A/N: Whew, so this chapter is a bit of a beast. It's come out as roughly 8000 words because I literally couldn't stop until I was passed Reaver's origin story. My version of course. For any long time readers who have weathered the storm of time to come back to this story with me, I thank you! For my new readers and those who left me reviews, thank you so much for helping to remind me why I ever posted the first chapter of this story in the first place. It's so easy to go into the dark corners of your mind as a writer and think that no one could ever be interested in the stories you see. The Fable series is one that I will always love and that I've always held close even after all these years. There's just enough mythos tying each title to the next to allow me to have fun and make all the theories I want. No worries though, I'm not done with this thing yet! It has always been my intention to finish this story, no matter how long it takes. All right, read on and I hope you enjoy!
It was all of three seconds, Sparrow staring expectantly at Reaver and Reaver glaring back at her his mind whirling as to how to escape this situation. Three seconds and then he was bolting for the tunnel that lead to the cave entrance.
In a flash of blue light, Sparrow was in front of him. Her expression sour and her loose red-orange hair sweeping about her shoulders.
Reaver halted, glaring at the hero and coughed at the dust she had kicked up.
"I'm faster than you are, Reaver." She stepped closer to him, her bare feet silent against the dusty stone. She spread her hands out to either side as if she were approaching some wounded, wild animal. Also effectively blocking him from dodging to either side of her to reach the entrance tunnel.
He seethed inside.
"Just tell me what's goin on. Maybe I can help you?"
Reaver spun away from her, blindly allowing his feet to carry him across the cave. Help me? The implication that he needed help from her or from anyone infuriated him. Never had he enjoyed accepting aid from anyone. Who was she to look at him like that? With soft eyes like he was just another regular person who needed her help. Another of those begging, desperate, peasants demanding her time and blood because they were too weak to save themselves. His independence was a matter a pride and yet...
He stopped and let himself crash onto the bed, throwing an arm over his face as a coughing fit briefly wracked his sore ribs. I am acting like a child. Tell her a passable lie and then do what you must. Why continue with this? The question bounced around in his brain. Why indeed? Why was he allowing this woman, this hero of all people to hold sway over him?
"Reaver?" her voice was soft, disconcerted and right by his ear. The illusion that she could actually care was one he was fully willing to accept.
Because, he reminded himself silently, to pull this off you need her and you need her to trust you again. Completely.
Sparrow kneeled on the floor by the bed, her hands placed tentatively on the edge of the mattress, and waited. It was only a few minutes of silence, enough for Sparrow to invent several of her own theories about what was going on. Reaver's time was up on his deal with the Court of Shadows and he needed to offer another sacrifice and he somehow intended it to be her, he needed a sacrifice but it wasn't necessarily going to be her he was just passing time, she was thinking far too much of Reaver and he hadn't planned shit and everything was a coincidence and she was being played so hard right now with this wounded soul act that was honestly kind of working….
"My debt to the Court of Shadows is due." Reaver admitted at last, the arm over his face never moving. Though it was with succinctly less drama and fuss than Sparrow had anticipated, after what had approximately been ten minutes, Reaver had cracked.
Sparrow pulled herself from her absolutely necessary and silent mental victory dance, and focused on the gentle rasp of Reaver's voice. He had uncovered his face during her distraction and was now sketching something in the air above him with his hands. A little color had returned to his cheeks and his grey eyes seemed to come alive as he spoke.
"I cannot complete the lovely, little ritual without the seal. You were the last to have it, you never did return it to me after that little errand I sent you on-"
"By 'little errand' you mean when you tricked me into delivering the seal to the Court of Shadows and I nearly died, right?" Sparrow pushed away from the bed, sitting back on her heels.
"Oh poppycock, you wouldn't have died." Reaver shook his head, "The Seal takes away youth. You would have been weakened, yes, but truly I think gray hair would have gone with your Hero image far better that that burnt orange color you have." Reaver leaned up on his elbow, making a small show of finger combing his own disheveled brown locks before turning to face Sparrow. "Speaking of, how did you escape that trap?"
Sparrow rolled her eyes and tossed some of her, in her opinion, perfectly hero worthy hair back over her shoulder. "You admit it was a trap than."
Now Reaver rolled his eyes, "Of course it was a trap. You are a Hero, dearie. You ooze youth and power I couldn't have resisted sending you even if Lucien hadn't placed a massive bounty on your head. Which he had and I had every intention of collecting it. Until you looked at me with those jewels you call eyes and I was," he puffed out his chest, "a changed man."
"Translation," Sparrow held her hand up as if she were reading a large carnival banner. "Until you realized that Lucien wouldn't pay and that he, like the rest of the world, wanted your head on a spike." That had been a betrayal that Sparrow had expected, to a degree. She had believed back then that after Reaver had learned that Lucien didn't care to honor any deal and wanted all heroes dead that he would be worthy of some trust. But Reaver had never considered himself a hero, despite his obvious Skill and had betrayed them to Lucien anyway. Sparrow took a deep, calming breath.
"Well it's far less romantic when you put it that way." Reaver let his posture fall into a slouch. He coughed, several deep chesty coughs before replying in a hoarse voice. "So, hero, since we are swapping tales and I have answered all your little questions. How did you escape the Court of Shadows?"
"Um," Sparrow held up her hand, "What is happening to you? Why did you seek me out? And the excruciating details of your hallucinations." She arched a pale eyebrow in faux shock. "Outstanding! You answered not a single one of my questions."
Reaver reached out a hand towards hers. "Sacrifice another's youth so that I can keep mine." He folded her thumb in towards her palm. "You had the Seal last. And ghosts of those I sacrificed for this face, completely worth it I think. Art must be preserved for future generations, you know." He gently folded in a finger for each question until only Sparrow's pinky was left. He pinched it between his index finger and his thumb. "How did you escape?"
"You're feeling better." Sparrow remarked dryly. She wiggled her pinky out of the pirate's grasp. "I wanted a bit more detail than that."
"I suppose I could provide a few more details, I was saving them for my autobiography, but surely you can humor me first?" he wiggled her finger. "Please?"
Sparrow grimaced, Theresa knew the most about what had happened inside the Court of Shadows but only because Sparrow had no way of blocking what the old Seer saw. She was not proud of what had happened when she had returned the Seal to the Court. It was among the darker things she had done. It was her turn now to avoid Reaver's imploring gaze, she at least had the sense to feel shame for what she had done.
"Not a tale you want to tell?" Reaver mocked, the hoarseness of his voice providing extra bite for the irony of the moment. "If I recall correctly you didn't want to talk about it than either."
"The Seal was returned. What does it matter if I wasn't as weak after as you expected?" Sparrow forced herself to make eye contact with the pirate. She pushed the guilt from her mind, hoping it hadn't shown on her face. If I hadn't left the seal with that village girl, I would have been too weak to fight Lucien when he had come for me in Bloodstone. Sparrow reminded herself.
His smug grin slipped, "It does matter Sparrow. It matters more than you could possibly know."
Sparrow pulled her hand away. "What are you playing at, Reaver?"
"A very long game, Sparrow, one that started long before you were born." the pirate sat up fully now, fighting another short spasm of coughs. He looked frustrated as if something wasn't playing out as he had hoped.
Sparrow weighed her options. She had to find out Reaver's plans and what was going on with him. It wasn't simple curiosity anymore, it was about the safety of the people. She had let him go two years ago, his crimes unanswered, numbed by everything she had lost. Sparrow wasn't going to let him go again. He was probably going to demand the details of her encounter with the Court of Shadows in return. Insist that it was important in some way. She growled in frustration everything was a hassle with him. Each nugget of information or moment of peace gained had a price.
"Can ye just speak plain? Answer my questions, with all the details this time, and then we'll see about yours." Sparrow held up her hand, an offer of truce. "That is my final offer, Reaver, deal?"
He stared at her hand for a spell.
"Reaver." She growled in warning and suddenly regretting her threat about neither of them leaving the cave until he had told her everything. It was an impulsive move. Idiot, fool, he's not going to tell you anything more than what he already has. And what he has told you is exactly what you could have guessed after thinking about the entire situation with your brain rather than your…. Sparrow ended her mental tirade abruptly.
Reaver was still hesitantly looking at her hand. "Were you not going to spit in it? I thought you were going to spit in your hand. It felt like that type of moment." mischief twinkled in his grey eyes.
Sparrow rolled her eyes and made to pull back her hand but Reaver caught it. Their eyes met and she could see that the humor had left them her stomach did not flutter. Her cheeks remained their usual color and if they looked a little red it was simply left over burn from the explosion. No, he is wild card, not an ally.
"So, my tale for yours?" he pulled her hand closer to his face where he began to inspect her palm.
"I swear," Sparrow tried to pull her hand from his but Reaver's grip was surprisingly strong. "Reaver you treat everyone like back alley trader in Old Town, before the guards cleaned it the place up." Sparrow huffed and pushed at his hand with her free one. "Oh come on. Let me go!" She glanced up at him expecting to find the pirate staring smugly down at her but instead his eyes were fixed on something behind her. Several curls of dark brown hair had fallen forward onto his forehead, but Reaver made no move to adjust them back into place. His face was slack and his lips moved silently forming words but giving them no sound. His eyes, Sparrow found her gaze falling back to his eyes. Dark and grey, flecked with spots of light, Reaver's eyes were fearful but unfocused and she knew the vision had come to him again.
"Let me see." She whispered, and slowly the Hero of the Spire twisted around to look behind her.
There, in the middle of the Guild Cave, stood a woman with perfect golden curls, unblemished cream colored skin, and tearful blue eyes. Her dress was of an older style, shorter and consisting of fewer layers of skirts. It was fair frock, something the she might have worn to a Mayfair or village celebration. The dress was rose and white with a blue sash, each shade complementing her complexion perfectly. She was beautiful and surreal in the dark of the cave. The specter didn't seem to notice or care that Sparrow could see her.
"Alan!" her voice was high and clear and full of worry. She ran forward, stepping through Sparrow to cup Reaver's face in her hands. "Alan what happened to you? You were gone all night."
Sparrow gasped and shuddered as a chill crawled down her spine. Her arm felt as cold as ice from where the ghostly young woman had passed through. The change was sudden and disorienting as the Guild Cave melted away and the lush, green forest and packed dirt road outside Oakvale took its place. Sparrow's hands were no longer held captive and she sat in the middle of the road at the feet of a young man. A young man with dark brown hair that curled wildly over his ears and vulnerable grey eyes. His clothes were stained brown and black with mud and dust along with several swipes of green. He looked like he had spent a very eventful night in the woods. Sparrow sprang to her feet and quickly stepped away.
"Nothing, I'm fine I just-" the young man, Alan, gently pushed her hands away, a small shudder running through him. "I fell and now I'm back so you needn't worry."
The young woman allowed him his space but she seemed wholly unconvinced by his explanation. "Alan…"
"Margret." Alan rolled his shoulders and tried to hide his wince at the movement. He looked like he was barely managing to hold it together. "Can we please talk about this after, I don't know, I have eaten? Or showered? I don't even want to imagine what I must smell like." He offered her a tired but genuine smile.
"Alan," she took a big breath and her words came out as she exhaled. "You have been missing for three days. I was at my dress fitting when Will Forde came busting in saying that you had been spotted on the road outside of town. I ran here as fast as I could. I know your shortcuts, Alan, and I have been so worried." She pulled at a loose string of embroidery on the edge of her bodice nervously, blue eyes studying Alan as he took in the news of his disappearance. "I tried to do as you asked. I did."
"Three days?" Alan suddenly looked weak. His breath caught in his throat and he shook his head violently. "Three days? Three days?!" He was on the verge of hyperventilating and reached out for support.
Margret caught him before he collapsed, straining to hold him up but making no complaints. "How hard did you hit your head? I told your mother this morning and your dad went out with a search party an hour later. They should be back soon. I'm sorry, Alan, I know you wanted to keep it a secret."
Alan clung to her, visibly trying to regain control of himself but making little progress.
"Where are your things?"
"I don't know." The young man mumbled, his head lolling forward.
"It's okay now. I've got you now, Alan, you're safe." Margret adjusted her grip on the young man, her blue eyes filled with tenderness and concern.
"Not safe…."
Margret started slowly down the road, half carrying half dragging Alan with her, but she didn't make any indication that she had heard her companion's last whispered words. Sparrow had and she had only seconds to ponder what Alan's secret was before the world shifted.
The world melted away again and this time Sparrow found herself standing in the corner of a modestly sized bedroom. She could make out a writing desk and chair in the opposite corner from her in the warm glow of the candle light. In the center of the room was a bed with a sturdy oak bedside table next to it. Alan sat on the bed, his shoulders hunched over and he was curled around the metal candle stand. He was pressed as much as he could be against the simple headrest of his bed. His grey eyes were wide and frantic as he scanned the room. Left, right, left right, his eyes flicked back and forth wildly. He looked like he hadn't slept and wasn't planning on doing so anytime soon.
"Stay back!" his gaze fixed on Sparrow. "I know what you are but you won't have me!" his voice shook, undermining the strength of his words.
Sparrow's heart filled with sorrow for the stranger. She didn't know why she was seeing this, who this young man was to Reaver, but it didn't matter to her now. This was someone who needed help, who was half-crazed with fear. She stepped forward, her hands raised in a familiar gesture of peace.
"Please, I'm not here to hurt you."
He clutched even tighter to the candle, the metal biting into his fingers until crimson drops fell onto his blankets. "You won't have me." His voice came out in a tremulous sob.
"Honest, I just want to help you." Sparrow stayed where she was, worried that any other movement might trigger more panic. Is he a victim of Reaver's? Sparrow couldn't help but wonder if that was true. Something twitched in the shadows by the desk distracting Sparrow. She turned to look and felt cold dread pool in her stomach. A shadow figure, its shape only vaguely human, stood in the corner with two gaping holes for eyes trained on Alan. The head towered above its body on a thin neck and its arms ended in long curved blades that scraped across the wood floor and as it glided forward.
"Please, leave me be please." Alan was pleading, still staring at Sparrow unaware of the shadow closing in on him.
"Alan turn around!" Sparrow yelled at him trying to move, trying to summon her will into flames in her palms, but nothing happened. Her legs were trapped in dark, swirling shadow and her will lines didn't even flicker. "Alan run!" She struggled against the shadow and yelled herself hoarse trying to warn him.
The shadow raised an arm, darkness creeping up the bedposts and over the blankets until the whole room was pitch black save for the weak glow of Alan's candle. Alan sat up, straightening as he sensed the shift of danger from Sparrow to something behind him, but it was too late.
The shadow brought its arm down in a vicious arc, curving the tip of its blade hand straight through Alan's heart. He tensed, his mouth opening in a silent, anguished cry as the shadow pushed deeper into his chest.
"We have waited centuries for you." The Shadow whispered, a discordant collection of other voices. Voices that filled the room with countless whispers. The candle sizzled out and the room filled with heartless laughter.
Sparrow blinked rapidly, trying to adjust her eyes to the total darkness but when she opened them it was to bright sunlight and a peaceful ocean. She studied the area, taking a hesitant step forward onto the sand. The beach was small, the dirt mixing with and then eventually giving way to a spit of sandy beach. A small dock jutted out into the crystal blue ocean and group of rocks rose to her right, blocking the rest of the beach from view. The Inn was close but far enough away that the tavern crowd didn't disturb the natural peace of the beach.
"Alan!" Sparrow's voice didn't even echo as she yelled the villager's name. Had he been killed by the Shadow? He was one of Reaver's victims. She didn't see Alan anywhere, but it didn't make sense for him to have been a pawn in Reaver's game of immortality. She knew firsthand how the ritual went and the results were old age, not death. Sparrow shook her head in disbelief. Something else was happening in this vision, it was Reaver's so there was a chance that she couldn't trust anything she saw but... Reaver can't control his visions. Sparrow thought of his dazed expression on the balcony four nights ago in Bowerstone, how he had blindly pulled a gun on her. Had he been under the spell of his ghosts then? So this is could all be true...but where does he fit in with all of this? Unless?
Sparrow spied the blond, Margret, standing on the dock staring out at sea. Her hair was caught in a cross breeze and it fluttered around her in golden waves, it was a very romantic sight, almost ripped straight out of a novel. Her posture was wistful, as if at any moment she would reach out her hand and whoever she was waiting for would appear and take it in theirs.
Sparrow thought it must be because of Alan, the young man she had just watch die. It was clear from the brief scenes Sparrow had seen that Margret loved him. Sparrow heard footsteps behind her and she turned, curious, to see what new character would enter only it was Alan. He looked older now even though Sparrow knew instinctively that it had only been a handful of days since the Shadow had attacked him in his room. His eyes were familiar to her now, more dark than light, and his hair was tied back from his face. He was dressed in work clothes, loose pants and loose shirt with the sleeves rolled up well away from his wrists. He wore a heavy, leather blacksmith's apron over everything and beads of sweat clung to his skin.
Alan slowed his pace, eventually coming to a halt on the Inn porch. There was a darkness around his eyes, a weight on his shoulders that hadn't been there before, Sparrow could sense the freshness of it. He carried something dark with him now.
"Reaver." His name slipped out in a saddened whisper. She was learning how he became Reaver but she already knew the end of this tale. Theresa had told her long ago. Reaver betrayed his home to the Shadows. Letting the darkness kill every man, woman, and child just so he could have eternal life. She turned away from him, following the not-yet-Reaver's gaze back to the woman on the dock.
As if sensing his gaze, the woman half turned towards land. She waved at him and gaze the horizon one last wishful look before making her way over to Alan.
Sparrow watched, silent, understanding now that her role was to observe. Still, it was weird now to know that Alan, who had seemed so vulnerable, was the same man as Reaver. The village was still alive so that must mean he hadn't made his choice yet. Sparrow watched the too converse on the Inn porch. Margret talking animatedly about something, gesturing once or twice back to the sea, while Reaver, or Alan, listened with a guarded expression. It was possible that Sparrow should have been paying more attention to what the two were saying (or in fact what the one was saying, Reaver/Alan had said nothing so far), but her mind was distracted by the chilling words the Shadow had whispered to Alan (or Reaver? This was getting confusing!) in the dark.
We have waited centuries for you.
"It was planned?" her brow furrowed in concentration as she struggled to get the pieces to line up. Sparrow wandered over to a large boulder and leaned against it. "What do I know? Alan, he went to the woods for some reason and disappeared for three days. He also didn't want anyone to know about it." Margret had said as much in the first vision. "He had thought it had only been one night and he wouldn't tell her what happened but it upset him. It terrified him, he wasn't just shaken by the loss of time. He had barely escaped something." Sparrow tapped her lip, there were too many holes still in the story. Sure, she could use what she knew from Theresa and just completely criminalize the pirate like she always had, but something about doing that felt wrong now. It wasn't like Reaver was a good person now, but perhaps he hadn't always been bad? Sparrow hissed and both her hands through her hair in frustration. She let her fingers lace behind her neck and rest there as she tried to think. This was what she had been trying to avoid. The possibility that Reaver might be more complicated than the 'eat, screw, shoot, look pretty' persona he threw around. Now here it was, all around her, unfolding before her very eyes.
The hero looked back to the couple and suddenly, as if this vision world sensed her renewed attention, her boulder slid smoothly over to the Inn.
Alan, because he wasn't really Reaver yet, was shaking his head and avoiding Margret's imploring sapphire gaze.
"Please, just tell me what happened! I will not tell your dad, I swear on my Gran's grave, just please talk to me!"
"I," Alan released a heavy sigh, his gaze slipping back over to Margret. For a moment, the coldness abated and his eyes filled with longing. He took her hand, the movement familiar and comforting and Sparrow held her breath as it seemed that he might actually speak. Then his eyes flicked left, to the shadows by the covered woodshed behind the Inn and his mouth clamped tight, his turned cold and he dropped Margret's hand. "I went hunting. I fell and I lost track of time. What more is there to say about it?" he snapped
"Liar." Margret hissed vehemently.
"Oh, now I am the liar?" he scoffed as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He pointed out towards the ocean. "You think I do not know what your brother is? I know he was the one to get the guns for the Anti-Hero League. The whole town praised him as the model of an upstanding citizen." Alan pulled at the collar of his shirt in obvious mockery of what the village thought an upstanding citizen.
"Stop it Alan."
"Where did he get the money for all those new guns? For your pretty dresses and your nice house?" He glared at her, crossing his arms over his chest. "He's a pirate, Margret. One of Captain Dread's little seadogs and while you sit here reaping the benefits your brother," Alan advanced on Margret, pointing viciously out to see again. "Is raping, and pillaging, and reaving to his heart's content."
Margret sucked in a shaky breath, physically willing the tears welling in her eyes to not fall. Sparrow could see that there was a hint of truth to Alan's words from the girl's reaction. Margret's cheeks were flushed.
"I don't believe you."
Alan huffed, rolling his eyes, "Of course you don't. I am a liar after all." and he left her, striding quickly away until he was lost in the exiting crowd from the Inn.
Sparrow smiled, she kinda liked this girl. Hurrying to keep up with him, Sparrow left her boulder and jogged after him. She didn't have to dodge and weave through the crowd but instead passed through them until she saw him disappearing behind the blacksmith's shop. She followed, expecting him to head into the forge as he was obviously dressed for work. Instead, Reaver slipped between the half open doors of a small storage shed. Sparrow followed.
Inside it was cramped and dark and the same blade-handed shadow figure was waiting.
Alan shuddered but didn't turn away. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice hard.
"We want what you want. You summoned us."
He shook his head, his hands tight fists by his sides. "No. I don't know what I did or what I am but you I never summoned."
Sparrow frowned, what he did?
"You freed us. Your heart is full of shadows and it calls to us."
He was silent and Sparrow tried to maneuver around so that she could see his face but again she found her feet stuck the oozing shadow that covered the shed's floor.
The Shadow glided forward, hooking one curved blade behind Alan's neck forcing him to step forward until he was standing chest to chest with it.
"You will die. All that you are will die. It does not have to be this way."
Alan shoved way the Shadow's arm and stepped away from it, slashing at the air in front of him. "I won't help you."
The Shadow sank down into the floor, its horrid voice laughing as it disappeared. "You belong to us. You are tainted. Everything you touch is tainted. Everything you love is tainted. You have already helped us. You will give us the world before you are free."
The Shadow was gone and Alan's shoulders dropped. He brought his hands to his face and Sparrow knew, from the shaking outline of his shoulders, that he was crying.
Alan and the shed melted away and a forest rose up in its place. The trees soared over her head and then twisted around each other until only small beams of light penetrated through the dark canopy. The trees were old and gnarled with rough bark. Sparrow's face fell, this was the Darkwood. A branch snapped up ahead, beyond her sight, and Sparrow tensed as she fell reflexively into a fighting stance.
Gradually, a figure came into view, tall, lean and dressed in a cleaner version of what Sparrow had first seen him in. Alan picked his way around the old trees and roots with ease. He held a bow in one hand and had a quiver of arrows secured to his hip. The darkness that had clung to him on the Inn porch was gone and he looked young and peaceful in the forest. He paused, bending down to check something in the dirt before reaching out to touch a broken branch from a small shrub. He looked up again, now able to spot the trail he was following several paces ahead, and a cocky grin broke out across his face.
"Gotcha." Alan straightened and continued on, his path taking right past Sparrow.
"So you were always a cocky fool? Nice to know somethings never change." Sparrow called after him before sighing and following. Hunting in Darkwood, sounds exactly like something you would do Reaver. And, exactly like something you would want to keep from your parents.
It was maybe an hour of winding between and under and over and around the twisted trees of Darkwood before Alan stopped. He knelt behind a fallen, moss covered pillar, watching his prey. A good sized doe with dappled markings drank from the slow stream below them.
Sparrow kneeled beside him, not that he noticed, and placed a balancing hand on the pillar. A shock ran through her and she quickly pulled back. The hero looked to Alan, he hadn't felt or noticed the disturbance, instead he was nocking an arrow and slowly rising up to aim.
Sparrow touched her index finger against the fallen pillar. Another bolt of raw will shot up her arm and she reached for Alan suddenly understanding what was about to happen. This must be the day he disappeared in the woods.
They were crouched behind an Old Kingdom ruin, or what the Darkwood had left of it. The Old Kingdom existed long before Reaver's time, Reaver had spoken often of the Heroes Guild and its fall, but its ruins still dotted Albion's landscape and beyond. During the time of the Old Kingdom, the Archon infused nearly every structure with his will. Cities were raised in a matter of days but when he abandoned the Kingdom, chaos reigned and the cities burned. What remained still reacted to the touch of those with Hero's blood, those possessed of extraordinary skill, strength, or will. Alan was about to find out.
Her hand passed through the young hunter like he was air. Sparrow had only touched the Old Kingdom ruin briefly and both times had sent a numbing shock of power racing through her arm. If Alan fell against it then that may be the "fall" he told Margret about.
Leaves fell from the canopy, drifting slowly through the air and brushing Alan's cheek as they dropped to the forest floor. Alan froze, his eyes widened ever so slightly as he tried to take in more of the forest around him without making any movement.
More leaves rustled as they fell from above.
Alan sucked in a breath and then he launched into motion. He swung his bow up, releasing his arrow into the dark canopy and nocking another in fluid motion. He waited.
A howl ripped through the air.
"Balverines." Sparrow growled and jumped in front of Alan even as her mind reminded her that she couldn't do anything to stop what was happening.
A balverine fell from the trees. It crashed into the forest floor and stayed there. Alan's arrow protruded from its chest and black blood oozed from the fatal wound.
"They always hunt in packs!" Sparrow warned Alan as he passed through her towards the fallen balverine.
He kept his bow taunt but aimed at the fallen balverine.
"Look up you idiot! Light above!" Sparrow squeezed her hands into white knuckled fists and pressed them against her face.
Another leaf fell from the canopy, but Alan didn't notice he was too focused on his first kill. He was grinning, adrenaline probably surging through him in the face of his near death.
"Look up!" Sparrow screamed and at last, it seemed like she had gotten through whatever veil separated her because Alan did stop celebrating and at last look up. Of course, it was too late.
Two more balverines dropped from the trees: one in front of him and another behind. They were both bigger, older than the one he had just killed.
The one in front snarled at him, a low vicious sound, and bared its fangs. It lunged at him swiping with its right claw, trying to drive him back towards its waiting and silent partner.
But he didn't step back, he leaped forward and to the left landing hard on his right shoulder as he rolled up to his knees facing the balverine's open flank. Alan managed to get off three arrows, killing it, before the second balverine charged at him. He turned but the balverine was faster. The wolf like creature charged into him, sending him flying backwards through the undergrowth. Straight into the fallen pillar.
His back slammed into the stone and his breath raced out of him in a great whoosh. It was exactly as Sparrow feared. He cried out as a powerful shock of will tore through him. Alan slid to the ground, his body contorted with pain and his back arching as the will continued to burn through him.
The remaining balverine stalked forward, growling and snapping its teeth.
Alan struggled against the pain, Sparrow could see his eyes flutter as he tried to get them open. The balverine was almost on top of him know, oblivious of the pain its victim was in. Or the power that was burning through his veins.
"Come on." Sparrow urged him.
Alan struggled to straighten his arm until his palm pointed towards the approaching balverine. With a scream he released the will that surged through him. It manifested in a bolt of lightning, arcing perfectly from his palm to the balverine, frying it within seconds. Alan's will was wild and unfocused and it didn't stop when the balverine collapsed, just a pile of smoking bones. It hit everything around him, branching out to strike multiple targets until the power ebbed and his arm fell limply to the ground.
He quieted, though his breathing was still hard, and stared up at the forested sky through half-lidded eyes.
Sparrow tip toed closer to him. She stood over him, looking down at the face of the man she thought she had known so well. He was pale and covered in mud a sweat. Would he lie here forgotten for three days?
Night fell and still Alan hadn't moved though his eyes had slipped shut hours ago.
Sparrow sat by his head, silently guarding against whatever was to come. It was hilarious really, how protective she felt of this version of Reaver. He was so different than her Reaver. Well, she thought about that cocky grin he had flashed when he had found the deer's trail, his skill with the bow, and his refusal to confide in Margret or to ask for help. Also the cruel things he had said to her, ironic though it was that he despised pirates. Maybe not so different.
Thunder rumbled in the distance and heat lightning flashed through the gaps in the trees. The humidity from the coming storm should have been oppressive beneath the canopy, where the massive tree trunks blocked all possibility of a breeze, but it wasn't. It was cold.
Alan started to stir, his breath forming little clouds above his lips. Shadows seeped out of the Old Kingdom pillar like water. Slithering, sickening whispers filled the air. Sparrow felt them like thousands of cold pinpricks on her skin.
Do you really think everything in existence revolves around you? You are alone. No one will come looking for you, they have already forgotten you. You will die here in the woods. Your death will be meaningless and you will be nothing. Your love was never enough to keep her. Not even your family's gold was enough for her. She wants the world and you are nothing. Die here. Find peace in the Void. Join us.
Again Sparrow was rooted in place, helpless but to watch the scene unfold.
Shadow snaked up Alan's fingers and up his arm, sliding across his pale skin until it covered every inch of his body except for his eyes. His eyes snapped open, rolling wildly as he tried to move, tried to break free of the darkness drowning him.
Close your eyes. You cannot escape the inevitable.
"NO!" His voice was muffled but clear enough for the shadows to press in tighter.
You will wither. You will be ravaged by time. Let us bring you peace.
"I don't want to die. Please I don't want to die!" His eyes were unfocused and starting to roll back into his head despite his protests.
What could you give us? Your death is a mercy. We spare the world to come of your weakness.
A soft yellow glow started to emanate from his hand. The shadows there boiled and the whispers screamed in pain. The glow grew stronger and soon his hand was free. He pulled at the darkness covering his face and with every touch it boiled and shrank. Soon it was retreating back to the pillar and Alan was standing, slowly and shakily, but standing. His bow and quiver were gone, hidden beneath the thick undergrowth and the yellow glow was starting to dissipate. The shadows started to return.
"Let me go!" he held his hand out warding of the shadows which collided and combined with each other until they towered over him. The head curved toward him, the long neck bending unnaturally. It was the same shadow that would appear in his bedroom and that he would talk with in the supply shed.
"Why? You are the first meal worthy of us in centuries." the whispered harmonized into the Shadow's chilling voice.
"I don't want to die! Traders walk through these woods every month! There are balverines and deer and hobbes! Eat them!"
"You want to," The Shadow quirked its head to the side. "Live?" It sounded genuinely curious as if none of its prey had ever expressed such a wish before.
Alan barked out a nervous laugh, edging back one step. "Yes! I want to live. Preferably for a long, long time."
Dread filled Sparrow's stomach. "Don't talk with it, Reaver, use your magic hand!" Sparrow urged him. It was useless of course, like everything she did here. It did make her feel the tiniest bit better. It was clear that he didn't know about his powers as the Hero of Skill yet. He wouldn't for years but she did and it killed her. His contact with the Old Kingdom ruin must have activated them, giving them a sort of super charge. Being the Hero of Skill was more than just having perfect aim and reflexes
The Shadow leaned closer, emanating an almost excited air. "You would give us something for it. For life?"
"...yes?" The light from his hand flickered and then came back, bright and warm. Alan quickly held his hand up higher before the Shadow could advance. "Yes, what do you want? I-" he glanced around, "I'm mean you already have so much. Maybe a nice sconce? Brighten the place up a bit?"
The Shadow hissed, "NO!"
"Right, okay." He tried hard to keep his voice steady. His mind probably racing to anticipate what the Shadow wanted. "Than what can I give you to keep you from eating me?"
The Shadow rushed him, its empty face suddenly only a hairsbreadth away from his. "Your world!" it howled in a fracture of voices.
The light in Alan's hand went out; all was plunged into darkness.
Dim morning light filtered in past the leaves and Sparrow crumpled on the ground. His fingers twitched, once, twice, and then he gasped and sat up. He started when he saw the three balverine corpses, each in varying states of death.
"They were good shots." Sparrow said hollowly. It was a loose deal that he had just made, probably only real in the mind of the Shadow, but that was all that mattered. He had just destroyed Oakvale with a fear driven promise.
Alan stood, blinking slowly and then Sparrow knew that he remembered because he took several steps back, nearly tripping over his own feet. His hair stuck up in all directions and his eyes were tired with dark shadows beneath them. Without a word, he turned away from the pillar and the dead balverines. He didn't even search the ground for his bow or his quiver, he just started running back the way he had come.
Sparrow could feel the scene starting to switch again, the trees of Darkwood bleeding into the houses of Oakvale and she closed her eyes.
"I don't want to see this!" She muttered softly, covering her ears as screams tore through the night. "I know how it ends. I don't need to see this." Sparrow closed her eyes and hunched in on herself curling forward and down until she sat on her heels. She could feel the heat of the fires and the disturbance in the air around her as villagers swarmed past or didn't. Screams rent the night and underneath it all were the whispers and the laughter of the Shadow.
"How could you do this?" Margret's voice filled Sparrow's ears, forcing her to open her eyes and see. Poor Margret was cradling the body of a sailor, his blood soaking the front of her dress.
Alan stood in front of her. "I didn't know this would happen! I didn't know what it was! Please, you have to believe me!"
She sobbed, pressing her forehead against the dead man's. His hair was the same golden shade as hers; however, in death it had lost its luster.
"You wanted this!"
"I did not want this!" Alan approached her, dropping to his knees in front of her. He reached for her but she pulled back. His hand fell back to his side. "We have to leave, now, before the shadows come back and kill us."
Margret was beyond hearing him. She rocked, her tears streaking her face and making trails in the drying blood on her brother's face. "No." she moaned. "I am not going anywhere with you!"
"Margret, your brother is dead." Alan's voice was desperate, pleading. "We have to run or we will join him."
"Not 'we,' Alan." She met his gaze fiercely, her blue gaze burning with rage and sorrow. "I saw how those things passed by you. You tried to hide it but you knew that they were not here for you. They are here for us and you helped them! You helped those monsters!" her rage drove her to her feet, her brother's corpse slipping off her lap. Margret stepped over him advancing on a distraught Alan.
He followed her to his feet and pulled away from her as she drove her palm into his chest and pushed.
"How could I have planned this? Why would I chose those creatures over my home?"
"Do not lie to me anymore!" She was screaming now, she pushed at him again and Alan let her. "Those days in Darkwood, you were different after and I thought maybe it would curb you. I thought you had learned not to be so arrogant or so fool hardy and that's why you were so silent but it wasn't! You pushed me away, pushed your family away and for what?"
He was silent but it was clear that her words hurt him.
She shoved him again with all her might, "Speak! By Avo's light speak to me!"
He stumbled back but he spoke, his tone defeated and his shoulders sagging. Sparrow had always imagined Reaver unaffected by the cost of his immortality. He wasn't celebrating it now or even apathetic to Margret's words. He radiated guilt and regret. Somehow that made it worse.
"The shadows were going to kill me. If I had known this was the price..." his voice died.
"Look me in the eyes and tell me you would have chosen differently."
He met her gaze for a moment but then he faltered his grey eyes falling to the ground where one of Oakvale's many citizens lie slaughtered. The villager's face was contorted into an expression of horror and her mouth opened for a scream that never left her throat.
He hesitated and that was all Margret needed.
"Monster." Margret cried backing away from him, sinking to the bloody ground by her brother's body. "Were you always this way? I should have known, I should have told the others where you had been, I should have told them what you were when my brother about the shooting range. You never missed and you never held a cross bow in your life." She rocked back and forth, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. "I knew you had hero blood then, but what did it matter? I loved you. Oh brother forgive me! How could I ever have loved you?"
Alan watched her, his expression darkening, anger rising to replace the hurt and sorrow.
Images flashed before Sparrow's eyes, layered over the image of Margret's slowly rocking body and the hardening of Alan's face. They were his memories, what he remembered at this moment as the one person left who knew him rejected him.
Villagers whispering as he walked by. A face, his father's, older and burnt by years tending the forge showing concern and not pride when his son's first attempt at smithing yields only perfect results. The shooting range, Margret's brother hurriedly dragging him out before the crowd can turn on him. Men armed with guns and marching towards Bowerstone. They wear red arm bands with A. H. embroidered on them in black. His Mother, with the same mischievous grey eyes as him, showing him how to flip a knife over his knuckles. His Father interrupting, angry pointing outside and then at him.
The memories stopped and Sparrow blinked, dizzy from the quick barrage of images. A. H.? The initials seemed to resonate with her, a detail she should remember from her childhood listening to Cloud's stories about the Time of Heroes. The Anti-Hero League, Alan had mentioned them before, they were the ones responsible for the 2nd burning of the Hero's Guild. She watched Alan's face, his lips twisting into cruel, angry smirk. He straightened, his shoulders lifting and his head lifting so that he looked down his nose at the sobbing young woman. The mask descended, not yet perfected but unmistakable. Reaver was born.
"Stay here and die then." He spun away from her, walking stiffly away and never looking back. Not even when the shadows creeped forward and the whispers grew deafening and not when Margret's final throat tearing scream rent the night.
Sparrow's eyes fluttered open. Her limbs were stiff with cold from lying on the stone floor of the cave. She didn't remember falling onto her side but it must have happened after Reaver's memories had seized her. She glanced at the rickety bed, emerald eyes searching for the man whose past she had just learned.
He was still slumped on the bed, his position mirroring hers. His cheeks were wet, one arm slung loosely over the side of the bed still holding hers.
She didn't pull away. Instead, Sparrow let her eyes fall closed, the vision having taken more strength than she realized, and let herself drift off to sleep. If she dreamed, she did not remember.