Half-Breed

by Anna L. Walls

  He came back with a bundle of white material. “Gem,” he called, and the girl looked up. He tossed her a comb and the white material, and then he went back to where he had been and resumed his watching.

  Gem shook out the white material and produced a tunic and pants. She chivvied Canis to stand and then she helped him dress, showing him how he could draw the string belt tight around his thin waist, and how to tie the tunic across his chest. “There now,” she said in her soft voice. “You don’t look quite so starved anymore.”

  Canis was still shaking like a leaf from the cold and wet. After she made sure he was properly dressed, she chafed his shoulders for a few minutes, and then she unrolled the blanket and wrapped it around him. As soon as she convinced Canis to sit again, she went back to trying to work on his hair, this time with the comb. His mother didn’t own a comb; other women of the house had groomed her.

  Canis had never been fussed over more than a few minutes at a time. Gem’s constant grooming was painful, but she was trying to be gentle, and it was calming. He might have dozed off despite the stares if a guard hadn’t picked that moment to come by carrying a couple steaming bowls. This was the man who had spoken up for him during the day, though it had accomplished very little, but Canis couldn’t bring himself to accept the bowl he offered. Gem did though, and with some gentle persuasion, Canis took the bowl from her hand. The steaming contents did much to finish warming him up.

  Damaged Property

  The dawn brought frost and everyone moved around in a fog of frozen breath. Canis could scarcely move. He tried to eat, but could only retch it back up. He hurt all over and the chill wasn’t helping any.

  He heard Gem talking, so he looked to see who she was talking to. “The new slave is injured, Master. He may not be able to walk today.”

  “What do you mean, he’s injured?” said Patro, growling.

  Canis watched as Gem cowered under his glare. “There is a bad bruise on his neck above his tunic, he won’t put any weight on one foot, and he sicks up whatever he eats. I’m sorry, Master. I don’t know what to do.”

  The man she addressed as master, the big man, he was the leader here; he looked at Gem for a long glowering minute and then he abruptly turned his attention to Canis. Now under that glare himself, Canis could understand Gem’s cower, but it wasn’t in him to do the same. Nonetheless, he backed away as far as his leash allowed.

  The man’s eyes studied him up and down. “What’s the matter with you, slave?”

  ‘Slave’ was a new word for Canis, but he didn’t like the tone. He took another step back, turning to the side to protect his hurts. He might not be able to fight the metal, but he could fight a man. He might not win, but then again, he might.

  “The kid looks crazed, Patro,” said one of the guards.

  “Better be careful of him – he bites,” said another with a snicker.

  Ignoring them, Patro reached forward with a steady hand and opened the boy’s tunic. The bruise showing above his collar was black and purple clear down his arm, and there were five angry welts across his boney chest. Patro pushed the tunic off both shoulders and Canis let it drop to the ground to avoid getting tangled in it. “Turn around, boy,” said Patro, his tone only a little softer. Gem’s gentle hands turned Canis’s shoulders, though his head remained immobile as he continued to keep Patro in sight. Down Canis’s back was a long scrape atop an equally long and wider bruise.

  “Did this happen before we picked you up?” asked Patro.

  Canis couldn’t answer. He might not have, even if he could. He found the men who had taken him to the water. I will get even somehow. I will.

  Patro was moving again so Canis returned his attention to the closer threat as the man walked a slow circle around him.

  “Drop your pants, slave. I want to see how damaged you are,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at Canis any more. He was looking past him.

  Before Canis could figure out what he was looking at, Gem was there again, pulling at the string for his pants. Snarling a soft warning for her that might have been something else if another person had been so close, Canis snatched at the laces. If Patro was looking at another attacker behind him, he couldn’t afford to have his pants down around his ankles.

  Canis couldn’t foil Gem’s quick fingers and his pants dropped loosely down anyway revealing a red streak running down the inside of his leg to engulf his knee.

  Patro now understood why Canis was reluctant to put any weight on it, but he only gave it a glance.

  Canis tried to step out of Gem’s reach, but his pants snagged his foot and he slipped to one knee unable to mask a grimace of pain. Then Patro was charging past him and shouting orders. Canis hastily swiveled to watch, and then he forgot all about his pants and the need to be prepared to fend off an attack.

  Patro and two of his guards were beating down the other two guards. Quickly and brutally, the two men were subdued, stripped, and collared with heavy collars that bore little resemblance to what Canis wore. “You dare to damage my property,” Patro shouted at them as their brutal collars were held under the control of those they’d worked alongside only moments ago. “I know how much money you don’t have. You couldn’t afford the fine for damaging my property if your life depended on it.” He leaned closer to them. “And believe me, it does.” Patro pointed behind him at Canis without turning to find him. This, as nothing else the man did, raised the hairs on Canis’s neck and he pulled his pants up, hastily tying them in place. “If he sickens and dies because of what you’ve done, I’ll see to it you are up for sale on the next available auction block,” Patro promised.

  “But we didn’t do nothin’,” wailed one of the men. Patro’s heavy fist silenced him. When the man picked himself up from the ground again, there was blood at the corner of his mouth and under his collar.

  Patro waved the men away. “Chain ‘em to the sides of the wagon,” he said. “I won’t have them disrupting the others on the line.” Then he stormed off to finish harnessing his horses.

  As they were about ready to move, Patro came to Canis’s place on the line and unhooked his leash. Without a word, he led Canis to the side of his wagon. Canis was starting to think he would be attached to the same ring as the man who stood there glaring at him, but Patro swept him up and planted him on the seat. The rough handling forced a yelp of surprise and pain from Canis, but then Patro was climbing up on the seat beside him, so Canis gulped back any further sounds. The sudden move made his head spin, though, and the spinning wouldn’t go away. The wagons were no sooner in full motion than Canis’s world took a spin into blackness.

  When Canis opened his eyes again, he figured the blackness had lasted only a moment or two; the horses were only just stopping, and once again his tunic was in the grip of a very large fist and Patro was staring at him. He hurt so much. Just as he grabbed Patro’s wrist in an effort to be free of his grip, his stomach lurched violently and he was helplessly heaving bile onto the road. When no more would come, Canis sat back shaking and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Are you finished?” asked Patro. When Canis remained quiet, Patro climbed down off the wagon again and then he lifted Canis down beside him, somewhat gentler this time. He led him up to the back of the lead wagon – the wagon that carried the tent and all their bedding. He unrolled a heavy blanket and laid it aside, then he lifted Canis up into its place. “You lie down.” He hooked Canis’s leash to something on the outside of the wagon and then spread the blanket over him. “There’ll be no walking for you for a day or two.” He wedged a jar down between the bedrolls so it wouldn’t tip over. He lifted the lid and dipped a small cup in, bringing out water, which he handed to Canis. “Drink that, now.” He stood there and watched Canis drink. “You drink one of those every time you throw up.” He started to head back to his wagon, but turned back after only a single step. “And even if you don’t throw up, you drink at least four cups before midday.” He held up four fingers to show how many fo
ur was. Some people couldn’t count.

  That evening, Patro had one of the remaining guards take Canis to the river for another bath. “You did see what happens around here when someone damages my property, didn’t you?” he called after the man before he disappeared down the path.

  “You don’t need to worry about me, sir,” he said.

  Canis didn’t have it in him to struggle. He could scarcely walk. I will wait. I will wait as long as I can stand it. A real chance will come.

  This man was quite gentle, almost as gentle as Gem. He took great care of Canis’s bruises. He helped Canis take his clothes off and laid them aside.

  “Well, look at you; you can’t be more than five. How old are you?” When Canis didn’t answer, he went ahead with the bath. He quickly dipped water from the river and soaped him down. The late day was still warm and the man found a spot of sunlight, but being wet was still really cold.

  When Canis’s body was washed, the man wrapped Canis’s tunic around his shoulders and had him bend over so he could wash his hair. When he was satisfied, he helped Canis dress again and then they went back to the camp. This whole ordeal left Canis baffled. His experience with baths was now two, and they couldn’t possibly have been more different, one from the other. As he thought on it, he figured he didn’t really like water much; it was fine for drinking – and maybe washing some, but so much as was in the river – it made him uneasy, almost as if it might reach out and smother him.

  When they returned to camp, they found it already set up and organized. As soon as he was within reach, Gem went to work on his matted hair again. She’d only just started when Patro came up to them.

  If Canis had been less cold and more agile, he’d have moved out of his easy reach. As it was, Patro merely rested his big hand on his forehead. “Fevered,” was all he said. He shook his head and handed Gem a can of cream. “Work this into his hair, it should loosen the matting some. We might have to cut some of that out, though.” Then he lifted Canis’s chin so he was forced to look him in the face. “Those are the most remarkable eyes I’ve ever seen. Drink a lot of water, boy. I want you to finish that jar before you sleep.” He brushed Canis’s cheek. “You’ll make someone a fine collector’s item when you grow up.”

  Canis ran a fever for two more days, though he was never ill again, and he rode in the wagon for an entire week; it took that long before his gait was better than a step with one foot and drag the other one up to it. He ate his meals too, though he refused to take his bowl from the hand of the guard who offered it to him. The man would offer it and then set it on the ground – Patro’s orders – but Canis wouldn’t touch it until the man had left the area.

  Gem worked on his hair every available moment and used up four of the cans of cream Patro produced. It was a full eight days before she was able to run a comb through it all the way to the scalp. His hair had been kinked and matted for so long, now that it was combed out, it looked like a rusty haystack stacked in a high wind by a one-handed farmer. Some of it was long and other sections were quite short.

  When signs of settlement began to encroach on their travels, Patro came up to Gem and Canis. “You look like a shag dog looking through that mop of yours. Comb it all to the front, Gem. He needs a hair cut.” He showed Gem what he wanted by holding a fist at the top of his forehead as if he were holding a ponytail there.

  “Yes, master,” said Gem. When Gem had his hair gathered in her small fist, Patro tipped Canis’s chin up so he could see clearly what he was about to do. He drew Canis’s attention to his hand and slowly drew his belt knife.

  It had been days since Canis had seen reason for alarm, but he knew a knife when he saw one. Canis stiffened, ready to break away, but Gem remained quiet so he held his ground.

  Patro pulled out a lock of his own hair and cut it with the knife. Then he reached out and tugged at a bit of the hair extending beyond Gem’s hand then made a cutting motion. “All I’m going to do is cut your hair. You have to hold still; understand?” He watched for some kind of response or reaction.

  Canis looked from the knife to Patro’s face, but he could detect no malice there and Gem remained quiet. Patro slowly reached out and took the hair protruding beyond Gem’s hand, then he moved the knife closer. Canis was hissing his stress long before the knife touched his hair, but he held his ground until the task was done. When he was released, he moved to the end of his leash and curled up in a tight ball.

  Gem looked after him sadly then cleaned up the hair that had been cut away. After she handed the cuttings to one of the guards to be thrown in the fire, she came as close to him as she could. Because of the way their leashes were attached to the line, she couldn’t reach him, but she tugged gently on his leash and called to him. After some cajoling, he gave in to her desires and moved close enough for her to fuss over him some more; it served to quiet his shaking nerves.

  Slave Business

  The next day, they came into a huddled collection of brown shacks and shops and Canis overheard the word ‘Mankato’ said to one of the men chained to the wagon. Patro stopped them in the center, near one of the larger buildings. People materialized from all around to look at them, and all but Canis stood to meet them. Some of the visitors touched one or another of those on the line, pinching an arm or a belly or telling them to turn around, which they did docilely. Some spoke to Patro, but Canis couldn’t hear what they said very well. Patro took one man along the line, pointing out one or another of the men and talking numbers. Then there was a nod; the man pointed to two of those on the line and counted several chips of metal into Patro’s hand and led the two away.

  Canis watched their departure with some interest. The exchange of metal for a person was another new thing in a whole world of new and frightening things. Both must have some value else such an exchange would not happen. What that value was, he could not understand.

  Canis had given up trying to defend his space. He’d learned that there was no fighting the metal around his neck or the leash that led to the heavy chain attached to the back of the lead wagon, and he had seen what Patro had done to those two men. Perhaps he could be trusted, he’d watch and see – it was sure he was nothing like the men who frequented his mother’s room.

  The metal antagonized him though, far more than the weight would account for. Though he was accustomed to his mother keeping him hidden, this kind of containment chafed. He longed for the hiding – he could be very quiet in his small dark corner. There were no dark corners here.

  This vast outside – he’d been outside before – his mother had moved them a few times that he could remember, but it was mostly at night. He never understood why. He never considered it before. It was the way it was. He had time to think about it now, though. After what had happened back in Paul City, he wondered if that was why his mother had traveled at night. He wondered if there was something about him that was the cause of it all.

  Now more than ever, he wished she were here. He had questions. What had happened? What was a changeling? What was a witch? But then, so many things would be different if she were here. If she were here, she would wear metal around her neck like Gem. If she were here, maybe she would have been traded for chips of metal like those men. He wondered what happened to her. Somewhere down deep inside, he knew she was dead, but if he didn’t allow himself to think on it, he could continue to believe that he would find her again someday.

  The tent wasn’t set up since Patro stayed in the building for the night. The old woman who cooked their food, Mia was her name, did so from in there too. Otherwise, little changed for the rest of them.

  They left at full light the next morning leaving behind the river they had been following. As they were about to pull out, Patro went to the two men chained to the side of his wagon all this time and turned them loose. “The boy didn’t die so you get to remain free of the collar.” He shoved them away from the wagon. “Get out of here.”

  “Our clothes…” started one of the men.

 
“Consider the loss of your property the fine you paid for damaging my property,” said Patro as he climbed up onto his wagon and whipped his horses into motion, leaving them behind in the street without a stitch.

  They traveled into the afternoon sun for days, on a well-worn track across plains covered with tall grass and dotted with the occasional small ranch or farm. Sometimes the people who lived in these isolated places would come out and watch them pass, but none of them called for Patro to stop.

  On the tenth day they reached a tall embankment of earth. The unnatural ridge was way above their heads, but the track they followed led to the top. Once on top, Canis was surprised. The top was very wide and very flat. Though some short, scraggly grass grew here, most of the surface was bald.

  “I feel better now we’ve reached the high road,” commented one of the guards to the other. “Now, at least we have a chance of spotting someone coming at us.”

  The other man merely nodded his agreement and scanned the horizon.

  Canis’s wonder at this new vantage kept him distracted from the sameness of life on the trail, but it caused his confinement to weigh even heavier on him. The overabundance of telltale scents drew his curiosity – he so wanted to follow those scents and see where they led – to meet whatever generated them – to taste what he found. Their morning and evening gruel filled his belly, but didn’t touch this new hunger.