Free The Spark by H. G. Howell Page A

friend.”
    The sound of his snickering faded as he stood and left Katherine sitting on her straw bed, tears running free down her cheeks. She spent the rest of the night hugging her knees, listening to her captors take their turns mounting Belle; Katherine sat silently as Belle was taken again, and again. By the time the men had left, Belle lay limp and silent.
    When Katherine felt it was safe to move, she shuffled over to the younger woman. She lay next to the younger woman, pulling her close in a comforting embrace. Belle broke into wild and uncontrollable weeping by the kindness of Katherine’s act. Katherine stroked the poor girl’s hair, and rocked Belle back and forth gently, doing her best to comfort her despite the overwhelming stench of the men’s seed. It didn’t take long for Belle to drift asleep in Katherine’s arms, clearly exhausted from the evening’s torture.
    After at least an hour, Katherine felt the strangling pain in her skull return, beckoning her to sleep. At first, she tried to fight the temptation, fearful of unwanted visitors. She vowed none of them would take her, or Belle, while they slept. As Katherine fought the urge to sleep, the apparitions of the man and child from her earlier dream filtered into her reality. The two stood across from her, watching, waiting; begging her to join them in the realm of dreams.
     



 
    H is parents never used to bicker the way they did of late. The major root of their issues always fell on money, and, subsequently, his father’s knack for not having more of it. Being a salt-family of Malefosse, the Seyblancs were not known for having much in terms of finances, but, typically his father earned enough to keep a roof over their heads – which was more than what many salters could claim; however, with the recent wave of strange warm weather, the Seyblancs and the other salt-families of Malefosse, were finding themselves hard pressed for work.
    Marcus heard talk in the streets about droughts in Valvius, snows on Driftwood Isle, even flooding in some of the far southern provinces. The real talk of the town, though, was the strange warmth Syntar had been blessed with. Or plagued by, depending whom you asked. Everyone had been jubilant at first, but as reality began to sink in, it became clear to the poor salt-kin they were headed for a dark time.
    Typically, the salt-families were those born into destitution in the over-populated province and oft were employed to maintain the roadways for the nobility. Marcus’ father had been a chief salter in the northern district of Malefosse, the province’s capital city. He had been responsible for the upkeep of the district’s antique steam powered salt-golems, the scheduling of the shoveling crews, and other such duties befit a man of his station. His father’s income had grown too a point where he could afford a modest, but small, home in the lower east-side district; in a rare feat, his father had purchased a dwelling on the fringes of salter society.
    Now with the heat melting the snows and ice of the northern province, his father had been asked to not return to work until such a point where he would be needed. This meant the income was now lost and the Seyblanc family teetered on the brink of losing everything. Marcus knew his mum refused to return to the boarding houses where the threat of rape, murder and theft were very real. Marcus knew his mother felt secure in their little home.
    Marcus turned onto his side, letting the morning light rain on him. Cursing the sun’s warm tendrils, Marcus rose from his worn cot. He stretched his cramped toes upon the floorboards, and addressed the issue that was his mussy brown hair. Once the mop fell into a position he could live with, Marcus set about getting dressed. He laced his salt-stained breeches as the bitter bickering of his parents drifted up through the floor. He shook his head, frustrated for having to begin his day in such a way as he donned a sweat stained