The Rage Eater

Chapter 1: Flames of Rage

S U M M M E R

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The battering ram thudded against the heavy oak door, rattling Sadie's skull. Her beastly, a fierce red fox, growled, his prickled fur like porcupine quills. He and Sadie were bonded, their minds entwined like strands of a rope. They would fight together, die together.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The battering ram breached the door. Splintered pieces fell and light spilled through the hole. Sadie looked behind her, but there was nothing—no Warriors, no beastlies. The dank and cavernous castle was empty. She and her beastly were alone, with an orc army banging at the door.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The door was breaking, the hole widening. Sadie raised her sword. She could feel her beastly's rage and power as if they were her own. She peered through the hole, expecting an army of green monsters with giant battleaxes. But it was a lone girl, Sadie's age, Sadie's build, with the same messy brown hair and bright green eyes. Sadie squinted, not believing her eyes.

She was looking at herself.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Sadie's eyes shot open and the dream rushed away. Her body was slick with sweat, her heart pounding.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Someone was at the door.

"Coming," Sadie shouted as she scrambled out of bed. She wiped her sticky hair from her face and raced down the creaky wooden stairs and through the dusty common room. The tables and chairs were old and battered, the warped wood scarred and stained from years of rough use and spilt wine. Beside the door was a wide pane of alchemist's glass, which trapped heat better than brick while appearing invisible. From the inside, alchemist's glass was a window to the world. From the outside, it was a sheet of dull grey, protection against wandering eyes.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Sadie peered through the alchemist's glass into the dull light of dawn, searching for the source of the noise. With her mother gone to market, it was up to her to run the tavern.

Through the glass, Sadie saw a tall man with long greasy hair, hammering at the door. But his face was angled away, eyes hidden. Taverns were obliged to house and feed anyone who could pay. It was her duty to let him in.

Sadie opened the door.

"Breakfast and ale," growled the man.

Seeing him, Sadie immediately felt regret—and a stab of fear. His yellow teeth were chipped, his grey-black beard patchy and matted. A ferret curled round his neck like a scarf, its beady black eyes staring at Sadie.

A thief's beastly, Sadie thought.

Ferrets were quick and quiet and slender, perfect for slipping into purses and through doors. And although the two weren't bonded by a Priestess—commoners didn't have that privilege—they looked close, which made them dangerous. Working together, a man and his beastly could rob a tavern in less time than it took to pour a tankard. But it was too late to refuse him service now. Not without her mother here, not while she was alone.

"Come in," Sadie said, ushering the man inside. "Sit where you like."

"Ain't nowhere to sit," the thief grumbled.