Half-Breed

by Anna L. Walls

  That night, he couldn’t sleep. The wolf-man’s face was constantly before his mind’s eye. What had been wrong? Something was odd and it wasn’t just his face.

  He got up and dressed. He thought of the man’s words as he ran a comb through his hair. He would have tied it back, but he couldn’t find the cord and he didn’t want to light a lamp to look for it. He slipped out of the school and down the street. In his dark cloak, he moved like a ghost, slipping past the patrols and street people without being noticed.

  When he reached the circus compound, he found the place dark and quiet, though apparently men guarded its streets too. Carefully, he moved through the encampment until he found the tent that had held the strange man.

  He slipped under the back flap, which was no easy task; apparently the people who set up these tents had such actions in mind. They wanted people to pay to see their attractions, not sneak in through the back.

  Inside it was very dark, but he found the bars of the cage that had held the man. The cage was empty. He struck his thigh with a closed fist and allowed a small hiss of frustration to escape his lips.

  He regretted the small sound when a powerful hand darted through the bars and grabbed his shirt. The move to crush him into the bars was abruptly switched to a gentle brush through his hair accompanied by an unmistakable sniff and a soft moan.

  “You came back.” The powerful fingers traced Canis’s face, causing him to shiver with pleasure. “When you left, I didn’t expect you to return.” The fingers ran through his hair again. “You’re alone, aren’t you,” said the man in a soft rumble. “That must have been hard on you. Our children usually pair off with pups by the time they can walk and are never alone. You can’t talk can you? It’s sometimes hard for me to talk too. I’m alone now and it’s so painfully lonely. I don’t want to die in here like this.” He gripped Canis’s shoulder and rocked him while he rested his face against the bars of the cage.

  “Listen, son, there’s a million things you should know, and I doubt I have time to tell you everything, but I’ll try. I am your father, and I have been looking for your mother ever since she ran away from us more than eight years ago now. She was pregnant and she must have been irrational.” He paused. “That’s a long and twisted story that’ll have to wait for some other time. When I found her, I was too late. She was already dead. I was little more than irrational then too. My companion…” He stroked the pelt he wore. “My companion and I weren’t able to fight our way free of the mob, and when Rrewarr died, a part of me died too. That is how they captured me.

  “When I woke in this cage, I thought there was no hope of finding you, I wasn’t even sure if there was a ‘you’, but here you are, dressed in fine clothes. I’m so pleased and proud of you to be able to do so much among the humans. But I must warn you; if you are at all like us, soon you will need to join, and to do so you must go into the mountains. Your cries will not be heard if you stay here.” The thought of such cries seemed to awaken an urge of his own. He drew away and curled up stifling a moan that threatened to emerge into a full-fledged howl.

  Canis listened to the man, his face, and the strange coloring of his hair pictured only in his head. His words had been carefully formed as if each one had to be carved out of the air before it could be understood. He said he was my father. Canis had little reason to disbelieve him. His words about being alone hit a cord he was very familiar with, though he never understood why.

  Whether this strange man was his father or not – whatever his relationship with his mother, if indeed it was his mother he’d known – nothing he could think of, warranted this man to be behind bars like this. He did not deserve to die, not like this. Nothing did, and he was dying little by little, he could smell it. Canis felt around the cage until he found the lock. It was a simple hasp, but it defied any leverage from inside the cage. Canis opened the lock and the cage door.

  The man sat there in stunned silence until Canis reached in and pulled him out by the pelt he wore. He then propelled him toward the back of the tent where he had entered. As the man was on his way under the edge of the tent, Canis locked the cage again. At least the ruse would buy them a few more minutes; no one would know he was missing until they tried to make him come out of his sleeping box in the morning.

  Outside, Canis led off through the dark streets of the city, taking care to avoid even the lowest beggar, and into the piles of rubble just beyond the edge of the city. The stones were dusted with frost that melted during the day, but at least from here the man could circle the city and find his way back to his mountains without being seen.

  In a small cleft between mounds of rock, he pulled the man around to face him; he pointed north then flattened his hand to his chest and said, “Canis,” his one and only word.

  The man smiled. “My name is Orion. My name is well known in the mountains. Come to us. Come home.”

  Canis nodded his understanding, but he pointed to the north yet again. When the man, Orion, still hesitated, he gave him a gentle push in that direction and watched his loping stride until he was out of sight. The desire to run with him had to be about the strongest desire he had ever felt. To know this wholeness pulled at him with a pain he scarcely understood, but he had an obligation. Patro had paid gold coins for him to learn the sword. He was obliged to learn it or pay Patro back his coins and he had none.

  The sky was beginning to lighten behind him by the time the school came into sight. He slipped into his room only long enough to find the cord that bound his hair back and hang up his cloak, then he went down to the cafeteria for an early breakfast.

  Winter's Challenges

  As winter gripped the city, new students began to arrive and Canis and his one classmate found themselves lumped together with other students under Leonard’s tutelage. Even with the new students, Canis was still the youngest in the school, though he now knew that he was nearly nine years old, more than two years older than what Patro had thought.

  With ten students in the class, Leonard ran it more like Master Dagon’s class, with the students paired off with each other to practice the things he taught. Canis liked doing this. He liked pitting himself against this unknown knowledge. He only regretted not being able to do it all day long. He was forced to satisfy his desire by being a spectator in the afternoons.

  As the winter wore on, Canis’s attendance in Dagon’s classroom became somewhat sporadic. It didn’t take long to discover what he was doing with his afternoons. It was Kendall who noticed him coming out of an empty classroom shortly before supper one evening. When he mentioned it to the master, Dagon came to see what he was doing in that empty classroom. He was practicing what he had been taught in his own classes and trying some of the things he had seen while watching the advanced classes.

  “All right, I get the message. I think you’re too young, but I’ll okay your advancement to the next level.”

  Canis watched the sword master closely with his icy eyes. What was this test Dagon was talking about?

  “I’ll have Leonard test you tomorrow. You’ll have to pass all three tests before you can participate in my class. I also want you to stop these unsupervised practice sessions; I don’t want you practicing something I haven’t taught you yet. Bad habits are hard to unlearn.”

  The testing was an interruption to the regular order of the class instruction. When Leonard announced to the class, “Today is Canis’s testing day,” the students drew around in a circle to watch.

  Canis and most of his classmates hadn’t been at the school long enough to watch a testing so they had no idea what to expect.

  Leonard took a few minutes to explain the testing to the entire class. “Master Dagon insists his students pass three tests before they can enter his class. The first is to climb that rope.” He pointed to a knotty rope hanging among others, knotted and smooth, in the corner of the room. “You are to touch the ceiling, then win a sparring match against one of your classmates. The second test is, of course, more difficult, an
d the third is still more difficult. I can’t tell you what they are because Master Dagon doesn’t want you to study only in preparation for the test. Do you understand?” He asked the last question to Canis personally. He still considered Canis’s inability to speak to be a handicap involving all of his brain.

  Canis nodded. It sounds simple enough.

  “All right then, up the rope you go,” said Leonard.

  The ropes had always hung there and Canis had seen students climbing them, but after finding the task simpler than it looked, he had not looked at them again. It was obvious that doing that exercise was not an issue with him; his slight frame and wiry muscles made the task look like a stroll down the boulevard.

  When Canis reached the floor again, Leonard had his opponent picked out. This first test was supposed to be fought against a peer, but Canis had no peers in this school. His opponent was the one student he had entered this class with. Leonard handed him the cane they used in class and the two of them squared off. “Lets make this a clean fight now, boys,” said Leonard. “Defeat will be counted when one of you can no longer fight a clean fight or had clearly lost the encounter.”

  The fight was a short one. Canis was quick and crafty. In a dozen moves, he had his classmate disarmed and pinned against a wall with the tip of his cane.

  “That was almost too easy, Canis. You passed,” said Leonard. “Master Dagon was right to have you tested. You be sure to let me know when you think you are ready for the next test.” He turned back to the rest of the class to call them to order.

  Canis remained where he was standing, and when Leonard turned back to him; he was surprised to see the questioning look in his eyes. Those eyes might be ice cubes in that porcelain face, but they could be very expressive if one took the time to look. “You think you’re ready for the second test now? Well, perhaps you are, but I refuse to give a student two tests in the same day. If you still insist on it, you can take the second test tomorrow.”

  Canis dipped his chin and took his place in the line while the rest of the class muttered in astonishment.

  The next day, before class could do more than line up, Canis tugged at Leonard’s sleeve and tapped the hilt of his cane.

  “So, you’re still determined, are you? Listen, Canis, students don’t usually ask for this test until sometime after they start using real metal and you haven’t advanced that far. Are you still sure?”

  Canis’s jaw muscles jumped several times, but he gave him his nod.

  Leonard studied his small frame with a frown, but the boy’s determination was written in every inch of him. “All right then, go to the armory and pick out your weapon, then come back here. We’ll start your test as soon as you return.”

  Canis turned and ran from the room heading for the armory, pausing only a moment to glance at the rack standing by the door. The weapon he would choose would be the one that would replace the cane in his hand for the rest of his lessons, or in his case, until he outgrew it. He wanted to choose carefully.

  He returned to the class half an hour later with a battered and scratched sword, but it fit his smaller hand and swung easily for him. It was shorter than many of the swords used by the students, but it was slim and straight. Sharpened, it would have an edge on both sides. Canis saw that as twice the danger, thus making up for its lack of size. The equally battered sheath hung from his belt. It was an unfamiliar weight that he was very conscious of.

  Leonard looked at his choice and frowned again, but only for a moment. Most students picking out their first metal sword chose the flashiest or largest they could hang on to, and there were several such swords specifically displayed in order for the student to learn that lesson, only to ask if they could pick another after a few days. Canis obviously had not done this. “Up you go,” said Leonard as he indicated the rope he had chosen for this test. It was a bulky rope without any knots.

  This was very different from the knotted rope he had climbed the day before. It was bulky enough that Canis, though his fingers were long, he could scarcely get a grip on it and his arms were sore from the day before.

  “Your opponent will be waiting for you when you get back down. Be ready for him. Few fights are fair, but I still expect a clean fight in this classroom.”

  Canis took Leonard’s words to mean that his opponent might start the fight before offering a proper salute, if not sooner. I will be ready.

  The climb was slower; Canis had an inordinate amount of trouble gripping the thick rope depending as much on his fingers clawing the heavy cords as he did the strength of his hands and arms to hold them there. After touching the ceiling, he came to the conclusion that he would have been better off without his boots; he could grip the rope better with his feet.

  Then he slipped and fell.

  With a wrenching twist that pulled something in his back, he managed to land like a cat, but it was still a hard landing. He now had a shooting pain in his right foot and his left hand was numb. Ignoring his pain, he drew his sword and leapt to battle the single opponent in the center of the room.

  Leonard was as stunned by the fall as he was by the attack that followed it. He scarcely had the time to abandon the thought of carrying the boy’s broken body to the infirmary, and bring his mind back to the fight, before the Canis was on him and pushing him back.

  They fought several turns around the room with Leonard advancing just as much as Canis did. That was the point of the test. All Canis had to do was hold his own against a more advanced student for a short time, but Leonard’s instructions were to go one step farther and test the boy’s endurance, and especially his determination.

  Leonard was just opening his mouth to announce the test over and passed when his sword was knocked from his hand by a move he had never seen before.

  Canis rapped the back of Leonard’s hand hard with the flat of his sword tip, stunning his grip with the force, then with a quick reversal, he brought his sword up under his wrist with another powerful, flat-sided hit, knocking his wrist up, leaving his hand behind to open helplessly and drop his sword from his numbed grip. A blink later, the point of Canis’s blade was tucked neatly under his chin.

  “You have passed,” said Leonard, his voice echoed in the overly silent room. “With flying colors, I might add.”

  Canis sheathed his sword then turned with a limp to pick up Leonard’s sword.

  The limp drew Leonard’s attention to the rest of Canis’s posture, now that the fight was over. Canis held his left arm cradled across his middle, and he walked with a stiff hunch that hadn’t been there during the fight. When Canis brought him his sword, he said, “You hurt yourself when you fell, didn’t you? Report to the infirmary.”

  For once Canis didn’t question the order or even nod his diminutive nod, nor was there the gleam of glee at his victory that might have been in any other student’s eyes regardless of the pain; he simply limped slowly out of the room.

  The healer was surprised to see the youngest student in the school come hobbling into his ward. In the boy’s short stay here, several students had come here after having tried to pick a fight with him. Witnesses had always proven him the attacked, but it was the attacker who always had to be sent to the infirmary. “Took on more than you could bite off this time, did you?” he said. “Climb up here on the table. Let’s have a look at you.”

  The healer gently took Canis’s arm and slid his sleeve up above his elbow. “Looks like you managed to break your wrist. What else did you do?” He helped Canis out of his shirt and caressed a hand down his back leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. “You pulled several muscles in your back. How did you manage that? This isn’t good. I’ll have to inform the Master. A fight shouldn’t be carried to this extreme. You were limping too. Let’s have a look at your leg.” He folded Canis’s pant leg up as far as it would go, but it wasn’t until he eased the boot off that Canis hissed with pain. “And to top it all off, you’ve torn some tendons in the bottom of your foot. It’s a wonder you didn’t dislo
cate something. I can fix that, but I think we’ll have to put a cast on, just to make sure it heals completely.”

  Canis watched the healer closely; he couldn’t see how he could tell what was wrong beneath his skin before bruises had begun to show.

  The healer fixed a metal shaft to the right side of the table. “Wrap your hand around that and don’t let go. I’m going to have to set the bones in your wrist and it’s going to hurt. You hold on to that bar and hold as still as you can. If you can’t hold still enough, I’ll call in some help to hold you down. There’s not much I can do for the pain.”

  Canis’s eyes widened with fear, but he gripped the bar. He was no stranger to pain, but he had never seen a bone being set before.

  Despite his best efforts, Canis couldn’t hold still enough, so the healer went to Master Dagon for help. With Master Dagon pinning Canis to the table and the healer wrapped around his arm, they succeeded in setting the bones in his wrist to the healer’s satisfaction.

  Canis was shaking when it was over, so he didn’t protest when the healer told him to remain lying where he was. He would be tending his foot next anyway.

  Master Dagon stayed through it all, and after the healer gave him instructions to report to the infirmary every morning, he walked with Canis to the foot of the stairs and watched him hobble up to his room.

  Canis limped into the classroom the next day directly after his first ‘fix-it’ at the infirmary. Leonard pulled him aside at once and escorted him to a different classroom. “You passed your test. You don’t belong with the beginners any more.”

  His new instructor was a middle-aged man with streaks of gray beginning to show in the black hair at his temples. He also had an angry scar running from the outer corner of his right eye to the corner of his mouth, pulling both into a twisted expression that made reading his face difficult. Canis had never seen the man before, and he was surprised that he was an instructor here. He wondered what he did when he wasn’t teaching.