Renegade Heart

RENEGADE HEART

L
apz was dying. He was not afraid, at least not for himself. His only fear was for his young daughter, Enola. With his passing, the girl would become an orphan, for her mother had died during childbirth and Lapz had raised the child alone. There was no other family to take her in. Enola, at just five turns old, would be all alone in the world.

The village healer stood at Lapz’s bedside, but there was little more she could do for him. Her presence there was designed to assure the village folk she had strived to do her best for him until the very end. In truth, she had done little more than occasionally mop his fevered brow those times she remembered to check he was still alive. Lapz determined to hold on for as long as he could because he knew, once he surrendered to death’s dark embrace, Enola would be taken to the Walled City and placed in the orphanage. Who knew what would happen to her then? The girl was such a beautiful child with her thick golden curls and deep brown eyes.

As day turned to dusk and dusk turned to night, Lapz’s life force ebbed quietly away and the healer rose from her chair with a sigh, thankful the long wait was over and she could finally get back to her own family. She glanced over to the corner of the room where the child huddled on her narrow cot, thumb in mouth, eyes wide with confusion.

“I’ll send someone for you in the morning,” the healer told her.

Enola watched the woman leave before rising from her cot and tiptoeing across the small room to her father’s body.

“Papa?” she said plaintively. She shook her father’s arm, thinking perhaps she could wake him that way. “Papa, are you sleeping?”

When she received no answer, Enola crawled into bed beside him and rested her head on his chest. They found her that way when they came in the morning to bury Lapz. One of the village women picked up the sleeping child and carried her out to a waiting wagon. It belonged to a passing trader who was conveniently on his way to the Walled City, and, for a modest fee, he had agreed to take the girl to the orphanage.

Enola awoke as the wagon trundled through the gates of the Walled City. To a child who had never before left the small village where she was born, the city was a frightening and bewildering place. The buildings were made of stone instead of wood, bigger and closer together than the humble homes back in the village. And she had never seen so many people in one place, hustling and bustling in every direction.

The trader pulled up his wagon outside a large, grim looking building and knocked on the door. The woman who answered was short and plump with rosy cheeks and greying hair. Half a dozen ragged children clung to her skirts and she shooed them away with a benevolent smile.

“Bit small isn’t she?” she asked, as the trader carried his charge up the steps, but her voice had a kindly tone.

“I’m told she’s five turns,” the trader said, setting Enola down on the doorstep and turning away, satisfied his duty was done.

“Come along, dear.” The woman took Enola’s hand and guided her inside. She led her along a narrow, stone passageway with half a dozen curious children trailing behind in the hopes of getting a look at the new girl. “You’re not the only one to join us today. We have a little boy who has also just arrived, the same age as you, I believe.”

Enola allowed herself to be led into a small dormitory filled with six wooden framed beds, a far cry from Enola’s humble cot back home. The woman, who Enola liked instinctively although she had yet to learn her name, told her that this was where all new children spent their first nights until a bed was found for them in the dormitories upstairs.

One of the beds was already occupied by the dirtiest child Enola had ever seen. He was no bigger than her with a shock of jet black hair and sharp, bright blue eyes. As soon as they entered the room, the boy leapt from the bed and hid underneath it, growling like one of the wild dogs her father had sometimes had to chase from his vegetable garden.

“Unfortunately, he’s practically feral,” the woman said, speaking more to herself than Enola.

Which was just as well, for Enola had no idea what feral meant. Left alone in the dormitory, she stuck her thumb in her mouth and sat cross-legged on the bed nearest to the door. The woman had said she would return once the Orphan Master was ready to see his new wards. Enola had no clue what that meant either, but she had soon figured out she was supposed to wait for something or someone.

After a while, the boy emerged from beneath his bed and observed her warily through his unruly fringe. Once he seemed certain she posed no immediate threat, he edged slowly closer until he was finally sat on the end of the same bed. He mirrored her position, crossing his legs and shoving a grubby thumb into his mouth. His eyes met hers and they stayed that way, neither of them moving or speaking, until the woman came back to fetch them.

Much later that day, Mistress Valistra ushered the two children into the Orphan Master’s office. He was a tall, well-built man with heavy jowls and thick white sideburns that clung to the side of his face like huge, overgrown caterpillars. Generally, Valistra considered him to be a reasonable man, but it had to be said he knew next to nothing about children, having married a sickly woman and been denied his own.

The boy, at least, seemed calmer than before, largely due, Valistra thought, to the immediate attachment he had formed with the girl. He still shied away from physical contact with Valistra, and refused to speak or even look her direct in the eye, but he was content to walk holding on to Enola’s hand.

As they entered the office, Valistra noticed the way his bright eyes darted around the room as though seeking an escape route. She took a firm grip on the back of his shirt, suspecting the child would not think twice about leaping through the open window, despite the fact they were one storey up from the ground. Not that she thought the boy was stupid. She had — though he had been there less than a day and was barely five turns old – the strongest feeling he would not care if he was injured or even killed in his bid for freedom.

“What do we have here?” the Orphan Master asked as he dipped his quill into the inkwell on his desk and prepared to write in an open ledger.

“Both five turns old,” Valistra said. “The girl is called Enola.” She hesitated, foreseeing the Orphan Master’s reaction. “I’m told the boy is known as Wolf.”

“Wolf?” The Orphan Master looked at the child with a heavy scowl, as though he had been the one responsible for choosing his own name. “Wolf is the name of an animal not a child. From now on he will answer to Bron.” He scribbled the names and ages into the ledger before staring across the desk at the children, noticing for the first time how tightly Valistra held on to the boy’s shirt. “Tell me, Mistress Valistra, is the child incapable of standing on his own?”

Valistra’s heart sank. Fair minded as he was, the Orphan Master could at times be a strict disciplinarian, his punishments harsh and swift. She had hoped to keep Wolf out of his way until she had a chance to tame him a little.

“He’s just a little wild in his mannerisms,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Then beat him.”

“Orphan Master,” Valistra began hesitantly, knowing it would be all the worse for Wolf if the man was angered. “As yet, he has done nothing wrong.”

“A beating will let him know his place here. For Goodness sake, woman, if you are incapable of doing it for yourself then bring him to me after supper, and I will do it for you.”

His tone implied he would not stand for any argument and he turned his attention back to the ledger, effectively dismissing the woman and children before him.

With a heavy heart, Valistra returned the small children to their dormitory and locked them in, leaving them huddled together on one of the beds, something else she was sure the Orphan Master would disapprove of for, if he had his way, the boys and girls in his care would not be permitted to mix at all.

A while later, after the other orphans had been fed and watered and bedded down for the night, she returned to the dorm and dragged the boy, kicking and screaming from the room. His reaction was proof enough to Valistra that he understood enough about what was about to happen to put up a spirited fight. But he did not cry, his screams born instead from frustration and unbridled rage.

The Orphan Master was waiting for them. He paled slightly as Wolf tore around the room like a whirlwind, bellowing his fury and throwing everything within his reach to the floor. Finally, the two adults managed to back him against a wall and he stopped yelling instantly, watching them through bright, feral eyes like a cornered animal. The Orphan Master stepped forward and grabbed the struggling child by the scruff of his neck.

“Fetch the stool,” he ordered.

Valistra did as ordered. Normally a thrashing was administered by having the offending child bend over wooden stool, but they soon realised Wolf was too small for that to be possible. Valistra sat on the stool herself and laid the boy across her knee while the Orphan Master fetched a switch from behind his desk, still breathing heavily from the exertion of trying to catch the boy. He motioned for Valistra to pull down the child’s breeches, only just allowing her time to move her hand before the switch sliced through the air and struck Wolf’s bare buttocks.

The boy went rigid with shocked, but refused to cry out, infuriating the Orphan Master who struck him harder, and then harder again. Twelve times he lashed the silent child before casting the switch away from him and returning to his chair behind his desk.

“Take him away,” he said coldly.

Valistra lifted the child from her lap and gently rearranged his clothing before leading him back to the windowless dormitory. As soon as she pushed him inside, he dropped to the floor and rolled beneath Enola’s bed. Only then, did he give in to the ragged sobs that shook his tiny body. Knowing he would not allow her to comfort him should she even try, Valistra backed out of the room and closed and locked the door.

Enola waited until the footsteps died away in the corridor. Then she slipped from her bed and crawled underneath. She reached for Wolf in the darkness and hugged him to her until his tears subsided and they both fell asleep.