AHHHH I LIVE! I finished my Masters program, praise to the powers that be. Holy Hell. Lemme just feel that for a second, whew! Okay, so here you go, a chapter written in a fit of frustration and victory at finally getting a break. Of course, I am also lucky enough to have a full time, paid job now. No promises because I'm sporadic as f*ck, but I'm finishing this beast.
3 to you all and best wishes!
The landscape was flat and barren, an even emptier version of the in-between place Sparrow had met Theresa. Dense fog rolled and writhed over the floor and the light was ambient but dim, casting misshapen shadows everywhere.
Sparrow rolled her neck, grimacing at the three satisfying pops that followed. She was alone, as best she could tell, except for a large, weathered chest opposite of her. A shadow flickered past the edge of vision, a giggle. Silence.
Sparrow felt a shock of uneasiness run through her. She couldn't remember what was before this place, had she been somewhere else before she was here? Sparrow summoned flames to her fingers, small ones, but her will lines only flared once. Not even a spark on her fingertips. It was then that she noticed the size of her fingers, small and thin, with dirty, blunted nails. She recognized the knitted fingerless gloves that covered the rest of her hands, they were socks that she had pinched from the tailor. She had stolen a matching pair for Rose too, but it had been years since she had worn them. Theresa had burned most of her things from before, her clothes had been so dirty and ragged that they weren't even good enough to be used as rags.
A new knot of worry twisted in her belly, this was...wrong. Sparrow began to take stock of her appearance. The ratty clothes, the boots with the nearly worn through toes, the layers of brightly colored pants and shirts, as many as she could manage in order to shelter against the cold Albion winter. These were the clothes of her childhood, the symbols of her poverty, and reminders of her parents' rejection. Sparrow's hands drifted reluctantly, hesitantly towards her hair. She already knew what she would find, a sloppy bun and uneven bangs. She remembered the day she had cut her hair, chopping her bangs into an uneven slant down her face. Hiding just enough of her face to seem shy, to make her be overlooked. Sparrow bit her lip, confusion and fear washing over her in equal measure. She was a child again, but she could remember…. the edges of her memory were fuzzy. Names and events slipped in and out of her reach only a bare handful burning brightly: Theresa, her faithful hound's final, agonized whimper, and Reaver.
A scrap of white paper caught her eye, bright against the dull and dark background of wherever she was. Sparrow stepped forward, hesitant, unsure of the ground beneath her feet. The sound of the soles of her boots echoed, the only sound in the strange space. Sparrow knelt down to examine the paper, picking it up gingerly.
hello! i hope we can be super best friends! there's something i want to give you. something i think you'll like.
chesty, your friendly chest.
p.s. what are your hobbies? sometimes i like to kill people.
A grunt from behind startled Sparrow into action, she spun, fingers flexing as her mind tried to conjure the flames her child-self could only dream of…and nothing. Not even a flicker this time. She glared into the darkness, the chilling last lines of the letter echoing in her mind. Sometimes I like to kill people.
"Who's there?" she asked, immediately unnerved by the brightness of her voice. Somehow it sounded too high to her ears.
The soft patter of footsteps and then, a boy. He was taller than her with dark hair that lay against the pale skin of his forehead like spilled ink across a blank page. He stopped in front of her, arms crossed over his chest, and grey eyes watching her warily. His brows furrowed in concentration, his lips twisting into a grimace. Sparrow wondered if he was trying to remember too.
"Depends, are you Chesty?" the boy answered, watchful grey eyes shifting over her.
Sparrow narrowed her eyes, "No. Are you?"
Sparrow glimpsed something white clutched in his left hand.
"What's that?" she asked.
His grey eyes taking in her childish features. There was something in his eyes that she was unaccustomed to as he took in her gaunt cheeks, the patch-worked rags, the sharp protrusion of her collar bone from beneath the torn collar of her shirt. Sparrow felt her cheeks burn. In contrast, he looked healthy, the angular features of his face gifted from lineage rather than a life spent begging for scraps. Memories fluttered in her mind like the wings of birds, glimpsed but gone before she could grasp them. Something about the boy was familiar, but she couldn't place what it was. The loose fit of his brown pants, tucked into ash covered boots and the simple design of his shirt weren't too different from a Traveler's clothing. An oversized thick leather apron covered it all, the ties wrapped around his slim frame three times before ending in a tidy looped knot.
The boy held out his hand, unclenching his fist one finger at a time as if he had to think about releasing his tight grip on the paper.
Sparrow stepped forward, curious, but a mounting sense of dread was filling her. In his hand was the same letter that she had found on the black earth of wherever they had been spirited. The childish writing, the haphazard scrawl of an unpracticed hand, spelled out the same message. Whoever this Chesty was, they were one creepy, murderous, asshole.
Before the two had a chance to discuss their unusual circumstances further a chime echoed around them. A confusing cacophony of noise followed, raucous and chittering, like dozens of children giggling and screaming. The sound came from all sides and the two lost heroes spun, each trying to pinpoint the source of the noise.
Sparrow stepped backwards, dragging the toes of her shoes against the ground as she bumped up against the dark-haired boy's back. He leaned back, craning his neck so that his mouth was closer to her ears.
"I think we're dreaming!" He shouted over the din of hair raising whoops and screeches.
The gibbering grew louder and grotesque, squat and shadowy forms started to stalk towards them through the fog.
"Sounds like hobbes." Sparrow said, she felt her waist reflexively, knowing that some sort of weapon would be there. A grin crossed her lips as she grasped a rough wooden handle and whipped the weapon out in front of her. She almost laughed, it was her slingshot. She slipped a stone from the small bag tied to her belt and planted her feet in a wide, balanced stance. "If this is a dream, then we just have to figure out how to wake up."
Memories again, flitting across her vision like thin curtains in the wind. She had power within her, something deep and old. She had strength too, as much as ten men, and skill.
The first of the creatures stepped forward into the hazy light of the circle and Sparrow swore under her breath. The hobbe was bigger than her by more than a foot. Lidless eyes watched her as the cursed thing drew back its thin lips to reveal yellowed teeth, each filed to a wicked point. Saliva dripped down its chin as it threw back its body shook with laughter. The sound was echoed by six more hobbes, their childish faces twisted into crazed masks.
She raised her slingshot, hands steady and the world seemed to slow. Skill, she had that too. She aimed, arcing her stone so that in a moment it would slam into the grotesque eyes of the first hobbe.
A flicker of movement to her right and then hobbe she was aiming at flew backwards, one eye exploding into a bloody hole.
Stunned, Sparrow quickly adjusted her aim to the hobbe to its left, its skin a bright scarlet, aiming for its too wide mouth that was opened in a grating battle cry and fired. The scarlet hobbe choked on stone and flopped to the ground.
"Nice shot." The older boy said, his right hand slipping into the pouch on her hip again to pull out three more stones. "Best two out of three?"
"Oh," Sparrow laughed, her skin prickling with a familiar warmth that she couldn't quite place. She handed her slingshot over to the boy as he stepped up to stand beside her. "You're so on."
His grey eyes widened slightly, going first to the sling shot and then staring at her bare arm. Vines of blue swirled up her arm, opening glowing cracks in her skin like dry mud.
Sparrow laughed again, wild and free. She could see the supports of this strange dream world now, the joints that held it all together.
"There's a chest over there, beyond the hobbes. If we can destroy it, I think we will wake up."
"Well," The boy sighed, fitting a stone in the slingshot, "If my choices are you, the hobbes, or Chesty, I'm gonna trust you." He raised the sling shot and let loose the next stone with hardly a glance at his target.
Another hobbe fell to the ground, a bloody hole bored through its cheek.
"Lead the way, hero."