Free Hero by Alethea Kontis

and Saturday to their destination once they reach the northern shore.” Erik bowed deeply to Monday, as if she had just bestowed upon him some very important royal honor.
    Thursday tilted her head a moment in thought and then said cheerily, “The more the merrier! Always nice to have another hand on deck. Mama, Saturday should really get a move on before the ocean dries up again.”
    Saturday considered the new horizon. Was that even possible? Anything was possible today, it seemed.
    Mama clicked her tongue. “You heard her, Miss Molasses. Fetch your things so we can be off.”
    Saturday grumbled sullenly and stomped back into the towerhouse, compelled to collect her things at Mama’s enchanted behest. Clever Thursday, using Mama to shoo her along. Peter followed her up to her room, as Saturday knew he would. He was the only one besides Papa—and Thursday, apparently—who knew about her bag.
    Though she had been quite young, Saturday clearly remembered the day Thursday ran off with the Pirate King. There had been little warning. Thursday had spent the morning as usual, full of chores and breakfast and stories. She’d disappeared sometime that afternoon. No one thought to look for her until dinner. Wednesday came down from her aerie and delivered the note Thursday had left upon her tidy bed, and that was that. The Woodcutters were left with nothing but a sheet of paper and an echo of bright laughter on the wind.
    That day, little Saturday rescued an old feedbag from the barn and started putting things in it, readying for her own journey. The feedbag became an old pillowcase, then a laundry sack, and finally a threadbare messenger bag that Friday had mended for her after a certain amount of bribing and begging. The summer of her sixteenth year, Saturday had been so sure that adventure would call her that she took the bag to work in the Wood every day.
    She was ready for anything, but anything never came.
    The summer had passed uneventfully, and she stowed the bag in her room once again. She’d found a hinged floorboard beneath her bed, cleaned out what looked like ash and dried leaves and bound sticks to make room. It was the perfect hiding place.
    Now Saturday shimmied behind the stout headboard and Peter got a firm grasp on the footboard. Together they shoved the bed aside. Peter hopped onto Saturday’s mattress and sat cross-legged while Saturday fetched the bag.
    “You must be thrilled,” said Peter.
    Saturday was not especially thrilled about breaking the world, but that wasn’t what he meant. She always knew what Peter meant. “Overjoyed,” she said sarcastically.
    “Unemployed,” rhymed Peter.
    Saturday wasn’t in the mood for games. In one great yank, she extracted her bag from its hiding place. She plopped both it and herself on the bed beside Peter. Almost as an afterthought, she added the ebony-handled brush to its contents.
    “I knew this day was bound to come.” Peter made a face at the bag. “When will I see you again?”
    “When there are stars in the daytime.” Judging by Peter’s forlorn expression, he wasn’t really in the mood for games either. “Oh, Peter, don’t worry. I’ll be home as soon as I find Trix.” Even as she said them, the words sounded like a lie. Jack hadn’t come home either, once upon a time.
    Peter caught Saturday’s upper arm in a grip that would have bruised any of her other sisters. “You haven’t killed Trix. He’s fine. The animals will help him. They always do.”
    But the animals couldn’t have helped him if they had all died in the flood as well. “He’s fine and I’ll bring him back,” she said determinedly.
    “Just make sure he’s safe.” Peter’s voice was soft now. “Only bring him back if he wants to come.”
    The idea was preposterous. “Why would he not want to come home?”
    He indicated the bag between them. “Adventure is the vice of all Woodcutters.”
    It was true enough; even with its one castle-worthy tower, the tiny cottage