[Shattered Darkness]-A Fable II Fic-[Chapter Five]
[A/N: Hello dear readers! However many of you there are. I apologise most profusely for the slow updates, but I have been suffering from the dreaded curse known as writer's block. Chapters should come a little quicker now I've got over it =)
Additionally, thank you very much to Sunny for their wonderful and inspiring email. =) ]
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Reaver couldn’t sleep. Whether it was the rhythmic creaking of an unfamiliar ship or the faint scratching of a quill on parchment from the next room, he couldn’t be sure. The Thief had a good mind to tell the man to stop his infernal scribbling, but for the moment his pride simply couldn’t take any more battering. Garth seemed to know just where to poke to injure him the most and he was sure that the Mage was teaching Hammer some tricks. That woman wasn’t capable of being witty on her own.
He sighed, lying on his back and making a vain attempt at resting, if not sleep. It was not long before he gave up, and with a frustrated sound swung his legs from the bunk. Pulling on a shirt he buttoned it as he headed for the door, walking easily on the gently swaying floor. There was a cool, brisk breeze on the night air as Reaver stepped out on deck, the wind lifting his hair and touching his skin through his thin cotton shirt. A glance upwards told of clear skies and good weather all the way to Westcliff, where a smaller boat would be needed to sail up the river to Bowerstone. The Pirate King never really took the time to simply take in the view while he was searching for ships to capture, but now there was plenty of time and he moved to the bow, leaning on the wooden rail, tasting the faint tang of spray on his lips as the ship drove through each shallow wave. The horizon blurred where the sky met the ocean, and it was easy to see the reasoning behind the old belief that the world was flat.
With a frown he shook himself from those fanciful thoughts, looking down at the black water below. A strange, unnatural kind of fog was curling in pale tendrils over the dark waves, leading back to a fog bank that spread over the land. Reaver’s keen eyes could make out the shore even from this distance, and he was so focused upon it that he didn’t hear Hammer step up beside him.
“Creeps me out something awful, that does,” she said, indicating the swirling fog. “Why are you stood here staring at it?”
Reaver had half a mind not to answer, or to make some snide remark, but it occurred to the more sensible part of him that if he was going to be forced to remain with these people it may just be easier to be civil, in the very least.
“When I was a boy, it used to invade the town at night. Sometimes it would take people away,” he said, sharp gaze fixed on the shoreline.
“When… So all this wasn’t your fault?” Hammer sounded confused, and it was forgivable, but it didn’t mean that Reaver didn’t bristle at the accusation. Truth turned more to fiction as time passed, and Reaver was more often than not blamed for the downfall of the entire area. Well, he wasn’t blamed directly. That was a blessing at least.
“No, not all of it,” he muttered eventually, quite unused to speaking about his darker past. “The fog used to come in from Darkwood. Balvarines and hobbes used to get through into Barrow Fields quite often.”
“So when you sold Oakvale out, it just spread?”
He had to keep himself from wincing. It would seem that spending a year in the north had done nothing to aid Hammer’s social skills.
“I suppose you could put it that way,” he replied grudgingly. Harsh, but true. As long as Oakvale had been there it had been threatened by Darkwood in the north and bandits in the west. It was a strange and unhappy twist of fate that now only the bandits remained. It was then that he looked at the woman, one eyebrow rising as he took a single, neat step back.
“You look rather ghastly,” he stated, other eyebrow lifting to match the first. The Pilgrim did indeed look terrible, white as a sheet though Reaver could swear she was nearer to grey, or perhaps green.
“I didn’t know I was seasick,” Hammer told him, before promptly turning a very nasty colour and heaving over the side of the ship.
“Oh, for the love of Avo…” Reaver muttered in disgust, looking away and attempting to ignore it. When he looked at her again she was still leaning over the side, but no longer tossing the remains of her rations into the sea. “Why didn’t you mention this before? We could have left you behind.”
“And a fat lot of good that would have done you,” Hammer retorted, though her voice lacked the underlying tone of sarcasm that she usually aimed at Reaver, replacing it with a wobble at the end of the sentence. “Believe me, Reaver, I would have left you behind had it been my choice, but Garth seems to think you’re important.”
“Is that so,” the man murmured, frowning slightly as he cast his gaze back to the coast. “Is that so…”
“Hey, Reaver?” the woman said after some minutes of silence. Reaver made a quiet sound of acknowledgement. “That’s not your real name, is it? ‘Reaver’, I mean.”
There was a pause, in which the pirate picked absently at a knot on the wooden rail, and though his eyes were on the shoreline his mind was clearly elsewhere.
“Yes,” he stated eventually. “It is now.”
“What is your real name?”
The Thief frowned a little. No one had asked him that in a long time – indeed no one had known the existence of another name or if they did then they didn’t care – for many years. A faint smile twitched at his lips and he clasped both hands on the rail before him, gripping tightly enough to drive splinters into the palms of his hands, remaining there for a moment before he pulled away, and moved to leave, speaking one word over his shoulder as he did so.
“Reaver.”
***
Although Hammer may have wished it, they did not spend any time in Westcliff and quickly moved on to a smaller boat that was already waiting to take them down the coast up the river to Bowerstone. The size of the boat seemed to have a direct effect on the level of Hammer’s seasickness and she managed to keep herself from running to the sides (for the most part). Garth once more buried himself in his papers though the breeze on deck made the task a little more difficult than it should have been. As for Reaver, he found himself a corner and settled in it, barely moving or speaking for the entire journey. It would seem that he had resigned himself to whatever it was that Sparrow wanted him to do, though Garth was still suspicious of the man’s motives since Sparrow, true to his word, had told no one of what had transpired in Wraithmarsh that might have explained Reaver’s uncharacteristic change of heart.
He spent the time until their arrival alternately dozing, toying idly with his gun or gazing out to sea, all three of which caused stares and unnerved all aboard who knew of his reputation save the other two Heroes. Several times it seemed that Hammer was going to approach him, though something always seemed to sway her at the last moment. Garth simply watched with some measure of amusement. Of the three of them, he would not have thought Hammer would be the first to offer the hand of friendship to the hot-tempered pirate.
When the time came to disembark it was not a surprise to find that Sparrow was not waiting for them, though a young servant met them in his stead with a coach to take them to the castle. Garth had not been to Bowerstone for some time, though he smiled faintly to hear Reaver remark that the place had been far smaller the last time he had visited. Night was already falling as they were driven through the streets, though the town was safe enough that children were still out playing in the dimming light.
“Aren’t they worried about bandits?” Hammer asked Garth as she glanced out of the window. The Mage simply shook his head, attempting to make himself comfortable in the slightly cramped carriage.
“Not since Sparrow took the Lordship. A bandit would be good as dead should he set foot in town with the intent to do harm.”
Despite not being there to greet them at the docks, Sparrow was waiting for them at the gates of Fairfax Castle, along with Rip who was very enthusiastic in his welcoming of Hammer. While the Pilgrim fussed over the excited animal Sparrow shook Garth’s hand warmly, then turned his gaze to Reaver.
“You didn’t shoot anybody, did you?” he asked, though humour coloured his tone. Reaver cast his eyes heavenwards for a brief moment and simply shook his head, a slightly sour expression on his face in the knowledge that Sparrow would be very much aware that he hadn’t killed anybody. The younger man smiled, clapped one hand down onto Reaver’s shoulder with enough force to almost knock him from his feet, and with a merry laugh beckoned for the three of them to follow him through the gardens and up the grand stone staircase into the castle.
They were led to the library, where a large number of books were open over numerous tables and spread over the floor, along with paper covered in Sparrow’s handwriting.
“My, my,” Reaver muttered, one eyebrow slightly raised at the mess. “You have been busy.” After immediately finding the brandy decanter he poured himself a large glass and picked his way across the room. Perching on a table he selected a nearby book and picked it up gingerly while Sparrow updated Garth on the notes he had made since the last time they had seen each other. Hammer simply stood by the door, with Rip by her feet, watching the two men ‘work’ with an expression of idle amusement on her face.
“You appear to have our actions quite well planned, Sparrow,” Garth stated as he leafed through Sparrows notes. Grinning a little, the Hero of Bowerstone shook his head and closed a few books, placing them back on the shelves.
“Not as much as you might think,” he admitted, looking to Reaver as the man let out a quiet snort and muttered under his breath as he turned a page and swallowed a mouthful of brandy. Sparrow ignored it, doubting that Reaver was actually capable of becoming intoxicated after living for so long (at least, not on the meagre supply of alcohol that Sparrow kept), and returned his attention to Garth.
“I have the blacksmith working on some tools that we’ll need,” Sparrow went on. Reaver was listening with the small part of his mind that wasn’t focused on brandy, the book in his lap and trying to ignore the fact that he really didn’t want to be here. “He’s a good man – a fast worker and he doesn’t ask questions.”
“Don’t you think he’s going to start asking questions when you start skulking around the Guild ruins?” Reaver said, snapping his book closed and putting it to one side. “In fact, aren’t a lot of people going to start asking questions?”
“Sensible people don’t even try to reach the Guild anymore,” he replied, putting a pile of thin, leather-bound books to one side. “They say the place is cursed. People have gone mad trying to reach the Chamber of Fate.”
“I can’t tell you how much that fills me with confidence…” the pirate muttered. “You really do have a way of getting people on your side, Sparrow.” He downed the rest of his brandy and stood, moving across the room to the other men. “I hope you realise that as soon as the general population realises what you’re doing, there’s going to be uproar.”
“We have anticipated pandemonium as a result of our actions,” Garth replied, a wry smile tilting his lips in a way that made Reaver want to say to hell with the gun and simply punch him. Perhaps he was kidding himself – could he really spend more than a few days more with these people before he simply went insane? Time would have to tell, since thanks to their dratted influence (or rather, Sparrow’s influence), he wasn’t going to be able to move an inch in all of Albion without their knowing about it.
“We can access the Guild through the Chamber,” he went on, unrolling a diagram over the nearest cleared table. A small mark had been made near one of the many apparent exits, and it was to this mark that the Mage pointed, tucking his monocle into his top pocket with his free hand. “This was the entrance to the Chamber from the Guild, so we’ll work our way in from there.”
“How do you expect to find the condition of the place,” Sparrow murmured, distracted by the diagram, roughened fingertips running over the faded lines.
“When the Guild was still active, it was protected by powerful magic.”
“How can you be so sure it still works?” Hammer asked, finally speaking up and crossing the room to join them. “Doesn’t magic need to be renewed?” The Pilgrim knew little of magic, only the kind she had seen Sparrow and Garth use, and that which kept the fields and farms of Oakvale flourishing year after year. Garth shook his head.
“This is old magic, it was far more permanent than what we see now. I expect we will find the main structure still intact, though heavily damaged. It will require a lot of work. I trust that we can all be depended upon.”
Hammer nodded, and gazes turned to Reaver, who looked for the briefest of moments like a rabbit caught in torchlight, before his eyes darkened and he frowned. A number of harsh or scathing replies to that simple request were right on the tip of his tongue, but he gritted his teeth, and looked away. The Mage seemed to be satisfied by that, and he saw Sparrow smile out of the corner of his eye.
“I was wondering, Sparrow,” Garth murmured. “If I might take a look in the study.”
Sparrow glanced up with one eyebrow slightly raised in questioning. Of course, Garth had not been in the castle since he had walked out on Lucien all those years ago, and it would be of interest to him to see what the end result of Lucien’s experiments had been. The man nodded, gesturing for all four of them to leave the room.
“What kind of an architect designed a place like this?” Hammer complained as they walked up the long spiral staircase to the next floor. Sparrow was silent. He heard Garth telling her about Leo Head, the original owner of Fairfax Castle, though when they turned into the hall leading towards the study even he fell silent. As they passed the balcony, Reaver left the group and Sparrow had to smile to see him walk to the edge and lean over the stone barrier. Perhaps they had more in common than either of them thought. He kept that in mind as he continued, hearing the quicker steps of the Thief catching up to them as he pushed the door open.
“Wow, what a window,” Hammer said, moving to the centre of the room and gazing up at the stained glass. Garth went instantly to the stone circle in front of it, crouching and laying his hand on the markings around the outside. Reaver was the only one who hesitated, though it was some minutes until Sparrow noticed. He frowned, placing a book down on a nearby desk, and found the pirate stood at the door. All colour had drained from his face and he was staring, almost blankly, at the stained glass window. Sparrow glanced at it. He hadn’t thought until now how much the window resembled the Shadow Court, and of course Reaver would have noticed it. Though, even if he had known, he would not have expected such a reaction from the usually over-confident Pirate King.
“Reaver.” His voice was quiet as he stood beside the man, snapping him from his daze though his eyes seemed a little wild as they met Sparrow’s. The Hero glanced the window. “It does look like them, doesn’t it,” he murmured.
“I don’t know what-” Reaver stopped then, realising that there was no use in lying to one who had seen the Court. He simply nodded, and frowned as Sparrow placed one hand on his shoulder.
“Come on, Reaver. Make yourself useful.” He drew the man into the room and handed him a book. After staring at it for a long moment, Reaver mentally admitted defeat and dropped into a chair, opening the book on his lap and beginning to read.
Tags: fable 2, Fanfiction, reaver, sparrow