A Spark In The Shadows

## Chapter One:

Anayla carefully lowers herself from the rafters of an old shed, landing on the ground with a near-silent thud.

The girl rifles through the worn cloth satchel on her hip, feeling for the form of the remaining rations she had garnered.

*I’ve got to get moving…*

Tentatively approaching the doorway of the shed, she grimaces as the door creaks open at her touch.

After ensuring the sun has dipped underneath the horizon, Anayla pulls up the hood on her cloak and slips out into the dusk.

Darkness cloaks the woods, complicating Anayla’s efforts to maneuver through the damp undergrowth.

This wasn’t the forest she had spent her childhood in- these wilds were foreign, and so was this sense of freedom.

The possibility of being caught lingers stubbornly in the back of Anayla’s mind despite her attempts to stop thinking about it.

*I’m not getting caught…I can’t go back there. I’d rather die.*

Memories of Anayla’s previous home start to stir before she forces them back down again.

*I need to focus..*

A slight rustling startles Anayla out of her thoughts, though she breathes a sigh of relief as a squirrel scurries across a branch above her head.

The girl pulls her satchel forward again, hesitating for a moment before reaching inside and feeling around for nothing in particular.

*It has to be here somewhere, there’s not much else around…*

Anayla glances up from her bag, running a hand through her hair as she squints to make out the form of a building in the distance.

*That looks about right..*

Relief and anticipation mingle in the girl’s mind as she slips through the woods toward the house.

Glancing around attentively, Anayla approaches the small building and steadies herself.

Anayla scans the exterior of the house to give herself time to prepare, comforted slightly by the flickering light of what she assumes is a hearth.

*It’s gonna be fine…just- knock-*

Anayla steps forward, lifting a trembling hand to the door and knocking lightly.

*….This is it…*

The girl grips her bag tightly to steady herself, her heart rattling against the walls of her chest.

A nerve-wracking silence elapses for a few brief moments before the door opens.

Anayla stifles a sigh of relief as a middle-aged woman a bit shorter than her glances inquisitively at her from the other side of the doorway.

“Hello there,” the woman chirps, an amicable smile spreading across her face.

*Thank goodness, it’s the right place..*

“..Hello,” Anayla replies quietly, removing her hood and fluffing up her flattened hair.

“Won’t you come in, dear?“

Anayla obliges, stepping inside with a bit of hesitance.

“Good to see you made it here,” the woman says, smiling up at Anayla.

“Oh- and my name’s Sarah, by the way,” Sarah murmurs, proceeding to scurry around the room and fiddle around with random things.

“Nice to meet you..” Anayla curls a loose lock of hair around her finger, unsure of what else to say.

Sarah eventually trots back up to Anayla with a stitched quilt.

“Here you go, and we have a place for you to sleep in the cellar.”

“There are two others staying down there, but they shouldn’t mind you too much.”

Anayla accepts the quilt from Sarah, forcing a smile despite the awkward feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“..Thank you.”

“Of course, of course,” Sarah chirps in reply, her shoes clicking against the floor as she leads Anayla toward a staircase leading into the cellar.

“Right down there. Let me know if you need another blanket.”

Anayla nods gratefully in reply, feeling as if she should say something else but not knowing what that is.

Sarah nods back before scurrying away to attend to something else.

Anayla sighs, carefully descending into the cellar with a cautious glance around.

The flickering light of a few candles radiates from a small table in the center of the room, providing Anayla with limited means to scope out her surroundings.

*She said there were two others down here, right?*

Anayla jolts as she hears shifting from a corner of the room and turns around, squinting in the darkness.

“Is someone there..?” Anayla questions, already knowing the answer but hoping to gauge the location of any others in the room.

“Just us over here,” a voice replies quietly.

Anayla turns to see a man and woman huddled together in the corner with a blanket draped over them.

“Oh- hello,” Anayla murmurs, coming a bit closer before sitting down and leaning against the wall.

“Hey there, kid,” the man says, rubbing his face.

“I wager you’re another one of us who got out?”

Anayla nods, placing her satchel in her lap and starting to look through it.

“Yeah, I am..”

“Good on you.”

Anayla smiles at the encouragement, pulling out a pebble from her bag and squeezing it in her hands.

“..Mm…what’s happenin’, John?” the woman lying next to John pipes up groggily.

“Just talkin’ to the kiddo who got here tonight, honey,” John replies quietly.

Anayla starts to zone out a bit, fluffing up her hair and twirling it with a finger.

*Still not used to it being this short..hopefully it’ll grow back fast..*

Anayla briefly remembers the look on her mother’s face when she requested to have her hair cut but pushes the memory away before anything comes of it.

“Speakin’ of, I’m John, and this is my wife, Brook,” John whispers, nudging Brook gently and kissing her cheek.

Anayla resists the childish urge to grimace and smiles back as Brook waves to her.

“Nice to meet you two..”

“I’m Anayla.”

“Nice t’ meet you as well,” Brook replies, resting her head on her husband’s shoulder with a yawn.

Anayla jolts as a harsh knock at the front door reverberates into the cellar.

John glances toward the stairwell, alerted.

Anayla hears Sarah open the door and creeps closer to listen in on the conversation.

*“Oh- hello there…”*

*“Heard some reports of runaways coming through these woods,”* a second voice drawls in reply, sending a wave of visceral panic through Anayla.

John nudges Brook awake and frantically whispers into her ear.

Anayla picks up her bag and prepares to dart behind a shelf in the opposite corner.

*I can’t get caught, I can’t-*

“Well- I haven’t heard anything about that,” Sarah lies, sounding nervous.

A long silence ensues before the man speaks again.

*“Mhm..well, keep an eye out. Can’t have all these fugitives putting our safety at risk.”*

*“Of course, of course,*” Sarah replies, the steadiness of her voice fluctuating.

After a short pause, Anayla hears the door close.

*At least I know they’re after me now…I need to be more careful...*

“That was close…” John murmurs, pulling Brook closer.

Brook tightly grasps the folds of her dress, frowning.

“We need to look out for ‘em when we start travelin’ again…terrible that they’re willin’ to ruin everythin’ for us just for some money.”

Anayla nods absently in agreement, closing her eyes and letting her mind wander.

*I hope Mama’s alright…maybe I’ll go back for her one day.*

Feeling suddenly exhausted, Anayla pulls the quilt over her body and tries to sleep.

## Chapter Two:

Caspian twirls a small block of wood in his hand, chipping away at it using a knife with a curved handle.

The tranquil silence gracing the office, interrupted only by a quiet shuffle from underneath the other desk every now and then, was something the young man found particularly enjoyable.

Silence meant no one in his office, which meant no rounds through the city and countryside to deliver letters consisting of classified information and fabricated cordiality.

It wasn't as if the job paid well, either, but there weren't a wealth of career options for a man in Caspian's position.

Caspian pauses to inspect his office, his gaze lingering on the worn leather messenger's bag hanging from an iron hook.

*It's been a slow day so far, thank the heavens-*

The squeak of the other desk being shifted forward prompts Caspian's gaze to venture in that direction and eventually fix upon the freckled face of a small tan-skinned boy with curly golden hair peering curiously at him.

*I forget he's here sometimes, kid never makes any noise..*

Caspian bends down a bit, resting his whittling knife on the table.

"Hey, little guy...want to see what I'm making?"

The child hesitates for several moments, his gaze flicking around the room.

Caspian pointedly adjusts his sleeves, taking care to pull them up past his wrists.

After a long period of silence, the little boy shakes his head.

"You sure?" Caspian prompts, extending a hand to reveal the half-carved figurine.

The boy flinches away, tugging nervously at his curly hair before picking up the cat figurine he had been gifted by Caspian prior and retreating back under the desk.

*Was worth a shot...not going to push it because I have a feeling he has-*

A rhythmic knock at the door momentarily startles the young man and he rises to answer it.

The door creaks open as Caspian undoes the lock and pulls on the knob.

*As long as it isn't him this shouldn't be terribly inconvenient..*

A jolly-looking man a bit shorter than Caspian with reddish-brown hair and eyes the color of fresh coffee stands on the other side of the door, a stack of envelopes clasped tightly in his hand.

"Mr. Morgan," Caspian murmurs in greeting, forcing cordiality to creep into his tone against his will.

"Afternoon, Caspian," the man chirps, stepping into the office with a jovial smile.

*Lovely...*

Caspian forces himself not to sigh and casts a cautious glance over at the second desk.

*Hopefully no one knows yet, and we can keep it that way.*

"What brings you here?" Caspian inquires, already knowing the answer but finding it necessary to ask regardless.

"Ah! Right-" Mr. Morgan hands Caspian the letters he's holding and starts rifling through his jacket pockets in search of some elusive item.

"And Caspian, my boy, I've told you that you can call me Henry."

*Would rather not drop the niceties with people such as yourself*, Caspian quips mentally, examining the letters and scanning the neat penmanship on the front.

*To Thomas Snowden, Gregory White, and Samuel Brown...abolitionists and the one man who doesn't pretend to like Henry like the rest of us..*

*Perhaps he'll advise them not to run this year..*

Henry finally pulls a copper ring from his breast pocket that seems to serve no relevant purpose and examines it for a brief moment.

"If you could deliver those for me, that would be lovely," Henry says, phrasing the sentence as a request rather than a thinly veiled demand.

"Of course," Caspian replies, not wanting to talk any longer.

"And you know," Henry continues, "-I heard from Flavius that he gifted you a little assistant."

Caspian nods stiffly, trying to disguise the annoyance making his scarred hands twitch.

"Yes, that is right."

*And now everyone knows....great.*

"Do make sure to discipline him properly, it would be horrid if he were to become lazy," Henry adds with a flick of his hand.

"I have a few old cowskins in my possession I could drop off if you'd like."

*Is he stupid enough to say something like that, or does he just forget that I'm-*

Caspian remains silent for a moment before disregarding the myriad of indecent remarks queued in his mind and turning back to Henry.

"That's quite alright," the young man replies, pointedly examining the patch of pale skin on the back of his hand to avoid looking at Henry.

"Where is the boy, anyhow? I'd like to see him." Henry seems to weave his way back into Caspian's line of sight, proving to be a moderate annoyance as always.

Although every fiber of his being finds allowing Henry to go anywhere near the child to be a terrible idea, Capsian knows in the back of his mind that he doesn't have much of a choice.

"....Underneath the desk," Caspian mutters, motioning to indicate which one.

Henry nods, murmuring to himself before trotting over to the desk and bending down.

Caspian sighs, following Henry and standing behind him to make sure nothing gets out of hand.

Candidly, he feels inclined to believe that Henry views him and by extension the child as more of a novelty than human, but it's by no means a revelation of any sort.

"Hello there," Henry murmurs to the child, extending a hand to beckon him closer.

"What's your name?"

The child shuffles away from Henry's outstretched arm, letting out an audible squeak.

"Come now, little one," Henry chides.

"Tell me your name."

Caspian rubs his face, letting his sigh be muffled by his hand.

"..*M-my name is Dexter...sir,*" the child murmurs, squeezing into the corner and pulling his knees into his chest.

Henry tuts in what seems to be dissatisfaction with the boy's reaction, muttering something about respect and discipline, and straightens again.

"Anyhow," Caspian interjects, hoping to start a new conversation before Henry can say anything else.

"I've finished a few new projects, if you'd like to take a look."

"Oh, yes, that would be lovely," Henry replies, smoothing down his hair and starting towards Caspian's desk to examine the wooden figures positioned on it.

*One-track mind, that man has...don't know how on earth he became a politician..*

Caspian brings a hand up to his face again, enjoying the moment of silence as Henry busies himself with looking at the carvings.

"Why, Caspian, this is remarkable! It's the city's own Golden Giant," Henry trills excitedly, trotting back over to Caspian with a wooden model of a locomotive in his hand.

"Lovely job you did on this, my boy."

"Thank you," Caspian mutters stiffly in reply, mentally acknowledging the compliment but not finding it to be worth all the inconvenience.

"You know," Henry continues, clapping Caspian on the shoulder, "I would love to bring this home to my boys. How much would you like for it?"

"Forty-five," Caspian replies flatly, stiffening at the touch.

"Come now, my good man, you can go lower than that for a dear friend...thirty."

*Is he trying to haggle with me on the pretense of friendship, even though we aren't...friends?*

*...I hate this man.*

"Forty."

"..Thirty-five?"

"Forty, Morgan."

Henry frowns slightly but starts rifling through his pockets, pulling out a small pouch.

Caspian slips in a covert eyeroll, pulling on his coat.

"Ah! Here it is-" Henry pulls out a handful of coins, sifts through them briefly, and drops them into Caspian's hand.

"There you are."

"Thank you," Caspian responds, silently counting the money in his hand out of a petty urge to ensure the amount is correct.

"I should be going now, the wife is probably wondering where I've been.." Henry chortles, starting toward the door.

"It's always a pleasure.." Henry steps through the doorway, closing the door softly behind him.

"Goodbye," Caspian mutters half-heartedly.

*I pity that man's family...they have to live with him*.

As soon as the door closes, Caspian trudges back to his desk and sinks down into his chair, dropping the coins into his pocket.

*Why do I do this to myself....*

Caspian drags a hand down his face, alerted slightly by the sound of quiet sniffling.

The young man immediately glances toward the other desk, leaning back to look underneath it.

The young boy huddled underneath the desk squeezes tightly into the corner, drying his eyes with his shirt.

"Hey...what's wrong, Dex?"

Dexter glances up at Caspian with shining eyes, sniffing and trembling.

"*He- he said he would- g-give you-*" The child starts stammering incoherently, seeming to force himself not to start crying again.

Caspian gets up and bends down in front of the desk, feeling a pang of guilt for not trying harder to intervene.

"Hey, you don't have to worry about that..I'm not going to hurt you, okay?"

Dexter tugs on his shirt collar, wiping his face.

*"Y-you won't*..?"

"Of course not..you're safe here."

Dexter remains silent for several moments, big grayish-golden eyes shining.

"*B-but why? D-don't you wanna hurt me..? L-like-"*

Caspian pauses to think, exhaling sharply.

*I hope I'm not right in what I assumed his life was before here*...

"No. I want to help you."

"*Why*..?"

"Can't let one of my own down if there's something I can do about it," Caspian replies plainly.

Dexter seems to process this information, fidgeting nervously with his hands.

"..*Okay*.."

The young boy creeps closer, tentatively grasping one of the tails of Caspian's coat and pulling gently at it.

"..*Why did that man want to look at me? Does- does he want to-"*

"No, no," Caspian reassures, understanding the child's worries immediately.

"Don't worry too much about Henry, alright? He doesn't want to take you away."

Dexter nods, leaning onto Caspian's side.

Caspian stiffens out of instinct but carefully pulls the child closer, glancing up at the ceiling.

*"..I miss my mama*," Dexter mumbles forlornly, sniffling.

"I know, kid..I'm sorry."

Caspian feels his throat and chest tighten but ignores it and lets Dexter lean on him.

"I-I'm never gonna see her again...am I?"

Dexter glances up at Caspian, seeming to search his gaze for an answer.

"I- I don't know," Caspian responds, finding himself at a loss for words for once.

"I don't know, Dex."

Dexter grabs onto Caspian's sleeve, sniffling.

Caspian bites the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to hold Dexter's gaze.

*Pull it together...*

"It's going to be okay, kid...you won't be alone."

*What I know for sure is that I'm not letting this kid suffer like I did...*

"...*Okay*..." Dexter yawns shakily, closing his eyes and leaning on Caspian's shoulder.

"You tired, kid?"

Dexter nods, pulling Caspian's arm over his chest and yawning again.

Caspian sighs, situating himself on the floor in a somewhat comfortable position and letting Dexter lie on him.

The young child rests his head on Caspian's chest, letting out little shaky hiccups, and starts to drift off to sleep.

*He trusts me now..that's- new*..

Caspian stares blankly at the floor, feeling a familiar warmth, but because of the thoughts the feeling conjures up he remains stiff and silent.

Though his mind is racing, nothing productive seems to come of his thoughts.

*What am I going to do...*