890 ASF

When Arlisse the riverbird took me in, I quickly learned that nothing was free—not even the story she promised to tell.

The very next morning, she dumped a whole household of chores on my head. Tasks that harkened back to my childhood: sweeping dust out of the hut, scrubbing pots and pans, washing clothes and sheets, and fetching water from the river. When she gave me my first true riverbird task, I lit up like a firefly—until she thrust a shovel in my hand and instructed me to scoop out all the gunk that had accumulated on the riverbank overnight.

Bankmucking, she explained with a gleam in her eye, the first and most sacred duty of all riverbirds.

For my efforts over the next several days, Arlisse shared her food, shelter, even some old garments that she didn’t need. As for the story, she kept it close like a bag of gold, paying it out one coin at a time during breaks and meals. Was she trying to squeeze me dry of labor, or was the tale really worth that much?

In any case, I soon discovered that Sarsha’s experience as a riverbird hatchling was similar to mine, learning much from the old crone who had taken her in. But Sarsha progressed much faster than me. She learned bankmucking of course, but soon how to listen to riverlands, to the birds and the trees and the wind. She learned to keep her silver necklace hidden when in the wilds—not from bandits, but from darker creatures of the riverlands, those drawn to shiny things.

Within a few months, Sarsha left the old crone, journeying one river over to the place of a former riverbird, one who had died from Everscratches and had not been replaced.

Here, Sarsha settled in and made a nest for herself, tending to the river and living off its bounty. The nearby village downstream soon noticed the effects of her stewardship. They came by to welcome her to their corner of Rivona, bringing gifts of food, crafts, clothes—and of course, their friendship. Sarsha and the townsfolk not only became great friends, but trusting neighbors and trading partners too.

All was well for several years, but Sarsha didn’t see this as her new home. She still grieved and yearned for her family, lands, and the life she’d lead as Lady Marwood. Her time as a riverbird, she believed, was a transitory one, at least until both she and Rivona at large had stopped sinking into the swamp and found dry, stable ground. At that point, she’d consider ways to re-enter Rivonan high society, back to the life she knew, loved, and missed dearly.

At least, that was her idea until she met Rand.

Lusty bards will claim that Rand discovered Sarsha bathing naked in the river, but I believe it was the other way around. If evidenced only by how theatrically Arlisse delivered Sarsha’s famous line.

“You’re bathing in my river, sir.”

After allowing him the privacy to dress, Sarsha interrogated the young man over a pot of herbal tea. Rand was awash in apologies, even offering to bankmuck for his transgressions. Sarsha declined, asking instead for his story, for she knew he was a stranger in her lands. Beneath his hood, he was dark-haired, strong of jaw and shoulder, with a neatly trimmed beard. Handsome, by all accounts. He explained that he was a messenger for a minor house, delivering important letters across Rivona.

At this, Sarsha pressed for more information, hoping to learn more about the happenings of the kingdom at large. Rand knew much and more, telling her how the worst of the Everscratches had passed, how the kingdom was healing. They talked for hours by firelight. He even showed her a public decree, one he’d written himself in impeccable, flowing penmanship. Such fine handiwork impressed parts of Sarsha she had not felt in years.

This became Rand’s first visit to Sarsha, but it was certainly not his last. He stopped by every time his path took him near Sarsha—and soon, she not only invited him to bathe in the river again, but joined with him. Had she found true love anew in the wild riverlands? Maybe. A more cynical version of this story claims she only saw Rand as a connection back into high society and seduced him as such. Perhaps it was both. Or neither.

Whatever her true intentions, Sarsha had found something in Rand, something that bloomed over many months.

I was not so lucky. My duties expanded over the coming days, taking on those of an errand girl. Arlisse sent me out into the wilds in search of herbs, flowers, wild vegetables, and of course, wood for the fire. She went with me the first few times, showing me the basics of how to navigate the untamed riverlands.

This pathfinding served me especially well one day, when I went out to gather a root that grew along roads. Arlisse suggested a few places, but I went instead to a nearby crossroads, the very same one I’d passed through when coming out of Great Forks. After gathering a basketful, I looked up to see that a man, smattered in travel dust, had just come down the road from the city. And now he was coming towards me.

I might’ve lived in an ivory tower for seven years, but I’d learned to pay attention to my hackles—and this man, lumbering at me with a strong but unknown purpose, was making them stand on end. He called out, asking what I was doing out here alone. I ignored him, pretending I hadn’t heard as I began to make my way off the road. Ever closer, he asked my name. Asked if I was one of those strange wild women that lived by the river. I muttered something noncommittal, saying I was in a hurry.

Then he reached out and grabbed my arm. I whirled with my free hand, smashing him with the basket, sending the roots everywhere. All it really did was surprise him—enough for me to scramble away and into the trees and underbrush. Only through Arlisse’s lessons was I able to stay ahead of him. Even then, he might’ve eventually caught me. But when he saw I was fleeing towards the river hut, he withdrew, cursing.

When Arlisse learned of all this, she hugged me, bundled me in blankets, and let out a string of oaths so vile that my mind cannot even remember them. This man might be back, she warned, but that was a problem for another day. She waved away my guilt at losing her basket and roots—and then, later in the evening, paid me for my efforts anyway.

One day, after months of their free-spirited affair, Rand arrived at Sarsha’s hut, burning with devotion. When she opened the door, he announced his love, his desire to marry her, and finally, his true identity: Roland Craythe, King of the Rivers, and ruler of all Rivona.