The next morning, Agatha was awakened by Angres who was impatiently rapping at her door.
“Get down to the bunkhouse right away, Agatha!” Angres whispered. “We have a situation!”
At the Enclave’s bunkhouse, Agatha found that Kelane had not survived the night. The spy had silently died while he slept in his bed within her hideaway. His face was twisted into a visage of terror, his body was light blue, and he was ice-cold.
Fear gripped Agatha’s gang and Angres demanded that she forget ever having heard about the cult.
That afternoon, Agatha held a meeting with almost every associate in her organization. She announced, “Kelane was found dead this morning…You may want to know how he died—but DON’T ASK. From now on, anyone that speaks of this will be kicked from my organization. Also, I want all the GOSSIP about a CULT to CEASE. It will never be mentioned again, or you are OUT on the street!”
There was no sound among her associates.
“Now get to work and make us some coin!” Agatha said sternly. “We have a business to run!”
It made them all afraid of the tattooed boy called Bladeborn, but Agatha had no intention of abandoning him. She knew that to stop the questions surrounding the boy, she had to quell the rumors and cease pursuing the cult. But more than that, she believed some things, like a deeper understanding of the cult, were not meant for her to know.
Chapter 5: Bladeborn on His Own
In a dark, seldom-used back room of the Enclave Guild, three sixteen-year-old boys pinned the twelve-year-old Bladeborn to the ground, raining down punches on him. Encircling were the other children from the guild, cheering, “Slam him! Make him bleed!”
The retired gladiator known as Angres must have been sleeping off a night of drinking close by. Angres entered the room, furious and in a booming voice he roared at the kids, “You brats just woke me out of a sound sleep with your fighting! Now I’m gonna’ wipe up the floor with the lot of you!”
The sixteen-year-olds and other kids scattered, as Angres looked ready to backhand the first noisy child he caught. The troublemakers, obviously Roccar, Scar, and Whistler, were the same ones as always. But they had already dashed down hallways to the four directions, out of his reach. After tormenting Bladeborn, the three of them were always the fastest to scramble away, and the loudest to claim innocence.
The rest of the children also managed to dodge Angres before he could deliver any punishment. Only Bladeborn was left. He didn’t know what Angres would do, and worried that the big man knew about his stealing food.
Angres called out down the hall, “Roccar! Next time I catch you and your boys fighting there will be no place you can hide!”
Bladeborn, bleeding from a split lip and a gash over his eye, quickly stood up.
Bladeborn said softly, “I tried to fight him, but his friends got me.”
“Roccar?” Angres asked. “He’s like…sixteen, right? You’re like, fourteen, ain’t you?”
“Twelve,” Bladeborn corrected him.
“What are you doin’ tryin’ to fight him and the others…?”
“At first it was just Roccar…” Bladeborn interrupted.
Disappointed, Angres said to the kid, “Ya know that they always team up, right?”
Bladeborn though about what was causing all the trouble for him. Even though Agatha wasn’t his real mother, the leader of the Enclave had treated him with special care over the years.
“Agatha always gives me what I want, and she taught me how to write and do numbers. None of the other kids get to spend so much time with her, so everyone here is jealous. But now I’m older and she’s always busy…”
Agatha’s favoritism had bred contempt for Bladeborn from almost everyone in the guild. But apparently, Angres understood and had some feelings.
Angres said, “I know ya don’t really fit in here right now, but it will come in time. You’re big for your age, and soon you’ll learn how to deal with troublemakers.”
“I don’t belong with the other kids,” Bladeborn said staring straight forward defiantly, feeling the new cuts he had received with his fingertips.
Angres offered, “Come on, let’s get ya to the kitchens and clean you up.” Angres looked at Bladeborn’s face and seemed shocked. They get you every day don’t they. You’re a bundle of bruises, kid.”
“I don’t want to go through the gambling hall again,” Bladeborn said. “The other kids will spot me, and as soon as you’re gone they’ll get me again. They get me about every other day,” Bladeborn sighed.
“Hmmm… This is worse than I thought,” Angres said, half-under his breath. He told Bladeborn, “I think you need Agatha’s help. Why don’t we go an’ tell her about what’s going on? I am sure she can do something.”
Bladeborn looked up at Angres and said, “No. I’ll just stay back here in these rooms. There are good places to hide here.”
“So that’s how ya been stealing food?” Angres asked. “Ya hide back here, then sneak in when one is lookin’?”
Bladeborn’s eyes widened “You know?”
“Yeah, the Cook and I are good friends. He said ya steal food at night—a lot. Look, kid, there is barely enough for all of us to go around. How long do ya think you’ll be getting away with that?”
Bladeborn looked down at his feet, and said softly, “The big kids, like Roccar and Whistler, steal the food from the little kids at dinner when no one is looking. Some of the small children are sick and no one really takes care of them. I have been stealing food for them.”
“You’ve been stealing food for the sick kids?” Angres asked, incredulously.
“I don’t lie!” Bladeborn claimed.
Angres scratched his beard, perplexed. “Well, that’s a new one on me! Yet you seem truthful.” A wry smile to crossed his lips. He flopped back down into a creaky chair and motioned to Bladeborn, “Sit here fer a bit, kid.”
Bladeborn’s welts had barely stopped bleeding so Angres gave him his handkerchief.
“Hold that there,” Angres said, indicating Bladeborn’s brow. “Don’t worry, That kerchief ain’t too dirty. Now listen fer a moment. I want to tell you something important.”
Bladeborn sat as instructed at Angres feet, looking bored.
Angres began, “I’ll tell ya, Bladeborn. You truly aren’t like the other kids. When Agatha and I ‘found’ ya, you were about three. These bad men had tattooed you with that mark that on your shoulder and arm just before we found you…”
“I know,” Bladeborn responded, rather listlessly, “My tattoo is different from the ones other people have.” Bladeborn was self-conscious about the large tattoo. He thought it was ugly and part of the reason he was hated so much by the others. Although it had faded since he was a baby, the tattoo still covered most of his right arm and chest.
Angres went on, “Agatha an’ me thought the bad men were gonna’ use you in a magic ceremony, but they failed to it.”
“Magic?” Bladeborn said, now paying attention. “No one ever told me about that part before.”
“It’s not like all that… Errr. Not good magic but….” Angres frowned in the dim light and leaned in close. He said quietly, “We think these bad men meant to ‘give’ you to a creature from the depths of the city. For like… Uhnnn… Food.”
“What things eat people in Fortress City?”
“I don’t want to scare you, kid,” Angres said. “But there are things deep below the City that would make you shiver right out of your sandals.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Bladeborn asked, scrutinizing Angres carefully. “Are you trying to scare me?”
“No…! Kid, I am trying to tell you about what makes you different from the others… After the bad men died, Agatha ‘adopted’ you, ya see? She raised you as her own youngling, but she’s very busy, you got me? I really am too, so you must learn to take care of yourself.”
Bladeborn wanted to hear more about magic, but he knew Angres wasn’t going to tell him about it, so he
asked, “What’s a changeling? Some of the Enclave say I am a changeling, meant to bring a curse to them.”
“Look, Bladeborn,” Angres said, getting a bit frustrated. “Agatha and I told them you were a boy, NOT a changeling.”
“But most of the Enclave still calls me a changeling,” Bladeborn said.
“You tell me which ones and I’ll bust their skulls,” Angres claimed gesturing wildly, nearly falling out of his chair. “YOU know you’re not one, am I right?”
“A changeling?” Bladeborn’s eyes got wide. “No! I am not!”
“It’s said that changelings are very strong—when they want to be,” Angres leaned in close. Smiling, the old gladiator asked him, “Are you sure you’re not one?”
Bladeborn considered this for a long time, then finally said, “I just wish everyone would let me be!”
“Someday they will…” Angres assured him. “Until then, stay outta’ their way. Do you understand?”
Bladeborn frowned. He always tried to stay out of their way, even before the old gladiator told him to do so. He nodded slowly, nonetheless.
He didn’t really understand what Angres said…and it didn’t make any difference. He had made up his mind to run away from the Enclave—that night!
Later, when almost everyone in the Enclave was sleeping, Bladeborn snuck into the kitchens and took some food from the larder. He then silently slipped through back entrance to their hide-out, past a sleeping Guard.
He was leaving forever. It wasn’t the first time he had run away, but he planned that it would be the last.
He would make it on his own in the lower floors of Fortress City, stealing what he needed to survive and staying clear of those who would hurt him. He knew the four directions well—even at his young age. The ancient, domed tunnel-streets and many unused rooms could be dangerous, but Bladeborn had planned.
After a long, careful descent in the abandoned streets, floor by floor, Bladeborn made it to a secret place. In the back of a trash-room’s airshaft, he placed a few emergency food jars where he was sure they would be safe. He would keep them there in case he couldn’t find anything to steal from the Old City Market stalls. He planned to steal only what he needed to avoid suspicion. Agatha had taught him well in this.
While resting on a perch above the trash room, Bladeborn thought, “I will never have to fight Roccar and the others again. I might be Agatha’s favorite, but I know she’s not my real mother anyway.”
He knew what adopted meant. His real parents were out there somewhere in Fortress City. Bladeborn was determined that he would someday find his real parents, although he knew how difficult that would be.
While sitting there in the quiet of the place, he thought about the reality of living alone. As he fell asleep, holding a half-eaten cavern-carrot in his hand, he dreamed about his bed at the Enclave hideout.
He awoke with a start. Several deadly Rat-bugs were fighting with a corpse crawler in a corner of the room below him. He held perfectly still. The Rat-bugs made short work of the fat corpse crawler; then they dragged it away through a crack in the wall. As soon as it seemed safe he slipped down from his perch and blocked the crack with some of the junk from the room.
The trash-rooms of Old City would be a hard place to live in. But he was free. He could stay up all night, yell, get dirty…and best of all, no more getting beaten up.
He didn’t plan to steal the same way Agatha’s gang did, and he would never threaten to hurt normal people to get money like the Enclave often did. Despite Angres’ kindness, Bladeborn knew the old gladiator often went to the shop owners of Old City and threatened them with violence unless they paid “protection” money. Agatha had told Bladeborn about it and had said that one day he would do the same thing.
That type of living was not what Bladeborn wanted. He would not waste what he had on cards, dice, or the trinkets some kids prized. He would become his own man—no responsibilities, no one to care for but himself, and no one watching over him, saying what he had to do.
To get by, Bladeborn made frequent visits to the City’s smaller markets, waiting for chances to grab a few of the bitter vegetables that were sold there. Grown in the well-guarded vast and dim garden floors beneath long-lasting glow-globes, the vegetables were the staples of food in Fortress City. He stole from the food vendors and traded with several of the other orphans who lived in similar ways.
He spent a lot of time rummaging through refuse heaps and recycling areas for things to trade. It was dangerous, because the trash rooms were ridden with disease and vermin such as nip-crawlers and root-scuttlers.
Bladeborn adapted quickly to being on his own. Underneath the grime and the shabby clothing, he was good-looking, strong young lad. As he grew and the baby fat left his face, he developed angular features, with a small, straight nose and gaunt, pronounced cheekbones. He began to grow a long shock of wild, black hair and had gray or blue-green eyes, depending on how the light was. Despite an irregular diet, he grew tall and broad-shouldered.
Bladeborn dodged Angres and the other Enclave members whenever he saw them. He didn’t want to be taken back. He refused to compromise his independence by joining one of the “child-gangs” that many orphans belonged to. He respected their power and avoided being cornered by any of them as best he could. By age fifteen, Bladeborn became known by most of the street people as “Lone Shoulders” because he had grown large for a boy his age, and because of his unusual habit of being by himself.
“I like being known as Lone Shoulders,” Bladeborn thought. “The Enclave will never figure out who I am unless I am seen by them right up close, or they see my tattoo. I can get away with the goods.”
At times, after finding food, Bladeborn did not get a chance to enjoy it. Once, near airshaft 328 he was surrounded by a group of six waifs and had to fight his way out.
“Ahh, look, it’s Lone Shoulders!” said Claw Girl, calling him by his street name. Claw Girl’s long nails were poison-dirty. “If you don’t give us those mushrooms we’ll blind you!”
“Poke him in the eye!” shouted one of the bloodthirsty urchins in Claw Girl’s klatch.
“They’ll call him Lone-eye then!” Another of Claw Girl’s friends giggled.
“Listen me, Lone Shoulders,” spat Claw Girl, flicking her nails. “There are too many of us, even for you. You give us the food now and run to the four directions…or… We may even…kill!” Claw Girl was several years older, but she secretly respected Lone Shoulders. Yet she would threaten anyone when she had the need.
Lone Shoulders held out the sack of mushrooms. “You win, Claw Girl, take,” he said.
“You smaaarrt, Lone Shoulders,” she said, reaching for them.
With his free hand, he grabbed one of her wrists, throwing her behind him into a pipe. The other children rushed him like a pack of wild wart-dogs, biting and clawing.
Lone Shoulders kicked, punched, and tore himself free, running down the alley, leaving several of waifs with fat lips or the wind knocked out.
Claw Girl, the leader of the small gang of children, had somehow gotten Bladeborn’s face with her sharp, dirty nails. The marks would take days to crust over. But Lone Shoulders felt lucky that it hadn’t been worse.
Two more years passed and his luck kept holding. His skill as a petty thief and procurer served him well. In a secret location on the fourth floor of Old City, there was a neutral gang that he could sell stolen things to.
Lone Shoulders was selling some goods when he overheard several older rogues talking about Angres.
One of them, who was a hired muscle-man, said, “After years of forced retirement, Angres, the old beast, will combat two men simultaneously in the ring of honor.”
“That’s one I won’t miss,” the other thief said.
Lone Shoulders imagined it would be a spectacular day and he really wanted to be there. But to see it, there would be risk...he could be spotted in the stands of the Arena of Blood by either the City Guards or by Agatha and the Enc
lave, who still wanted him at their base.
Getting into the arena would not be easy—he had enough money for entrance, but he was too young for the City Watch to let in unless there was someone older to vouch for him. However, he was going to see Angres in action no matter what. Lone Shoulders had always thought of the man as kind of a step-father.
He took a chance, blending in with the crush of people fighting to gain entrance to the Arena. He was so quick that at ticketing he managed to slip underneath the Guards’ view. Then, he took a seat high up in the bleachers. Watching the day’s events with great interest but trying to remain low key.
There were several matches that day which were thrilling, but what everyone there waited for was Angres. Soon after the Arena gong sounded and the three-way fight began, it looked bad for the old gladiator. The two men Angres fought were spry and muscular. As they advanced, Angres was barely able to hold them at bay, constantly blocking with a sword in each hand.
Several minutes passed, leaving Angres and the other two men bleeding. Then, with the crowd and Lone Shoulders on their feet cheering, Angres picked his opponents apart. The fight was not to the death, but Angres fought each of them to a standstill, inflicting half-a-dozen terrible cuts on the two men.
The crowd roared when his two opponents surrendered, with Angres suffering just the first few slashes.
Lone Shoulders felt it was one of the best days ever. The fight had been amazing. Despite his exhilaration, he knew getting out of the Arena fast and unseen would be almost as hard as getting in.
Lone Shoulders left the stadium through the back way, passing in front of suspicious Guards. Rounding a corner, he saw Agatha and a few of her gang members at another Arena exit only fifty feet away, so he hastily ducked into the crowd at a food stand. Moving swiftly, he got to a back alley that led into an abandoned area of the City, thinking he had made it without being seen. When he was about to bite into a piece of dried grotto-gourd, he heard someone running up behind him. Bladeborn turned about and saw an Enclave kid who was two years older. Bladeborn took a swipe at him and connected with his jaw, knocking the kid down. But another Enclave youth was coming.
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