Renegade Heart (2 page)

T
hree turns had passed since Enola and Wolf had arrived at the orphanage on the same day. Against all opposition Wolf had kept his name, refusing to answer to any other and enraging the Orphan Master with his stubbornness. Over the turns, he had learned to talk and occasionally obey the adults at the orphanage, although only on his terms and at the times he chose to do so. And however much they cut his hair, it remained as wild and unruly as the boy whose head it grew upon.

While Wolf was frowned upon by the adults and avoided by most of the children, Enola had become a firm favourite among all those at the orphanage. With her golden hair and delicate beauty she possessed an almost ethereal quality. She was a model pupil at morning lessons and worked hard at her afternoon chores. Blessed as she was with a sweet and caring nature, it was a mystery to anyone that knew her how she remained so steadfast in her devotion to the young tearaway Wolf.

While Enola studied hard, Wolf regularly skipped lessons and, worst of all in the opinion of the Orphan Master, the boy always managed to disappear when it came time for the children to attend prayers. Because of it, the child was subjected to regular beatings, the Orphan Master determined to one day break his spirit. Strangely, the only time Wolf could be depended upon to put in an appearance was when he was summoned by the Orphan Master for a thrashing. It had become a battle of wills between man and boy, one most people considered the boy to be winning.

Most nights, Wolf would wait until everyone was asleep before creeping out of the boy’s dormitory and along the passageway to the room where the girls slept. There he would spend the night curled on the floor beneath Enola’s bed. Some nights, she would take her blanket and sleep on the floor beside him. Other nights it was simply enough to know that he was close by. By morning he would be back in his own bed before anyone else stirred.

In the dining hall, although girls and boys were expected to sit at separate tables, Valistra had long since turned a blind eye and allowed Wolf to sit with Enola. For three turns the girl had been a calming influence on him and, unlike the Orphan Master, and even her apprentice, Fadiosa, Valistra saw the benefits of keeping the pair together.

She approached the table where the two children sat eating their breakfast and placed her hand lightly on Wolf’s shoulder.

“The Orphan Master will be here today,” she said quietly. “He would like to see you later this morning.”

It pained her to see the resigned look that crossed the boy’s face, and the dark anger that filled Enola’s brown eyes. Valistra was certain the little girl would take all of Wolf’s punishments for him if she could.

“Why do you go to him?” Enola asked once they were alone together again. She pushed her bowl of oatmeal away, her appetite gone. “I hate it when he beats you.”

Wolf shrugged. “If I don’t go it will only be worse the next time.”

They fell silent again as Fadiosa entered the room. A former resident, the young woman had never escaped the orphanage, kept there by her apprenticeship to Mistress Valistra. She was striking in appearance with waist length chestnut hair which she kept braided. Unfortunately her face was marred by a pinched, spiteful expression, and it was not uncommon for her to deal a slap or kick to any child who crossed her. Pretty little Enola had been a favourite target until the day Wolf had flown to his friend’s defence and blackened Fadiosa’s eye. Valistra had thrashed the boy herself on that occasion, but Fadiosa had learned her lesson and left Enola in peace from that point on.

Now, Fadiosa looked furtively around the room, checking to see everyone was present before disappearing again.

“What is she doing?” Enola whispered.

“Don’t know.” Wolf shrugged again. “Don’t care either so long as she leaves us alone.”

With breakfast over, the children filed out and made their way to their classrooms for lessons. Somewhere on route Wolf peeled away from the other orphans without anyone seeing him go. The tutor would report him absent, and he would be trouble again although, even at eight turns, being in trouble was not something which particularly bothered Wolf.

But, probably for the first time in his short life, Wolf’s intention was to actually stay out of trouble and do something right for once. He planned to go to the Orphan Master’s office and offer himself up for today’s thrashing. Maybe the Orphan Master would be pleased to get it out of the way so early in the day. He might even make the punishment lighter than usual as a reward. Wolf had yet to work out just what he was being punished for or why it was that he had to be beaten more than any other child in the orphanage, but he did know there was no escaping it.

Mindful of the manners Mistress Valistra had tried so hard to instil in him, he knocked politely on the Orphan Master’s door. There was no answer, but he could hear noises from within, so Wolf pushed open the door and walked into the room.

He stared at the scene in front of him, his young mind unable to comprehend what it was he was seeing. Fadiosa lay spread-eagled on the desk, her skirts hitched up around her waist. The Orphan Master stood between her thighs, his breeches around his ankles. Both of them panted and groaned as the Orphan Master thrust back and forth.

Suddenly, Fadiosa spied Wolf in the doorway and screamed, wriggling out from beneath the Orphan Master just as he climaxed. His seed spilled onto the polished surface of the desk and he stared at it in horror, not yet realising they had been seen.

“The boy!” Fadiosa shrieked and the Orphan Master turned, grappling for his breeches in blind panic.

Too late, Wolf realised he had witnessed something he should not have done, but before he had the chance to turn and run, Fadiosa fell upon him, dragging him into the room by the hair and slamming the door to prevent his escape. The Orphan Master advanced brandishing, not the thin switch he used for the usual thrashings, but his sturdy walking cane.

For the first time in his short life, Wolf felt truly afraid. Fadiosa’s nails gouged his scalp and the Orphan Master had a maniacal gleam in his eyes. Without waiting to bend the boy over the stool, the Orphan Master swung the cane. It struck Wolf across the face, splitting open his cheek and knocking him senseless. Fadiosa released her grip and he fell to his knees, the next blow landing across his shoulders and sending him sprawling on the floor. Instinctively, Wolf curled into a ball, his arms raised to shield his heads from the blows that rained down on him. Relentlessly, the Orphan Master hit out, not caring what part of the boy’s body he struck with his heavy cane. Where she could, Fadiosa was quick to step in with a sharp kick to any part she found exposed.

Mercifully for Wolf, her foot found an unprotected part of his head and rendered him unconscious. The Orphan Master dropped his cane to the floor and pushed Fadiosa away before she could cause further damage. Appalled at the harm they had already done, he ordered Fadiosa to run and fetch Valistra. Sweating profusely, he lowered himself into the chair behind his desk and endeavoured to steady his racing heart. Valistra, he knew, had a special affection for the little firebrand and would not be pleased when she discovered how badly they had beaten him.

Moments later, Valistra burst into the room, bewildered by the garbled story Fadiosa had given her. She took in the scene, the heavy cane lying on the floor beside the boy’s bruised and bloodied body, the flushed guilty faces of the Orphan Master and her apprentice and the stained desk. There was a smell of sex lingering in the air, and her jaw tightened with anger as she stooped to gather Wolf in her arms.

“You are never to touch this boy again,” she said.

Unaccustomed at being dictated to, the Orphan Master opened his mouth to object and then closed it again, wisely noting the steely glint in her eyes.

“And take your slut away with you. If she is still here by lunchtime, I will have her sent to the whore house.”

She stalked from the room with Wolf in her arms, desperately afraid he would die before the Healers could reach him. A thought occurred as she laid him on the bed in the sick room. The best medicine for the boy was his friendship with Enola. Valistra turned and raced to the classrooms to fetch the girl from her lessons.

For fourteen days, Enola sat at Wolf’s bedside, leaving him only when the call of nature forced her to. She took her meals in the infirmary, although she ate very little, and slept on a spare mattress on the floor beside his bed. The Healers came each day to tend his injuries and learned to work around the girl. On the whole, they found her to be most helpful, with a tenderness rare in one so young. On the fifteenth day, Wolf finally opened his eyes to find Enola dozing, one arm folded beneath her head.

He reached out and gently shook her awake. The smile that spread across her face when she saw he was conscious filled him inside with a curious sense of warmth.

“What happened?” he asked and his voice came out a dry, painful croak.

Enola helped him sit up enough to be able to take a sip of water from the tin cup beside his bed. He drank gratefully and then dropped his head back against the pillow.

“I don’t know,” Enola answered once he was settled again. “Mistress Valistra won’t tell me, but I know it was the Orphan Master.”

Her words stirred up a hazy memory of the Orphan Master coming at him with his heavy cane raised. Beyond that he struggled to remember anything except the pain.

“There was someone else,” he said with a troubled frown. “Someone holding me.”

“Fadiosa,” Enola muttered darkly.

“Fadiosa?” Wolf echoed, nodding as a little more of the fog cleared in his head. “She was on the desk.”

“Why?” Enola asked, innocently assuming Fadiosa must have been bent over the desk for a punishment. “Do you think she had done something bad?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think so. She was as angry with me as the Orphan Master.”

“Well, she’s gone anyway,” Enola told him and relief flooded his aching body. “Mistress Valistra sent her away and has taken a new apprentice. The Orphan Master asked to see you and Mistress Valistra refused. I heard her say if he came near the infirmary she would tell his wife.”

Puzzled, Wolf shook his head, unable to understand why the Orphan Master’s wife should care if her husband visited him or not.

“I thought they were going to kill me,” he said suddenly. He could still not remember everything that had happened that day, but the fear remained with him as vividly as the cut on his cheek. He lifted one hand and his fingers gingerly traced the ridge of scar that stretched from just below his left eye to the corner of his mouth. “I’m going to run away.”

Enola gaped at him, opened mouthed. “But where will you go?”

“Don’t know. Anywhere but here.”

“What about me?” Enola asked, her lips quivering as she struggled not to cry.

“I’ll come back for you,” Wolf promised. “However many turns it takes, I will make my fortune and build us a home. Then I will come back and take you away. I promise.”

Two days later, Wolf was released from the infirmary and, true to his word, by early evening he had gone.

The next morning, having spent a sleepless night in a cold, damp alleyway, the boy made his way to the city limits. Wolf was no stranger to the bustling city beyond the orphanage. Although many of the older children had ventured forth on errands for Valistra or the Orphan Master, he doubted any of them had explored The Walled City as thoroughly as he had. Whenever he played truant from lessons or prayers, he spent his time roaming the streets and finding his way around. Often, he had to hide from the City Watchmen lest they think him a runaway and now that he was one, he would be wise to travel through the city with extra care. He dared not even imagine the beating he would get if he were caught and returned to the orphanage.

Wolf’s aim was to somehow sneak through the guarded city gates and into the vast open countryside beyond. Renegade country. The very word made his heart leap with excitement. Even in the orphanage, stories reached them of the savage renegade bands who roamed the land. Bands consisting of deserters from the King’s Army and criminals who had fled from the townships. Opposed to the King’s Law, they raided merchant wagons and robbed unwary travellers. Sometimes, the merchants and travellers were foolish enough to defend their wares and inevitably ended up dying for their misplaced bravery. The younger children would squeal in mock terror at the tales, but Wolf listened, enthralled. To him, the life of a renegade sounded like freedom and adventure.

He had heard the adults at the orphanage say he was stupid, just because he did not know his letters and numbers the way Enola and the other children did. But Wolf was smarter than any of them gave him credit for. He knew the things that mattered. Knew he wanted to be a renegade one day and no amount of reading and writing would make him a ride a horse or fight any better. And, he bet the renegades did not offer up prayers of thanks to a god who, as far as Wolf could tell, had never done anything for anybody. Valistra had tried telling him once, that it was God who had put Enola in his life, but Wolf did not believe her. Enola was the one who looked out for him, gave him extra food from her own plate and hugged him when he was hurting after a thrashing. Enola
not
God.

He found a suitable hiding place, from where he could watch the gates, and spent the day waiting for his chance to hide in one of the wagons leaving the city. As bad luck would have it there were no wagons going out that day at all. The word on the streets was that the renegades had attacked one of the King’s treasury wagons and two of his trusted aides had been killed as well as several troopers. The merchants were staying within the safety of the city walls while the King’s Army scoured the area in search of the renegades responsible.

Finally, as dusk fell, Wolf gave up hope and went in search of a place to sleep. Under King’s Law, all children within the city were subject to a curfew. He knew he must find a hiding place before dark or risk being spotted by a Watchman and dragged back to the orphanage. He found another dank, uninviting alley and crawled beneath an empty wooden crate, which at least provided some meagre shelter from the cold wind. Disappointed that his escape from the city was not proving as easy as he had planned, he curled himself into a ball and tried to ignore the feelings of loneliness and hunger that tempted him to return to the orphanage.

Besides the hunger, he was aware of another pain that at first, he did not recognise. He missed Enola. Although he had only run away the day before, it felt strange to go so long without seeing her. He missed going to sleep with the sound of her breathing softly next to him, and he missed the smile that lit her face every time he walked into a room.

The following day, he fared no better, and after a third miserable night in an alleyway with only the rats for company, Wolf rose at first light and set off once again for the city gates. His stomach rumbled noisily as he walked and he looked longingly at the well-stocked stalls as he passed through the market place.

Keeping a close lookout for Watchmen, Wolf edged closer to a colourful display of succulent fruit, his mouth watering at the sight of the juicy red apples laid out before him. It was early yet, and there were few customers around. Conveniently, the stall holder was deep in conversation with his neighbour. Nobody noticed the small boy tentatively approach the stall, his eyes fixed firmly on the mound of apples.

Once again, fate conspired to thwart Wolf in his efforts. Just as he lifted a shiny red apple from the stall, the owner turned around, his gaze switching from the boy to the stolen fruit in his hand. With the beating that almost killed him uppermost in his mind, Wolf turned and fled, dropping the apple as he ran.

The trader gave chase, staying hot on his heels for four long streets before the man realised the stupidity of leaving his stall unattended for the sake of a single apple that had been dropped way back. Even so, Wolf kept running, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the trader had turned back. It was a mistake that proved to be his undoing. He ran blindly into something large and solid and ended up sat on the ground, the breath knocked from his body. He stared up at the immoveable object and the Watchman stared steadily back.

“Should you be out this early, boy?”

Shakily, Wolf got to his feet and dusted off his already filthy clothing. “I’m running an errand. Sir,” he said boldly.

The Watchman cocked his head to one side and eyed the boy doubtfully. “Show me the coin or the message you carry.”

“It’s a message, Sir. It’s just in my head, Sir.”

“Is that so? Then tell it to me.” The Watchman waited, not surprised when the boy could think of nothing to say. He planted a heavy hand on Wolf’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you what I think, boy. I think you may well be the lad missing from the orphanage. Oh, yes, I know all about you. The Orphan Master will be glad to have you back.”

Wolf doubted that very much, but he had no choice but to allow himself to be marched through the streets, under the curious glances of passers-by, until they reached the orphanage.

Mistress Valistra opened the door and gave a weary sigh when she saw who stood on the step. Enola hovered close behind and Wolf flashed his bravest smile.

“Told you I’d come back,” he said.