[Shattered Darkness]-A Fable II Fic-[Chapter Six]
The continual nights of bad sleep were beginning to take their toll on Reaver, and he was more than irritable at breakfast the next morning while his well-rested companions made plans and laughed. He kept to himself, knowing better by now than to even try to start an argument, and picked absently at the food in front of him. There would have been a time when he would have cleared the plate and imperiously demanded seconds, but today his heart simply wasn’t in it, and his appetite was sorely lacking.
“Come on, Reaver, buck up,” Hammer said cheerfully. His first reaction would have been to point a gun at her, but instead he lifted his eyes, his gaze near-thunderous, and she blinked twice before looking away. The pirate frowned at his plate, then sat back and pushed it away from him, glancing about the room. He had to wonder what kind of a man had bookcases in his dining room, idly scanning the titles on the other side of the room until one caught his eye. Standing, he made his way around the table to the bookcase and drew the book down, running his thumb over the peeling gilt lettering of the title, ‘The Temple of Light’.
Dropping into a nearby chair he propped his feet up on the top of the table, crossing his ankles and opening the book on his lap. It had been a long time since the temples had fallen, some time before Reaver had even been born though they had still used the old names back then, more out of habit than belief. It was a habit that the pirate had yet to break out of, though he was quite sure that he had invoked the Gods more times in the past fortnight than he remember doing at any other point in his life. He absorbed himself in the book, mentally checking off every mistake that the author had made, and he didn’t notice the others finish their breakfast and move to leave until a hand fell on his shoulder and he all but jumped out of his skin.
“Oops, sorry, Reaver.” Sparrow smiled apologetically and the Thief sighed, inwardly cursing the man for being so… nice. How could someone be like that all the time? It made Reaver want to punch him, and he would have, if he didn’t think that Sparrow would just take it. Fights were very unsatisfying when your opponent didn’t react.
“It’s… fine, Sparrow,” he muttered, closing the book and leaving it on the table as he followed them out of the room. He hadn’t felt right since he’d first set foot in that study, and the nightmares last night had been the worst he could remember having for a long time. He leaned against a pillar silently as Hammer took most of the supplies, huffing and puffing at the weight and laughing as Sparrow picked up his own share.
* * *
They walked to the market, and Reaver found that he quite enjoyed being outside, even if it meant walking through streets filled with noisy children and too many people that had no respect for personal space. Sparrow had insisted that he make himself non-descript, and the rich fabrics that he normally wore had been replaced by a plain white shirt and tan breeches, with sensible, very comfortable boots. He had to admit that he didn’t hate it, as much as he had complained about how his Dragonstomper didn’t suit his clothes. Wearing things like this took him back to when life was far simpler, and he didn’t even think to snap when one of the Bowerstone children crashed into his legs.
“Is Reaver feeling alright?” Hammer asked Sparrow, watching the pirate as he half crouched to steady the small boy who had run into him. “He hasn’t yelled at me yet today.”
“He’s not been sleeping well,” was the low-voiced reply. “Though, if it makes him like this I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.”
Some minutes later, they stopped at the blacksmith’s to pick up several tools. Robin seemed a little wary as he handed them over, quietly warning Sparrow to be careful. They crossed the market square, passing under the clock as it chimed. They waited there as Garth took a quick detour into the book shop and the alchemist’s, though he somehow managed to come out looking as if he hadn’t bought a thing.
“It’s over a hundred miles to the lake,” Sparrow said as they crossed the bridge. “I’ll hire a coach to get us down there.”
“Aw, Sparrow, you’re a lifesaver,” Hammer gushed. “I was thinking you were gonna make me walk all the way down there with this load strapped to my back.” Sparrow just grinned at her, and she swung her pack down, watching him as he walked away to speak to the coach driver. Garth leaned on the wall overlooking the river and flicked through a sheaf of papers, and Reaver stood beside him, facing the flowing water and watching small fishing boats being sent out from the dock. He’d been living in the squalor and unpleasantness of Bloodstone for so long that he’d forgotten what it was like to be in a good, wholesome town. He wasn’t sure if he liked it, but he was getting the niggling suspicion that all of this, and spending so much time with Sparrow and his irritating yet kind-to-a-fault friends, was beginning to grow on him.
“Oi, Reaver.” The pirate glanced up as he was hailed, and pushed away from the wall, crossing to the coach and getting in, pulling the door shut.
* * *
Hours later, they arrived at Bower Lake, and by then all of them were eager to get out of the coach and stretch their cramped legs. It was no joke when four well-built people were forced to spend any length of time in a small space, and even the usually calm and collected Garth couldn’t hold back his sigh of relief as he finally set foot on the ground. The sun was setting, and after they unloaded their supplies from the coach and sent the driver on his way back to Bowerstone, the view of Hero Hill was nothing short of spectacular. Reaver shielded his eyes, ignoring the grunting of the packs being taken up by Hammer and Sparrow in favour of drinking in the landscape. They simply didn’t have sunsets like this in Bloodstone.
“Reaver, for the love of all that’s holy, will you stop standing around like you’re simple?” Hammer sounded exasperated, motioning for him to pick up what remained to be carried as they headed up the winding path to the top of the hill, where the tell-tale blue glow told of a still active cullis gate. Reaching the summit, Reaver stopped, eyeing the portal suspiciously.
“What is that?” he asked, watching Garth as he walked up to it, stepped into the light and disappeared. Hammer looked at him and he could feel the scorning statement on her lips, though a look from Sparrow stopped her in her tracks and she simply shook her head, following Garth.
“After you,” Sparrow offered, raising one eyebrow as Reaver took a smart step backwards.
“Last time I stepped into one of those glowy light things, I was almost killed by that insane Lucien chap. You’ll have to pardon me if I’m a little reluctant to go jumping into another one.”
Sparrow laughed, and the pirate frowned, tapping two fingers against the handle of his gun, his gaze flicking back to the glowing blue portal. He sighed, and glanced at the younger man as he stepped up beside him.
“It’s a cullis gate,” he said. “It’s a different kind of magic to what you’ve seen. You won’t get hurt by going through it. I promise,” he added as an afterthought, patting Reaver lightly on the shoulder. The pirate narrowed his eyes distrustfully, then let out an irritated breath and straightened his shoulders, shifting the weight of the equipment on his back and marching into the gate.
As he stepped into the light, he was hit with a wave of nausea, the world shifting around him, the light changing and voices filtering through the silence. He stepped out, and stumbled, his arm caught by Sparrow who was behind him immediately.
“Well,” Reaver said, pulling his arm out of Sparrow’s grip and glancing over his shoulder at the gate behind him. He shuddered. “That was disturbing.”
“It always feels like that the first time,” Sparrow told him, walking by his side as he moved into the centre of the room. Dropping the equipment that he carried beside the rest, Reaver rubbed his shoulder and finally took the time to look around, lifting his gaze to the high, vaulted ceiling and then looking at the paintings on the walls, shifting from one to the next. He remembered, when he was very young, that there were still stories told about a Hero who had slain an evil dragon. Squinting, he leaned forwards, trying to get a closer look at the nearest painting.
“Watch your step,” Garth warned, and the pirate looked down, suddenly faced with a dizzying drop of Avo knew how far down into the pitch black below. He swore, and took several steps back, ignoring Hammer’s snort of laughter and working his way around the chamber, spending several minutes examining each of the paintings. Several of them, he found, looked quite familiar, and he wondered if he might have seen them in books at some point in his early life. Oakvale, the birthplace of the last great Hero had unsurprisingly been one of the last places to embrace the spreading animosity against the Heroes’ Guild, and had been the place that several of the surviving Heroes had fled to. Thinking back, it wasn’t that much of a shock that Reaver would discover a kinship with the old bloodlines, if one that had been diluted over the generations.
His eyes narrowed then, fixed on the face of a girl in one of the paintings. It was faded, cracked, but recognisable. He opened his mouth to speak and was interrupted by Sparrow moving to his side, a small frown on his face.
“It looks like Theresa, don’t you think?” the Hero said in a low voice.
“Rather,” Reaver replied flatly, turning away and walking to the centre of the chamber where Garth had unfurled the old map. The Mage was leaning over the faded parchment, matching the layout on the map to that of the chamber. Lifting one hand he pointed to one of the doors, and looked up.
“I believe that is where we should make our entrance,” he said. “It leads to the oldest part of the Guild, and the part most likely to be protected by ancient magic.”
“I see…” Hammer muttered, though from the mild look of confusion on her face it was quite clear that she did not see. Clearing his throat, Garth paused before he went on.
“When the Guild was built, magic was far more powerful than it would be in the following generations. The protective wards built into the wood and stone themselves should have been strong enough to keep the main structure standing.” He watched Hammer closely as her expression cleared, and nodded in satisfaction as she made a sound of understanding.
“And if it isn’t as you say?” the Thief asked cynically. “You sound terribly over-confident for somebody who is saying ‘should be’. That kind of thing can get you into trouble.”
“If it is not as I say,” Garth told him, after giving him a long, unfriendly look. “Then we will simply have a little more work to do. If Sparrow is as committed to this mission as he seems, then I believe it will be successful.”
“Stop griping, Reaver. Not like we forced you to be here.” Hammer remained entirely unimpressed by the dark glower that that comment received.
“You did force me to-”
“Moving on!” Sparrow said cheerfully, one hand falling to Reaver’s shoulder as he seemed to sense that now would be a good time to step in. Reaver glared at him. No one could be that good all the time without something being amiss, of that he was certain. Good men simply did not exist in real life, they were restricted to the page of books and the imaginations of those who would wish to believe that there could still be something pure in today’s corrupt world.
Sparrow walked down towards the entrance that Garth had indicated, eyes slightly narrowed as he carefully judged the distance between the edge of the precipice and the doorway on the other side. Frowning, Reaver joined him, reasoning that if he had to be around these people he would much rather be with the one that didn’t constantly seek to belittle him.
“About seven feet, do you think?” the man muttered as the pirate stepped up beside him. Glancing at him, Reaver shook off his mild surprise and moved away a little, keeping to the edge, trying to get a better view.
“Reaver, be careful,” he heard Sparrow warn him as he leaned forwards, and then the floor had disappeared from under him, and Sparrow yelled, and then he was falling.
He had always thought that those who claimed that their life flashed before their eyes when they felt death clawing at them had been exaggerating, but that was what Reaver saw now. Everything that he had ever done was played out in an instant, more vivid even than the nightmares that haunted him when he slept. This had not been how he had imagined it would end. Shot by a worthy foe, perhaps, or drowning in a gale-tossed sea, or to finally have his life ripped away by the Court, but not this. This was a fool’s death…
But he wasn’t falling. Reaver dared to look up. A hand was clasped tightly around his wrist, the fingers roughened and scarred from years of swordsmanship. That hand was the only thing keeping him from falling, and suddenly it was the most important thing in the world.
“Reaver!” Sparrow’s voice snapped him from his thoughts and he only realised then that it was Sparrow who was holding him from certain demise. “Reaver, hold on, I’ll pull you up!”
With all the strength he could muster, Reaver swung his other arm up and grabbed Sparrow’s hand, feet searching for a hold that wasn’t there as he was dragged back up onto the stone. Sparrow drew him away from the edge and both men sat panting, the cold wash of fear still sending goosebumps over Reaver’s skin.
“By the Light! Are you two okay?!” Hammer was there now, kneeling beside Sparrow who was reassuring her in a low voice, but Reaver wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on the crumbling stone that had almost claimed his life. It took a hand on his arm for him to realise that Sparrow had been saying his name, and his eyes must have looked a little wild as they turned to the other man’s.
“You’re not hurt, are you?” Sparrow was asking him.
“You… You saved me,” he said, frowning a little and glancing at his wrist, which bore the marks of Sparrow’s tight grip. “You could have fallen right over with me, but you saved me…”
Sparrow stared at him, as if he had never had a good deed questioned and that was most likely the case. It was only a moment, though, before he laughed and shook his head and for a change Reaver didn’t want to punch that expression off his face, he was simply confused. That someone would risk their own life to save his… that was something that he hadn’t experienced in so long that he couldn’t recall the last time.
“Of course I saved you, Reaver. You’re my friend!”
He said it so easily, and Reaver’s immediate retort to the contrary died on his lips when Sparrow stood and joined the others by the table. The pirate watched as Garth gave the Bowerstone Hero a concerned look, asking if he was alright, no doubt, and then it was as if the whole incident had been forgotten. Reaver suddenly felt strange, as if he had dreamed that rescue, but no, the man’s finger-marks were still on his arm and he could feel the sting where his chest had scraped the stone as he was pulled up. He didn’t enjoy this feeling of uncertainty, this sensation that he now owed something to Sparrow. He wondered briefly if it was possible to owe your life to two different parties, and if-
“You just gonna sit there?” Hammer asked, and he stood up as if stung, immediately irritated by his own jumpiness. “No? Great, you can help me get us over to that doorway there.”
“And just how do you propose that we go about that?”
“We’re gonna build a bridge, of course.”
Tags: fable 2, Fanfiction, reaver, sparrow