Half-Breed

by Anna L. Walls

  A cord of wood later, the man stopped them saying, “If you don’t stop, you’ll miss supper. You’ve split enough for a month. You needn’t have done all that.”

  “You are generous with your food and shelter. It is only right that I be generous with the labor that earns it,” said Canis.

  During the meal, Canis asked after the road they were following. “Will the road out there take me to Chicago?”

  “Well now, I wouldn’t know that,” replied the farmer congenially. “I do know that it goes for a long way mostly as straight as an arrow. I also know that Chicago is east of here, but I’ve never been there. I suppose you can’t do too wrong by following that road for a while anyway, though I’d think the high road north of here would make for easier traveling.”

  “What is this?” asked Cepheid as she held up her half empty cup of white liquid. It was not the beer or wine that Canis never touched, nor was it water, which is all she had ever had, shy of tasting the other.

  “That’s goat’s milk, dear,” said the farmer’s wife.

  “Goat’s milk,” she said disbelievingly. She had seen goats before, from a far distance. She had even eaten goat before, but they were notoriously difficult to hunt. “Those are goats in the barn?”

  “Haven’t you ever seen a goat before?” asked the farmer who said his name was Treynor.

  “I have, but they looked nothing like those small creatures. The goats I have seen are large white animals that live on the sides of cliffs. They are too difficult to hunt so we seldom bother them, but sometimes they fall.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like that, but then there aren’t any cliffs around here. My family has raised these goats for generations. We sell the milk in the city.”

  “It’s very good. Surely, you trade it for gold. Are you rich?” Cepheid still didn’t understand the exchange of money very well, but she knew that the yellow metal was valued highly.

  Mr. Treynor laughed. “No, child, but it pays the taxes and leaves a little besides. I can’t ask for much more than that.”

  Canis watched Cepheid gulp down the rest of her mug with relish and saw her eyes glow when Mrs. Treynor refilled it for her with a smile.

  “Thank you, Mrs.,” said Cepheid with a smile that came close to showing her teeth.

  It was watching interactions like this that Canis was reminded of how different the clan was from the plainspeople. For the clan, an open show of teeth was an open offer of hostility. For humans, the more teeth shown the friendlier the man wants you to believe he is, and most of the time the offer is genuine. It was a custom that neither of them could afford to adopt, though Canis could get away with it to a certain extent. Cepheid’s front teeth were small – almost like small sharp pebbles – but her canines were long and sharp; they would be easily visible if she were to smile fully. Canis’s front teeth were also small, but more like his mother’s; an open smile would still reveal his long sharp canines, nature-made for tearing flesh.

  Mr. Treynor came to rouse them for breakfast just as the yard was light enough to navigate, only to find them already sparring in front of the barn. “Come to breakfast while it’s hot,” he said.

  Breakfast was potatoes with ground meat in the gravy. Cepheid came to the conclusion that she would take what opportunity offered to learn more about this kind of food and cooking – she liked it. It was much better than the trail rations offered by either of the caravans they had worked for. The potatoes were soft and sweet, not like the roots she had grown up with, which were stringy and never sweet.

  They spent the next night at the farm of Mr. Corsun. Mr. Corsun was a bit more irascible than Mr. Treynor, but he wasn’t above working them for their food. He and his son worked along side them, then they were sent to the barn while supper was being prepared. They were never invited into the house and Canis never saw any women; he wasn’t even sure there was a woman living here.

  The son brought their stew out to them, and in the morning, they were given a packet of biscuits and cheese then sent on their way.

  That day, they took to hunting again. It felt good to hunt with the Wulfen. They found a herd of trim creatures with short black horns that stood straight up between their ears. They were a soft brown on their backs and sides and a perfect white on their bellies with only a little black around the face.

  It was fortunate that they were given the opportunity to stalk them because the creatures were alert and quick. Canis brought one down with a chancy shot at a distance and Ggrrawrr took another one at about the same instant when the hapless creature came near to tripping over him. Canis hadn’t intended to take more than one, but they were small so they could carry them, and the meat would feed them for a couple days.

  That night, they were thwarted in their efforts to build a fire. They were a long way from the forests that surrounded Omaha City. There were some small scrub brushes, but they did little more than smoke or burn up too fast to cook anything.

  Canis gave up on the fire and they fed on chilled, but raw meat before they rolled up in their bedroll. “You don’t like your meat uncooked, do you?” said Cepheid as she pulled their furs close around them.

  “Not much,” commented Canis. “It does not satisfy. Perhaps it is just cold.” But he knew that wasn’t it either; he’d had hot meat fresh from the kill, and that had not satisfied him either. Canis’s thoughts were turned away from bloody meat, Cepheid’s hands were exploring. He growled and stretched and Cepheid giggled from somewhere under the furs.

  Midday of the next day they passed a large crater with a row of blocky ruins along one edge. Near the end of that row was a sturdy stone farmhouse with smoke rising from the chimney, nothing else moved in the yard as they passed by.

  Midmorning of the next day they came upon a crossroads that would lead them north or south. Canis knew that the high road they had been following before coming to Omaha City was still north of them, so that’s the direction he chose. A few hours later, they came upon another crossroads and he chose east. He wasn’t interested in using the high road; he liked this open opportunity to hunt and be away from people and their wagons.

  At midday of the next day, they stopped and spoke to a farmer named Massena. He let them fill their water skins at his well and offered them much the same advice on the road as Treynor had. “If you’re headin’ east, you can’t go too wrong with this road.”

  That evening they brought down a creature that resembled the elk from the other side of the mountains except that it was smaller and stockier. It had no horns and the black hair on its hide tried to be curly, though it was too short for it.

  That night they found enough scrub brush to make a small fire and keep it burning. Cepheid made them a soup out of the liver and dropped some sections of the intestine in for flavor.

  The meat was rich with fat, so she kept as much as they could carry sharing some of the weight out to be carried by all of the horses when she saw that there was too much for Star to carry alone.

  The next night they stayed with the Greenfield family. The Greenfields were an extended family encompassing three generations. There was grandfather and grandmother Greenfield, their three sons and two daughters, three wives for the sons and one husband for the oldest daughter. The youngest daughter was about ten and not old enough to marry yet. The three young wives and the oldest daughter each had from one to four small children ranging from infant to toddler.

  Each family had their own home to go to at night, but for the most part they all lived in the great house that was the heart of their little community. They welcomed Canis and Cepheid warmly; even the Wulfen were welcomed, though it was a hands-off welcome, and they were not invited into the house. At the mere mention of learning to cook, Cepheid was whisked away to the kitchen with the women while Canis went with the men to tend the animals in the barns.

  There were three large barns. One was full of small white furry creatures the men called sheep. Canis learned that, in the spring, their hair would be sheered
away and the resulting wool would be woven into cloth to be sold in the city.

  When Canis asked if they sent their wool east to Chicago, old Mr. Greenfield said, “Sometimes we send it west to Omaha, and sometimes we send it northeast to Deemoin, but Chicago is a little beyond my reach.”

  “How long before I reach this place you call Deemoin?” asked Canis.

  “With your horses, you’ll likely reach it in about five days. With wagons it takes us a might longer.”

  Another barn held ten oxen and Canis’s horses. The meat from their hunt the day before was stored in a far corner where it wasn’t likely to thaw out.

  The third barn held their hay and grain – enough to feed their animals through the winter and still have some to sell if they needed to.

  When Canis came in for supper, he noticed that Cepheid was upset, though no one else seemed to see it. She was holding the youngest baby in the house and the chubby child made her look small.

  That night, in bed, he asked her, “What had happened while I was outside to so upset you?”

  “I think perhaps it is a small thing. It’s just that the baby, that poor baby, is five months old and can hardly roll over. Also, it has no teeth. If such a child was born in the clan, it would be cause for the whole village to wail, and yet these people are all so delighted with him.”

  “You must remember, these people are different from us. Perhaps that difference is most visible in the young.”

  She cuddled close into his arms. “I hope so,” came her small voice from somewhere near his chest. “I want my children to be strong and healthy, like their father.”

  Canis held her close. “They will be,” he whispered.

  That night, Canis’s sleep was interrupted. “Small cousins are stalking the barns,” said Ggrrawrr, his tone fairly dripped with distaste at having to claim any relation to the creatures.

  Canis and Cepheid had been invited to sleep in the house, so Canis ran down the stairs and outside in his small clothes. In one hand, he had Cepheid’s bared sword – the first one his hand fell on.

  His hosts were light sleepers, and though Canis moved with the grace and silence of a hunter, his passage did not go unnoticed. Old Mr. Greenfield was close on his heels, though he only had an ax close at hand.

  “Stay here,” said Canis. “There are hunters in the night and there are my friends as well. You might find it difficult to tell the difference in the dark.”

  The night was punctuated with the howl of a coyote as she called to her pack and was answered.

  “You cannot go out there in the dark. They’ll tear you to shreds,” said the old man.

  “I am no mean hunter. Keep your sons close to their homes. I will be shooting arrows and I do not want to hit the wrong target.” He grabbed his bow and quiver by the door and disappeared into the dark. Behind him, he heard doors opening and he heard the old man call out across the dark yard, “Get back inside. Get back inside.” He hoped they did. He would be careful where he aimed, but he could spare little thought as to what might be beyond his target.

  He came back to the house two hours later; his arrows were spent and it was too dark to find them. His blade was bloody and he had a long cut down his leg as well as a few scratches across his shoulders from a tumble in the brush.

  All the men were gathered at the big house waiting anxiously for his return. The women were barricaded in their homes with the doors and windows barred. Their children were still asleep in their beds.

  Old Mrs. Greenfield had the fire built up and Canis was thankful for the heat. While Canis submitted to the attentions of Cepheid and Mrs. Greenfield, allowing them to push him into a chair near the hearth, the men looked on expectantly.

  “There is one pack of…of small cousins that will never bother this place again. I will need to gather my arrows in the morning. Their pelts are warm, would you like them or shall I destroy the carcasses?”

  “We wouldn’t know what to do with them,” said Mrs. Greenfield. She didn’t comment about what Canis had called the coyotes; she had seen his traveling companions.

  “We’ll load the carcasses in one of the wagons and haul them away in the morning,” said one of the younger men. “I still can’t believe you went out there in the dark and killed them all.”

  “I did not kill all of them, only a few. My friends did most of the killing. I am ill suited to fight canines in the dark.”

  “But you did it just the same,” said the youngest man there.

  “Yes, he did,” said Mrs. Greenfield. “Now you boys go on back to your families. Your wives are worried and you stand around here gawking. There’ll be time enough for tales tomorrow.”

  When they were gone, Cepheid knelt at his knee. “Heal yourself or tomorrow you will be fevered.”

  Both of the Greenfields were stunned by these words, but only Mrs. Greenfield’s reaction was audible as she gasped.

  Canis looked at her. “What?”

  “Are you a licensed healer? You don’t dress like one.”

  “The Mother heals through me. I have been asked this question before. What is this license you speak of and how should I dress?”

  “Healers go to a great school where they learn their craft then when they are ready to leave, they carry a paper that says they have attended and passed the school, and they are required to wear plain brown as a badge of their profession. It is law in all the lands. There are stiff penalties for healers who practice without a license.”

  “Where is this school?” asked Canis.

  “I don’t know,” replied Mrs. Greenfield. “Men come around from time to time – every couple years or so. They test everyone and if they find someone with promise, they take them away to the school.”

  “Healing is a gift from the Mother and should be used freely by anyone who can. Teaching may help, but it is unnecessary.” Canis rested his hand on his scored leg and stepped aside for the healing to take over. When he opened his eyes again, Cepheid was wrapping a bandage around his leg and Mrs. Greenfield was draping a blanket around his shoulders.

  The next morning, Canis rose late to find that his arrows had all been collected already and the coyotes were departing in the back of a wagon. “You should not have let me sleep. I could have helped.”

  “You helped last night,” said old Mr. Greenfield.

  “Sit down and eat your breakfast,” said his wife. She had one of Canis’s pack baskets standing open by the counter, and after she set a large bowl of boiled grain and honey in front of him, she went back to filling it.

  “If you fill that, there will be enough to feed us for days,” said Canis. He was silently thankful that the Wulfen had eaten the last of their meat the evening before else there would be no room for her generosity.

  “That was my intention, but I’m afraid I don’t know what to do for your animals. You can’t carry enough grain or meat for all of them without a wagon. I don’t see how you made it this far.”

  “We hunted,” said Canis. “We are very good at it.”

  “I noticed a tiger hide in your bedroll,” said Mr. Greenfield. “I’d like to hear that story. I never heard of anyone being able to kill a tiger before.”

  “It was not easy. It took a lot of luck, a quiver full of arrows and a pack of wolves. Actually two packs; he did not go down easily. I would not wish to meet another one.”

  “I saw one once a few years ago,” said Mr. Greenfield. “I was thankful that he was heading away from me at the time. I didn’t rest easy until I was home safe. I didn’t stop for three days until I got here.”

  Canis wasn’t happy to hear that. He thought he’d left them on the other side of the mountains. He hoped they didn’t run in packs, or even in pairs.

  They were packed and leaving the yard by noon. Canis waved to the family arrayed to see them off one last time as they turned onto the road, then his thoughts were already ahead of him. What Mrs. Greenfield had packed for them would supply them for several days, so he let the Wulfen hunt w
hat they wanted as they moved along at a leisurely pace.

  They reached a crossroads at noon of the third day after leaving the Greenfield family farm. Canis chose the north fork, which took them north then east again, past the small village of Winterset, where they filled their water skins.

  The landscape had begun to wrinkle up more and now the road was starting to weave around the hills as much as cut through them. The snow-marked fields were growing substantially smaller and fenced pastures were becoming more frequent. Forks in the road became more frequent too. Canis took all of this as signs that another city was close.

  They came to a river with a ferry house early in the afternoon of the third day after Winterset. The ferryman refused to come out of his house when he saw what looked like giant wolves. Canis was forced to give him two silver coins just to get him to open his door and three more for him to take them all across the river.

  They found the high road a couple miles farther along their route, and they camped a few miles later at the base of a big square block with a smashed corner. By noon of the next day, they entered the city of Deemoin.

  The Brown Knights

  Canis didn’t try to find lodging in the city; he preferred to camp with the Wulfen and they would not be welcome in any inn. That didn’t stop him from looking for information and work. On the second day in Deemoin, Canis was visiting the inns and bars to see if anyone had been interested in his search for work. He was passing through the market square when a party of strangers came into the square from the east. They were bedraggled, wounded, and horseless, but constables swept them away to be cared for and Canis thought little more about them.