Cade

Introduction to Cade

“I'm going to die,” Cade thought, and fell to his knees. A low, roaring buzz filled his ears and flashes of color exploded in the air around him. He tried to open his eyes, but it did little good; the left was filled with blood and the right was swelling shut. He waited, it seemed, an eternity for the next blow to fall. Seconds passed as he knelt, grimacing in the dust. Slowly, his head began to clear. He could feel the warm grey stone beneath his hands, and the droning roar faded into background noise. He sat back on his heels and tried to wipe his face, but his arms would not obey. He struggled to raise them and nearly fell sideways into the dust. A ragged sob escaped his lips and he bit down hard, swallowing the wailing cry clawing its way up his throat. He didn't want to cry. He had been punched, kicked, stomped, and hit over the head so hard he couldn't lift his arms, but he didn't want to cry. He didn't. Instead, he toppled over, unable to catch himself. His last thought as his vision narrowed, first to a tunnel and then to a point, was of the dull, wooden sound his head made as it hit the cobblestones.

He awoke and rolled onto his back, staring through one eye into the darkening autumn sky. Head pounding, he sat up slowly. A quick glance told him what he had already known. His purse was gone, along with his not-quite-worthless shoes and an old bit of chain he had come to think of as lucky. He barked a short, one-syllable laugh that made him wince in pain and pawed at his swollen eye. As he stood, he wondered if he had ever been beaten this badly, and decided that no, perhaps this was the worst. As he made his way back to the Eastern Bridge, his broken hand and twisted knee began to ache. It gave him little comfort to know he still had room for these more familiar pains alongside those he had so recently acquired.

Having no friends to greet him upon his return to the bridge meant he also had no reason to feel ashamed of the beating he'd taken, and that was a relief. The other families living under and around the bridge into the great city paid him no mind. They spared not a moment of pity nor curiosity regarding his newly bare feet and bruised, swollen face. It wasn't going to rain, but he crawled under a narrow part of the bridge anyway. While most of the others slept in the open on nice nights, Cade preferred to tuck himself into a shadow.

Sixteen days he'd been under the Eastern Bridge, and seventeen nights. He'd arrived in the morning, and had been let into the city as an apprentice under his Master's writ of entrance. He'd been sold into “apprenticeship” to the tinker by his father, and so for two weeks he'd been eating mushy turnips, walking beside the donkey-drawn cart while the tinker rode, and polishing odds and ends by firelight in the evening. Once inside the city, he had slipped away as the tinker was distracted by a browsing customer. It was easy enough, and for a few hours he'd wandered through the marketplace almost dizzy at the sight of so many wonders. He'd had a few coins, and purchased a piece of fruit. It was red and juicy and, he was certain, not grown on any farm in these parts. He'd been foolish however, and with no place to go after curfew had been scooped up by the guard. Unable to manufacture any answer as to where he lived in the city or what right he had to be there as a traveler, they shoved him out the gate with a kick on his scrawny a*s for good measure. He had no turnips that night, mushy or otherwise. Nor did he have to fend off the ever more boldly groping hands of the drunken tinker, and perhaps that was worth a little hunger.

In the sixteen days since, he'd had his shoes stolen by a group of older boys �" and had in turn stolen a pair himself �" but had protected his small leather satchel and managed to keep it, until now. It held little within, usually nothing more significant than a few scraps of dirty paper, a large button or two, a shiny, river-polished rock or some bits of string. It had been his, however, and it was the only thing he'd carried away from home.

To survive, he'd run errands for one merchant or another in the poor but lively community which had sprung up outside the walls of the city since they closed the gates years ago. Although the food for sale in the stalls was one step away from the garbage pit it was edible, and cheap. Other stalls, sprawled throughout the great circular depression which used to be the moat, sold clothes, repaired tools and cookware, sold dubious potions, pulled teeth and told fortunes. He'd run messages back and forth, dug holes, fed dogs, and once he'd been hidden in a hole underneath a tent to ring a bell for a fortune teller. He stayed away from the tinkers.

For the last three days he'd been hauling heavy boxes of meat scraps from the Northern Gate to a tent near the Western Gate, washing them, laying them on drying racks and keeping all manner of rats, cats, dogs and birds away from them. It had been hot, dusty work, but these were hot, dusty times and after the hauling in the morning, the rest of the day was relatively easy. He enjoyed the company of the butcher. While not exactly friendly, he seemed quietly appreciative of Cade and treated him fairly. On this third day, in addition to the meal he always shared, he had given Cade a few thin, rough copper coins. They were not worth much but they were metal, and they were his. Such was his joy that he forgot himself while walking back to the Eastern Gate. He'd been rattling them softly in his closed fist when three boys had stepped out from a shadow and into his way. He remembered little of the actual fight, but reckoned his eye would serve as a constant reminder for the next couple of days.