Chapter Seven: A Piece of Darkness
It was two weeks before people started to recognize Sparrow on the streets. The common folk cheered her, but the criminals slid by, trying to avoid her gaze. It seemed that finding Captain Dread's lost treasures and ridding Bloodstone of Sam and Max's summoned Banshee had been sufficient for her to become the talk off the town.
In the time she had been busy questing, she noticed that the salon that had once been Mrs. Darby's was vacant, a sign on the door indicating that she and her family had moved. Sparrow was glad to see that she had taken the opportunity she provided.
She had written a letter to her daughter, telling her the stories about Captain Dread that she'd heard, but she toned them done quite a bit, for Alex's sake. She hoped that the letter found Rose well, and that she enjoyed it.
Sparrow sighed. Once again, she was making that journey to the largest house on the hill.
Reaver's house.
She'd seen him here and there around Bloodstone, but he'd never approached her or really taken notice of her. Maybe her plan to gain his respect hadn't worked, or maybe he had simply been giving her the run-around.
She let her hair down from its braid, hoping that perhaps looking more enticing would have a positive effect, as it had the visit before. She ruffled her hair and adjusted her breasts beneath her blouse, though for a fleeing second, her mind pondered that maybe she was doing this for her own benefit, rather than just his.
Sparrow pushed that from her mind. Reaver was charming—yes. Handsome—of course—but she needed to focus on the task at hand. Recruiting him was crucial. There was no way she could allow him to deny her. She would have to use any means necessary to gain his compliance.
Reaver's guards seemed to recognize her, for they threw the gate open without a single word, but their eyes gaped appreciatively at her, as she passed.
She thanked them with a soft smile before moving into the courtyard. The door was open and unguarded, so she let herself in. The entrance hall was also unguarded, but the door to Reaver's study was wide open.
She found him posing in exactly the same manner he'd been the first time she'd sought an audience with him, but instead of a sculptor, it was a painter who tried to capture the narcissistic pirate's visage. She didn't seem to be doing a very good job.
"You're back!" Reaver proclaimed, his eyes lighting up like jewels. "My men are positively buzzing with interest."
"Oh?" Sparrow asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
"'Who is this person?' they ask. 'Have Heroes come back to Albion?' and blah blah blah and so on and so forth and I really don't care."
"So what was the point of all of this?" Sparrow asked.
A somewhat menacing smile uncurled on his mouth, and he continued, "You see, while you were out making your name a hou—a hovel-hold word, I discovered that you recently waltzed right out of Lucien's Spire."
"Yes," Sparrow confirmed. "I did."
"So unless I missed my guess—and incidentally, I never miss—you want me to help you waltz back in there and take him down," said Reaver, one eyebrow cocking upward.
"That's exactly what I want," she told him, taking a few steps closer. "There would likely be a great deal of gold and renown in it for you."
"I have both of those in spades, my dear," Reaver said, but he then paused, as if considering it further. He chuckled softly. "Hmmm…Tempting. Who knows what lovelies he has secreted away in there?"
"That's very true," Sparrow said, her heart suddenly full of hope that this would work—that he would join their effort. "You would, of course, be welcome to anything you wished after the task was done."
"But…here's the problem," Reaver said with a great sigh of exasperation. "You've done all sorts of impressive things, and yet you haven't really done anything that benefits me."
"What…what would you like me to do?" Sparrow asked.
"Now, that is an open question, Sparrow," Reaver chuckled. "There are many things I would like you to do…and almost none of them would involve those clothes of yours…."
A deep flush spread across her face, and her back straightened. She glanced to see that the painter was glancing interestedly from behind the canvas, her plain face obviously filled with jealousy.
"But wait," Reaver said, holding up a finger. "Perhaps there is something you can do for me. There's a certain item I need returned to its rightful owners in Wraithmarsh. They live in an enchanting place called The Shadow Court."
"Sounds…perilous," Sparrow remarked, crossing her arms over her chest. Perhaps he didn't mean for her to return. Perhaps getting rid of her would be the simplest way to avoid getting involved with the war against Lucien. She tapped her foot. "If it is important, why have you not yet done it?"
"I'd do it myself, but my relationship with the owners is…complicated," he continued, chewing his lower lip almost guiltily.
So he'd stolen this item, it seemed, and now she would have to return it for him, all while stomping through that horrible muck in the swamps of Wraithmarsh. Banshees and Hollowmen and Balverines would be there to keep her company, of course, which made her dread the idea even more.
"And while my associates here have their uses, most of them aren't terribly reliable," Reaver continued, now sounding like a victim of circumstance. "So how about this: you run this little errand for me, and then I'll assist you in your quest for… vengeance…or riches…or whatever it is that floats your particular boat."
"I'll do it," Sparrow agreed. "But when I return, we must leave Bloodstone immediately for Bower Lake."
"Splendid," He said, pointing to a desk in the corner. "The item I need returned is just there, see? See? See that little objet d'art?"
Sparrow moved toward the desk, and she saw a seal, very similar in size and shape to the guild seal passed down to her by Theresa, but it could not have been more different in every other way. The metal was jet black, and the center was encrusted with a swirl of shimmering red stones. There were jagged cut outs in the middle sharp enough to draw blood, but she carefully lifted it from its place. It was heavier than she expected, and with that, she imagined that this task would not be as simple as Reaver had made it out to be. This was a magical object, and its owners were not likely to be the type of magic practitioners to bless things and make them do good things.
No, this thing reeked of dark magic, and it set her stomach ill at ease.
"There's a good lass," Reaver cajoled, his lips pulled up into a grim, yet sweet-seeming smile. "Just come back and see me when you've dropped it off at The Shadow Court. Then, perhaps we can discuss all of those other things that I need you to do—the ones which do not require clothes." He chuckled. "Tatty-bye."
Sparrow tucked the seal into her satchel, and she left the room, without offering a word of departure. Her nerves were frazzled now. The task that lay ahead would undoubtedly be difficult, but she was totally unsure of what to expect. Would the owners be glad to have the object back, or would they inflict their wrath upon her for Reaver's theft?
She closed the door behind her, and she heard Reaver murmuring angrily at the artist.
"Are you really suggesting that my cheekbones are anywhere near that low?"
She was expecting the gunshot, but it still startled her. She, once again, ignored it, knowing that her task was more important than reprimanding a stubborn, childish Pirate King.
She moved through Wraithmarsh like she was walking down any other road in Albion, now. It no longer held any unknown horrors for her. She had conquered the place twice. She expected the Hollow Men, the Banshees, the demented shadow children. All of it was easily dealt with.
What she was not prepared for was the deep, foreboding feeling the seal in her pocket exuded. The closer she got to her destination, the more it weighed on her. It was a dark, wicked artifact, and frankly, she was eager to be rid of it. If the owners wanted to pick a fight, she was more than prepared.
Alfie loped back and forth in the marsh, also seeming to have gotten used to the fog and damp. Sometimes he would lead her toward treasure that had been long-abandoned, and sometimes he would lead her to a straggling Hollow Man.
Though, when they finally found themselves in front of a huge, dark temple, Alfie backed away, whining, his posture showing that he was truly afraid.
Sparrow could feel it, too. Fear and darkness rippled around it like smoke off of a flame. It sent her stomach into a sequence of somersaults, but she knew that it was caused by a magic of the darkest kind. Maybe that was why it was so repellant to her.
She tried to urge her furry friend to the doors, but he would not budge.
"I can't leave you here, Alfie. Not with all the Hollow Men and bleeding Banshees about," Sparrow pleaded with her companion. "Come in with me."
He whimpered, his tail tucking between his legs as he continued to back away.
"What if I give you a nice juicy bone off of my plate tonight, eh?" she asked, kneeling down beside him to interact with him on his level. "When all this is through, we'll both have a nice, hot dinner, hmm?"
This didn't seem to be very convincing, for he moved further back.
"Please, Alfie," she begged. "Come with me."
He made a soft yowling noise, and he backed away.
If she couldn't convince him to come inside, she would have to find a safe place for him. Luckily, there was an abandoned cottage not too far away with a door that latched from the outside. Banshees and Hollow Men would likely not be able to get through a locked door. They didn't seem intelligent, nor nimble enough to fiddle with it.
She returned to the dark temple alone, trying to fight off the intimidating aura that the place exuded. She entered leaving the door ajar, and she discovered that the torches on the old, stone walls were all ignited. It smelled of must and decay—and death. She took in a deep breath, and she continued toward stairs that led down, further into the belly of the abominable temple.
A woman's weeping carried through the halls and rooms of the cavernous building, and Sparrow called out, "Hello?"
She was answered only by the echo of her own voice against the old walls, but she heard a familiar growl of a Hobbe, then the sound of its brethren joining in.
But they weren't Hobbes. They were figments of shadow, just as the Banshee's children had been. They were simple enough to defeat, but the closed quarters made things a wee bit more difficult for her. She could not swing her sword very effectively so she was left to her pistol and the use of her will.
The further she ventured down, the more menacing and intimidating the shadow creatures she encountered became. Hobbes, then bandits, then Balverines. Each set of foes was more fearsome than the last, and by the time she grew closer to the sound of the woman's weeping, she was feeling the fatigue setting into her muscles.
She turned a corner, and took the stairs down into a large, round chamber. A bottomless pit lay between the platform she stood on and another platform that held three thrones. She glanced around, and on the corner of the platform she found the source of the sobbing. It was a young woman, only a few years younger than Sparrow. She looked pitiful, terrified, and she was alone in the room.
"Are you alright?" Sparrow asked.
"P-please…my name is Elizabeth," the woman sniffled. "Help me."
"What happened? Why are you here?" Sparrow questioned.
"Me and some friends, we were reading from this really old book we found," Elizabeth relayed in a warbling voice. "It had all these strange words. There was a bright light…and I woke up here."
Sparrow sighed. Another fool reading from books of mysterious origin. She was reminded of Sam and Max and all of the trouble they'd gotten into. Her patience was already wearing thin. She was about to dismiss the girl when the ground began to tremble beneath their feet.
"Wh-where are we? I'm so scared!" exclaimed Elizabeth, seizing Sparrow by the arm and clinging tight. "I want to go home!"
Dark power seemed to gather in the room, and three cloaked, shadowy figures appeared on the platform across the chasm, each standing in front of one of the thrones.
Elizabeth shrieked at the sight of them, but Sparrow's face barely changed. Of course the owners of such a foul artifact would not be of this world. What had she expected, and more importantly, what had Reaver gotten himself—and Sparrow—into?
"Welcome," said each of the shadows. Each seemed to have the same, deep nightmarish voice, as if someone—or something was relaying their words.
"One of you carries the Dark Seal," the central shadow boomed. "But there are two. Only one is required."
Sparrow's pulse quickened, and she was suddenly scared. Only one would be required for what? Her hand went immediately to the satchel hanging at her hip, the one that held what they had referred to as The Dark Seal.
"One will trade their youth and beauty so that the King of Thieves may retain his," the shadow explained. "This is the bargain we honor."
Sparrow's gut clenched with both fear and fury. Reaver had set her up. She hadn't even placed her trust in him, and yet he'd manage to betray it. Her limbs quaked with anger, and she shrugged Elizabeth off of her arm to open the satchel and retrieve the foul, loathsome seal.
"What if I say no?" Sparrow asked, tossing the seal to the ground before her. It clattered loudly, but it remained intact. "What if I take this poor girl and leave right this instant?"
With a loud clicking and clanking, a large spiked gate fell over the entrance of the hall, and Sparrow found herself regretting announcing her plans to the shadows.
"The rules cannot be broken," the shadow continued. "We will take whoever bears the Dark Seal."
"What…what does that mean?" Elizabeth wept.
The shadow's glowing red eyes darted between Elizabeth and Sparrow. "You must choose…quickly."
Elizabeth's eyes grew wide, and she spun to face Sparrow.
"Please!" she sobbed. "I just want to see my parents again!"
Sparrow sucked in a breath, and she picked up the seal. It pulsed slowly, but as the moments passed, it came more quickly. A dreadful heart beat…a time limit. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts all at once. She should save the girl, but if she saved the girl, what would that mean for her plight against Lucien?
If Sparrow's youth was stripped away, how would she ever be able to fight him? She had vowed to do anything necessary to claim justice for all of the people Lucien had hurt, including her sister. What would come of it, if she was too weak to fight? What horrible fate would the world suffer, then?
The thing vibrated in her hands, and she looked up to Elizabeth, who was watching her intently with eyes wide like saucers.
Sparrow's heart twisted as she did it, but she shoved the Dark Seal toward the young, innocent girl. Taking a definite step back, showing those awful creatures that the choice had been made—their sacrifice had been chosen.
"What!?" Elizabeth stammered, her fingers locking around the seal, as if by magic. "No…You…you can't do this!"
Tears gathered in Sparrow's eyes. "I'm sorry…"
"Please!" Elizabeth wailed. She seemed to be trying to throw the seal, but her hands were stuck tight to it. The Shadows were right. The choice had been made. "Don't! PLEASE!"
"I can't…" She took a few more steps backward.
Elizabeth was sobbing wordlessly, trying to pry her hands away from the seal, the pulse of which was now audible, and growing faster with each passing moment. A thick cloud of black smoke poured from the seal, engulfing the young woman.
Tears rolled down Sparrow's cheeks, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the cloud that overtook Elizabeth. She had to watch as the girl screamed and fought beneath the smoke. Soon, though, the smoke faded away, and what Sparrow saw made her stomach drop.
Elizabeth was old. Wrinkled and stooped over, her eyes now gone, replaced with glowing white orbs, and the seal finally dropped from her hands, clattering with an empty-sounding clank.
"What…what's happened to me?" she asked, her voice having aged as much as her body. Her hand went to her throat, but when she caught sight of her think liver-spotted skin, those empty eyes widened, and she gasped in horror. "NO!"
"Reaver has again fulfilled the bargain," the shadow boomed, sounding pleased. "But when the sacrifices stop, we will come for him. This, he knows."
"What do you mean?" Sparrow asked. Did he do this simply because he was vain enough to require eternal youth? Or was there a darker, more complex reason for this yearly sacrifice?
"It is none of your concern, Hero!" the shadows all said at once. "Be gone!"
The gate to the door flew open, and both Sparrow and Elizabeth were knocked backward toward it as the shadows disappeared with a whoosh of unnatural wind. Sparrow climbed quickly to her feet, and she reached out to help Elizabeth up as well.
"Don't you touch me, you terrible woman!" Elizabeth howled, scrambling weakly to her feet. "You did this to me! You're to blame!"
Sparrow's sympathy instantly vanished, and she found herself barking, "You did it to yourself, you stupid cow! Reading from a book which ought not to be read from!"
Her face was hot with fury, and she once again reached out a hand to help her, this time more forceful.
"I'm not going with you! No matter what you do, I'm not going with you!" Elizabeth screamed, sobbing again.
Sparrow considered leaving her behind, but she knew that a woman that weak would never make it through Wraithmarsh alive. She would have to force her to come somehow. She grasped Elizabeth by the shoulder, pulling her to her feet, but Elizabeth retaliated by biting her as fiercely as she could. It seemed that despite her old age, Elizabeth's teeth were still intact and rather strong.
Sparrow yelped, and she drew her pistol, striking the woman with the butt of it, only hard enough to render her unconscious. She hoisted her up, distributing her weight evenly over both shoulders, and she made her way toward the door.
The Dark Seal caught her eye, looking dark and beautiful in the torchlight, and she sighed, turning back for it. She picked it up, putting it in her satchel. Perhaps it could be used as leverage against him. If she refused to relinquish the seal, the promise of those shadows might come true. They would come for him, and while she didn't know what that meant, she knew it would not be pleasant.
"That was a difficult decision," Theresa spoke through the Guild Seal. "But you are alive and strong, and that is what matters most. Go back to Reaver."
Sparrow would go back to Reaver, and she had a few choice words and a few well-placed bullets for him.