threatening rain, with Sparks there to see it through his window. He climbed out of bed, fully dressed, slipped on his boots, and slung his loaded pack over one shoulder. Dairyman Tercel would be driving his wagon by, with milk for the town, very shortly, and he had to be there to catch it or walk the distance.

In the chancy light, Sparks walked, first, into a door, hurting his nose, and then almost went head first into the kitchen table as one of the farm cats wove in and out of his legs. Hopping, and stumbling, as he regained his balance, he hissed in pain and swore at the beast. He hated cats;slinky, secretive things. He much preferred an honest dog any day. The cat gave him a disdainful eye, twitched a tail at him, and was the only witness as Sparks left his home.

The bells of the cart oxen, warned Sparks that he was very close to missing his ride. He hitched his pack further up his back, and then ran towards the dirt road. He fell face first over the front gate, rolled to break his fall, and fell in a tangle of limbs and pack at the foot of one wagon wheel.

The ox rolled a frightened eye at Sparks and sniffled and drooled, but obediently came to a halt when Tercel called the command and gave the cord, attached to the beast’s nose ring, a twitch.

“Sa, sa,” Tercel grumbled sympathetically. “Only you could fall over something that’s been there your entire life, lad.”

Sparks groaned as he gained his feet again, pack in hand. “I guess that’s why Da, is sending me away.”

He climbed onto the wooden seat next to Tercel, and stuffed his pack underneath, as the man started the Ox walking again. Tercel, a rawboned older man in homespun overalls, grunted, “Sound like you’re chewing bitter root, lad. Your Da only wants what’s best.”

Sparks slumped and blew a puff of air through his unruly hair in exasperation. “I‘m just growing,” he replied. “Another year…”

“Like a gangling colt, ye mean?“ Tercel snorted. “Lad, you’re past gangling colt, and well on your way to stumbling stork. A man knows his own best. Your Da knows this is no life for you. You need a soft seat, somewhere, with a quill in yer hand, safe from farm tools and valuable stock.”

As sunlight began to break through the mist, sparkling on the dew laden farmland around them, a small group of farmhouses loomed. The ox was pulled to a halt again, and Tercel dropped to the ground from his seat.

“Be a moment,” Tercel announced shortly as he hefted a heavy container of milk and began walking towards the farmhouses.

“Let me help!” Sparks offered as he began to climb down as well.

“No!” Tercel barked, making the ox call out in a bellow of surprise. “Stay you there and let an old hand do his work.”

Sparks slumped in his seat, depression as heavy a weight as that container of milk surely was. His father’s words were true. No one who knew him would apprentice him, not even the milkman, afraid of the damage that he could do. Still, he wondered how being a clerk to Martin DeLuce would be any different. As soon as the man discovered his penchant for accidents, Sparks would be sent back to his father in shame. Sparks wasn’t sure about his reception either. His father and brothers loved him, surely, but making their lives miserable wasn’t a way to show his love in return. In fact, it endangered their livelihood, and their very lives, when everything depended on the welfare of the farm. Even a few ruined handfuls of seed, or a lamed work beast could make all the difference.

Somehow, Sparks had to control his bad luck, his clumsy, gawky body, and do well enough for DeLuce to keep him. It seemed, just then, as impossible as keeping the sun from rising, and Sparks doubted that he would have any better success.

The cart tilted and Tercel climbed back on. The ox twitched his tail, well used to the routine, and began plodding forward again, bells ringing in the morning quiet.

“You’ll find your place, boyo,“ Tercel said, as if reading Spark’s mind. “Not to worry.”

Sparks frowned, not believing that at all. Where was there a place for someone like him, if De Luce turned him out? It wasn’t something that he wanted to contemplate. “I’ll make this work,” he muttered, making promises to himself rather than replying to Tercel.

“Good lad,” Tercel replied cheerfully and flicked his switch to get the ox moving faster.

The sun burned the mist away and the rutted road wound its way through forest and field until it split, one arm stretching over rolling hills to meet a blue sky, and the other dead ending at the gates of the city and sleepy looking guards waiting to let the Dairy man in.

“Is that Sparks, I see?” one snickered. “I’m surprised that you made it in one piece master Tercel.”

“Sa, sa, that’s enough, sir,” Tercel admonished. “The poor lad has enough to worry over, what with going out into the wide world, and all.”

Sparks scowled as he climbed down from the cart and hefted his pack on one bony shoulder.

“Ware the wide world, then,” the other snickered, “if boy Sparks is stumbling into it.”

Sparks ducked his head, his long, straight hair hiding his temper. They were his elders, and had the power of the city magistrate behind them. It wouldn‘t be wise at all to start his journey in the city stockade, because of some hot words.

“Go to, lad,” Tercel told him as he motioned to the road, “and God keep you until you return.”

Sparks nodded, turned to go, and was hit by a spray of slobber and snot as the ox tossed its head and bellowed. Tercel sighed as he fished out a rag and handed it to Sparks. The guards laughed outright.

“That’s his calling!“ the first guard said, “Ox snot catcher!”

Sparks wiped at his shirt with the rag, with shaking hands, as he began walking away.

“Maybe that’s, Ox snot rag,” the other guard returned.

“Ox-” the other one began, but Tercel cut him short with a grumble about doing their jobs and letting him in before his milk spoiled.

Sparks was used to the abuse and he forgot about them as soon as he topped a hill and passed out of their sight. His eyes were on the road ahead of him, then, trepidation gripping his gut. He had always wondered about the road that led away from what he knew; the road to other cities, other countries, and the court of the king. His feet had always seemed eager to step onto it and to take him along it as far as the road would take him. Now, though, when he had permission, and every reason, to do so, his feet felt reluctant, too ready to turn back and seek the safety of known paths and fields.

A patrol passed him, their captain giving Sparks a grin and a salute, and that reassured him that the road wouldn’t hold any dangers for him. The king didn’t stand for robbers and cut throats where gentle folk tread. No, his only danger was in himself, Spark thought, in his inability to avoid accidents and mishap. He could only hope to arrive at his new home alive, since hoping for anything else entered the realm of the impossible.

 

_________________________________________________

“You are….?” the servant held up a lantern with one hand while clutching a cloak around himself with the other. The servant’s old, wizened face almost looked as if it owned only one eye, the way that one squinted and the other glared at Sparks.

“Sparkselonius Theodore Greenhand, “ Sparks said through the rain that was pouring down his face and soaking him thoroughly. “I am Master DeLuce’s new clerk.”

“Ah!” the man said, as if having a revelation, and then simply continued to stare at Sparks with his larger eye.

Sparks stared back uncertainly. “May I come in, sir?” he asked at last, plaintively.

“Hm, yes, that would be good,“ the servant grunted. “Master DeLuce doesn’t like the wet. He won’t see you out in the rain.”

“No, sir,” Sparks replied, not sure what to say to that. He gave a nervous bow and followed the servant inside.

“Drips!” the servant swore and motioned Sparks to stand over the stone of the floor and not the carpet. “Drips are harder to clean on good carpet.”

“Yes, sir, sorry, sir,” Sparks responded as he took off his small, patched cape and held it, dripping, away from him. “May I-” he began, but the servant was already gone.

Sparks looked about at a large receiving hall of stone, tapestries, dark and old, hanging on the walls, a warm hearth, and furniture that seemed built in such a way as to discourage actual sitting, and wondered how an old man could move so fast.

Sparks moved the wet cape, from one hand to the other, hoping for a place to deposit it, while his clothing dripped more water and his hair lay, cold and plastered, to his face and shoulders.

“Here at last,” a cultured voice said and Sparks jumped and turned almost completely about, stumbling and tripping on the edge of the carpet, before he righted himself and saw his new master.

“God keep you and yours, good master,” Sparks promptly said as he tried a bow and almost fell over again. “I am here to serve you.”

The man watched him regain his balance with a frown and then he studied Sparks quietly.

Master DeLuce was past middle age, but had not yet reached ‘venerable’. His gray hair was pulled back into a neat pony tail and his face was very aristocratic, dark eyebrows sweeping up like wings over darker eyes. He was heavy set, but not fat, short, but not dwarfish. In simple, dark pants and coat, he would have nearly passed as unremarkable. Nearly, but for the large slash of scars along one high cheek bone. Whether from some large beast or bird, it was hard to tell.

“You’re hurt? Crippled?” DeLuce suddenly asked and Sparks felt a judgment about to fall on his head.

“Slightly injured, Master DeLuce, ” Sparks replied. The tumble into a burr bush, and the fall into a ravine beside the road, had left his knee aching, enough to favor it, and scratches along his nose.

The man looked him slowly up and down and then nodded as if making a decision, “ Your room is in the upper, north tower. Keep it clean and keep it quiet. That’s what I expect out of you from this moment forward, farm boy, understand?”

“Yes, Master DeLuce.” Sparks felt it necessary to bow again, scattering water everywhere at the quick motion.

DeLuce flinched as some of the water reached him, but he made an impatient motion with one hand, filled with rings, and barked, “I expect you in my workroom, crack of dawn, boy! I work early to late, and you will do the same. For now, though, get your gear stowed and your person presentable. Dinner is when ever I say it is and don‘t expect to be called for it.”

“How will I…?” Sparks began and then bit down on that. It was too soon to question his new Master. Asking the servants, he was sure, would be more correct.

DeLuce gave an approving nod. “Good, you’re not stupid. Now, your name… Sparkalonus… Sparelonius…”

“Sparkselonius, sir,” Sparks supplied timidly.

DeLuce glared, “Who are you to have a larger name than I do?“ he demanded.

Sparks went pale and stammered, “S-sir… M-Master DeLuce, sir, I am called Sparks, for short.”

“Sparks.“ DeLuce repeated it and then looked approving. “That will do. Dismissed.”

He turned in a swirl of cape and disappeared through an archway to the left. Sparks stared after him, regained his wits, and then clutched his meager belongings to his wet chest. He was approved. He had a new home and a room to call his own, that is, if he could find the north tower…

 

 

The staircase was narrow, the wooden steps bowed and in disrepair. Sparks made his way up them slowly, trying to see in the gloom and wishing that he had a candle. A few window slits, without panes, gave him only sprays of water, as he passed them, and very little light. The dripping and pooling water inside the turret, made footing that much more treacherous, as well.

“Finally,” Sparks sighed as he reached a thick door at the very top.

The latch gave him trouble and he wondered how long it had been since anyone had used the room. He imagined cobwebs, dust, and moldy bedding, as he opened the door, but was thankfully surprised to find just the opposite. As he dropped his sodden pack on the floor and dropped his wet cape on top, he took in a small cheery fireplace, a good stack of firewood, a narrow bed with a good quilt and straw pillow, and a warm rug on the stone floor. It was lacking a window, but that was a good thing, considering the other windows without panes.

“You made it, I see,” a voice said from the door.

Sparks turned, startled, and saw a dried up stick of a woman, in a dress, that seemed three sizes too large. She had it contained by a tightly tied apron and wore a frilled, white cap on her head for a similar reason, to contain a thatch of wild gray hair. It hung down into her eyes, obscuring them completely. She seemed all nose, a large beak of a nose with flaring nostrils.

Sparks gave a quick, stumbling bow. “Good ‘eve, ma‘am. At your service ma‘am.”

She snorted, hands on hips. “I’m no one’s ma’am, sir, just the maid. I change the sheets and the bedding, but I won’t carry the firewood up here again. You only get one Christian act o’ mercy, outta me, sir, and now you’re on your own if you want heat.”

“T-Thank you,” Sparks stammered.

She looked him up and down, or seemed to, her bobbing nose the only indication. She shook her head then as she turned and muttered, “Shame, that.”

Sparks frowned, not understanding, but she didn’t elaborate as she raised a candle and went back down the stairs. Sparks felt embarrassed, knowing that she must have followed him the entire way and not offered her light, or help of any kind. Why not, he couldn’t fathom.

“A strange place,” he whispered and then shut the door against a rising draft that blew up the stairs. A bolt secured it and he felt tension and apprehension drain out of him at once as it slid home.

Sparks undressed and put on a soft shirt, pants, and woolen socks that warmed his frozen feet. He finished thawing by pulling the carpet closer to the fireplace and sitting on it, as close as he dared, to the flames. He could hear the wind howl outside, even through the stone, and the draft grew strong enough to make the door move with small rattles in it’s hinges. It made him think about the farm and his family. Was the storm bad enough to damage crops? Would his family be sorting through damaged plants and injured beasts the next day? The urge to return home to help them was strong.

His father’s voice came to him, then, as if he stood in the same room, ‘Out of the way, Sparks, before you harm something.‘, ‘Never you mind that, Sparks, let a sure hand take care of that.’, ‘Aside, Sparks, before you come to harm.’

They didn’t need him, Sparks thought, they had all made that very clear. “I will do well, here,“ Sparks whispered to the fire in despair. “What else is there for me if I don’t?”

Dinner was a guessing affair. Sparks let his growling stomach be his time piece.When it was hungry enough to be heard, he put on his best coat and hall shoes. The trip down the stairs was much improved with a wick lit from the fireplace, but he still had to negotiate the blowing rain, coming through the window slits, and the pooling water, that was making a slow drip down the stairs over the warps of the wood treads. When he found the hall again, his soles wet and his hair sparkling water, he could see the rain and lightning through the thick paned windows. It was a bad storm, indeed.

The smell of food directed him from the hall to the kitchen, but, instead of going in, Sparks hung at the large, arched entrance, nervous and unsure of his right to be there. He wasn’t the master of that place, to eat in the dining room. Servants ate in the kitchen. He could see the man servant, and the maid, already there, seated at a rough table and devouring hot stew in wooden bowls, with fresh bread and cider, on plates at their elbows. Sparks wasn’t certain whether clerks were allowed to join them.

“Eat and get out!” a female voice boomed and a huge hand, attached to a cleaver, slammed down into a chunk of raw pork. It cut it neatly in half and the big hand divided it and tossed it into two huge bowls.

The cook was a very big woman, dressed in white, her hair pulled back severely tight under a cook’s cap. Her big face had rosy cheeks and tiny blue eyes that managed to convey her severe displeasure all the way across the kitchen. The fat on both of her arms jiggled alarmingly as she ladled stew into a new bowl and yanked a hunk of bread from a loaf already decimated. She slid them along a long carving table, sloshing and rolling, until they met up with Sparks, who had hurried forward to catch at them.

“She means it!” the man servant warned in between hurried bites of stew. “Eat or she’ll carve you for the master’s pets, instead of that pork.”

The maid’s nose bobbed in agreement as Sparks moved to join them. He poured himself cider from a pitcher and then made contented sounds as he ate the stew.

“Very good, Mistress Cook,“ he managed politely. “Thank you, ma’am.”

The cook glared. “Ma’am, did you call me?”

“He’s a polite one,“ the maid snickered.

“Won’t do you no good, here, boy,” the man servant warned. “Master only expects nods and hard work. We don’t have time for sirs and ma’ams.”
The man servant’s large eye swept Sparks up and down, “That your real hair color boy? Like wet hay. Unfortunate that. White skin and wet hay. Bones like my Uncle Frane. Sticks… sticks… without any skin on ‘em.”

The maid studied the man as if he were daft and then snorted, “That would be because your Uncle Frane is dead, and ten years buried, Harry.“

The man blinked his eye and swiveled it at her. “I suppose that would explain it.”

The maid turned her nose to Sparks. “Sa, Little Bones, what do they call you, that calls you a name?”

Sparks floundered for words, confused, and then managed, “Sparks, ma’am… sorry, but, if you’re not ma’am, then may I ask your name?“

“Wilma Snowtart,” she replied.

“S-Snowtart?“ Sparks repeated in embarrassment.

“Yes,” she replied, slightly offended. “Is the name too good for the likes of me, or something?”

“No!No,” Sparks quickly assured her. “It’s just a name I’ve not heard before.”

“My name’s Harry Houndtwit,” the serving man announced.

Sparks flushed and then glowered as he stared down into his stew. “You’re making those up… I’m not a fool.”

The two exchanged looks and the serving man grunted, “A fool to say we’re making them up, but fools never seem to know that they’re fools, you know?“

Sparks looked up again, shocked, and then the cook was shouting, “And I’m Mary Cleaverbeef, and I want all of you out of my kitchen, now!”

The serving man and the maid scrambled, shoving food into their mouths as they rose, and drinking it down with the cider, as if they really did fear the cook would use her cleaver on them. Sparks found himself doing the same, hardly getting enough to eat before he was lining up with the others to dump everything into the large sink.

“You, chicken bones!” the cook shouted, “Stay!“

The others gave Sparks sympathetic looks and then hurried out of the kitchen. Sparks fearfully approached the cook. She fished behind her with one ham sized hand and then brought out a poppy seed muffin. She slapped it into Sparks’ hand and said gently, “Welcome to the household," and then shouted at the top of her voice,"Now, get the hell out of my kitchen!”

Her voice boomed into Sparks’ face and her breath smelled like onions. He clutched the muffin hard and quickly obeyed. Once outside, and in the hall again, he shivered all over, and then realized something important. He hadn’t made any mistake, hadn’t fallen, and hadn’t caused a major accident. It was something that hadn’t happened in a very long time. Sparks grinned, encouraged, and took a bite of his muffin. Maybe things had changed?

Sparks took two steps towards the corridor leading back to his room, and then slid on a small carpet. He went down in a jumble of arms and legs, the muffin flying and slapping into an ancient painting of some man in fine clothing.

Close by, Harry looked at Wilma, shook his head, and said, “Boy’s a goner.“ Her nose nodded in agreement.

______________________________________________

Chapter Two

Sparks’ feet hit the floor as soon as dawn lit the sky. He couldn’t see it, but he was a farmer’s son and he was well used to rising at that hour. He scrambled into clothes, ran a comb through his hair, and hurried down the stairs, scraping arms on the wall as he kept himself from going head first down them. His nose scented breakfast, but he was too afraid of being late to stop by the kitchen.

He passed Mr. Houndtwit, who was yawning and making his tired way down a hallway, and was grateful when the man’s big eye swept him up and down irritably and he jerked a gnarled thumb back the way that he had come.

“’Ware,” Mr. Houndtwit warned him. “Master’s in a temper.”

The hall dead ended at a thick door banded in iron. Sparks wiped hands against his best clothes, ran fingers through his unruly hair nervously, and then knocked. He kept knocking, when no one answered, until he hurt his knuckles, and he was certain that he had picked up a splinter. A gruff voice finally replied, just when Sparks had begun to think that Mr. Houndtwit had misled him, and Sparks timidly opened the door.

“If you’re late again, Spricks, I’ll dismiss you!” Master DeLuce snarled.

“S-Sparks, sir,” Sparks automatically corrected and then blushed to his ears as his new master’s eyes pierced him like daggers.

The man was standing before a very long, oaken table covered in open books, beakers, odd colored fluids, lit candles dripping wax over everything, and stacks of little boxes labeled with scrawling script. Part of the table looked as if it had suffered a fire, and a chunk was missing midway, some of the books threatening to slide into the gap. DeLuce had an open book in one hand and his face looked as if he hadn’t slept, pinched, pale, and sour. He fairly glowed, though, as if from witch light, and Sparks blinked and tried to understand why there was more light than the tall windows in the room, showing pale dawn, and the candles, could account for.

He saw it, then, a glowing globe, larger than he could stretch his arms around, hung above the table, by chains, from the rafters. It wasn’t filled with fire, or candles, or anything that Sparks could fathom. Mouth open, he gaped.

“What’s wrong, boy?“ DeLuce snapped. He looked above him, as if there might be something dangerous, and then snorted. “Pay that no mind,” he commanded. “It’s filled with a special fluid. It taps into the lighting in the sky and makes the globe glow. It’s not devil magic, or any kind of magic, for that matter. Pure science, boy, so don’t go running to the nearest priest, fearing for your soul.“

Sparks pulled himself together, took a deep breath, and replied, “Sorry, sir.”

DeLuce gave a firm, approving nod. “Good, lad. Now, sit there.” He motioned to a stool, “Take up that book and that pen, and write everything that I say, whether you understand it or not. Understood?“

“Yes, Master DeLuce,“ Sparks replied obediently.

Sparks found the book, bound in fine leather and numbered on the cover. It was filled already with script in a fine hand, and dated precisely. He perched on a high stool, settled the book in his lap, and positioned the ink well and the pen within easy reach. Settling the book on his lap, he found where the script had left off and marked the place with the date.

“You’re quick,” DeLuce approved, watching him. “I like someone who doesn’t need constant direction. Now, if you would only show up on time!” he thundered, making Sparks start on his stool and almost drop the book onto the floor.

Sparks struggled to keep the book and his seat, and then settled again, breathing a sigh of relief when he managed it. Picking up the quill, he kept it poised, waiting for his master to begin speaking.

DeLuce grunted, rubbed at his chin, and then turned to his work table. He pulled out a large tome, flipped to a certain page , and then began fishing out ingredients from his boxes. “One quarter ounce of sulphur… One half ounce of finely powdered, blue topaz… One third ounce of finely ground teeth from specimen five… One medium leaf of the Pomander plant…”

It was tedious and confusing. Sparks couldn’t imagine what the man was making, or if he was making anything at all. He mixed his ingredients with painstaking care, eyed the results, rattled off those simple, uninteresting results to Sparks, and then poured those ingredients into one of the many beakers near to hand. Some he heated over the candles, while others he stacked on the teetering books all around him, noting their lack of change, hour after hour, as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world to him. If one mixture particularly pleased him, he labeled it with care and placed it on a rack to one side.

Lunch came and went. Sparks lost hope that DeLuce would call a break of any sort. Sparks felt his stomach growl and his bladder become painful, pleading with him for release. His hand cramped as he wrote, and he began to pause to shake it and rub at his fingers, more and more, as the hours ticked by.

“You have a small amount of time to rest, before I return,” DeLuce announced as he picked up a beaker, eyed it, and then strode to a side door. ”Do not enter here, under any circumstance,” he warned, before disappearing down a flight of stairs. “It’s dangerous.”

Sparks groaned as he put the book aside, open to let the pages dry, and slid off his stool. Numb legs floundered as circulation returned painfully, and his ass told him, in no uncertain terms, that it was done sitting on hard wood. His bladder, however, was speaking a much louder, urgent message.

A chamber pot was under DeLuce’s work table. Sparks uncovered it and relieved himself with a thankful groan. When that was done, he covered it and slid it back, and then wondered if he had enough time to reach the kitchen and eat.

Ms.Snowtart came in, just then, balancing a tray of steaming tea, cider, and a few cuts of beef and buttered bread. She swung around as if her long nose was a dowsing rod, and found a clear space on a side table. Putting down her burden, she wiped hands on her apron, and then seemed to twitch all over when she saw the open door.

“He said that he would return shortly,” Sparks supplied and then hopefully, “Is that for me as well?”

She snorted, but seemed too disconcerted by the open door to make much of a scathing remark, except,“‘course not, boy! You don’t share food with the master of the house.”

Sparks didn’t wait any longer. He found his feet and raced down the long hallway to the kitchen. He fell inside the doorway, slid on a clean floor, and scrambled up as the cook, looking as if she had never left her spot at the butcher table, pointed a cleaver at him and bellowed, “What now, scamp?! Are ye some bottomless pit, to always be eating?”

“P-Please, Mistress Cleaverbeef,” Sparks stammered. “May I have something to eat?”

“You're late for the noon meal. The kitchen is not open to all hours, and boy‘s appetites,” she grumbled, but reached aside, ladled cider into a mug, slapped a few strips of beef onto a wooden plate, and then slid it all across the butcher table to him.

“Thank you, Mistress Cleaverbeef,” Sparks said between bites as he hurriedly ate and drank.

It was a temptation to chuck plate and cup into the sink, but a ham sized hand planted itself on the Cook’s hip and she glared out from under her cap. Sparks washed them in the cold water, instead, and placed them on the drying rack, before running full tilt back to DeLuce‘s workroom.

The man hadn’t returned yet, and Sparks heaved a sigh of relief as he took his seat once more, put the book in his lap, and checked his writing for errors.

Deluce returned shortly after. Sparks could have sworn that he heard a voice from down the stairs before the man closed the door and slid a bar into a locking position. His master didn’t look pleased, his scowl dark as he thumped his beaker aside and said, “Formula three hundred and fifty three; failure.“

Sparks dutifully wrote that in his book.

As the day wore on, and DeLuce became engrossed in his work once more, not even taking the time to eat the meal that had been brought to him, Sparks had more than one question knocking at his lips, begging to be asked. Something about DeLuce’s behavior stopped him, though. A tightness to the shoulders, a brooding, inward stare, and the lack of recognition, all warned Sparks that Deluce wouldn’t welcome interruptions.

The light of day faded, and the rose of the dying sun painted the large windows, before DeLuce took pity on him. “Enough.” He waved a distracted hand at Sparks. “Now I need to make new mixtures and check on my specimens. I won’t need you again until morning. See that you aren’t late again, Sprinks.”

“Sparks, sir,“ Sparks corrected softly, but it was clear that DeLuce wasn‘t listening, so he took his reprieve and limped wearily out of the workroom. He almost ran straight into Ms. Snowtart, who was bringing dinner to join the uneaten noon meal.

Ms. Snowtart ‘s nose cocked to one side as she regarded him. “Hm, still in one piece,” she said in patented surprise, and then she was past him and through the door and Sparks could only wonder what she meant.

On his way to his own dinner, Sparks was surprised to find Mr. Houndtwit standing and staring at a wall, as if it had dared get in his way. His one large eye glared at it and his mouth worked as if he were gathering foul curses to hurl at it.

“Sir?” Sparks said uncertainly. “May I be of service?”

Mr. Houndtwit’s head swiveled sideways and the eye regarded him. “It’s gotten in my way!” he exclaimed.

Sparks glanced at the wall only briefly. “I’m sure it meant no offense, sir.”

A ridiculous thing to say, but Sparks was coming to believe that Mr. Houndtwit might be suffering from a malady, that an old half aunt had once termed, ‘the dropsies’, because sanity was known to drop at any odd moment.

“Offense?” Mr. Houndtwit retorted. “It’s a wall, boyo! Are you mad to think it gives offenses?”

Sparks blushed in confusion. “N-No, sir.“

“I think you need victuals, Mr. Spinks. The lack has addled your pate,“ Mr. Houndtwit announced as he took hold of Sparks’ elbow and led him toward the kitchen, the wall ceasing to be a barrier for him.

“That’s Sparks, sir,” Sparks corrected timidly.

“I thought that I heard the master call you Spinks?“ Mr. Houndtwit retorted testily.

Sparks tripped on the edge of a carpet and banged his ribs on the entrance to the kitchen. Mr. Houndtwit swayed dangerously, as he kept his hold on Sparks’ elbow, and Spark’s struggled to regain his balance. They almost tumbled headfirst onto the kitchen floor, but Sparks grasped at a long table and used it to break both their falls.

“No horseplay in my Kitchen!” Ms. Cleaverbeef roared.

Mr. Houndtwit covered his ears, muttered something uncomplimentary, but then was all begging smiles again as he tried to get his dinner out of the bad tempered cook.

As the cook ladled stew onto a plate, Sparks asked the man,” Does the master never rest or eat? You were scribing before I left, was he there all night long as well as the day?”

“Scribe, me?” Mr. Houndtwit looked puzzled and then he giggled as he took his plate of stew. “I can’t write a word, Mr. Sparks.”

“Then who-” Sparks began to ask, but the cook cut him off.

“Talk is for the parlor or the stables!” Cook roared. “This is MY kitchen! Eat and get out!”

Sparks took his portion of stew and retreated to the small table with Mr. Houndtwit. Sitting and eating hurriedly, he asked quietly, around mouthfuls of stew, “Is Ms. Snowtart not joining us, sir?”

Mr. Houndtwit mouthed her name as if confused as to who he was referring to, and then he brightened and replied, “She has to care for the master’s specimens this night. She’ll have her dinner in her own good time.”

“Care for them? What are they and why don‘t they need care every day?” Sparks wondered.

“We take turns with the duty,” Mr. Houndtwit explained. He motioned to Sparks with a fork, “Not you, though, Spinks. Master doesn’t want you down there… not yet leastways.”

“But… what sort of specimens are they?“ Sparks pressed.

Mr. Houndtwit plunked his fork back into his bowl and speared a large piece of greasy meat as he thought about his answer, large eye moving distractedly off to one side. “Not sure,” he finally replied. “They’re an odd lot. Master keeps the dangerous ones caged. The others…,” He waved his fork airily and then bit into the meat, “he lets roam.“

“Roam?” Sparks looked about them as if he could find something out of the ordinary, but Mr. Houndtwit’s humorous snort brought his eyes back to the man.

“They have their uses,” Mr. Houndtwit said cryptically and then was up and cleaning his dish as if Sparks had been completely forgotten.
Sparks thought it wise to keep eating. He finished, washed his bowl, and then thought about following Mr. Houndtwit to ask more questions. He was tired, though, bone weary from his long day. The next day promised to be just as grueling and he couldn’t afford not to rest when he could.

“The clerk before you was a pretty thing,“ Ms. Cleaverbeef said suddenly as she chopped meat as if she were about to cook for a hundred people. “Green eyes like leaves and ash hair down to his waist in little braids. He liked corn muffin with honey and singing like a bird. Said he was from one of those traveling jester shows and had a mind to settle to honest work. Didn’t last long at all, though. Not at all.”

She looked melancholy and Sparks found himself staring in shock for a long moment before he could ask, “What happened to him?“

The big woman’s jowls bobbed as she shook her head and chopped a bit of meat with a vicious down stroke. “Too much of a fool,” she replied, and Sparks took that to mean that he hadn’t suited Master DeLuce.

“I’m not a fool,” Sparks said, more for his own benefit than hers.

“Good, lad,” she said as if making an effort to recover. “Master doesn’t suffer them, truly he doesn’t.”

Sparks nodded and said softly, “Good night, Ms. Cleaverbeef.“

She didn’t reply, intent on her work again, and he left to go to his room, climbing the long damp steps carefully as he wondered how a traveling jester had learned to write so well and what exactly he had done to make Master DeLuce dismiss him.

 

Chapter Three

Sparks was determined not to be late the next morning. He climbed into his clothing, combed his hair, and threw water, from a basin, into his face. He reached the door before the sun had risen, the darkness making the keep eerie with shadows and odd noises. None of the other inhabitants were to be seen. The kitchen was dark as well, though Sparks couldn’t imagine Ms. Cleaverbeef anywhere else. In his mind’s eye he saw her, snoring over her cutting board, cleaver still clutched in a huge hand, even though he knew that was ridiculous.

DeLuce was already busy over his mixtures, several books balanced on top of one another near an elbow. He looked fully awake, as if exhaustion didn’t dare trouble him. ”Good, Sprinks,” he said, barely acknowledging his entrance, before launching into a long series of observations.

Sparks snatched at book and pen, scrambled onto his high seat, and then began scribbling hurriedly to catch up. He paid more attention this time, to what he was writing, but he quickly saw that it didn’t make any sense. He supposed a simple farm boy lacked the knowledge to grasp such things, but something, he thought, should have sounded familiar. Something should have given him some clue as to DeLuce’s purpose.

It was very faint. Almost Sparks dismissed it as the wind through cracks in the stone, or the bubbling of one of De Luce’s heated beakers, but his ears slowly dismissed those explanations as he began to pick out a melody. It was old, something his late grandfather had used to sing, when the sun rose and he wanted a fair day.

DeLuce glared at the door, but didn’t give that voice any more notice than he had given Sparks. He concentrated on his mixtures and Sparks didn’t have the luxury of wondering about that voice, as he tried to keep up with DeLuce’s spoken notes.

The voice faded, after only a little time, and nothing followed it. When DeLuce was satisfied with one mixture, he didn’t release Sparks, as he had the day before, as he approached the locked door. Instead, he said, “On the table, there is a list of items . I need you to get them with all haste. Mr. Houndtwit will supply you with coins.”

“Sir?I‘m to buy these items?” Sparks wondered as he came off of his stool and left his book open to dry.

DeLuce growled back, “What else, if I give you coins? I thought you were an intelligent boy?”

“Sorry, sir. Yes, sir,” Sparks stammered.

When DeLuce had gone, Sparks went to find Houndtwit. The man was standing in the main hall, running a dirty cloth through his hands, over and over again, as if it were infinitely fascinating.

“Mr. Houndtwit, sir,” Sparks asked and the man shot a look at him, expression annoyed.

“Master won’t like you leaving your tasks,” Houndtwit warned.

“He gave me leave, and told me to buy these,” Sparks told him, holding out the list. “He said that you would have money for me.”

Houndtwit mouthed the word ‘money’ and then grunted as he reached into a pocket. He drew out several coins. “This should do it. There is an herb farmer down past where the creek bends. The animals can be had from old man Carver. He takes care of the pests here about and lives by the abandoned mill. Follow the path down and to your right once the stones start.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sparks replied, gave a small bow, and turned to go. He paused and asked, nervously, “Sir? May I ask a question?“

Houndtwit had gone back to contemplating his rag. He started and glared. “What is it boy?!” he exclaimed impatiently.

“I thought that I heard singing from Master DeLuce’s specimen room,“ Sparks told him. “Is there someone who works down there, someone I haven’t met?”

“You’re here to scribe, boy Sparks, not ask questions about Master‘s business.” Mr. Houndtwit put a finger on the side of his nose and his large eye peered at him over the tip. “Between you and me, though, some experiments of the master’s don’t please him at all. They won’t see the light of day again and best you mark that. Things that displease Master DeLuce have a desperate habit of going away.”

“It’s an experiment of some sort?” Sparks dared. “One of those talking birds, perhaps? I’ve seen those in gypsy wagons, traveling through town. They can sing and talk like men.”

“I’ve never seen a talking bird,” Mr. Houndtwit replied, looking at Sparks as if he might have suddenly lost his mind. He waved the hand, holding the rag, at Sparks. “Stop trying to fool an old man and get your task done, Mr. Sparks, or the master will be most put out.“

“Should I ask Cook, and Ms. Snowtart, if they have need of anything while I’m out?” Sparks wondered.

“Very considerate, but Ms. Cleaverbeef never needs anything,“ Mr. Houndtwit assured him, “and Ms. Snowtart…” He trailed off, large eye looking wild for a moment, and then he was bringing his attention to bear on Sparks again,” She’s assisting the master.”

“How is that, sir?“ Sparks wondered. “I haven’t seen her of late.”

“Some of master’s specimens are unruly sick,” Mr. Houndtwit replied. “She’s good at cleaning up the ills.“

“Oh, I see,” Sparks replied.

“I doubt that you do, boy Sparks, I doubt that you do,” Houndtwit countered sourly, but then he was snapping his rag at Sparks. “On to your duties!”

“Yes, sir,” Sparks replied, but Houndtwit was already engrossed in repeatedly snapping his rag.

It was pleasant to get out of the keep. Though it had only been a few days, Sparks was beginning to wonder if being a clerk was what he truly wanted. He knew that going against his father’s will was impossible for him, especially since any money sent to his family would help them tremendously, but he could hope, deep down, for things to be different. Contemplating months, even years, sitting on a hard wooden stool, writing endless volumes of the nonsense that DeLuce recited, and living with the utterly mystifying inhabitants of DeLuce’s home, seemed more like a sentence for a crime than a worthwhile occupation.

The path dipped suddenly and Sparks went sprawling. He rolled over a few rocks, feeling them dig painfully into his skin and felt the scratch of thorns. Money and list went flying, and the sky spun crazily, as he went end over end into an herb garden.

“Amazing,” a voice said after Sparks had come to a halt, on his back in turned earth and smelling rosemary.

A man leaned on a hoe, a sprig of mint between his teeth, and a sparkle of blue eyes under a straw hat. He was so brown and wrinkled by the sun, that it was hard to tell his exact age. He took out the sprig and motioned to where Sparks had rolled.

“You hit every possible bad spot on your way down,” the man told him. “Have you offended some god?”

“I am a Christian man, sir,” Sparks managed to reply as he tried to gage whether his spine was broken or not.

The man shrugged a bony shoulder. “The only gods I know are rain and sun, because they rule my days, and determine whether I have a good harvest or a bad one.”

Sparks carefully sat up. He was scratched all over and his arm felt leaden, as if he had hit nerves on the way down and stunned them. He touched it gingerly, but didn’t feel a break. “My life isn’t so simple,“ Sparks muttered.

“Are you calling me a simple man?” The farmer didn’t look offended, only mildly amused.

Sparks found his manners as he found his list and his money. “I’m sorry, good sir, I’m addled by the fall, and angry at myself. I meant no disrespect.”

“Understandable,” the man replied as Sparks gathered himself to his feet and straightened his clothes. “I do suppose that my mood would be sour as well after a fall like that… and if I was clerk to Master DeLuce.”

Sparks started. “How do you know that, sir?”

The man waved his sprig of mint at Sparks. “You have money and a list, and you’re not carrying supplies for any sort of journey, so it only follows that you‘re on your master‘s errands. Besides, I can see your list from here.” He tapped the mint against the side of one eye. “Eyes like an eagle for faraway things, but blind as a bat close up.“

“I am indeed on Master Deluce’s errands,” Sparks admitted. “He sent me to buy your herbs.I am called Sparks”

The man nodded, but looked suddenly serious. “I am Gregory Finneman. Master Deluce has me grow certain items special and pays me handsomely for it. They are not easy to grow, lad, and take great care. You take great care in returning them, unbruised, to Master Deluce.“

“I will, sir,“ Sparks promised.

“See that you do,” Finneman man said as he lead the way to a darker corner of his garden. He snatched up a basket, neatly woven from grasses, and a pair of fine shears, from a small, wooden cart.

“What sort of herbs does he use?” Sparks wanted to know. “I am a farmer’s son and growing things interest me.”

“A farmer’s son turned servant to Master Deluce?” Finneman raised eyebrows as he bent and began snipping away at oddly colored plants. He grunted as he found a few white bulbs and carefully placed them in the basket.

“I suppose that’s not as odd as that pretty little jester, he used to have,” the farmer said. “I never could understand that. It wasn’t like Deluce to bother with such a creature. All braids, big eyes, and a voice like an angel when he sang. A man could think unsavory things about that arrangement, if I didn’t know Deluce for the chunk of dead stone he is. Didn’t last long, though. He was here a few times, like a dancing bird, all bright and full of laughter, and then gone, who knows where.”

“He wanted to be respectable, I heard,” Sparks interjected, eagerly wanting the man to continue. “Everyone at the keep told me that he didn’t suit, though.”

Finneman suddenly looked too wise. “The boy told me much more than that. It wasn‘t such a simple thing, and I doubt that he had any interest in respectability.” He winked at Sparks and smiled, though, as he stood up. Handing him the basket, he finished, “I don’t gossip, though, and he told me in strictest confidence.”

It was frustrating, but Sparks could see that the man wouldn’t say anything more.

“Thank you for the herbs, sir, “ Sparks said. “How much do I owe you?”

“A silver,” Finneman replied. When Sparks started in alarm, the man grinned. “I’ve told you, the herbs Master Deluce needs are very special. A silver is well earned.”

Sparks paid him, hoping that he was doing the right thing. The fear that he wasn’t, that he had grossly overpaid, gnawed at him so much, that he hardly said two words in goodbye, as the man tipped his hat and returned to his work.

 

_______________________________________

The abandoned mill was impossible to miss. It was a skeleton of graying wood, perched over a stream, and looked as if only it's many spider webs and overgrown vines, were holding it together. Master Carver was expecting Sparks arrival, and he already had a wooden cage ready for him, perched on a stump. He was a tall, gangly man, with a beak for a nose and a drooping mustache hanging from it like gray moss. His bushy eyebrows were drawn down and scowling. He wasn't at all pleased to see Sparks. Sparks was even less pleased to see him when he discovered what was in the cage.

"Cats, sir?"

"Cats, sir," the man retorted irritably, mocking Sparks.

There were ten of them, all ash blonde in color, and looking frightened as they were forced tight against their cage mates in the confined space of the cage.

"You tell master DeLuce," the man growled, "That he better start liking another color of cat. I've taken every one of them from here to the sea.The last I had to buy off of a little girl for more than I care to recount."

"He has many of these?" Sparks asked, testing the weight of the cage. "I've not seen them at the Keep, sir."

"Hundreds," the man snorted and pointed a knobby finger at Sparks. "See, you get them there, in one piece,boy! I don't want to chase them all over the countryside again."

"Yes, sir, I will, sir," Sparks assured him, though he wasn't really that certain. Balancing the cage, and the basket of herbs, was going to test all of his chancey balance.

"A silver and a copper, and then be on your way," the man demanded. "I have other work to do, namely the work that I've chosen:rat catching, not cat catching."

Sparks was stunned. Expensive herbs he could understand, but cats were free for the taking. He frowned, not used to questioning his elders, but determined not to see his master cheated, "That is certainly more than Master DeLuce was willing to pay." He wasn't sure about that fact, but he knew that his father would have sent the man away, with a pitchfork to the backside, at any suggestion that cats would be worth anything at all.

The man glared. "I can just let them go again," he grumbled.

"You could, sir," Sparks replied, sounding firmer than he felt, "but then you would lose whatever profit you hoped for."

"I hoped for a silver and a copper," the man snapped back.

"Ten coppers," Sparks told him. It was still too much, in his estimation, but he wasn't going to push his luck and infuriate the man completely.

The man rubbed at his chin, tried his best to intimidate Sparks with his fierce look, but then threw up his hands and held one out. "Done, but don't expect blonde cats after this, as I was telling you before.There aren't any and I'm not a breeder of cats."

Sparks paid the man and watched him stride away into the mill, as if there wasn't any danger of it coming down on his head.

Sparks put the basket on top of the cage. One of the cats brushed against the side of the cage, and gave Sparks a pleading look, while another tried to catch the basket with its claws through the bars of the cage.

"Stop that," Sparks warned softly as he picked cage and basket up, "and you," he said to the one with the pleading eyes, "I don't like cats, so you can save your big eyes for someone else. My master will determine your fate. You should plead with him."

The cat didn't listen, of course, and Sparks wasn't heartless enough not to wonder what their fate would be. He didn't imagine that it would be a kind one. There were no cats around the Keep, and the illness among DeLuce's specimens, that Mr. Houndtwit had mentioned, might explain the reason why Sparks was acquiring the cats. They might be replacing ones that hadn't recovered their health.When he remembered some of the ingredients of Master DeLuce's flasks, he couldn't help feeling sorry for the animals at the thought that those ingredients might soon be used on them.

Why blonde cats, though? His father had preferred red cows, and brown chickens, because of breeding, but Sparks wasn't aware that blonde cats were any different than black ones. Looking them over, through the bars of the wooden cage, he couldn't see that they were any more special than any other cat.

Sparks stumbled, caught his balance just in time, and decided, wisely, to stop worrying about cats. He needed to get them to his master, in one piece, before DeLuce began to wonder why he was taking so long.

The keep seemed empty when he returned to it. Mr. Houndtwit was nowhere to be found, to give him direction, and Ms. Snowtart was still absent. Bothering the cook, was completely out of the question. Sparks could already hear her bellows, if he dared bring dirty cats into her clean kitchen. That left Master DeLuce, but Sparks wasn't at all sure that he should disturb the man with yowling, frightened cats, and uncleaned herbs, while he was working.

"Nothing else for it," Sparks muttered as he nudged the door to the work room open with a toe and edged his burden through the entrance.

Master DeLuce wasn't there, but Ms. Snowtart was bringing a bucket and dirty rags from the unlocked lower specimen room. Her nose pointed at Sparks curiously. "About time," she snorted. "Master was wondering what was keeping you."

"Where should I put these?" Sparks wondered, nerves on edge at the thought of DeLuce being angry with him. "Where is the master? In the specimen room?"

"No, he's off refreshing himself," she replied. "He'll return shortly, though. He never stops work for long."

"I should put these below, then," Sparks suggested. "They'll mess in his work room if I don't."

"He wouldn't like that at all," Ms. Snowtart agreed. "Yes, take them down, but see you don't look past the second door and that you're quick."

"Yes, Ms. Snowtart," Sparks assured her, excitement growing in him, as he carried his burden to the stairs.

Sparks managed five steps, before a cat started fighting with another one and the cage tipped. He scrabbled to keep it in his arms and then misstepped. He fell down the stairs, cage and basket flying, and ended up sprawled at the bottom. The cage, whole, but tumbled over on it's side, cats struggling to right themselves, was next to the basket, which had miraculously not dumped it's contents.

"If that was you Ms. Snowtart," a young, male voice called from a room further along a short hallway, "Then I hope you're all right. If you're DeLuce, I hope you broke your neck!"

"Sparks, sir," Sparks gasped as he righted the cage, and checked the basket, before assuring himself that he hadn't hurt himself worse than a few bad bruises. "I'm Sparks, the clerk."

"Sparks?" the voice sounded hopeful. "Can you please come here, Master Sparks?"

"I've been told not to, sir," Sparks replied nervously as he regained his feet.

"It's all right," the voice assured him. "I have something important to tell you. You definitely do not want to ignore me, Master Sparks."

Sparks nervously approached the door. There was another of DeLuce's glowing globes hanging from the ceiling of a large room, three large cages of iron underneath it, a table of books, empty flasks, and scribbled notes along side it, and a long line of smaller cages, that all stood empty, against one wall. Ms. Snowtart's cleansers smelled strongly, but it couldn't cover over an all pervasive animal smell.

"S-Sir?" Sparks called out, not seeing anyone at all.

"Here," the voice replied from the middle, large cage.

"Why are you in a cage, sir?" Sparks wondered as he rounded the first cage and saw a figure kneeling inside the middle one.

A young man looked up and the light from the glowing globe lit a very handsome face. Ash blonde hair streamed over rounded shoulders, in small braids and loose strands, and an elfin sharp face was dominated by eyes that had nothing in common with humanity, and more in common with the cats in the cage outside of the door. All green and glowing in the light, the pupil slitted, those eyes were studying Sparks intently.

"God of our Fathers!" Sparks exclaimed, crossed himself, and fell promptly on his rump, his legs gone weak in fear.

The young man wore a leather tunic, stitched together with blue threads, and decorated with a blue design etched into the shoulders. His feet were bare and broad, and his bare arms were lightly muscled. One arm sported a swirling black tattoo from shoulder to wrist. As he moved to grasp the bars of the cage, Sparks could see that his fingers ended in sharp claws.

"What-What are you?" Sparks asked breathlessly.

"I used to be DeLuce's scribe," the young man told him. He held a hand out of the cage as if to offer to shake hands with Sparks. "Phi Rhenkoria," he introduced himself. "A bit of advice," he said as Sparks flinched from his hand, "Don't write anything, but what that madman tells you to, until you can escape this place. I suggest that you do escape, and soon, Master Sparks, and I hope that you exercise some Christian charity and release me before you run screaming. "

Sparks wasn't listening any longer, though. He was up, ignoring all of his hurts, grabbing cage and basket, and running up the stairs with them to the work room. Ms. Snowtart was gone and Sparks was glad of it as he locked the door on his own. Master DeLuce couldn't know that he had been down there. He couldn't know that Sparks had seen his 'specimen', not until nightfall, not until he was far from that devils' place.

"Good, you've returned," Master DeLuce muttered as he entered the workroom, turning the pages of a book and reading intently. He plopped the book on the work table and shouted, "Ms. Snowtart?! Take these specimens downstairs!"

She would wonder why Sparks hadn't taken the specimens down stairs, Sparks knew, shaking with barely suppressed panic. She would tell DeLuce that he had seen the horror downstairs... a very fair horror, to be sure... but a horror against nature all the same.

Ms. Snowtart entered, looked at the basket and cage as if she had never seen them before, and then picked up the cage, as if weighed nothing. Without a word, DeLuce unlocked the door for her, let her pass through, and then locked it again as if he didn't expect her to return.

"Now, one half level of mecurium root," Master DeLuce intoned, as he took a root from the basket, shaved off small bits with a small knife, and then placed them into a beaker.

Sparks scrambled for his stool, ink quill, and book, and began writing, his hands still shaking so badly that his letters blotched and wobbled. When DeLuce paused to check his mixtures, Sparks eyes swept up the page of the book in his lap and quickly read what Phi had written there. He blanched as he read, 'DeLuce is an idiot, who probably pretends to be a man of learning, to cover up his impotency and inability to get dates..' There was a lot more in that same vein, ending abruptly, as if DeLuce had suddenly discovered his scribe's additions to his notes.

Not a monster, Sparks thought, the down to Earth good sense of his farmer heritage bleeding through his panic. Phi was the pretty little scribe, with the voice of a bird, everyone had liked, even Cook Cleaverbeef. If anyone was the monster, it was DeLuce. The man had used his 'science' to punish his servant, somehow, and now he was keeping him locked up to hide his crime.

He had to escape that place, Sparks thought. His father would understand and welcome him back. There wasn't any dishonor in running from a madman.

________________________________________________

 

 

He hadn’t brought much too his new life, and Sparks was glad of it now. He thrust everything into his satchel, tied it tight, and then hunkered half way down the turret staircase and watched the sky turn from the gold of evening, to the red of sunset, and then to the black of welcoming night.

Sparks said a few whispered prayers as he waited for the night to deepen. A quiet exit through a side door, would go unnoticed, he was sure, especially when the main steward of the keep enjoyed standing in corners and staring at cobwebs, the cook never left her kitchen, and the chamber maid was always away doing DeLuce’s bidding.

Time passed slowly, and Spark became chilled against the steps. He stood, hugging his satchel to his breast, and couldn’t help wondering what would become of Phi. Thinking of that young man, suffering under DeLuce’s madness, stirred Spark’s conscience enough to do battle with his fear. Was there a way to rescue him?

Steps alerted Sparks to danger. With the chill of fear racing up his spine, he took the steps, two at a time, and reached his room, before his ‘guest’ could come into view. When the knock came on his door, he had his satchel safely stowed under his bed.

Sparks opened the door and found Ms. Snowtart there. She cocked her nose at him and offered him a tray of meaty soup, a chunk of bread, and a flagon of cider. He took it uncertainly.

“Master thinks you’re too thin. He needs you healthy,” She told him irritably. “You’re not to skip meals again.“

In his panic, Sparks had bypassed dinner, not wanting anyone to notice his fear and become suspicious. He hadn’t counted on that being suspicious in itself. He took the tray and said, not needing to do anything more than let his real fear and nausea color his voice, “I wasn’t feeling well. I’m sorry if I alarmed Master DeLuce.It’s not my habit to skip my meals, Ms. Snowtart.”

“Ah, seems I‘m always cleaning up after Master‘s specimens. It’s not something a body enjoys,” Ms. Snowtart mumbled. She shook her nose in disgust and then turned to go. “See you take those dishes down to Cleaverbeef in the morning and wash them up as she likes it. I’ll be down below if you have any other need.”

“Below?” Sparks repeated anxiously. “Won’t you be seeking your sleep now?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Master’s orders. We both follow those, boy. I’m to stay close in case you take greater sick and need me.”

“But I won’t!” Sparks assured her. “I’m feeling better already. I hate to think that you’ll be deprived of your rest, Ms. Snowtart.”

“Master’s depriving, not you,” she retorted. “Get you to your bed, now, and don’t worry about me.”

She went back down the stairs, skirts hitched up in gnarly hands, and feet sure on the broken and uneven steps, even in the darkness.
Sparks closed the door and leaned against it. There wasn’t any escape that night. He had to put on a better face in the morning, declare that he was ‘cured’, and try again that next evening.

Pushing away from the door, and settling on the bed, with his tray of food to eat, he had to wonder at Deluce’s sudden concern. When had the man so much as looked at him twice? He certainly hadn’t studied Sparks long enough to know whether Sparks was well or ill. Worrying about his health, after a skipped meal, seemed very uncharacteristic for the self absorbed man.Did he suspect? Had Ms. Snowtart finally let drop that he had been in DeLuce’s private specimen room?

Sparks ate sparingly and then lost his appetite all together. He shoved the tray aside and tried to form some plan that would allow him to get past Ms. Snowtart. He was a thin, young boy, but he had some strength to his wiry frame. The thought of trying to force his way past a woman, possibly harming her, went against everything that he had been taught, though. It made the knot in his stomach grow even larger. While Ms. Snowtart had been gruff and odd, at best, she had still seemed friendly to him. He simply couldn’t repay her by harming her in any way.

He ached. Sparks curled up around himself on the bed and suddenly wondered if he was really growing ill. His skin felt hot and his head throbbed. He put his pillow over it and closed his eyes tight. Maybe it was better that he hadn’t attempted escape that night, he thought, and hoped that he would be in better shape for his next attempt.

___________________________________________________

“Something wrong, Sparks?” DeLuce asked him.

Sparks was rubbing a throbbing head, quill dribbling bits of ink on the book in his lap.

“Sorry, Master Deluce,” Sparks apologized. “I seem to have a headache this morning.“

“Did you eat the meal that was sent to you?” DeLuce asked, squinting at one of his books layed out before him on his work table.

“Yes, sir,” Sparks replied, straightening on his stool and checking his work. “Thank you, sir, for your concern.”

“You can’t scribe for me while you’re ill,” DeLuce pointed out as he wrote some notation in his book.

“No, sir,” Sparks agreed.

“Can you continue today?” DeLuce asked.

“Yes, sir,” Sparks replied. “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s your accuracy I’m worried about,” DeLuce retorted.

“I will be careful, Master DeLuce,“ Sparks assured him.

“See that you are,” he warned.

Sparks began to fade after the third hour, and DeLuce found some mercy for him.

“I won’t need you for the rest of the day,” DeLuce told him. “I‘ll be studying specimens.”

Phi and the cats, Sparks supplied mentally, and felt his sickness grow.

“Don’t skip your meal,” DeLuce warned. “I’ve had Cleaverbeef prepare you a meal that will be easy on an unsteady gut.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sparks replied in relief. “You are very kind.“

Deluce looked amused by that statement, nodded, and then went down into his specimen room. Sparks strained to hear any noise, but heard nothing.

Putting the book aside to dry, Sparks slid off of his stool, ready to feel at least disoriented by the throbbing in his head. Instead, he found himself clear headed, and steady on his feet, as he made his way to the kitchen.

He needed to look well, Sparks told himself. He needed to convince Ms. Snowtart that he didn’t need her watchful eye that night.
Neither Ms. Snowtart or Mr. Houndtwit were in evidence, though, and that gave Sparks some hope. When he presented himself to Ms. Cleaverbeef, she was at her customary cutting board, cleaver thunking into a haunch of beef.

“Excuse me, Ms. Cleaverbeef,” Sparks greeted her. “Master Deluce said that you had prepared a meal for me?“

“He takes no notice of how much work I have to do!“ she exclaimed as she reached behind her and snagged a tray. She put the tray down, in front of Sparks, forcefully, and then stared at him with acute intensity.

“Thank you, Ms. Snowtart,” Sparks felt the need to say, not sure if he was about to bear the brunt of her anger against the extra duty.

“Sparks,” she said and then said nothing else, her hand tightening and relaxing on her cleaver.

“I’m very sorry, if I’ve caused you extra work,” Sparks told her in trepidaton.

“Just like him,” she muttered.

“Him?” Sparks echoed, inching back a pace with the tray in his hands.

Cleaverbeef took hold of the tray, with a big, strong hand and said, “Like the little singer.” She shook her head, jowels swinging, and looked pained. “I don’t like seeing it happening again. Master ordered it done, though. I have no say in that.”

“Ordered what?” Sparks wondered.

“Who’s going to be around to sing to me and like my muffins, if he keeps giving these orders?“ She asked him. “Who?”

“I don’t understand, Ms. Cleaverbeef,” Sparks told her honestly. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”

“Such a good boy,“ she sighed and used a filthy apron to wipe at a tear. Her other hand didn’t let go of the tray and Sparks was at a loss as to what to do about it. “I don’t like it. Not at all, Sparks.”

She let the tray go at last and Sparks took it to the table and ate as fast, and as much, as his stomach would allow. He was troubled by how much was left, though, and he shielded the tray with his body, keeping Ms. Cleaverbeef from seeing it, as he washed his dishes, gave her a soft, ‘Goodnight.‘ and made his way up to his room.

There was still no sight of Ms. Snowtart or Mr. Houndtwit. Waiting for deep evening, his satchel clutched to his chest, as he sat on the edge of his bed, Sparks prayed that they would stay busy with whatever work their master had given them.

The light from his candles seemed to pulse in time to the pain in Sparks' head. He clutched at his temple, moaning, and found himself stretching out on the bed and falling fat asleep.
__________________________________________

“Wake up, damn you!”

Hands shook at Sparks and he started awake. He felt fevered and his head was hurting so badly that it was hard to open his eyes and focus on the figure straddling him.

“Phi?!” Sparks choked out and backed up hard against the head board.

Phi cocked his head and grinned, his many braids trailing down and flopping against Sparks' chest. His eyes were large in the dim light of the candles, all pupil with a ring of green.

“You remembered my name,” Phi laughed, but then he was tugging at Sparks with fingers tipped with sharp claws. “I thought you were too scared to listen to me.”

“I-I was… am,” Sparks stammered. “How did you get free?”

Cleaverbeef let me go,” Phi told him as he slid off of , and the , and picked up his satchel. “She didn’t like the thought of DeLuce killing two of her favorites. We have to get out of here before DeLuce finds out. It’s a good thing you’re already packed.”

Sparks tried to think, tried to reason past the pain in his head, and accept that the creature before him wasn’t dangerous, that he was free, that he needed to escape with this creature-young man, and that Cleaverbeef had left her kitchen long enough to make it possible.

“DeLuce might harm her for this,“ Sparks worried, as he used the headboard to steady himself as he stood.

Phi shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,“ Sparks protested as he rubbed at his forehead and swayed on his feet. “She has to escape with us.”

Phi snorted. “She’s not real, Sparks, that’s why it doesn’t matter.”

Sparks shook his head, and regretted it at once. “I’m dreaming. I thought that I heard you say that she wasn’t real.”

“She’s not,” Phi explained , as he hooked an arm in Sparks' and led him towards the door. “DeLuce created them all from animals.”

Sparks couldn’t believe it. He crossed himself and muttered a protective prayer. “That can’t be true. There isn’t a man alive who can do such a thing. They have feelings. They speak. They care, or Ms. Cleaverbeef would never have rescued us.”

Phi looked pained and then he admitted, “That may be so, but they are what they are. I read DeLuce’s books. None of them have life, or reason, without his mixtures.”

Spark’s horror was pounding along with the pain. “Animals! Why would a man do such a thing?“

“Because he can? Or he’s mad?” Phi replied. ”We can’t stay to ask him!”

Sparks looked at Phi, really looked at him, and recalled the cats. “Are you… Did he… Those cats…”

Phi replied, “No! No! I’m not a cat, but he surely tried his hand at making me one.”

Sparks bit back the question, ‘Why?‘, and then decided that escaping that place, and then Phi, all together was his greatest desire. It was time to go back home, and let God and the Devil take care of those warped people, especially DeLuce, themselves.

___________________

"You're mad!" Sparks exclaimed as he looked out of the window at the drop to a lower ledge.

"There isn't another way," Phi replied as he hooked a leg over the low sill and eyed the ledge like a cat sizing up prey. He was barefoot, even his toes tipped with claws, but still human shaped and as apt to fail of their balance as any man's might."DeLuce's servants are stronger than they look. We won't have any luck trying to get through the doors if they discover that we're trying to get away. I'll go first and the make sure that you don't fall off when you drop."

Sparks swallowed hard at the swaying trees far below, blurred shadows in the light from lower windows. The ledge was barely three feet wide, and as hard to see as the trees, as Sparks lowered his lantern towards it. "We won't make it."

Phi barred teeth at him, some of them as sharp as a cat's, and he hissed in exasperation. "I'm going, then. You can stay and entertain DeLuce in my place."

"You don't understand!" Sparks protested. "I'm-I'm clumsy.. always have been... and now I'm sick. I have as much of a chance of landing on that ledge as pigs flying north for the summer."

"Oh." Phi eyed Sparks and then the ledge. His hands flexed as he considered the distance and, perhaps, other things."I'm asking you to trust me," he finally said as he slid arms around Spark's slim waist. "I may be small, but you're light for your height, and I think I can manage you."

Sparks tensed, wanting to throw those clawed hands off of him. "Don't touch me! I don't know what you mean. I..." He couldn't quite tell Phi that he horrified him. It was hard to muster the necessary sympathy for the poor young man when his eyes changed to slits every time they turned towards the lantern light.

Impossible, Sparks kept thinking. It couldn't be done. It was against nature, against God, against common sense. He was still half sure that he was having a fevered dream.

"I was in a traveling show," Phi explained, not leaving off his grip. His body was hard, wiry, and hot against Sparks. "Part of the show was singing, dancing, and being a jester, but I also learned to tumble with other men. Have you every seen a show like that?"

"Once,"Sparks admitted, before his father had muttered, 'Devil nonsense' and dragged him away.

"I can do this," Phi told him firmly. "All that I need you to do is to hold on and not... panic."

Sparks was panicking already, having now some clue as to what Phi intended. "No!" he protested. "You are mad! I won't allow-"

Sparks put a clawed finger against Sparks lips to silence him, and leaned in close, his very handsome face smelling of something faint, a flowery scent mingled with a light, sweet musk that was wholly not what Sparks had expected. He found himself looking at the fine, blonde hairs along the backs of Phi's ears as the young man whispered, "Don't be afraid of me. I'm not a monster. I promise not to eat you after I save your life."

A hand snatched the lantern away from Sparks and then he was falling. Phi had taken the decision from him. The wind tore his scream from him and strong arms kept him crushing close against Phi's chest. The sill had scraped his legs harshly on the way out and barked one elbow so that it stung and tingled, but Sparks didn't notice those small wounds when death was rushing up to meet him.

He jolted as they hit the ledge, and Sparks back hit the rough wall hard, as Phi's sure feet found the space to push off. That move shocked Sparks into terror. There was nothing below them now but the trees and the hard, rocky ground.

"Hold close!" Phi urged him. Sparks didn't think that he could hold on much tighter. His terror was forcing him to cling to his only hope of salvation, though his mind was certain that salvation wasn't going to come.

Another jolt and then they were swinging wildly. A branch slammed into the back of Sparks' head and he saw red, the world going fuzzy and faint. Another branch smashed a knee, and then leaves were slapping him from all sides as the world turned, whirled, and even went upside down.The hard impact at the end took his senses completely.

_________________________________________

Something warm and heavy was draped over him and something else tickled his nose. Sparks opened his eyes, feeling throbs of pain at every point on his body. Slowly, very slowly, he recognized that he was staring up at a canopy of trees, sunlight filtering through and dappling his face and body. He brushed at his nose and his fingers found several braids draped over his face.That begged a question. His eyes slid sideways and found Phi wrapped around him, cheek resting against his shoulder and lightly furred leg thrown over his hips.

"God save me!" Sparks croaked and struggled to free himself.

Phi woke, blinking green eyes at him, and then sat up, doing a languid yawn and stretch. The show of sharp canines didn't ease Sparks' panic. "Sorry," he mumbled sleepily. "You were warm." He scratched and slowly stood up, pulling his clothes back into place and brushing off dead leaves.

"You... You... You tried to kill us!" Sparks remembered as he sat up as well. His aching head made him hiss and he cradled it in his hands.

"I saved us," Phi protested irritably, but then asked, "Are you all right?"

It wasn't charitable or right at all, Sparks thought, that he should still feel the need to get away from Phi as quickly as possible. Looking around, blinking through the pain, he could see a small donkey munching leaves not far away. The man had saved his life, had managed to steal a donkey, and had, obviously, taken them both away from Deluce and his servants. Looking at his companion, Sparks could see purpling bruises and scratches along Phi's back and arms, where he had held onto him too tightly in his panic.

The dappling sun was making Phi's long hair look white and was making his light body hair look like a dusting of snow. Unearthly, fey, demon spawned, child of the fallen. "I need to go... now," Sparks told him. "T-Thank you... for saving me, but..."

Phi's tattoo seemed to dance as he turned with wide eyes. "I hear something..."

"What?" Sparks was put off balance, all of his fears and concerns suddenly being redirected by such a simple statement.

Phi grabbed the halter of the donkey, but the beast laid back ears and seemed just as frightened of Phi as Sparks was. Phi struggled, but managed to get it close to Sparks. "Get on. We need to get out of here."

"He wouldn't follow us?" DeLuce Sparks meant as he tried to stand and found himself weak and uncertain on his feet. He leaned on the donkey and the beast turned eyes on him as if to beg to be saved from Phi.

"Why wouldn't he?"Phi growled, "We're important to his experiments. He may not be willing to start all over again." He helped Sparks throw a leg over the donkey's back. "He has other servants than the one's he allowed you to see. He may have sent them after us."

"We?" Sparks gripped the Donkey hard, feeling his head reel and his body protest as Phi started the donkey forward."You, you mean. He'll be looking for you. I'm just a bad scribe."

Phi gave him a sideways look, patted the nervous donkey, and then replied, "You may be right."

Sparks found his opening. "Then it would be better if we separated now."

Phi seemed to be listening to something behind them. "They are coming this way. Far, still, but my ears are good."

"Phi..." Sparks tried to hear the same thing and could... just... a faint cackling of brush. It wasn't pleasant feeling his fear reach a new level. Hunters, he reasoned, or simple travelers. It didn't have to be men belonging to DeLuce."Again I thank you, but I really must insist on going on alone, now," he tried once more, knowing that it was time for bluntness.

Phi frowned. "I should stay with you. You need me."

Sparks could imagine what his father would say. He would grab his pitchfork and shout for a priest to exorcise Phi, and Sparks wasn't sure if he could think any differently. What could mix a man with a cat, if not dark magic?

"I owe you my life," Sparks was forced to admit, "but you... frighten me. I would rather not travel together."

Phi looked upset, and even that expression of pain and uncertainty, was handsome enough to make Sparks feel worse than an ungrateful wretch. What ever had driven Phi to rescue him,and to go to such lengths to keep Sparks safe, it seemed that Sparks, himself, wasn't so noble.

Phi let go of the harness and stepped back."All right. I guess that I can understand. I had better get used to such treatment. A person like me...I don't think that I will find a welcome anywhere that I might go." His ears seemed to prick and swivel ever so slightly and then he added, "The noises are getting louder, and I must confess that I don't know where we are at the moment. Do you think that I should go in that direction?"

Sparks looked around them and didn't recognize any landmark. "I don't know."

"If we're both lost,"Phi reasoned, "Then maybe we shouldn't talk about separating just yet?"

Sparks swallowed, hearing the crashing and snap of brush. "That way... I think," he said quickly. "Let's go."

"I'll take that as agreement," Phi chuckled and began pulling the donkey deeper into the shadows of the forest.

_____________________________________

It was obvious that the donkey was more used to pulling a cart or plow. His paces were uneven and he kept his head down as if ready to strain against a heavy load. Phi had his hands full trying to keep Sparks on it's back and keep it moving at the same time. It snorted and rolled eyes at him, sensing that there was something wrong about it's new master.

Sparks found himself watching the young man, trying to puzzle out exactly who his strange companion was. The long hair, the braids, and the bold attitude were far from what Sparks was used to. When he turned to look at Sparks, green eyes flashing humor and concern, despite the horror that had been perpetrated on his person, it made Sparks question his sanity. He didn't think that he could do the same.

"Why... Why aren't you upset?" Sparks finally asked.

Phi gave a toothy smile that made Sparks shiver. "What's the use?" he replied with a shrug. "It won't change anything. It happened. It's much better to deal with tragedy with a positive attitude."

Sparks rubbed at his sweating face with a shaking hand. "He made you a monster. There's nothing positive about that." It had come out without thought and Phi frowned.

"Am I ugly?" Phi asked, raising both golden eyebrows.

Sparks had to admit, "No."

Phi grinned again, cocking his head. His braids swung as he laughed at Sparks serious face. "All is not lost, if I'm still handsome and alive."

Phi looked back the way they had come. The tangled forest had thrown off their pursuers, for the moment, but neither of them believed that they were out of danger yet. "We should keep on until nightfall." Phi suggested. "Do you think that you can manage that?"

Sparks didn't, but he nodded anyway. "I've never felt so ill," he complained softly.

Phi replied, not looking at him, "It lasts awhile, and then you feel... better."

"How do you know?" Sparks asked in confusion.

Phi ignored the question, asking instead, "Have you recognized where we are yet?"

Sparks looked around them, frowning. His eyes blinked at the sun. "I think we need to head that way." he pointed back the way they had come. "Once we lose who ever is after us, we should make a wide turn and go back."

Phi nodded, but then said worriedly, "If we don't starve to death before then. I may look like a cat, but I've never hunted in my life."

"I'm far too clumsy," Sparks replied. "Animals hear me miles away. I know about roots and wild vegetables, though, and I've fished once or twice."

"We don't have time to spare for fishing," Phi said, "at least not yet, so start looking for your wild vegetables."

Sparks tried to obey, but his head throbbed and the world seemed to throb along with it, edged in red and black. "Ms. Cleaverbeef," Sparks wanted to know suddenly. "She wasn't... real... truly?"

"No," Phi replied quietly.

"The others," Sparks persisted."They seemed to be real. They talked about relatives... They talked... not like animals."

"Didn't they seem odd to you?" Phi wondered. "Did you see them do strange things?"

"Yes," Sparks replied.

"When I met them, they were like..." Phi groped for an apt description. "Lost souls, without any past, without anything in their heads, but doing what they were told. I gave them that. I told them stories, explained how people acted, sang for them, and gave them imaginary families." He smiled back at Sparks sadly. "They are incapable of doing anything without DeLuce's daily potions, though. It keeps their minds alive, somehow, keeps them thinking like humans. I suppose that's why DeLuce decided to use me instead. While I was there, he realized that his 'subjects' were never going to be more than they were. He had better hopes with someone who already had a mind."

"I still don't understand why he would want to do such a thing,' Sparks replied with a shudder of revulsion. "What good could come of perverting God's creations?"

"To be a god himself?" Phi guessed. "Or out of madness? It's not good to wonder about that. There's no excuse for what he did to them... to me... to..." He stopped speaking and then shrugged. "I've always been told that I'm as graceful and as quick as a cat. Now I am one. Maybe I'll be famous? Maybe I should make it into an act and take it before the high court? Would they laugh or cheer, though? That's the question."

Sparks could only imagine horrified reactions and the rulers of the land ordering Phi's destruction as an abomination against nature. The thought of Phi suffering that fate made his already sick gut clench.

"Don't go," he said suddenly, surprising them both.

Phi slid eyes at him, confused. "Why not?"

"No good can come of it," Sparks replied.

Phi sighed and it sounded odd, sad and patient at the same time. "I won't know until I try, will I?" Phi told him. "It may be painful, and it may cause my death, but I've always been a man for the sunshine and the center stage. I won't live in the shadows and in fear."

Sparks would have liked to call that foolish, and was sure that his father would have said the same, but it sounded very noble and brave, just then, and he couldn't help losing some of his own fear of Phi because of it.

 

_____________________________________________

I think I'm feeling better," Sparks said as they made the hard trek down into a ravine.

Phi only nodded as he made his careful way over tree roots, rocks, and loose mud. A small stream ran at the bottom, but it looked easily crossed.

"My head still aches, but my body doesn't feel sick," Sparks went on. "In fact, my body feels... I don't know... rejuvenated, somehow. It must be the herbs you've been giving me."

Phi didn't turn as he said, "They were for settling a sour stomach, nothing more. I'm not a healer."

"Still, I feel they've helped," Sparks persisted,"Thank you."

"Will you be leaving,now that you feel better and you know your way?" Phi wanted to know as they reached the bottom and rested at the water's edge. The donkey lowered it's head and drank.

Sparks looked at Phi's downcast eyes, seeing the tension in him."I should," he replied slowly. "You won't find a welcome in my town."

"Even with you to speak for me?" Phi wondered hopefully. His green eyes came up and the dancing shadows of the trees made the pupils grow small and then larger in reaction."I don't think I will get a better chance to find sympathy, than with the very man who knows my circumstances."

"We are plain farmers," Sparks replied. "God fearing men."

"Just men?" Sparks wondered and a dimple of mirth played beside his handsome mouth.

Sparks made an exasperated sound,"And women and children, as you well know," he added. "I meant, that whatever my words, they may not listen."

"It wasn't demons that made me as I am now," Phi persisted. "Surely, Christian charity would forgive my looks?"

Sparks owed him a great deal. He tried to imagine pleading with his father, with the elders of the farming community, to allow Phi to remain among them.

"What would you do?" Sparks asked."Farm?"

"I am a trained scribe," Phi reminded him. "Even farmers need someone to keep letters and accounts."

A scandal if he stayed, Sparks thought, and an oddity that he wasn't sure his neighbors would tolerate. There would always be the question of demon curses.

"Whatever ill befell them, they would blame you," Sparks told him. "They would call you the 'evil eye'"

Phi frowned. "Even if I led a pious life?"

Sparks couldn't imagine someone like Phi being pious about anything. There was too much in his eyes, that was a man's wickedness, even if it had nothing to do with the Devil.

"Church on Sunday, and prayer meeting on Wednesday?" Sparks asked.

Phi cocked his head and his braids almost dangled in the water as he crouched upstream from the donkey to get a drink. "Is every man required to go to church?"

"If he doesn't want to be thought of as a devil, yes," Sparks replied bluntly.

"I did save the life of one of their own," Phi reminded him. "That should make me an angel."

"If you recall, I was sent away," Sparks replied and felt a bite of bitterness at that. "I was not highly regarded as an asset to the community."

"Why?" Phi wanted to know as he looked Sparks up and down critically. "You are lanky, and your nose is a shade too long, but you look like you could do some work."

"I was... clumsy," Sparks admitted. "I caused... accidents."

"Bad ones, I'm sure, if they sent you away because of it," Phi chuckled.

"It's not really funny," Sparks growled back.

"Sorry." Phi took a few handfuls of water and then straightened."Well, if you're sure about my lack of welcome, then I will have to find a place in the city." He patted the donkey. "You take the beast and supplies. "I'll do well... I always do.God Keep you, Master Sparks."

"And you," Sparks whispered back, surprised by Phi's sudden departure up the opposite side of the ravine. The pale hair was lost in the trees in no time and Sparks felt abandoned rather than glad.

"I shouldn't have let it end that way," Sparks muttered as he turned the donkey to climb the ravine. "I'm a fool and a coward."

After only a half hour, Sparks was wishing Phi to return.The forest was intimidating, every trail like the last, and easy to loose among the ferns and the low branches, if he wasn't careful. When he broke out into familiar farmland, and then found a recognizable road, he offered a quick prayer. Even the donkey seemed to rise out of his foul spirit and tread lighter.

Home, Sparks thought with warmth, as the sun sparkled on open fields and the farm houses he knew so well."I'll never leave it again," he vowed and meant it with every fiber of his being.

"Go with Phi and keep him safe." Sparks said as he glanced up at the blue sky over head, "He needs you, now, more than I."

As if God couldn't watch over everyone, a small voice chastised him, but Sparks wanted to be sure.

As the donkey nosed into the yard of Spark's home, he found it just as he had left it; old, but clean, and worn, yet sturdy enough for any storm. New herbs hung in bunches from the ceiling as he ducked through the door, and the cat tried to trip him up as he made his way into the living room, just as if he had never left.

Sparks made a quick two step over the cat without pausing and it looked startled as he failed to fall. Sparks had eyes only for the wonderful smell of a potted stew simmering slowly over the coals left by his father; a dinner for their return from the fields.

Bending to stir it with a wooden spoon, Sparks took a taste, savored it, and then fought back tears. It wouldn't do for his family to see him crying. Or to be filthy from the road, Sparks thought. First, he would clean up, and then he would seek out his father.

________________________________________

They were getting hay for the animals, his brothers and father bent with small hand scythes and cutting methodically. The hot sun was beating down hard and they looked worn to the bone. With his shirt tied about his waist, Spark's could see how rawboned his father was, and how much older he looked. The sun and the farm had eaten him up and he should have been relaxing by the hearth, now, not still working like the young men around him. It was pure stubborn, pride, that kept him there, of course, and the kind of pride that might judge a son harshly for failing yet again.

Sparks approached with trepidation, and stood still, until one of his brothers looked up, shaded his eyes, and then grunted, "Sparks is back,"

His father kept working, only a slight wince telling Sparks that he had heard. His other brothers looked aside at him, glared sourly, and then went back to work.The storm on the horizon gave them an excuse for their lack of greeting, but Sparks was sure that it was disgust that kept their heads bowed over their work.

Sparks picked up a hay fork, suddenly determined to help them. He needed them to understand why he had failed, but the rain wouldn't wait for explanations. He took up a position behind them and began loading the hay into a cart, the ox hitched to it munching cud and content to watch him.

There was going to be an accident, Sparks knew. It was as inevitable as the coming rain. He would stumble, impale himself or the ox, set the cart on fire, ruin the hay somehow, or even cause his family to become injured trying to help him, or by simply getting in the way of his clumsiness. He waited for it, teeth gritted, and was certain that they were waiting as well. Once or twice, his father glanced back at him, hard expression showing some of his worry, but Sparks wasn't sure if that look was for him, any longer. How much of a disappointment he was to his father, would be something that he would have to learn later.

His muscles flexed, he dug hay onto the tines, spun perfectly, and tossed the strands unerringly into the cart. Pile after pile, landed without fail, on top of the first, and Sparks found himself smiling grimly, wondering at himself, and loving the unfamiliar sense of balance, and timing, that had eluded him his entire young life. He reached the end unexpectedly, and looked up, wearily to see his brothers and father watching him oddly.

"Let's get the hay in," His father ordered as he straightened and walked to the cart. The dark clouds swirled and threatened, but the man took the time to clap Sparks lightly on one shoulder before taking up the ox's lead. "Good job, Sparks," he said simply.

Sparks felt tears sting his eyes. He ducked his head, overwhelmed, as his brothers passed him and walked behind the cart, as it trundled slowly towards their home. He followed, the pitchfork held tightly in his hands. Praise from his father had been a very rare thing. To get it, while helping his family, was a dream that he had long aspired to.

They stowed the hay and let out the ox, just as the first few drops hit. His family took refuge in the house, smelling strongly of fresh cut hay, sweat, and dirt. They sat on benches, lighting lanterns, against the gloom of the storm, as their father sat heavily in his favorite chair and lit up his pipe. With the strong, cherry scent dancing with the smell of stew, his father pointed the bowl of the pipe at Sparks and ordered, "Tell the tale, now."

Sparks rubbed hands over his face and then let those hands hang wearily between his knees. It was impossible to look at any of them as he explained, "DeLuce is a sorcerer. His lord is the devil, I am sure of it. He works monstrous evil. I fled for my life and my soul. He...he caused animals to be men, father. I don't know how. He called it 'science', but it looked like the Devil's alchemy to my eyes. He attempted to use his evil on me, but I fled in time, with the help of one of his prisoners."

His father smoked his pipe, saying nothing, eyes small points of light peeking from the wrinkles of his face. He dug a letter from the side of his chair and handed it to Tanner, a particularly burly son with a thick brow. Sparks took the letter gingerly from him and recognized DeLuce's crest.

"Read it to me," Spark's father ordered.

Sparks held the letter towards a lantern as he read aloud, "To Misser Greenhand, of Falling Marches South, greetings from Master Martin DeLuce of Tarmahall Keep, I trust your health is excellent and your sons growing as well as your crops and kind. In the matter of your son, Sparkselonius Theodore Greenhand, I must regretfully inform you, that he is no longer in my service, but has run off to parts unknown to me or mine. I'm certain that his regretful lack of maturity, and sense of responsibility, pains you as much as I. I had hopes that he would make a fine scholar, and was confident that I would soon have given him recommendation to the court of the king himself. Perhaps years will rectify his impulsiveness, but, for now, I must find his replacement. Yours, in respect, Master Martin DeLuce."

Sparks lowered the letter, pale, and didn't offer a defense. He waited, instead, for his father's judgment.

"Nonsense, of course," his father finally commented, took a long draw on his pipe, and then continued, "You have been clumsy, in your young life, Sparks, but never immature, or prone to disrespect, or irresponsible behavior."

"But this tale, he tells, Da!" Sparks youngest brother unwisely broke in. "Devil magic? Beasts turned into men? Who can believe such a tale?"

Spark's father banged his pipe into a bowl and restuffed it with fresh tobacco."I have no doubt," he said around the tip, as he relit it, "That our Sparks witnessed something odd. I may doubt his interpretation of those things, but never that he feared for his soul because of them. Something is wrong. Sparks wisely left that place and returned home. I think that we should all visit the priest in the morning and ask for his blessing. Until then, we must welcome your brother home and hope that nothing evil has followed him here."

Sparks thought of Phi, nervously, as he and his family cleaned and prepared for dinner. He was taken in, once more, as if he had never been gone. As his family sat down to their meal, and his father offered a prayer, Sparks could only hope that Phi was far away from that place. If his father was looking for evil, he would surely consider Phi a demon from the depths.

That night, in his narrow room, under an old quilt that smelled achingly of himself and home, Sparks closed his eyes to sleep, relaxing completely for the first time since he had left. When a weight settled next to him and a warm, furry body slid under the covers, Sparks started badly and turned. Moonlight picked out green eyes.

"It's cold out there," Phi complained as he stole some of the pillow and snuggled down deep in the mattress.

"You can't be here!" Sparks snarled under his breath. "My father! My brothers! They'll turn you over to the priest!"

"Not tonight," Phi replied with a sleepy yawn. "Tonight, I'm sleeping in a warm bed. Don't snore."

Sparks glared but it didn't have any effect. When he started to rise, to leave the bed, a strong arm snaked around his waist and kept him there.

"Stay," Phi begged. "I'll leave before dawn, I promise."

Sparks ground his teeth together. "We can't sleep in the same bed."

"Why not?" Phi wondered, sounding already well on his way to being asleep.

"It's not... proper," Sparks replied uncertainly.

"No? I think it's warm, and comfy... and that's all that matters. Go to sleep, Sparks," Phi complained.

"Before dawn," Sparks growled.

"Promise," Phi slurred and then his breath came softly in sleep.

Phi's hair tickled Spark's nose, his long braids spread out all around them. It was wrong, Sparks thought, but it was warm, and something inside of him , that Sparks couldn't quell, was glad that Phi was all right.The man had saved his life, after all. He owed him at least one night of comfort and safety. One night couldn't damn him... he hoped.

___________________________________________________________

"Breakfast, Sparks!" his father shouted. "Have you grown lazy? Dawn is winking her eye and you're still in the land of dreams!"

"Yes, Da, sorry Da!" Sparks slurred and then felt a moment of pure panic as his hands felt in the dark for Phi. His hands felt cold emptiness, and he wasn't sure whether he was glad or disappointed. Foolishness, of course, he told himself, yet worry for where Phi was, and how he was managing, refused to leave his thoughts as he scrambled into his clothes by feel and made his way into the main room.

A cooked rice cereal, laced with heavy cream, was being ladled into wooden bowls and Spark's brothers were already seating themselves and digging in. The fitful light of candles lit their sleepy, ernest faces as their father said, "I always said, that Sparks just needed time to grow into himself."

"When was that, Da?" one of his bothers dared to grumble.

Sparks saw his father glare over his bowl of cereal, but that glare softened as Sparks took his own bowl, filled it from a bubbling pot over the fire, and sat across from him.

"Sparks, boy," his father began, motioned to him with his spoon. "Today, I want you to help us drive the young bulls to market."

Sparks was astonished. "Me?" He'd always been passed over before, left at home, so that his proclivity for accidents wouldn't get them killed while they herded the short tempered young bulls down the long road to the city market.

Sparks smiled as his father nodded and said, "I believe that you may finally be ready for that responsibility."

Sparks saw the doubtful looks of his brothers, but it might make a success out of his failure. If he could manage to continue his new found ability to balance, he might yet prove that he could be a farmer and a help to his family.

"Thank you for trusting me, Da," Sparks told him happily. "I won't disappoint you."

"I know you won't," his father replied and then wrinkled his nose. "You might want to bathe in the pump, though, this morning. You smell like wet cat."

Sparks shivered and then passed it off with a wry smile and a short explanation about the cat sleeping with him. The cat in question looked disdainful as it strolled by, perfectly dry and not the least bit friendly to Sparks.

At least Phi didn't have a tail, Sparks thought, but his eyes were a match for the cat's. He couldn't hide them, or his claws, or the fine sharp teeth that he had. He was a man alone in an unfriendly place. Sparks hoped that he was finding enough to eat.

"Ready boys?" his father asked and then, not waiting for replies he said, "Then let's move them out."

He was included and Sparks felt a warmth fill him as he followed his family out of the house, into the rising sun, and towards the fields were the cattle were grazing. He was finally where he had always wanted to be. As much as he wanted to care about what happened to Phi, he knew that being found with the young man would ruin everything. If Phi showed, again, that night, Sparks was determined not to let him stay.

The cattle didn't have their long horns yet, but the short nubs were still deadly. The family used long poles and their father used a whip, to encourage them to go where they were told, as they cut them out and sent them down the dirt road toward the city. Sparks worked along side his family without mishap and his father gave him a proud nod. His brothers gave him long looks, as if trying to believe that he was really their brother.

The bulls rolled eyes and snorted at Sparks, as if he were different and frightening to them, somehow, but that worked to his advantage. They gave ground whenever he approached, and that kept them from separating and getting lost.

The road was hot and rain threatened on the horizon. The steady plod of the bulls, the switch and crack of the whip, and the call of the birds everywhere, was a steady music underscoring a long and tedious journey. They finally rested, letting the bulls graze, and Sparks took a seat under a spreading apple tree. He bit into a windfall, and closed his eyes, as he leaned against the trunk.

"If you have something, besides apples, I would be very grateful," Phi said from the other side of the tree.

Sparks froze, the apple still stuck in his mouth. He bit down hard and refused to look at Phi as he chewed and swallowed his bite. "You are in a lot of danger," he whispered, glad that his father and brothers were sitting far enough away not to hear. "You shouldn't have followed me."

"I wasn't following you," Phi retorted, speaking just a softly, "I was going to the city, myself."

"Liar," Sparks grumbled as he dug into a small bag at his side and brought out strips of jerky. He surreptitiously handed them around the tree and felt a warm hand take them.

"God bless you," Phi said happily and Sparks could hear him eating. "I had to endure the smell of your breakfast this morning. It nearly drove me mad."

"Why follow us?" Sparks groaned. "You could have stayed and made free with the food in our home while we were away."

"I didn't want to steal from your family," Phi replied, "and I think the city will be a better place for me. They may be more accepting of someone who looks... strange."

"Then why haven't you gone already?" Sparks wondered. "You've already spoken about this."

"I-" Phi's reply was lost as another farmer hailed them, passing by with a herd of goats.

"Ware, farmer Greenhand, there's been sightings of a green eyed devil near the road!" the man called. "Make certain that you are behind stout doors, with God fearing people, by nightfall."

"Thank you, farmer Talbot!" Spark's father replied. "We will be sure to follow your advice."

One of Spark's brothers snickered to another, as the man passed out of sight, and said, "More like someone's been drinking too much home brew."

Spark's father frowned and looked to where Sparks was sitting. Sparks didn't know if he was successful at keeping his fear off of his face. The man grunted and rose, calling to his sons. "Get them moving!"

"They've seen you!" Sparks warned Phi, as he stood up. "The priest will send out hunters to kill you, if he takes the rumors seriously. Please, for your sake, go far from here!"

There wasn't a reply and Sparks was forced to join his family, and the cattle, without knowing what Phi intended to do.

_________________________________________

"Why do you look so afraid?" Spark's father wanted to know as he fell back and walked even with his son.

Sparks watched the hunters of the church gallop by for the third time that day, armed to the teeth with sword and bow, and looking grim.

"They look very fearful, Da," Sparks replied. "There really can't be any demon, can there?"

"It's not for my simple person to know that," his father replied, looking out over the backs of the cattle. "The church says that there are, and that they must be hunted down and killed when found, to protect God fearing folk. They hunters won't bother us, son, so there is nothing to fear."

"What does a demon look like, though?" Sparks wondered. "What if... what if they kill just... someone... someone who just looks... odd?"

"You have a too kind heart, sometimes," his father sighed and patted Sparks on the shoulder. "Trust in their judgment. They won't be after someone with two odd eyes, or a sixth finger. They'll be after a true demon."

"But father..." Sparks stopped speaking and bit his lip, afraid of revealing too much.

"Son," his father said softly, so that no one else could hear. "Who were you speaking with earlier at our stop? Who were you warning?"

Sparks felt his blood run cold. He stammered a moment and felt his father's hand close and tighten on his arm.

"You are young," his father said. "Too young to know all that is right and wrong. Trust in my good judgment."

Sparks nodded, head bowed, and then slowly said, "De Luce had a scribe before me, a young man. He used his ungodly powers on him... and changed him. Phi helped me escape father!" he exclaimed anxiously, when he saw his father frown. "He risked his life for me."

"What changes were wrought?" his father asked.

"Like...Like a cat," Sparks replied, his hand going over his father's rough and weathered one, begging for understanding. "His teeth... and eyes... and some fur... otherwise he is a handsome man, a god fearing man, Da!"

"Sa, sa," his father soothed. "Calm down. Does this Phi follow us still?"

"I don't know," Sparks replied. "I told him to run."

"I must see him to judge what I shall think," his father told him. "If he comes again, you must ask him to show himself to me. It is possible that you are being tricked in your innocence, that some creature of DeLuce's is attempting to become your familiar."

Sparks thought of Phi's warm body pressed against his own, in his bed, and shivered. Could that be? Is that why he had felt so drawn by Phi, so willing to give up his fear and allow the man to convince him to a friendship that was surely madness? "I don't know," Sparks admitted. "He seems so-"

"Handsome, charming, willing to please?" His father wondered.

"Not willing to please, no," Sparks argued. But Phi was handsome and he could be very charming.

"I will see him and judge," his father told him.

"I'll call him out, at our next rest," Sparks promised, but, in his heart, he hoped that Phi had taken his advice and run far away.

____________________________________

He looked like one of the fey people, crouched by the stream and staring at Sparks. He had startled Sparks with his sudden appearance and it made him think more seriously about his father's worry about Phi being a 'familiar'. Sparks crouched beside the young man, both of them nervous and looking around them. The cattle were drinking a little downstream, Sparks' father and brothers tending them, and they were blocking any possible view of their meeting.

"My father wants to see you," Sparks told him.

Phi frowned, his cat eyes dilating as a cloud crossed the sun and cast him in shadow. "We're almost to the city," he replied. "I can get away from your killer priest, then. In the city, I'll just be a street performer with good costume skills."

"My father might be able to help you, though," Sparks insisted. "He knows some of the merchants well. He could give you recommendations."

Phi shook his head and sighed. "You are so naive, Sparks. Your father wants to see 'the demon', and save you from me. He doesn't have any intention of helping me. If I keep low, I'll survive, and you'll have to do some religious penance to cleanse your soul, I'm sure."

Sparks grimaced at the thought of penance, but he wasn't going to accept Phi's judgment of his father. "He is a good man. A fair man," he promised. "He will treat you as you deserve."

"And how is that?" Phi wanted to know. "You barely believe that I am human. I see it in your eyes, Sparks. Why should your father, who knows so little about what was done to me, judge me fairer than you?"

Sparks couldn't deny the truth of his own thoughts, but he couldn't believe that his father would lie to him. Phi's handsome face, his long braided hair, straggled and dirty from travel, and his equally travel stained clothing didn't help make him look any less wild and demonic. Sparks tried to imagine what his father would see.

"Sparks?" His father's voice sent a chill down Spark's spine. He stood, whirling to see his father stepping out of the trees, his face pale and his eyes fearful. Phi straightened more slowly, resigned to whatever was about to happen next.

"Sir," Phi said with a small, respectful bow.

"Da!" Sparks exclaimed. "Please, don't be afraid. Phi saved my life. He has done nothing but good towards me."

Sparks father looked Phi up and down slowly, while the young man stood patiently, and then he pronounced, "No man has such god like power as to change someone so much, Sparks. This demon of hell has lied to you. He is fair, as the priests say, and I'm certain his tongue is honeyed, but he cannot hide what he is. Step away, Sparks, and I will have your brothers take care of him."

"No!" Sparks protested. "Father, it's true, what happened. He was changed! He is entirely human!"

"He is the fox in the hen house," his father intoned, "and as we must kill a fox to save the chickens, so too must we do away with this creature of hell, however beautiful its appearance."

"No!" Sparks shouted again. "You can't kill Phi, Da, please don't!"

Sparks brothers appeared, with cattle ropes, and encircled Phi and Sparks, looking grim and afraid.

"Phi!"Sparks exclaimed. "Run!"

Phi eyed the men, as if judging them, and then he was suddenly in motion. His leap defied every physical law pertaining to men, as he somersaulted over Sparks' eldest brother, braids and worn clothing flapping, and landed on his feet past him. He was bolting towards the cattle, then, and their panicked bawls proceeded an immediate stampede.

They had spent a year raising the cattle for market. They were more important than catching a demon. Sparks' father and his brothers ran after the cattle and Sparks was left alone in their dust, heartsick, and wondering what was to become of Phi, now, and what would his father do with him, once he returned. The thought of being 'cleansed' by the priests was frightening. Sparks had heard stories and they hadn't been pleasant ones.

Sparks had an urge to run after Phi, but his feet didn't obey that urge. If he ran now, he knew that he could never return, and he didn't want that. He loved his family, and his home. Phi made his heart clench, though, with emotions that he didn't yet know the name of. Those emotions were almost strong enough to make him forget everything, except making sure that Phi was safe. Almost. There was still the firm voice of his father to make him question those feelings. There was still some part of him that was yet to be convinced that Phi was human. That doubt kept him in place, and he was still there when his father and brothers returned.

When they tied his hands and talked about possession, he cried. When they led him back to the road, along with the cattle, and made him walk ahead of them, he could hear them talking about city priests, and their worries that they could cleanse Sparks' as well as their own priests at home.

"We don't have any choice, but to take him to the church there," Sparks' father said. "This can't wait. Sparks' soul is in danger of hell and the demon must be hunted down."

"I've heard stories, Da," one brother said in a worried tone. "The priests in the city have harsh ways of exorcising and cleansing souls."

Sparks father nodded, but his jaw was tight with determination. "That may be so, but better some pain than eternal damnation."

___________________________________________________________________

The city streets were packed with people, carts, and animals. Spark's father kept a firm hand on his elbow, squeezing hard enough to grate bones together as his other sons tried to keep the cattle together and heading in the right direction. The stench of people and animals was thick, and the noise was deafening. The cattle tossed their heads, bellowed, and rolled eyes, but the whips and goads forced them through to the market pens. The smell of other cattle and the rich scent of hay, settled them and they went into the pens obediently. A boy sat on a fence and dropped stones into a basket, for every horned head that went by him, while another slapped a white spot of paint onto each back to identify them.

A grizzled man, dressed in rich leathers, scrubbed his chin and sized up each young bull. When the gate closed on the pen, he turned to Spark's father and said, "Sixty."

Spark's father scowled and retorted, "One-twenty. They've had good feed this season."

The merchant shook his head with a snort. "I'm not blind, or daft, good farmer. I'll give you seventy-five, for charity."

"I don't need charity," Spark's father replied, "but I'm a good Christian man. I'll lower to one hundred."

The merchant smiled. "The sun, and the long journey have addled your wits, friend farmer, and thinned your herd. For old time's sake, since you have been faithful in supplying my customers, I will go as high as eighty-five."

"Ninety, and I will shake your hand," Spark's father promised.

The merchant mulled it over, eyed the herd again, and then nodded. He shook the gnarled hand of the farmer and then signaled to an assistant with a tally. "A good deal, friend farmer. He will see that you get your proper payment. Will you join the other farmers in the trading hall? Merchantman Tilith has opened a keg and is offering some of his excellent brew."

It was tradition, a time for farmers, from every corner of the city, to join together and trade knowledge and goodwill. Sparks could see that his father and brothers dearly wanted to go. His father's face firmed, though, and he replied, with a small, polite bow, "Later, perhaps. We have urgent business with the priests."

The merchant raised an eyebrow. "Ah, well, young men are hard to rein in, friend farmer. I hope the girl is well dowered and that she bears you a grandson."

Sparks saw his father's face turn red, with embarrassment, as he replied, "No, friend merchant. Not any trouble such as that. I have a good, honest boy. He simply has need of... guidance."

The merchant looked puzzled, but then nodded as if he understood. "The priests of fifth street monastery are very good at giving 'guidance'. Perhaps you might try there, if you have no one else in mind?"

"Thank you for your council. I will visit with them first." Spark's father gave another, small bow, and then led Sparks, and his brothers away.

Sparks felt dread clench his stomach. He could imagine all manner of torment to come. It compelled him to try and reason with his father once more as they moved into the crowds.

"Father, please believe me, when I tell you that I have not been visited by evil," Sparks begged, shouting above the noise of the crowd. "I haven't been harmed in any way."

"I saw evil," his father replied, "There was no mistaking it. That creature has put his mark on you. The priests need to remove it and purify you."

"How can you be so sure?" Sparks demanded.

His father glared at him, pain and fear in his eyes. "You haven't been yourself. I thought it was maturity come at last, but now I see that it was a gift from the devil, payment for listening to his lies. When you are cleansed, you may not be a perfect son, but you will be the one that I sired, the one that I love, and the one who is right with God."

Sparks felt like weeping, wanting to deny it, but he heard the truth in his fathers words. His new sense of balance had appeared when he had met Phi. The coincidence couldn't be denied nor the wisdom of his father. Cleansing might be painful, but damnation was eternal. The slitted eyed, sharp toothed Phi, was too much like the devil's imps, painted on the church walls, being driven into hell by God's angels.

Sparks stopped struggling, though the sick feeling in his gut didn't go away, as they pushed through the crowds. When they found the monastery, an old, stone building crouched between tenements, his father put a strong arm over Spark's shoulders, for comfort, and led him inside.

______________________________________

"You are an absolute fool," a familiar voice said and Sparks opened bloodshot eyes to see Phi seated on the corner of his monastery cot.

"You are absolutely mad," Sparks replied thickly. Every fiber of his being hurt from the purges that they had made him drink and the long hours of praying afterward. It wouldn't be out of the ordinary to begin imaging cat boys at that point.

"They haven't locked the door," Phi noted as he dipped a cloth into cool water and bathed Sparks forehead gently. It felt wonderful. Sparks wasn't supposed to feel wonderful, just then, though, and he reluctantly put up a shaking hand to fend it off.

"It isn't locked, because I am submitting willingly," Sparks explained.

"Are you?" Phi seemed angry now, fine brows coming down. "I was risking myself to rescue you."

"Don't," Sparks begged. "My father was right. I need to be cleansed of devils."

Phi's face came very close to his own. He smelled like wood smoke and wine. Isn't that what a devil should smell like? Did they have such startling, beautiful eyes, though, and a face more perfect than any woman's? Yes, they did, he recalled. All the sermons said that evil wore a beautiful face.

"Who are you, really?" Sparks demanded. He tried to sit up, but the room spun and he had to collapse into his rough pillow again.

Phi looked pained. He fiddled with a braid and then tossed it behind one shoulder, as if coming to a decision. "All right, I'll tell you. In repayment for my secret, though, you have to do one thing for me."

The devil always wanted to bargain, Sparks thought, but found himself nodding, wanting the truth that much.

"You are so naive," Phi sighed, "You don't even ask what I wish, just agree, like any farm boy without a brain."

"I am a farm boy," Sparks reminded him.

Phi's breath tickled his ear as he whispered into it, "I am the son of a King. I wanted to see the world, though, instead of playing squire to my elder brothers, so I ran away. I suppose that I was naive, too, not considering how I would live. I enjoyed the life of the city streets, but I ended up being DeLuce's clerk, to feed myself, in the end. Now I can never go home. My father would never have me back, someone who had so dishonored the family, as to become a street performer and a clerk."

No devils. No hell. No fire and brimstone, and wanting to steal men's souls, Spark's thought, just a foolish prince and foolish choices made. Phi couldn't go back to his old life, but neither could Sparks. As Phi's long braids brushed his cheek, and the beautiful eyes peered down into his, he suddenly understood why.

"What payment will you ask?" Sparks wanted to know, voice almost too soft to hear as his heart hammered in his chest with sudden self knowledge.

"Come with me," Phi asked, rather than demanded.

"To where?" Sparks wondered.

Lips brushed along his lips, and fangs shown, pearly white, as Phi smiled gently. "To a new life," he replied. "Your old one doesn't suit you anymore. Your father knew that. I think, now, that you do too."

Spark's touched his own lips with a trembling hand. "I have been corrupted," he said sadly, feeling the world that he knew tipping out from underneath his feet.

"It's not corruption," Phi replied. "It's love, isn't it?"

He was hopeful, his heart in his anxious eyes.

"They could cure me of it," Sparks replied, feeling tears sting his eyes. "These priests are very good at that. My father hoped for it."

"He has sons, enough, to follow in his ways," Phi replied as he tugged at Sparks to get him to sit. As he began dressing him, wincing at the sight of the marks of a flogging, he asked bluntly, "Do you wish to be cured of who you are... truly?"

"Life would be simpler," Sparks replied as he laced his pants with trembling hands. He stopped suddenly, though, and looked at Phi, who was bent over, hands on his shoulders, to hold him steady.

Cat eyes. Cat grace. Cat teeth. The truth was beating through every fiber of Spark's being, just then, not to be denied. He asked fearfully, "Deluce changed me as well, didn't he? That's why... That's why I'm not clumsy any longer. That's why I want... want things that I haven't wanted-"

Phi grinned and slid a hand under Spark's chin. "Maybe he did give your clumsy feet grace, Sparks, but I think that you know the truth in the rest of it."

He did and Sparks blushed hotly, not sure how to accept what he had really always known, but never faced. "My father will never want to see me again," he almost sobbed.

"Fathers are surprising," Phi replied sympathetically. "Give him time, and maybe he will forgive and change his heart."

"Has yours?" Sparks wanted to know.

Phi shrugged, looking sad. "I don't know. I haven't been back to find out."

Sparks found his hand going out, instinctively, to give comfort. The touch of a furry arm almost startled him. He found himself running fingers over that blonde fur in the next instant, understanding that welling in his heart, not to be denied.

"I can go with you?" Sparks asked uncertainly.

"I did ask first," Phi reminded him with a chuckle. He nuzzled Sparks unexpectedly, braids swaying, and skin soft, but all male. Sparks felt the urge to take him into his arms, completely, wanting to answer a rising need that he was now understanding, but still fearful of. Love. Was this love? Phi had said...

"We need to go," Phi said, urging him up and swinging one of Spark's arms over his slight shoulders to support him. "They're all at prayer, but they'll come again for you soon."

They had said something about Sparks needing a fiery purge, and a long fast, afterward, to drive the devils out of him. He could only imagine what they had meant, but he knew, that he didn't want to find out if his guesses were correct.

"We're not jumping out of a window, again, are we?" Sparks asked fearfully, remembering that the church only had one strong, gate to enter or exit.

Phi snickered as he led Sparks to a tall, open window. "It's perfectly safe."

"If you want to die, yes, perfectly safe," Sparks said sarcastically. "There has to be another way."

"Afraid not," Phi replied with mock sadness as he faced Sparks and wrapped arms around him. "Trust me," he urged and then kissed Sparks hard on the mouth as he pulled them sideways out of the window, and they took the long fall to the ground.

When they hit the hay, in the hay cart, and Sparks came up, thrashing and sobbing, he grabbed at Phi and growled, "You are a devil!"

With hay in his hair and a sparkle in his eyes, Phi laughed, and replied, "Your personal devil, then, my Sparks."

My Sparks. It warmed Sparks, though he was still trying to sort out his own feelings. It was too wrapped up in the grief, and bitterness, of his epiphany, and it would probably be awhile before he could separate them enough to understand what he was truly feeling for this mad ex prince and street performer. It was enough to know that it was Phi that he wanted to be with, just then, as he struggled out of the hay with him, and ran headlong into a new life.

__________________________

"You're moping, again," Phi commented as he dropped a brace of rabbits by the fire and crouched down to clean them.

With some practice, and a few hungry days, Phi had learned to use his abilities to become a tolerable hunter. His nose had also proved to be good at finding root vegetables and herbs. Baking them together, under the logs of their nightly fire, was a good addition to their meals.

Sparks frowned as he poked a stick at the fire and felt his depression deepen. Instead of helping, he was often left waiting, and doing nothing, while Phi took charge and made sure that they survived. He was finding it hard to come to terms with his new life, and his new understanding of just who and what he was. A freak, in more ways than one. An evil man had taken away his humanity and made him one with devils, and a handsome young man had turned his feet away from the life that he had expected to have. He wouldn't have a wife, a herd of children, and a farm, like his father. His life was now on the road, fleeing, he knew not where, and afraid that someone would find them out. That fear had kept them in the woods. Phi had chafed at it, a creature of cities, but Sparks was, more and more, entertaining the notion of becoming a hermit, and building a home far from anyone.

Phi finished cleaning, set the meat to cook over the fire, and then went to wash in the nearby stream. Sparks watched him crouch, long braids swishing as he moved and wisps of hair catching in a breeze through the trees. They hadn't explored their feelings for one another, and Sparks still didn't think that he was ready. Though his body seemed more than willing, his mind was still bogged down by thoughts of his father's disapproval and his life long teachings from the church, and his community. Men didn't love each other. Men didn't act like devils and lay down together unnaturally. His feelings for Phi didn't seem unnatural, though. They seemed as natural as breathing. Sparks wanted all that Phi was, not just the sex. He knew that the conflict between how he felt, and what he'd been taught, would take time to resolve.

Phi had unlaced his shirt. It hung loose on his pale body as he returned, and flapped wildly, as he decided on a few somersaults on the way. A light dusting of fur, and a well muscled body, made Sparks feel a heat wash through him. When Phi sat opposite him, pink nipples bare, and his handsome face looking mischievous, Sparks felt sure that Phi was displaying himself to tease him.

"I wonder what you can do?" Phi said thoughtfully. "You really haven't tried to see what sort of abilities you might have."

The thought of exploring his freakishness was like cold water, and Sparks lost his desire all at once. He hunched into himself and frowned. "Why does it matter? I don't have fur, tufted ears like you, or cat eyes. Maybe balance was all that I've been given?"

"Maybe," Phi mused as he turned the meat over the fire. "DeLuce was trying to create a human with cat like abilities, not cat like features. He failed in me, but maybe he didn't in you?"

"Aside from agility, and night vision, what sort of abilities do cats have?" Sparks pointed out. "I can't see it being important."

Phi snickered. "I can, if you were given a male cat's ability to have sex in moments. "

Sparks turned red, "I don't find that funny, only crude."

Phi grinned, showing his sharp teeth. "Won't know until you try, will you?"

The conversation was not one that Sparks was ready to have. "Very crude. Watch the food. I don't want burned rabbit, along with dirty speech."

Phi looked sad, then, as he turned the meat again, the juices hissing in the flames. "I suppose that was crude." He looked over the fire at Sparks, his green eyes catching the light. "Sorry. I just wanted you to say something about us.. You've been acting like we're only running because of our kinship with cats. Have you changed your mind? If you have, I would like to know that."

Sparks found himself touching his lips, where Phi had kissed him, those many days ago. "I... It's hard for me. You have to give me time. I'm just a simple farmer's son. "

"I may be worldly, but not in love," Phi told him quietly. "This is my first time, too."

Sparks started, his heart warming at the truth in Phi's eyes. Their first time, together. He had needed to hear that. It made him feel not so alone in his struggle to accept himself. "I care for you, too." He wasn't ready to say love, even though his heart was singing it, and he hated that he was causing the disappointment in Phi's expression, but he simply wasn't ready to declare anything in his turmoil. "Please, let me be, until I'm ready. I'm so confused, right now, that it hurts."

Phi wouldn't meet his eyes, then, and they ate in silence. When they settled down to sleep, near the coals of the fire, Phi crawled under Sparks' blanket and nestled close. He said in Sparks' ear, when he stiffened, "I'm cold. I won't ask anything you're not willing to give, but please... don't deny everything that I need... and what you need too."

Sparks told himself to relax as Phi draped an arm and a leg over him, tucking the blanket around them. Phi smelled like wood smoke, sweat, and wildflowers. Having him that close, released tension in Sparks that he hadn't been aware of. He sighed, despite his best effort not to, and he could feel Phi smiling as the man kissed his cheek. He couldn't hide how he felt from Phi, and he couldn't hide it from himself. At that moment, Sparks didn't want to. He pressed Phi's arm closer about him and found his own, small smile, as he drifted off to sleep.

____________________________

"Keep the hood down," Sparks warned as he tugged the hood low to hide Phi's face. "If they see what you are..."

"Don't worry," Phi grumbled, "I don't want to be 'cleansed' any more than you did."

"I wouldn't chance this, but we need supplies," Sparks said as they approached the very small town. It was only a collection of long houses and a dry goods shop, but he hoped to bargain pelts for decent clothing, and warmer cloaks, and for a few other essentials that couldn't be had from the forest. He hoped to soothe Phi's restlessness as well. The man was driving him to distraction with his boredom. If he had ever hoped to find a hermit's life, in the woods, far from anyone that might discover what they were, the last few days with Phi had warned him that dream was impossible. The man needed other people about him, and excitement, like other men craved water and air.

Even as they entered the town's borders, Phi's steps had quickened and his head had gone up, green eyes sparkling even under the shadow of his hood. Lean body, as graceful as any dancer, and beautiful, even in his torn and travel stained clothing; he was made to drive anyone to immoral thoughts, man or woman. He was also unusual; eye catching, even under a hood. His long hair, as bright as gold tinted snow, and hanging in it's small braids and wisps of softness, swayed with every step. Cut it, had been the words on Sparks' lips, for some time, yet they had never been uttered with any conviction. His mind spoke of wanting Phi to be more woman than man, in appearance, to ease his moral discomfort, but he knew that for the lie that it was. Even with long hair, and far more beautiful than any woman that Sparks had ever known, Phi was still obviously a man. It was that masculinity that drew Sparks and begged him to forget every argument that constrained him from taking his pleasure as he longed too.

The people of the town looked rough, suspicious, and care worn. Women pulled their children close, as they passed, and men straightened challengingly, and glared. Sparks quelled the urge to grab Phi's elbow, in a protective move, and said instead, low and tense, "Let's move on. This is no place for us."

Phi patted the bundle of furs hanging from his shoulder. "This will change their mood, especially when we give them a good price for them. I doubt some of them have ever seen marmso fur. It's a rare creature outside the deep forest, and quick footed."

Sparks was still nervous, but he took the lead when they entered the dry goods shop. A circle of men, standing and seated around a game board, eyed them. One man, with a long pipe in his teeth, took a long drag and then let out the smoke. Phi sneezed as they went by them. The men were all taller than they were, and much older. Their clothes were hard worn, patched, and smelling like cattle. Their hats were slouched from the weather, and tied about with charms and trophies. One man sported a string of wolf teeth. All of their boots were filthy from mud, but they didn't seem to have a care as they planted them on low boxes and empty stools.

"What's this, then?" a man grunted.

"Customers," the shop keeper snapped back as he appeared from behind a counter, "Unlike you lot."

"A man and his lady, out and about on foot, together, like filthy gypsies," a man with a hard squint complained. "That's not proper in our town."

"I'm not a lady," Phi protested, but he didn't pause as he followed Sparks to the counter.

The thin, balding, shopkeeper, became wide eyed when Phi spread out the furs. The man latched boney fingers onto the soft, reddish marmso fur, and felt it, as if he couldn't believe it. "Marmso!" he exclaimed.

The men all craned their necks to look, but the one with the squint was still digesting Phi's reply. "What're you, if not a lady?" he was demanding. "Some fop, bedboy, from the city?"

The men looked at Squint and then scowled as they forgot about the fur and focused on Phi.

"He's too ugly for that," Sparks said quickly. "A disease has eaten his face. That's why he keeps the hood down. He grows the hair, because it's all the handsome he has left."

Phi growled something low, but the men were shuddering and looking disgusted. The shopkeeper was stepping back. "Is it catching?"

"No," Sparks quickly assured him. "It keeps only to him."

"Cursed, then," a man said and spat aside.

The others nodded in agreement.

Greed warred with uneasiness in the shopkeeper, and then he asked, "How much for the furs?"

They dickered and then settled on a price low enough to excite the man. Goods were bartered and packed. When Phi and Sparks began to leave, relieved that the men weren't offering any other threat, one man shoved a leg in their path, planting his filthy boot on a barrel.

"There's a toll, you realize?" the man growled, and the others agreed.

Sparks swallowed hard and then replied, "We just sold all that we had."

"Too bad," the man sneered and looked Phi over. "I bet that one does more than sets your traps, right? Maybe his face ain't too pretty, but I can see that fine ass in his leathers."

"That's devil talk, Keenan!" another man snarled, and a few agreed.

"Maybe it's just good men taking sinners to task?" Keenan suggested with a leer. "Maybe that's why they were led right into our hands? Look at them. Anyone can tell they're sinning by the way that one keeps looking at blondie, here."

Sparks felt his face flush, even while his heart was hammering. He was that obvious?

"Nobody touches me!" Phi snarled. "Try it and you'll lose your balls."

"I'm out," a man grunted and walked out, boots clomping. Another followed, but the others were like wolves on the edges of a pack, waiting for their leader to show them what to do next.That leader was Keenan.

"Hold him," Keenan ordered and men grabbed Sparks by the arms as Keenan grabbed Phi himself

There was a low counter, a makeshift bar for selling liquir. With his arm twisted up behind his back, Phi was forced over it, face down. He struggled hard, but Keenan was a big man.

"How does this not make you a boy lover?" Phi demanded furiously, as Keenan yanked down his pants, one handed and felt over Phi's snowy pale hips.

Keenan smacked them, ignoring Phi's cursing and ineffectual struggles. "You have an ass like a woman. That makes taking my pleasure with it, and punishing you at the same time, an upstanding act."

As Keenan worked down his pants, and showed a hairy ass, as he draped himself over Phi, Sparks gave a last supreme wrench of his arms, to free himself, as he shouted, "Get off him, bastard!"

He was free, and Sparks didn't have time to wonder at it, as he vaulted over the game table and jumped onto Keenan. He jerked the man back, arm around the man's throat, and he snarled, as he pounded his free fist into Keenan's face.

Everything was a blur then. Men tried to save Keenan, but it seemed as if they were leaves on the wind, blown away, by Spark's fury and need to save Phi. Keenan went down and Phi was free. Sparks didn't have another moment of clarity until they were back into the forest and running down a narrow, forest track, packs banging on their shoulders and Phi trying to hold up his pants as he ran, hood long ago flown back and showing his pale and frightened face.

They didn't dare stop for some time, and then, out of breath, and exhausted, they collapsed near a stream together, clutching each other, and not saying anything for some time.

"He stunk," Phi said at last, in a small voice.

Sparks nodded, only half listening. "How did I...?" He tried to recall just what had happened. A room full of men, larger than them both, had just... fallen by the wayside.

"I guess, now we know, what sort of ability you have," Phi said. "You were... stunning. Those men didn't have a chance."

Strength, speed, and agility. Sparks hugged himself until Phi worked himself into his lap. Then he was hugging Phi and stroking the man's hair. "I'm scared," Sparks managed.

"I am too," Phi replied. "That was... very close." He snuggled closer. "Thank you."

"He..." Sparks struggled, seeing those hairy hips getting ready to thrust forward and..."I wanted to kill him. I've never..."

Phi shivered. "I wasn't strong enough. You must hate me. Pretty. Useless. Like a woman."

"Women aren't weak, " Sparks countered. "And you aren't either. You're just strong... in other ways."

"Sorry," Phi mumbled against him, sounding close to tears.

"Don't be," Sparks replied. "You were there for me, when I needed you, remember?"

Phi nodded, sniffling. "Can I just stay here, for a little while?"

Sparks held him closer. "Of course, as long as I can too?"

Phi gave him a shaky smile. "Of course."

It was a long while before they gathered the strength to move on.

__________________________

"How much?" Sparks asked and widened eyes when Phi held out his hand and revealed several coins.

Phi grinned as he twirled the hooded mask on one finger. "I am good on stage, or didn't I tell you that?"

"Still, it doesn't seem worth the risk," Sparks complained as he held out a leather pouch for Phi to tumble the coins into. Then he pulled the drawstring and put it with their pack of supplies as Phi did a quick summersault backward and then sat down near their fire.

"Life is a risk," Phi replied with a chuckle as he looked into a much repaired pot at the stew that Sparks was cooking.

"You're sure that no one followed you?" Sparks wondered as he dropped the pack and joined Phi by the fire.

"Not that I know of," Phi replied and then with confidence, "Big cities aren't like backwoods towns. They're used to oddities, players, and musicians cavorting for coins. They're all bored, jaded. They want entertainment. We could set up very nicely, in a room, there, if you would only get over-"

"They were going to have you, against your will," Sparks said, cutting him off. "I can't forget that. I'm not sure why you can."

Phi seemed speechless for a moment, shocked and warmed at the same time. "I'm not going to damn everyone, because some people decided to side with the devil, Sparks. I wish that you would get over your fear. I'd like a hot bath, clean sheets, and four walls again. I really don't like the life of a woodsman."

"If someone sees you, without the hood.. finds out..." Sparks could imagine, clearly, what would happen to them both. He poked viciously at the fire with a stick. "Besides, do you really want to spend your life under a hood and mask, telling everyone that you wear it because you're hideous?"

Phi cocked his head to one side and replied, "Maybe that doesn't matter to me anymore? Maybe I only care about one man seeing how handsome I am?"

Sparks blushed and shot back, "You say that, but we both know that it would wear on you in only a little time."

"Not showing my face, or caring about you?" Phi pressed, eyebrows raised.

"Maybe both," Sparks replied, looking down and frowning. "I'm not sure what this is, anyway. What are we? Friends? Closer than friends? I don't even know how that could be, how we can be together. What sort of life will this be, Phi?"

Phi stood, long braids and wisps of hair catching in a breeze as he moved to sit beside Sparks. He pressed a shoulder against him. "Put your arm around my waist," he asked.

Sparks gingerly did so.

"Pull me close to you," Phi insisted.

Sparks tightened his grip and felt Phi's warmth against his side, felt his submissive slump into the curve his body naturally made. They fit together. It felt natural. Phi smelled like the city, smoke, incense, and strange places. It clung to his hair, tickling Sparks' face. He raised a hand and smoothed it back, liking the silken feel of it. Phi looked up at him, lids drowsy over cat eyes, and handsome face smiling softly.

Sparks wasn't certain how he decided to do it. Like Phi's body pressed perfectly against him, their lips met, in that same, perfect, melding of bodies. Phi stayed submissive, letting Sparks deepen the kiss, inexperience making it a slow exploration. There was no conscious thought when Phi's back sank in leaves and Sparks pressed against him, cradled between Phi's legs, and tongue pushing past lips. He wanted. He throbbed for wanting the young, supple body under him.

Phi's legs came up, and Sparks pushed further, wanting more contact, instinct making his hips thrust forward, a part of him, that was blithely unconcerned with right or wrong, or the clothing in it's way, eager for some entrance into tight heat. Phi's hair sprayed around them, a white and gold spill of silk, his skin blushed pink under milk pale, and he moaned under Sparks' lips. He arched up and Spark's felt an eagerness as stiff as his own, shove against his belly.

Blindness. Shame. It overwhelmed Sparks as completely as a bucket of ice water. He clawed and scrambled off of Phi, heedless of hurt, or the hair that tangled and caught, as he put the fire between them, panting, and wide eyed.

Phi looked in pain as he sat up, hands fluttering between pulled hair, a twisted leg, and a stomach that had been elbowed. "What was that for?!" he exclaimed.

Sparks pulled knees to his chest, and buried his face against them, shutting his eyes tightly.

Phi's breathing calmed, and, after long minutes, he finally sighed and said, "Stop playing turtle, with your head in your shell, and look at me."

Sparks shook his head, refusing. Phi sighed again, in disgust, and moved to the fire to stir the stew, his hand pressed to his bruised stomach. He said, at last, "I thought that you knew that I was a man, like you? Did the long hair make you doubt it?"

Sparks clenched tighter.

"Sparks," Phi said seriously, "You need to find out what you want. I can't stand this kind of... teasing. It's painful, in more ways than one."

"Sorry," Sparks whispered. "I..."

He couldn't go on, couldn't admit that he had bolted, like a frightened hare, from what he knew would come next, from the act that he had been contemplating eagerly.

"I was going to let you have me," Phi told him. "I trust you not to hurt me. I think that we would have had great enjoyment..."

Sparks buried his fingers into his own hair and pulled, sobbing. "Sorry," was all that he could manage to say, again.

Phi contemplated him, for some time, and then decided that now was not the time to press matters. He shoved hair behind his sensitive ears and said, "Come eat. I think the stew is done. We can talk about my stage career... unless you have some other skill that can make us a living?"

Sparks shoulders twitched, and then he looked cautiously over his knees at Sparks. Wary and not sure of the honesty of Phi's acceptance, he replied softly, "I can do some things; tend cattle, thresh wheat, milk beasts..."

Phi ladled stew into rough wooden bowls and grimaced. "Not very handy in a large city."

"No, but people do have horses, carriages, and the like," Sparks said as he slowly made his way to the fire and huddled there. He gingerly took his bowl of stew, but didn't meet Phi's eyes, still blushing hotly and confused.

"You want to be a stable boy?" Phi wondered, as if that was work that he would have never considered doing. Sparks supposed that it wasn't. "So, you'll muck out stables, and I'll tumble, for our bread.... unless you would like us to part company, now? I am enticing you to wickedness, after all, devil creature that I am."

"It's not-!" Sparks began to retort and then deflated and sighed. "I can't help it. It's a life time of stricture, that I've been taught, and I'm not sure... I don't know anything about what we should do... together. It can't help but seem... wrong."

"And I let you know, in no uncertain terms, that I'm a man too," Phi chuckled. "The way in isn't a sin, it's just... different."

"Can we not talk about it?"Sparks exclained in acute embarrassment and shame. He tried to soften his words in the next instant, as he spooned his stew. "I'm just not ready, Phi. Give me more time to think about this."

Phi shook his head and snorted, "Sparks, you think too much, that's your problem. Some things, you just do."

"Not yet," Sparks replied firmly. "Not yet."

_________________________

Sparks leaned on his shovel and watched Phi perform for the crowd. It hadn't been hard to find a job doing the dirtiest work in a stable, while Phi's natural talent made them coins on a makeshift stage in the market. Even with a mask of white gauze cloth, and multicolored tassels, covering his face, he could still make the crowd love his beauty. His braided, pale hair and lithe body convinced them that horror didn't lie beneath the mask, only a man wary of revealing his participation in what was considered a lowly, and wicked, profession.

Sparks turned away to resume shoveling manure into a steaming pile. Not only did Phi's beauty stir feelings that he still wasn't ready to deal with, but he couldn't help pangs of jealousy as both men and women stood and appreciated Phi's beauty with what Sparks considered immoral comments.

If they knew what lay beneath that mask, Sparks thought, they wouldn't be so quick to wish Phi in their beds. Demon spawn they would name him, and call the priests to exorcise and cleanse him, if not kill him outright. Sparks couldn't help the feeling of guilt, when ever he thanked God that he hadn't been damned, like Phi, with visible marks of Deluce's mad experiments.

"Done, boy?" the stable master asked as he rounded a slew back mare in a stall. The man was big and gruff, most times, but he had a kind side too.

"Yes, Master Drenlin," Sparks replied as he put the shovel away in a tool shed.

"Good work. There's some cross buns in mother's kitchen," Drenlin told him. "Help yourself to a few and a good night to you."

"Thank you, Master," Sparks replied with a smile. The man's wife was a very good cook, and he suspected that she baked more than they needed to share with the new stable boy.

After getting a napkin full of buns, Sparks made his way through the market, buying a stuffed sweet root pie and a loaf of stale bread on the way. He tucked it all beneath his worn coat, wary of showing even the wealth of food in the neighborhood he soon entered.

A narrow street, with a stream of sewage running down it's center, was filled with the poor, talking together, smoking, watching children run about in the lowering light, or doing whatever chore could be accomplished in such a narrow space. Stepping around a woman, sitting on the stoop, with a basket in her lap, he saw that she had gleaned some bean pods from the market castoffs. She was popping them open carefully and not being as picky about their freshness as those in the market had been.

Going up a narrow stairwell, Sparks navigated between men and women, and a growling cur, to reach a door scarred and worn with age. Thrusting a shoulder against it, he unstuck it from a tight jamb, and entered the small, one room apartment that was home.

The walls were yellow, the floor uneven, and the bed was a creaking affair of ropes and bedding stuffed with straw. At least the straw was fresh, Sparks mused, yet another perk of working in a stable. A very small table, thrown together from castoff bits of wood, was placed near the bed so that the bed could double as a chair.

Sparks put his burden down on the table, slipped off his threadbare jacket, and worked hard to light the one lantern in the dim light from the open doorway. Bad oil smoked as the wick caught and glowed fitfully.

The cur came in, nosing for the food that it could smell. A starved creature, with black and white spotted fur over stark bones, and ruemy brown eyes, it knew a soft touch when he saw one. He lifted one paw and patted Spark's leg with it beseechingly.

"First class beggar," Phi said as he swept into the room.

Sparks gave the dog a small bite of pie and then shoed it out. Closing the door, and throwing the bolt, he frowned at Phi as the man whipped off his mask and rubbed at his face.

"I think I'm allergic to gauze," Phi grumbled. "When I'm famous on the stage I'll buy a silk one."

"You're enjoying yourself," Sparks complained as he set out their food on the table.

Phi snagged a cross bun and bit into it appreciatively. He said around the mouthful, "Why shouldn't I? I did run away from home to be an actor."

"That's not the way you told it to me before," Sparks pointed out.

Phi grinned. "I did dream about it, whenever I saw the players in the markets."

"Every boy does," Sparks agreed. "Did you get the wine?"

Phi nodded as he added his contribution to the table. The wooden jug, with a stopper, was theirs. Each day, Phi refilled it from the barrels at the inn, in the market square. It was sour, and green, but better than chancing drinking the water from the city well. Sparks had suffered stomach cramps their first night there, when he had dared drink it.

"No meat again?" Phi complained as he sat and looked at the pie.

"She swore it had chicken grease in it," Sparks told him as he used his belt knife to cut it into two halves.

"Kissed by a chicken," Phi chuckled as he tasted his half. "Maybe I should follow my nature and go hunting?"

"And be strung up for stealing? If there's an animal walking about the city, it belongs to someone," Sparks warned him.

Phi scowled. "I was joking."

Phi was tucking his long hair behind his shoulders, showing his handsome profile. Wearing only a thin shirt and leather pants laced together loosely to give him freedom of movement, his lithe body showed his 'fur' to advantage. The pale, loosely curled, hairs on arms and legs, bordered on strange, but not strange enough for a person to not be able to explain away.

"Are you glad, now, that we came?" Phi wondered suddenly.

"Does it matter?" Sparks hedged.

"To me, yes," Phi replied.

Sparks gave him an honest answer. "I miss my home. It aches in my heart with missing my family. This isn't the life that I thought that I would have. I'm nothing like I thought I was. My life is teetering on a ledge and I'm not sure which part of the cliff that I want to fall off of. I feel that I'm damned, that I will go straight to hell for what I want, for what I am."

Phi considered him, eyes sliding sideways to regard him. "But are you happy?"

Sparks stared.

"I think you must be," Phi pressed.

"Why?" Sparks wanted to know and watched Phi's hand slide across the table to grasp his own.

"You don't have to stay with me, but you do," Phi pointed out. His hand was warm and solid, giving Sparks trembling hand an anchor.

"I..." Sparks pulled his hand away, embarrassed. "Let's eat."

Phi chuckled, but then he grew more serious. "I know things have been hard here, but I'm getting better. See?" He took out several silver coins and put them on the table. "I caught the eye of some nobles. They thought that I was good enough for court."

Sparks stared at the coins and his stomach tightened. "I don't think that's a good thing. If they find out...?"

Phi shrugged. "Nobles houses are much different than the city streets, Sparks. They are more likely to be shocked by my liking for men, than my demon good looks. " He grinned, showing his sharp teeth.

Sparks couldn't help a shiver. He found himself asking hesitantly, "Is it so uncommon... you know... a man liking...?"

Phi thought about it as he ate the last bite of his pie. "It's difficult to tell. It's not something that people brag about, you know? It's something that I've always known about myself, though. It's not something that I was taught, not a way that I was shown. I simply preferred-"

"I didn't always know," Sparks cut in, not wanting an elaboration.

"Didn't you?" Phi wondered, a pale eyebrow arched.

Sparks bit his lip and looked away.

"I think," Phi went on, "that maybe, you've just been hiding from it." He took a drink from the jug of wine and grimaced at the sour taste. "In my mind, I think we've been born with this desire. I think that God wanted us to be this way. Since God's creation can't be evil, then I refuse to believe that we are evil."

"Even now?" Sparks whispered, almost to himself. "Even with what we've become?"

"It wasn't out choice," Phi reminded him. "You choose evil, Sparks. We are no more evil, for what we've become, than a man who's lost a leg."

"You make it sound so..."

"Reasonable," Phi finished for him, "because it is, reasonable. People, unfortunately, often fail at being so reasonable. They are the ones ready to condemn us for what we had no hand in."

"I'm afraid," Sparks admitted. "I feel like I'm trying to decide whether to fall straight into hell, or not."

Phi caught at his chin and turned his face towards him. "It's only love, isn't it Sparks? You do love me, don't you?"

Sparks studied Phi's handsome face, his beseeching eyes. "You seem a sin, just being so..."

Phi smiled, leaned forward, and kissed him. He tasted like sweet root and sour wine. He broke the kiss after a soft, lingering time, and then said, "I won't be a sin, Sparks. I won't take the lead and take you into bed. I won't let you claim that I forced you. You have to reach out, all on your own, and accept this, accept that you love me."

"I do...," Sparks began and faltered.

"Do, what?"

"Do... love you." Sparks turned away and stood up, hugging himself tightly. "I do," he admitted more firmly. "It has changed me, changed my life, but... I can't lie about it."

"Then love me... all of me," Phi begged. "If you don't, then this life will never be more than pain and disappointment for us. Our struggle will have no meaning without some joy, some happiness. We might as well go our separate ways, because we'll never know anything more than guilt."

Sparks turned and looked at him, frightened. "I... I don't know how."

Phi corked the wine and stood with a smile. He held out his hand and Sparks took it. "I'll show you."

The fall was easy, pleasurable, and Phi showed his beauty, inside and out, as they discovered each other in bed. The night passed in exploration and heated moments of passion, and, when they lay, in tangle of languid limbs and rough sheets, after, Sparks couldn't regret any of it.

"So," Phi murmured against his breast, hair sprayed out over Sparks, like a pale blanket, and body pressed close.

"So?" Sparks echoed, half asleep.

"Are we going to hell, Lover?"

Sparks considered it as much as he could and then replied softly, "I don't think so. It didn't seem... sinful."

"Not with love," Phi agreed. "Never with love."

Sparks hoped that was true.

________________________________

The morning found Sparks nervous and embarrassed. He watched Phi wash away the night, at the wash stand, with a wetted cloth, and a grimace of discomfort. It made Phi wonder if he had hurt him, but it was too hard to ask, too hard to meet those beautiful eyes, when his new lover finished and warmed himself by their very small fire place.

Sparks didn't regret being with the man he loved, but he did regret coming to his manhood in such a way. He could only think of his father, as he took his turn at the wash stand. He remembered his father, hoping for his sons to marry, have families, and follow after him in happiness. He remember his father's disappointment in him, his fear that his youngest would always be a burden to himself and his other sons, that he would never lead a happy life. It was terrible that he would have to live with the knowledge that his failed son had fallen to a demon, and had been lost to everything that he held dear.

"Regretting me?" Phi asked in his ear, pale braids brushing softly against Sparks arm as he stood close. Naked, and unselfconscious, he seemed even more the tempting demon.

Sparks was truthful, as he stared into the bowl of dirtied water. "Thinking of my father."

An arm went around him and squeezed as Sparks dumped the used cloth into the bowl and shivered. "We are what we are," Phi replied. "We don't fit with the world. Our fathers... everyone... will never understand. We can either accept that and live our lives, or we can let it blacken us, cripple us, and make us hate ourselves."

"I miss my family," Sparks admitted.

Phi kissed his cheek, lips soft and warm, and then he was returning to the fire, knowing that there was nothing that he could say to that. Words couldn't make that pain any less.

Two men, who loved men, and who carried within them, the blood of animals. Discovery meant death. Their lives were as fragile as soap bubbles.

Sparks dressed, but Phi seemed happy with his present state. The fire flickered light across his pale skin, and made him seem even more, a child of demons.

"I thought..." Phi began and then went silent, frowning.

Sparks paused in the act of putting on his boots. "What?"

Phi looked at him sideways, his expression perplexed. "I almost feel as if I should ask for payment."

Sparks was confused. "I don't understand."

Phi shrugged and crossed arms over his bare chest. The pale fur/hair below his naval framed his manhood, and Sparks found it hard not to look there, to remember when Phi had been excited by their passion.

"I have to go to work," Sparks told him, as if that were obvious.

Phi looked angry then and turned away. "I won't be here, when you get back, then."

Sparks felt a lurch in his heart, a flash of heat over his body, and then a numbing coldness. He was taking hold of Phi then, and turning him around anxiously. "I did hurt you, didn't I? I am so sorry! I didn't know what I was doing!"

Phi blinked up at him, confused, but then smiled. "So, you do care about me?"

"Of course, I do!" Sparks retorted and then tried to see if Phi was hurt, face red with embarrassment.

Phi caught his hands and pulled him close. "Sparks, I just wanted you to show that you loved me, that I wasn't just some dirty interlude in the night."

"Interlude?' Sparks repeated uncertainly.

"Convenient hole for your lust," Phi clarified crudely and then laughed at Sparks' expression of shock. "I want you to hold me, kiss me, show me that I wasn't a mistake last night."

Sparks swallowed hard and ducked his head. "I'm sorry. I've never... I don't know what to do."

"Love me," Phi urged plaintively.

Sparks lifted a hand and caressed Phi's soft cheek. Phi leaned into the caress, smiling. Emboldened, Sparks slipped an arm around him and pulled Phi's lithe body against his own. Body to body, they seemed to fit together perfectly. It lit a fire in Sparks and Phi grinned as he felt it against him. it wasn't about sex, though, and Sparks controlled himself as he leaned to close the few inches between them, and kiss Phi on the lips.

Phi met that kiss tenderly, closing his eyes, and melting in Spark's arms. That submission made Spark's passion even harder to control. When Phi broke away, abruptly, laughing at him, he found himself dazed.

"You are very close to being tumbled into bed, again," Phi warned him. "I have what I want. Proof of your love for me. Go to work now."

Spark's blinked, adjusted his clothes with a grimace and growled, "You are a mad thing," he grumbled and then added shyly, "my love."

Phi smiled as he tossed a coat at him. "Stay warm, love, so we won't have to take long rekindling the fire tonight."

____________________________________

It was the starved cur dog that repaid Spark's kindness, with his life. They were just about to undress for bed, when the animal started a barking racket, right outside their door. His yelp, and then the silence after, was telling. Phi tossed Spark's his coat, and Spark's didn't question, as he pulled on his own, and yanked an already prepared pack from under the bed.

Phi flung open the window, and went down first, as a blade shoved into the sturdy door lock and began a hard prying. Agile and strong, Phi ended his climb down crumbling walls and gutters, with a back flip that had him landing lightly on the uneven street. Sparks was less agile, and he was halfway down, when the door slammed open and armed men poured in.

Sparks jumped, and Phi reached to steady him, as he stumbled, and almost went head first, into the running sewer that lined the cobbled street.

"There!" A man on horseback shouted and pointed at them as he drew his blade. He wasn't wearing livery, or the badge of the city watch, but his business was clear when he shouted, "Deluce will have your hides if you don't get out here after them!"

"Damn!" Phi swore as he grabbed Spark's by the elbow and propelled him down a dark ally.

The sun had dipped behind the city walls and only the gaslights gave off any light for pursuers to use. Running into the poorest section of town, guaranteed that most of the lamps would, not only be broken, but mostly unlit if they weren't. The city Lords didn't bother with the comfort of their poorest inhabitants.

"How did they find us?" Sparks panted as he stayed close beside Phi.

Phi said nothing and it was a moment before Sparks gritted his teeth, understanding his silence. Deluce had only had to wait for word of an unusual acrobat to reach his ears, or the ears of his men. Phi's abilities hadn't caught the eyes of only bored nobel men.

"I liked my job!" Sparks complained.

"So did I," Phi retorted. Meaning that he wasn't going to apologize.That made Sparks angry as they cut through a collection of stinking shacks, jumped a swail full of sewage, and pushed their way through the overflow of drinking and smoking men from a lighted tavern.

They were sworn at and one man shoved Phi hard, but Sparks was there to keep him on his feet and running.

"Gotta stop!" Sparks panted.

Phi only nodded, breathing too hard to reply. They leaned against a brick wall, eyes darting about and ready to run again. When they had caught their breath, Phi cautiously leaned around a corner to look for danger, and almost lost his head as a very large horse, pulling a wagon, passed him.

Gypsies, Sparks realized in a mixture of fear and excitement, as the wagon, gaudily painted and clattering and clinking with charms, amulets, and the belongings of the riders, was followed by six more. They were taking a rutted, cobblestone lane through the city, a road that led to the South gate, and avoided the more affluent parts of the city.

Religious, upright farmers, disliked them. They were rumored to follow strange gods, to practice a great deal of sin, and to dare to travel the ungodly lands North and South. They were actors, acrobats, tinkers, dancers, and some said, whores. Any time that Sparks had seen them walking or riding by in their caravans, he had tried to feel his father's disgust for them, without success. Even now, seeing the wild, proud looking people, in the caravan, he could only muster a nervous awe.

Phi had another reaction entirely. With his face cloth in place, he called to them. "Two silver to join you to the next city!"

"Be up with you, youth," an old man called down from his perch on a wagon, but his gnarled hand was already out to receive the coins that Phi hurried to give him. "Back wagon. Don't enter within." His accent was thick, but understandable.

"What are you doing?" Sparks demanded as they waited for the last wagon.

"What better place for odd people, but with odd people?" Phi chuckled. He pulled up the hood of his coat as he hopped onto the wide seat of the the last, tall wagon. Sparks almost didn't follow, that unsure, but then ran to catch up and climb on.

"What you do?" a small girl demanded. Dark hair in braids down to her knees, she was dressed in a colorful, patched overcoat over men's pants and boots. She was holding the reins of the huge draft horse, pulling them, confidently. Dark eyes were challenging.

"Grandfather took our coin," Phi explained as he left a good five hand spans between himself and the girl.

The girl narrowed her eyes, snorted, and then looked forbearing as she turned her attention back to her horse.

Phi looked sideways at Sparks. "If you have a better idea?"

Sparks didn't, but it still didn't keep him from being angry. "We were making a life."

Phi looked away, but his hand crept out and took Sparks', under the cover of their pack of meager belongings. "I'm sorry, but..."

"You are who you are," Sparks finished and then sighed. "I'm with the sun, not the moon. I can't expect you to keep hiding, forever. I made my choice. Running may be all that we do our entire lives."

"A bitter life," Phi replied.

"Not all of it, when I have you." Spark said, but then added, "and I lied. I really didn't like shoveling manure."

Phi laughed, making the gypsy girl look at him in annoyance.

___________________________

Curled around each other, under a wagon, while the gypsies tended their cook fires and talked into the night, Sparks had to wonder where life was taking them. Phi nuzzled his neck and tried to offer comfort, but Sparks said a single, startled, "No," and Phi's offer became one of warmth and love instead.

"My shy one," Phi whispered in his ear.

"My perverted one," Sparks retorted, just as quietly.

"They know we are together," Phi told him.

"Their knowing doesn't make me more likely to be an exhibitionist," Sparks replied testily."When we leave them-"

"Should we leave them?" Phi wondered worriedly. "We need to travel. We need to keep ahead of Deluce and his men. We won't attract notice for being odd if we are among odd people."

'They will expect pay," Sparks reminded him. "We barely had enough to buy our dinner from them."

"I could marry one of grandfather's daughters and become part of the family," Phi suggested. "I think the one called Pira was most taken with me."

"No!" Sparks growled, surprising himself with his own strong jealousy over such an idea.

Sparks could feel Phi smiling against his collar bone and he couldn't help himself from pulling the slighter man against him, despite his embarrassment at having others so close by.

"You do care, then?" Phi wondered.

"Can't you feel my heart pounding?" Sparks wondered. "Of course I care."

"That's good. Pira wears too much perfume to hide that she smells like horse," Phi complained.

"You smell like horse," Sparks grumbled.

"So do you," Phi retorted, but then added, "and wood smoke... sweat... and just you. Maybe..." he nuzzled Sparks again, "it's not so bad on you."

Sparks said, no, again.

Phi sighed, "You don't distract well, lover."

"I'm thinking about our future," Sparks complained. "I don't need a distraction from that."

Phi said impatiently, "I know what you want. You want to go home and farm. You want your family and community to accept you. I think it's time that you accepted that this is our life, now, as long as you decide to love me. We are gypsies, my lover."

"If we could find a way to change you back," Sparks began, but Phi cut that off with an angry retort.

"That isn't possible!"

"You don't know that," Sparks countered. "If we could get DeLuce to change you back, or if we could get his books to see how it was done, we might even be able to find a way to do it ourselves."

"And change you back?" Phi wondered, "or do you love your new self better than the old one? Do you love not being a fool, a boy who couldn't keep his feet better than a newborn foal? Maybe I look odd, but it could be that I like my new self better, as well. Maybe this is better than what I was before?"

"Better?" Sparks was mystified.

Phi frowned now, clearly hurt. "Am I such a monster, then, that you can't see any beauty in what I've become? I was a pretty, small, man, good at singing, but not at doing anything that men accounted worthwhile. I'm still small, and I think I'm still handsome, but I can do things that men can't, that, perhaps many men would pay dearly to be able to do. Perhaps that is what Deluce was tying to achieve? I might be feared as a devil, but I won't say that I want to lose the things I'm able to do now."

Sparks was quiet, feeling as if Phi had declared that he liked evil and wanted to embrace it entirely. It hadn't occurred to him that the man wouldn't want a cure. It took him long minutes to stop himself from thinking with all the years of his ingrained upbringing, and to look at their situation as honestly as Phi.

"I..." Sparks swallowed hard. "I don't want to lose what I have and.... you are not a monster. It means a life of running, though, a life of exile."

"Only you can say whether it's worth it," Phi told him. "I think it is, to have you and to have what I am. I'll convince the gypsies to let us stay, to let us work, and earn our keep among them. They are loyal to their own. They might offer us protection."

"Might," Sparks complained.

Phi chuckled. "You should know by now that nothing is without risk."

"I've already decided to leave my old life behind,"Sparks reminded him.

"Not really," Phi countered, "Not in your heart. Tell me what your heart says. If you decide against what it is telling you, then we will never be happy. In fact, what we have together will certainly turn into bitter hate."

Sparks took a shaky breath. One of the gypsies began strumming a tune on a lute like instrument. He listened to it for a moment as he tried to hear his heart. When he drew Phi's hands up to cover it, and press them there, tightly, he knew his answer.

"Life isn't worth living without you," Sparks replied firmly. "I know I feel embarrassed and uncomfortable with this life. I know I am only a farmer's son and that you thrive on living like this, but I will embrace it, as long as you embrace the man that I am in return. Together we will find a balance between us."

"Gladly, love," Phi replied and Sparks felt his sharp teeth as they kissed.

In the morning, they would try to have the grandfather adopt them into their caravan. It was time to become gypsies.

______________________________

Phi had been wary of telling the entire truth, but Sparks had insisted. Blushing, head lowered, he had told the Gypsy leader everything, including their love for one another. When the old man had grabbed Spark's chin, and turned his head this way and that, to look into his eyes, he had proclaimed him, "Honest." When he had repeated the process with Phi he had frowned, but had declared, "Not evil."

It had been that simple to be included in the caravan, but not so simple to live with the reality of always being out in the open, always on the road, and under the suspicion of every good townsman and farmer. Gypsies were known for their cleverness, their skill, and their entertainments, but no one trusted homeless travelers who had every reason to steal to survive. They kept to their wagons, the elderly, the children, and the women sleeping together in one, and the men sleeping underneath in all weather. That was more of a cautionary practice than anything else. It wasn't uncommon for gypsies to be blamed for any misfortune and to suddenly find themselves under attack.

Phi's tumbling act was a hit at every stop they made. He didn't hide his appearance and billed himself as the 'cat man'. People passed his unusual features off as clever makeup. Along with dancing, singing, and a few expert tinkers plying their trade, the caravan made more money than they had previously and the old leader was well pleased with their addition.

Sparks, for his part, was left to fix wagons and care for the animals. When Phi worried about his hard labor, Sparks only chuckled and replied that it seemed his lot in life to always be dealing with animals. He had given Phi a kiss then, letting Phi know that he was one 'animal' that Sparks didn't mind caring for.

Once Sparks shed some of his inhibitions, intimacies were easier to come by. Slipping out into the woods, to find a secluded spot for a tryst, was well understood by everyone in the caravan. Even curious children respected that privacy and never followed. though some were curious enough to ask uncomfortable questions. It had been hard for Sparks to explain to a gypsy girl, with one grubby finger in her mouth, and snarled pigtails, why he was trying to get a baby on a boy. Didn't he know anything? She even suggested that he watch the animals to see how they went about it.

Phi had laughed it off, but Sparks, later, as they lay together against the trunk of an ancient tree, watching the sun sparkle on a small stream, had brooded over it.

Phi was only dressed in his leather pants, feet and upper body bare, his pale sprinkling of fur soft under Spark's caressing hands. He was nestled against Spark's chest, Sparks dressed, but his shirt hanging open and his boots only half tied.

"You're bothered," Phi announced as if he were talking to the stream. "If you're going to go back to being a prudish farm boy, I'm tossing you into the water."

Sparks leaned a little forward to kiss the side of Phi's forehead. "I don't think i was very prudish just now," Sparks pointed out.

"Hmmm, no, I suppose putting your tongue... there... proves it nicely.." Phi chuckled as he felt the heat of Spark's blush.

"Where everyone could see me, too, if they cared," Sparks added uncomfortably.

Phi was surprised by his own blush. "That would have been shocking. Me on my hands and knees, naked, with you behind... doing that... with your tongue.... That was very inventive, by the way."

Spark's couldn't help a smile. "I'm surely damned."

Phi turned a little to look at him. "That didn't sound serious."

Sparks frowned and wondered at it, himself. "It's hard to find something so pleasurable, something God would damn me for. If he made us to have such pleasure, and he also made me to want that sort of pleasure, how, then, can I be damned for it?"

"You're supposed to fight against indulgence, decadence, perversion," Phi pointed out. "God could be testing you."

Sparks held Phi tighter, thinking about it, even though he knew that Phi was only joking. "I don't know. I suppose I won't know until I pass and I face Him. I can't let you go, worrying about that day, though. I can only go forward, with love."

Phi stiffened, ears twitching. Sparks heard it as well, hoof beats coming fast. Phi grabbed his boots and his leather vest as Sparks grabbed his hand and pulled him into a concealing thicket of fern and bramble. They stretched out, ignoring the thorns piercing flesh, in the hope that those same thorns would turn aside the people riding that way.

The horses went by, rough looking men riding them, who looked as if they had ridden far and were on the edge of temper and exhaustion. The gypsy camp was upstream, and it was obvious that they were well aware of that, purposely following the wheel tracks that lead through the forest.

"Not town soldiers or village peacekeepers," Phi whispered.

"I don't want to run," Sparks replied firmly.

Phi touched his face, claws pricking him in Phi's nervousness. "I don't want to run either. Grandfather won't give us away. We just need to stay here until they go away."

"Show yourselves or she dies," a man's voice shouted.

The peeked through the brambles and saw one of the rough men holding a gypsy girl by her braid, long knife at her throat. His men were ranged behind him, eyes scanning the trees.

"Believe that I will do it," the leader continued. "I don't give a damn about heathen gypsy piglets. I'll kill as many as it takes until you come out of hiding."

The girl's eyes were wide with fright, hands pulling at the big hand holding her braid. when the man reeled her up to his fist by that braid and raised his knife to slash, Sparks was on his feet, one foot pushing Phi down, to keep him from revealing himself.

"I'm here," Sparks shouted and the man narrowed eyes at him, his grip on the girl still tight.

"The other one, or she dies," the man shouted.

Phi shoved at Sparks and stood up as well, full of dirt and leaves. "Here, now let her go."

The leader motioned to his men and the men came forward, weapons drawn to hold them. Only then did he drop the girl and kick her away from him. "Bind them," he ordered.

"Fool!" Sparks snarled at Phi as they were bound with hands behind their backs and dragged through the forest to the men's horses.

"I won't leave you," Phi snarled back.

"You will," the leader snapped and then ordered his men,"Take that one," he indicated Sparks,"back to his father. DeLuce only wants the cat."

"No!" Sparks shouted in disbelief.

The leader spat aside. "If it were up to me, I'd just gut you, but Deluce gave me my orders."

The leader shoved Sparks aside and faced Phi, his expression full of disgust. "Bag his head," he ordered his men. "Wouldn't want anyone taking him and burning him before we get back."

A burlap bag was pulled over Phi's head and the men dragged Phi away.

"No!" Sparks protested and began to struggle. "You can't do this."

"I can and have," the man grunted and then jerked a thumb at his men, "Get him out of here."

Sparks tried to fight them, but it wasn't any use. They were forced onto horses and tied there. They stayed together through a hard ride back down the stream, but then they met a fork in the road and Phi and his escort took one way and Sparks and his, took the other.

"Less chance for mischief if you're separated now," the leader had explained before riding after Phi.

Sparks snarled after him, "I'll find him! You won't keep us apart!"

The leader had laughed outright, but it was a promise that Sparks would die to keep. He would save Phi. He wasn't the innocent, obedient farm boy any longer and his father, whatever his reasons for wanting Sparks back, was going to find that out.