887 ASF

After seven years of study at the University—so close to graduation that I could count my remaining exams on my fingers—I was expelled.

In the long years since then, I have developed myself into a proud expellee. But at the time, it was the most traumatic thing that had ever happened to me (cute). The how and the why are another story—what is more pertinent is what I did after the University booted me onto the street. Looking, I suppose, to outdo myself, I followed my expulsion with perhaps one of the dumbest choices of my life: to become a riverbird.

Some context is in order. But more importantly, this was how I learned the tale of Sarsha Marwood, the Riverbird Traitor.

Sarsha was a noblewoman of House Marwood, a house that had amassed wealth by harvesting its oaks for the crown’s fleet. After marrying up and into House Marwood, Sarsha had basked and bathed in its luxuries. This is not to say she was a neglectful wife, mother, or daughter. What was more, she transformed herself into a jewel of the court, her auburn hair tumbling like river rapids, her green-eyed gaze as bright and dangerous as swamp fire. Indeed, for many years, Sarsha lived a life glamorous and blissful.

Until it wasn’t.

Sarsha was in her sixth year of marriage when the Everscratches swept across Rivona. The Marwoods and her former house were among the first hit by the plague, and it struck with horrific intensity. The most common symptom was hot spots that could appear anywhere on the body, blistering and pustulating and burning with an insatiable itch. It wasn’t this that killed victims, but rather when they scratched themselves bloody, raw, and infected. Sarsha’s husband, children, and most all of her staff succumbed to Everscratches, but the illness passed over Sarsha herself.

I doubt she counted herself lucky. Especially when famine trailed the plague, and hunger riots burned down the land and seat of House Marwood. Sarsha could have thrown herself at someone’s feet—perhaps the rioters, perhaps a distant cousin, perhaps the King himself. Instead, she struck out into the countryside, taking all that remained of House Marwood: an heirloom in the form of silver jewel-studded necklace.

Eventually, Sarsha came upon a hut perched along a river, an isolated place home to a colony of toads, a yowling cat, and an old, wiry woman with hair like a bush of nettles. The old crone took in Sarsha, nursing her wounds of body, mind, and soul—and in the process, showed her that this tragedy was not the end. There was a way to live with the river, tending to its waters and banks, clearing it of obstructions, pests, and gunk—and in return, enjoying its many blessings.

This was the path Sarsha had been seeking, and she took it in full stride. In doing so, she joined the countless women before her that had carved out a life in the riverlands. Widows. Estranged daughters. Wives in hiding. Washerwomen and barmaids and prostitutes cast aside. And many more. All had become stewards of the waterways—and without them, Rivona would be filthier, darker, and more dangerous place.

Riverbirds.

And then there was me, scrambling into Rivona after my expulsion, believing that I—a precious little student whose greatest tragedy was getting thrown out of an ivory tower—belonged with the riverbirds. Hah! I hadn’t even fallen, hadn’t even plummeted into the blackest depths of despair like Sarsha Marwood had. I’d simply been shoved out the door.

So it was a wonder I found a riverbird, but an even bigger one when she invited me into her hut. Contrary to the image of folktales and my initial expectations, this woman glowed with cleanliness—her dark hair brushed, her patchy dress washed, her angular face spotless. She introduced herself as Arlisse and asked what had brought me here, to which I described my academic woes and announced my intentions to join the flock.

Her laugh, wistful and bitter and laced with all the long years otherwise hidden in her stellar hygiene, haunts me to this day.

Arlisse agreed to help me—on one condition. I would pitch in with chores and earn my keep. And while I worked, she would tell me the story of Sarsha Marwood, the Riverbird Traitor, one of the most famous riverbirds of all.

And if, by the end of this tale, I still wanted to be a riverbird, then she would teach me.