Canis hung from bound wrists that were stretched over his head far enough to lift his feet from the cold stone floor. Shackles, separated by a short bar, kept his feet apart and another chain attached to the floor would keep him from curling up or kicking out. His head hung on his chest and his red hair obscured his face. He didn’t flinch when the cell door opened with a screech though he heard it. Nor could he decipher the words spoken there.
“He hasn’t moved other than a few twitches,” said one voice. “He doesn’t make a sound or nothing. I think he’s sick. He’s running a fever.”
“What do you mean, ‘he’s running a fever’? He wasn’t even wounded, was he?” said another voice.
“No, my lord, he took no injury,” said the first.
The lord strode into the room and gripped a fist full of Canis’s hair to lift his head and reveal his face. He got no response. “Have you struck him?”
“I did, a couple times, when I thought he might be faking it, but I don’t think he felt anything. He never moved.”
The lord swiveled Canis around to look at his back. The fading red stripes revealed the truth of the turnkey’s words. He touched his skin in several locations, feeling the damp slick of sweat and the heat. “Take him down and get him a healer. Get him a real healer, mind you, not one of those surgeons you keep. He is not to be damaged.”
“Yes, my lord,” said the turnkey, as he stepped aside to allow the man to leave the room.
With her shock less intense, Cepheid’s mind turned to trying to find some way to help. This was a very big city and Canis knew it well, but just because it was a city, didn’t mean it was safe. Cepheid was more concerned with making her chosen place a home, but she didn’t miss the fact that Canis never let her go anywhere by herself. That had been fine with her; he was always going to be there…only now he wasn’t.
She needed to find him and help him, but she didn’t know where to look. She needed help, but she knew no one. The only person she could think of was the boy, Dagon. He had been coming to this city. He lived here. His father was here. Surely, he and his friends would still be here. Tory had liked Canis. Dagon had leapt into battle for him. Surely, they would help him now when he needed help so badly.
She stood up and grabbed her sword belt. It would no longer fit around her waist so she buckled it on its last hole and slung it over her shoulder, then she draped her cloak over it. “Come. We must find Dagon or Tory. Help me find them.”
Canis was tied to the bed hand and foot, but he had yet to move. His breath rasped and his hair was wet with sweat.
A knock came at the door and the healer opened it. “Lord Corbin, I expected to see you yesterday.”
“I was detained,” he said as he strode over to the cot. He touched Canis’s cheek. “He’s still fevered. Why?”
“I can find nothing wrong with him. There is no sickness or injury in his body that would cause such a fever. I’m at a loss.”
Corbin turned on the woman. “Are you telling me he’s dying?”
“I don’t know. He could, if the fever doesn’t let up soon,” she replied as she clutched at her breast in fear.
“You listen to me, Healer. That man is potentially the most valuable man ever born. You get that fever down. If he dies, it is entirely possible that every person that has a single drop of your blood running in their veins could find their necks encircled by either a rope or steel depending on my mood at the time. Do I make myself clear? I’ll be back tomorrow to see your progress.”
The woman gasped and paled. “Yes, my lord,” she whispered and watched as the man stalked from the room.
The healer reverted to old tactics to reduce Canis’s fever. She packed his body with ice, and when her use of so much ice began to draw too much attention, she used well water and kept him draped with cold towels. Her efforts eventually began to show some signs of success. Canis began to move and occasionally moan. It wasn’t much, but it was an improvement.
He opened his eyes for the first time almost a week after coming into her care, so she sent a message to Lord Corbin with the news and he renewed his daily visits.
The Long Climb
Canis swam in darkness for an eternity.
He became aware of light once, but before he found it, he forgot what he had been looking for.
He opened his eyes to colors and shapes that drifted across his mind with no rhyme or meaning.
He was shaking. He knew that it had to mean something, but…
Sound beat at his oblivion; he opened his eyes to the confusion of color and light. It meant nothing to him.
Pain and sound stabbed at him. He wanted to flinch away, but he couldn’t remember how.
His oblivion was punctuated in this manner until he tried to understand why. With that wind-tossed feather of a thought came another feather. Who am I?
“Wake up,” echoed a voice from beyond his chasm of blackness and a sharp sting sent lightning through his dark.
Slowly, after a fashion, he became aware of the passage of time. Slowly he began to remember that different events of awareness had occurred – not necessarily what had happened, but that something had happened.
Eventually, he was able to keep his eyes open long enough to study his surroundings. Now all he had to do was figure out what he was seeing.
A man came into his range of view whenever he had his eyes open. This happened several times before he realized that it was a man’s face he was seeing. He held something in his view. He made sounds. Over and over, he showed him the same thing and made the same sounds. Eventually it made sense, but it was still confusing. He was seeing the face of another man and the sounds formed into, “You will kill him.”
His awareness formed into days and nights, though he could find no string to it. The man came with his ? ? ? with his picture and he would say his words. Canis couldn’t understand.
A woman was there too…sometimes. She moved his body. She…cut…she cut his hair. Beyond her was the ceiling…that’s what it was called. It didn’t have any cracks in it. It should have. Why was it supposed to have cracks? What were cracks?
The man who kept showing him the picture, and the woman who had cut his hair talked, but he couldn’t follow their words. He couldn’t think.
Cold touched his awareness and he wanted to pull away. He opened his eyes to bright light and the woman…the woman who cut his hair was laying a cold towel around his ribs. “The fever’s back,” she said. The man who looked over her shoulder shook his head. He too said something.
The woman who had cut his hair pulled him to sit up, but he couldn’t remember how to stay there. That thought bothered him. Up. Up. I need to get up. What is up?
He rolled over and pulled his legs up. His feet fell off the bed. He pushed himself up…yeah…up.
He reached…that was a chair…there was a crash and a sharp pain in his knees…and his hand…?…and his head.
The man rushed into the room with the woman behind him. Between them, they lifted him to the chair. What had been wrong with ‘up’? Something wasn’t right. What did I forget?
Cepheid paced the city following the Wulfen who searched for one or another elusive scent. She had been searching for days now and she was having to stop to rest more and more often. Every time she stopped, she found herself starting to cry, so she would push on.
She pushed off from the wall one time too often and she doubled over with a cry of pain.
The Wulfen all knew the scent. “Puppy,” said Nnarr.
Home was too far away. Cepheid knew fear. Her child would be born in some dark alley and they would all die because she couldn’t find his father, because she had been foolish enough to believe that she could do something.
Ggrrawrr pushed up beside her and he was big enough for her to lean on. His black-furred son led the way.
They came to a door where Nnarr scratched and scratched until someone came to investigate.
The woman who opened the door stepped back in alarm,
but the black wolf sparked a memory and the girl among the giant wolves was obviously in serious trouble.
“Help me,” said Cepheid. “Canis is in trouble.” Why did I say that? I am such an idiot; these people couldn’t possibly know who Canis was. But apparently, they did.
“Canis?” said the woman, and the memory fell the rest of the way into place. “Come in here.” She took up the arm of the very pregnant girl and led them all into the house.
A girl came to investigate the odd sounds and she gasped and pointed to the black wolf. “Isn’t that…his?”
“Yes, Dora,” said the woman. “But this girl’s in labor. Help me get her upstairs.”
“I have to find Canis,” cried Cepheid. “He’s in trouble. Help me find him.”
“We’ll help you find him if we can, but right now, you are the one who needs help,” said the woman.
As soon as Cepheid was settled in a soft bed, the woman patted her hand and tried to calm her. “My name is Loren. Canis helped us several years ago. I’m glad you came to us for help.”
Cepheid was still crying, but she was heartened. “You know him? Can you help him?”
Dora brought in a glass of water and Cepheid sipped at it. She was thirsty, but she didn’t have the stomach for anything right now. She handed the glass back and grit her teeth with the next contraction. No one noticed that two of the wolves had left the house before Dora had been able to close the door.
Canis was awake for about half of every circuit of the sun. He understood most of what went on around him now, but he felt lethargic and slow.
The healer, fed him his meals at a table now, but she had to coax his every bite, otherwise he would stare at his plate or some other point, and drift for hours. She had to coax him in almost everything he needed to do, but sometimes he would do things on his own. Sometimes she would find him staring out into the night.
Something was pulling at him, something urgent, but he couldn’t remember what it was. There were huge gaps in his awareness. Memories were over there on the other side of the chasm of darkness. They floated there just out of reach like indistinct ghosts he couldn’t focus on.
He felt a soft touch and flinched away from it. He remembered pain attached with a touch like that. He remembered pain and loss, but he couldn’t remember what he had lost. He felt a tear trail down his face. He felt pain again.
The healer touched his neck with a cold towel. “Your fever is rising again,” she said as she tried to drape the towel around his shoulders.
He turned before she got it in place and he took the bundle and buried his face in it. He sponged his hair back then wiped the sweat from his throat and chest before handing the cold thing back to her.
The man, Corbin, still came every day with his picture and his mantra, but now Canis recognized who was in the picture. He had always thought that Corbin was the king’s most trusted bodyguard. Why would he want the king dead? He couldn’t puzzle it out. He couldn’t think.
One day, Corbin showed Canis the picture and said, “You will kill him.”
That day, he was rewarded when Canis said, “Kill?”
Unknown to Corbin, the single word was Canis’s attempt to ask why. He didn’t remember about Canis’s inability to speak. He didn’t know that Canis had not been so handicapped for years. The only difference was that Canis could manage words now, it was just very difficult, and he was only just remembering how.
Patro came with Corbin that night. Canis remembered him. He remembered who and what he was, though a few definitions were lacking in the memory. He remembered that he had wanted to see him, but it was far from a friendly desire. He couldn’t remember why.
Patro was delighted to see him. He didn’t seem to notice that Canis backed up as he approached. When he had him backed up to a wall, he reached up and gripped Canis’s chin tipping his head back and forth, then he prodded the white stone between his brows. “Where did you get that?” he asked.
Canis didn’t answer. He didn’t know. He didn’t remember. Patro’s touch had awakened the feeling of revulsion, and the feeling descended quickly into hate.
The healer woman entered the room with her cold towel. Canis’s fever was up again that morning. He took it from her and tried to scrub Patro’s touch away.
“Still hostile as ever, I see,” said Patro. “Why isn’t he in chains?”
“You can put him in your chains after tomorrow,” said Corbin. “Until then I have him under control.”
“You should remember,” said Patro, “he has always been far more dangerous than he looks.”
“Not right now, he isn’t,” said Corbin. He didn’t want to tell Patro how weak and sick his prize slave had been…still was. Patro might blow the whole plan if he thought Canis was damaged.
The two of them watched as Canis went to the black window and stared out. The healer watched too. Sympathy pulled at her. He always seemed drawn to the window at night. He never seemed interested in it during the day.
Patro and Corbin went into another room to talk. They didn’t see the single tear that trailed down Canis’s cheek. The healer woman handed him the towel again.
Early the next morning Canis was awakened by an inner feather touch that carried elation with it. He flinched away and sat up. Further thought of trying to puzzle out the meaning of what had wakened him vanished as the healer came in with two young men.
“You’re already awake, good. Today’s a big day for you.” She turned to the men. “Get him dressed and make sure you do it properly or you will answer to Lord Corbin.”
The men bowed low to her then turned to Canis while she flung the shades wide to let in the morning light. They washed and dressed him in tight red hose and pulled a white tunic over his head. One of them combed his hair while the other closed a red enameled band around his neck.
Canis touched the cold band. Something else was supposed to rest there, but he couldn’t remember what. He looked down at his red-sheathed legs; he didn’t like red.
The two men – Canis realized they were slaves. They were dressed like he was – they placed white slippers on his feet and pulled him to stand. One of them tied a red sash around his waist and adjusted the knot just so.
The healer scrutinized their work, then she produced a small knife and hid it under his sash. “Remember Corbin’s words,” she said, then she turned to the others. “Take him. You know what to do.”
The two slaves propelled him out of the room and down the hall. They descended some stairs then went down another hall. They did this again before the hall they walked became decorated with paintings and tapestries. The next hall sported tapestries that covered entire sections of wall space, and the carpet on the floor was plush.
Canis recognized the carpet; he remembered the smell of the place he just couldn’t remember where that place was or why he would remember such a thing in the first place.
The two slaves stopped him just short of rounding another corner. One of them presented him with a scroll. “You hold this in both hands, like this.” He placed the scroll in Canis’s two hands and adjusted them to the proper height. “Give this directly to the king.” He looked directly into Canis’s eyes as if looking for understanding there. “Remember Lord Corbin’s words.” He gave him a gentle push to get him moving again.
No less than twenty paces down this hall, Canis felt the inner touch again only it was much more than a touch. The flood caused him to stagger and reach for the nearby wall for support.
He struggled to silence his cries of joy as the flood brought back his missing memories and connected his fractured thoughts. He struggled to retain his feet as the creature that was Canis filled the chasm that had so darkened his mind. He struggled to contain the agony as his memories told him of what Rrusharr’s death had done to him, and the worry about Cepheid came back to him. How long had it been? Where was she now? He reached out for Nnarr and was relieved to find that Cepheid was safe.
“Do not tell her that I live,” he wh
ispered. “That is not certain yet.”
Nnarr gazed at her companion who slept with her two new pups in her arms, then rested her head back down on her paws. This strange nest was too tall and too long, but then that meant that there was room for her at Cepheid’s feet.
Ggrrawrr sank down to the carpet beside the bed, his elbows made a dull thunk on the rug. Canis could learn the status of his family later when he was safe.
Canis pulled himself together and straightened his tunic. He looked around for the source of his glorious filling. A black Wulfi stepped out of a dark corner a little ways ahead of him, and to his surprise, a pale gray Wulfi also stepped into view. How had the two half-grown puppies found their way into the palace past the lacework of guards and slaves without being noticed?
He stepped forward and was pleased when Terrorr and Danggerr took up positions under his hands. A brief brush of a memory that involved swinging warm and safe in a sack at his side, told him that they had learned this place during their earliest memories.
He rounded the last corner and entered the vast chamber that was the king’s throne room. As before, there was a crowd of men and women all dressed in fine, colorful clothes full of lace, shimmers and rustles. Slaves dressed like the two who had brought him here, moved among the throng with trays of different foods and drinks. At the other end of the room, on an overlarge, ornately carved chair that was elevated on a raised platform, sat a gray haired, very thin man wearing a red silk jacket. On his head rested an ornate crown that, despite its scrollwork, was little more than a wide band of gold. Corbin stood at his shoulder. Young Dagon and the four young men who had traveled with him were speaking to the older Dagon a couple steps away. A slave with a red sash was leaving the dais with an empty tray.
Half-Breed Page 39
