Kerenger Pennsylvania, 1997

  Eighteen Years Ago

  Saul finished work on the wire armature in the shape of an insect, small enough to fit in the palm of his ten-year-old hand. The lights of the kitchen in Father's mansion gleamed on the slender shape as he took a few beads of clay from the wet basin on the counter opposite the pot his teacher was using to prepare dinner for Father's guests. He set down the armature, then rolled the clay over in his hands, forming two round shapes not much larger than ordinary marbles.

  "You can't work with so little clay and expect much effect," said his teacher, Daphne, smiling gently. "Take a little more."

  "I will, once I've used this up."

  Daphne nodded. "Take care."

  "I know." He smiled up at her, then went to work on the sculpture.

  He carefully positioned one ball of clay at one end of a wire extending to one side of what would be the head, then put the other ball opposite the first. He frowned with concentration as he took more clay and covered the wire of the body with a slim layer. He built out the wings next, making them sleeker than a moth's but thicker than a butterfly's. The four legs he did next, easy enough but he was careful to leave the points clean, so the little creature would stick into the surface he stood on, giving him a stronger grip.

  Saul set the mostly complete sculpture on the counter beside the wet basin. He nodded, satisfied with the shape, though the wings would start to droop if he didn't finish quickly.

  He drew a circle, the basis of any taph pattern, on the sculpture's back. From the circle, he drew lines and arcs, letting himself play with the shapes while maintaining the idea of its purpose in his mind. He finished the pattern, then pushed a bit of the flicker of himself that always stayed close to his mind into the shape. Daphne and Father called that part the spark.

  Saul took a deep breath. "This is it!"

  Daphne glanced at him. "Well done!"

  He grinned.

  Daphne reached for the oven rod sitting end-down beside the stove. The oven rod was a stick with a handle about ten inches long and a metallic disk on one end with the taph symbol that granted it power carved into the surface. The disk could be activated with the spark to near-instantly cook whatever it touched, which was perfect for finishing a clay sculpture in an instant. Saul had come up with the idea for them a few months ago and Daphne had made one for his birthday.

  Even Father seemed to like the idea. Saul missed seeing for himself, but Daphne said Father had smiled and said "He did well," when he saw the finished oven rod.

  She held the rod over Saul's clay sculpture. Saul held up a hand. "Wait! I'll get the lights."

  He dropped off the stool he'd been sitting on to work, then flipped the switch to throw the room into darkness. Saul didn't like the dark, but Daphne told him many kids felt the same way. He stood by the light as the afterimage of the kitchen faded completely.

  "Okay, do it now," he said.

  Daphne moved silently. Then there came a hiss of the oven rod's heat dispersing as steam. Saul laughed in the dark.

  "Did you do it?" he asked.

  "I did. Can you turn the lights back on? I'm worried dinner will burn."

  "Not yet," he said. "We need to let him wake up."

  "Saul," Daphne said. "It's almost time to take the potatoes off."

  Saul shook his head, then realized Daphne couldn't see him.

  "No. I need him to start out in the dark."

  Daphne sighed. "How long will it take?"

  "Any time now." He held his hand on the light switch. "Nat!" he said. "Nat, where are you?"

  "Here, maker," said a small but rich voice. Four pinpoints poked into Saul's shoulder through the cotton of his shirt.

  Saul laughed. "You're awake! And you know who I am?"

  "You made me so I would, my maker. But I don't know much else."

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  "He can talk already," said Daphne. "Truly, well done, Saul."

  "Call me Saul," he said. "And your name is Nat. But I guess you must know that to answer me already."

  "Yes, I knew it at once."

  "I'm going to turn on the lights. Don't be startled." Saul flipped the light switch.

  The creature standing on his shoulder was the same shape as his sculpture, but darker in coloration, with wings of shimmering black gossamer. Saul beamed at Nat.

  "Welcome to the world," he said.

  "The world," said Nat, "seems small."

  "Oh, this is just one room." Saul laughed. "The world is a great big place."

  "And that's just this one," said Daphne, as she lifted the potato pot off the burner and set it on a hot pad by the stove.

  "More than one world?" asked Nat.

  "Yes," said Saul. "We call this one Earth. Father said to make you here because it's harder to awaken art-children on Earth."

  "I would like to meet Father," said Nat. "He sounds like he has a lot to teach."

  Saul turned to his teacher. "Can we?"

  Daphne shook her head. "Your Father has very important guests tonight. Tomorrow perhaps."

  "Daphne has a lot to teach too," said Saul. "She's really smart even when she's cooking."

  "I can wait, then, maker."

  "We can read. I can teach you a lot by myself," said Saul. "Daphne, can I take Nat upstairs and read to him?"

  "Of course, Saul. But go that way." She pointed to the door of the kitchen leading to the hall. "Your Father wants the dining room and the ballroom to him and his guests tonight."

  "Perhaps I could just show him Nat before I go upstairs?" said Saul.

  Daphne sighed. "Your Father was very explicit. Show him tomorrow."

  "Fine." Saul frowned and walked out of the kitchen through the door Daphne indicated.

  Nat bristled with obvious annoyance

  "Sorry," Saul said. "Father gets angry easily. Best to do as he says."

  He climbed the grand staircase by the front doors. With a glance, he saw three new sets of shoes on the doormat, and three unfamiliar coats on hangars on the wall. He scowled. It would serve Father right if he walked in on him and the guests. Father knew Saul was close to making his first art-child and yet he insisted on meeting with these three tonight.

  But Father's privacy was ironclad, especially when he had guests.

  "Saul," Nat said softly as they reached the shadowy hall at the top of the stairs.

  "Yes?" Saul said.

  "I can pull at the shadows. They're like this cloth." Nat lifted one of his legs, tugging the material of Saul's shirt with it.

  Saul smiled at Nat "How much of it can you move at once?" He turned to look down the staircase at the lamp on the small table between the front doors and the entrance to the ballroom.

  "I don't know yet," said the small art-child.

  "Try hiding that lamp." Saul pointed at the only source of light in the entrance hall.

  Nat squeezed his legs together where they joined his slender body. Darkness swarmed from the corners of the room and enveloped the lamp. The light vanished completely, plunging the entire entrance hall into darkness.

  Father's voice rang from the ballroom. "Don't worry. I'll see what's wrong. Probably a bad fuse."

  Saul grinned. His Father's heavy footsteps approached. As Father entered the entrance hall, Saul said, "Nat release the light."

  Shadows retreated from the table lamp. The sudden brilliance made Saul's Father step back in surprise.

  "What the—?" He looked up the staircase to where Saul stood. "Son, what is the meaning of this?"

  "I made my first art-child!" Saul grinned, then motioned to Nat on his shoulder. "He controls darkness."

  Father's face flickered with a hint of anger, then he smiled. He turned and called into the ballroom. "It's nothing," he said. "My son messed with the lights."

  Saul nodded. "Nat did it. I just told him to."

  "Don't do it again," Father said. "Another interruption and I will make you regret it, Saul."

  Saul swallowed hard.

  Father turned his back and swept out of sight. Nat tapped Saul's neck with the tip of one leg.

  "Do you want me to try again?" he asked.

  "No." Saul glared at the lamp. "Let's go to my room. I'll read some Earth books to you."

  Nat nuzzled his soft head into Saul's neck. "Does he not like me?"

  "No. It's me he doesn't like."

  Saul turned and walked to his room at the end of the hall. Father was too important to talk to him most days. And yet, all summer he stayed here, far from home, far from mother, all in the name of becoming a better maker. Well, the joke would be on Father someday, because Saul would surpass him.

  He sat down on the king-sized bed, then took a book on Earth history from the nightstand. He started to read to Nat about World War Two, absently flipping the pages as he finished each one.

  Nat bounced on his shoulder. "It's all so strange," he said. "Why did these people want to kill each other?"

  "Someone wanted them to fight. I don't think most of them really wanted to, though."

  Nat turned his big eyes toward Saul. "You mean, they were forced?"

  "Probably. I'm still learning about it. Daphne says it's important because of what happened at the end."

  "What happened?"

  "The people of Earth became dangerous." He flipped to the end of the book. A photograph of a mushroom-shaped cloud filled half a page. "Before that, we makers didn't think much about them. That's what Daphne says."

  Nat fluttered into the air, then glided to stand before the book. He looked at picture on the page. "What does it mean?"

  "They could kill us if they know the truth," said Saul. "So we can't ever tell them about us or our world." He picked up the book and slammed it shut. "That's the first thing you need to know. People from Earth can't make art-children. They aren't as strong as makers, mostly. That doesn't mean they're harmless."

  "Saul?"

  "What is it, Nat?"

  "They're scary."

  "I know." Saul set the book on the nightstand. "We have to look out for each other, little guy." He yawned.

  Nat flew onto the book and unfolded his wings on the cover. "I'll look out for you if you look out for me," he said.

  "I always will." Saul sighed. "If I don't care for my art-children, who will?"

  Nat folded his legs and sat down on the book. Saul lay back on the bed, drifting off to sleep.

  Later, Saul recalled he never turned out the lights that night. When he asked Nat about it the next day, his art-child told him he did it to help Saul.

  Saul never forgot how much he could count on his first real friend.