Side Dish

Chapter One

The sun was directly overhead before Tor Escam could take a break. He wiped his brow and glanced up at the massive stone mill looming over him. He rested his head on the wooden handle he'd been pushing for the past few hours. Hours or days? He couldn't remember. One day blurred into the next, but he didn't know any better. As long as he was helping the herd, Tor didn't care.

This was the life he knew here in Macellum. If he put in good work now, he'd be blessed with great bounty and a good life on his Gate Day. No matter how tired he got on any given shift, he let that thought guide him through the next few hours–I will reap the benefits later of what I sow now.

Gate Day was coming close–next sunrise, if the millmen were to be trusted. He'd been waiting for it since before he could remember. The next step in a life well lived, where anything he'd ever wished would come true. Everyone coming of age that day would line up at the Great Gate beyond Macellum, and the world would be at their feet. It would be glorious.

"Tor! Head out of the clouds, you dumb ox! Back to work!" Millman Ben patted Tor on the shoulder to nudge him ahead. Ben was a decent man — tall and broad across the shoulder. He always had a kind smile for the herd, unlike some of the other millmen. Tor had heard rumours about other parts of Macellum where his herdsfolk weren't treated as kindly–but tried to push them out of his mind as best he could. Rumours were often better left where they belonged–ignored and left alone.

"Sorry." Tor shook his head and gripped the handle once again. His well-worn hand grooves caressed his palms as he got ready to work. "Gate Day."

"Ah, Tor, I'm going to miss you when you're gone," Millman Ben said. "Damn shame a fine worker like you's got to be shuffled along with the rest of them to keep up quota."

It wasn't the first time Tor had heard the word 'Quota.' He guessed it was part of the Gate Day ritual, so let it slide. Maybe it was the name of one of the gods beyond Macellum. Tor hoped to keep him happy and to receive Quota's blessings, if such an opportunity were to present itself.

The work horn sounded Tor leaned into the handle. The millwheel resisted at first, and Tor doubled his efforts. He rarely had to work this hard to make the wheel turn. With a grunt, he leaned into the handle with all his weight, but the wheel refused to budge.

"Tor!" Millman Ben barked. "Leave off! It's going to break!"

The warning came too late. A terrific crack echoed through the air, and the handle broke off right where it met the wheel. Tor pitched forward and hit the dirt before he knew what was happening. A searing pain tore through his arm, and when the dust settled Millman Ben rushed to Tor's side.

"Aw, shit, Tor!" Millman Ben helped Tor up to sitting and cradled his arm. "Why didn't you stop when I told you stop?"

"Gotta mill flour," Tor said. "Better that way."

A sizeable splinter of the handle stuck out of Tor's left arm, a thin trickle of blood leaking from the wound. Tor tried to stretch out his arm, but couldn't move it much past where it was already.

"Tor, hold still, we can't damage you," Millman Ben said. "Losing a prime bull like you – they'd dock my pay for a good month. MEDICAL! Get in here!"

"Ben, I'm okay!" Tor stood up, sending a stab of pain to his arm every time he jostled it. "Back to work."

"The hell with that, Tor!" Millman Bob put an arm around Tor's shoulders and held him close while a team of two dwinvets in lab coats bustled over.

"What happened?" The taller dwinvet was lean, not much meat on his bones. "How'd the mill handle break?"

"Tor's too damn strong for his own good, Carl," Millman Ben explained. "Something got stuck in the stone, and this dumb ox just kept pushing until the handle snapped right off."