The Rage Eater

Chapter 5: Hero

In the week that followed, Sadie was near sick with worry. Every unfamiliar face made her sweat; every knock on the tavern door sent her heart racing. She was some powerful man's mamzer, with the same outlawed magic that created her now running through her veins.

But as time went on, fear loosened its grip. Were the law to come, Gillian said, it would have come already, which meant Sadie was safe, at least for now. It also meant that Priestess Wu was telling the truth—Sadie had been shortlisted for a scholarship. And within a week, a pigeon would come to deliver the decision.

"See anything?" George said. He laid against a heavy sack of oats propped up against the tavern wall, tuning his rickety lute.

"Nothing yet," Sadie said. She raised her arm to shield her eyes from the sun, squinting as she scanned the cobblestone streets and thatch roofs for pigeons.

"What about that one?" George said, pointing to a grey-black blur in the sky.

Sadie shook her head. "Just a street bird."

"How do you know?"

"Because the ones from Barrett's are fancy."

"Fancy?"

"Like, clean and well-fed. Maybe with a little scroll pouch or something. Besides, ferals look different."

George nodded. "Can I sing you my new song?"

"Sure."

George strummed his lute and smiled. "I call this the Ballad of the Badlands War," he said. He began to sing:

Our greatest Warriors from all our great Clans,

Drove the savage orcs from our sacred lands.

They hacked and slashed and stabbed and cut,

Left a trail of misery and a road of guts.

George stared up at Sadie, grinning like a child who'd finally managed to use a chamber pot without soiling himself. "So, what'd you think? I know it's unfinished, but it's pretty good, right?"

"Really good," Sadie lied. "But maybe you don't need a whole road of guts?"

"No, you're right," George said. "It's too many guts."

"Oh, and I need those oats," Sadie said, pointing at the sack sandwiched between George and the tavern wall.

"Oh, sorry!" George stood up and held the door as she dragged the sack into the tavern, then waved goodbye.

Sadie hauled the sack into the common room and through the swinging doors to the kitchen. She paused to catch her breath, sweeping her hair from her forehead.

Gillian strode through the swinging doors, moving with the assured elegance of a dancer. "Oats are for the cellar, my love."

Sighing, Sadie grabbed the sack of oats and dragged it down into the dark and musty cellar, allowing it to clunk on each step to punctuate her annoyance. Without the threat of the law hanging over her, Sadie had fallen back into her old patterns. Daily chores were no longer a soothing distraction—they were boring, often mind-numbing work. And after returning home late that stormy night, chores and work were all she had. Gillian had grounded her for two weeks. Still, Sadie did as she was told, even as she sighed and rolled her eyes.

Although she resented the drudgery of tavern life, Sadie knew she should be grateful. Had she been born a commoner on the Island of Kumar, she'd spend her days underwater, diving for oysters. Had she been born a commoner in Blizzards Bay, she'd spend her days on ice, using a rusty spigot to tap the giant sugar trees. Instead, she'd been born here, in Silk Province, under the command of Clan Bilton, serving stew, bread, and ale to local farmers and travelling merchants. Still, she couldn't help but cling to the possibility of a scholarship. Hers was a good enough life, but she wanted more.