CHAPTER EIGHT: Little Sparrow.
A slender figure stepped out into Chamber of Fate, her dark brown eyes blinking slowly in confusion. Slowly, her look of confusion shifted to one of annoyance. "Sod it all, I was just here." She grumbled, looking down at the Guild Seal Theresa had given to her moments before.
Weaver looked on in astonishment from his position by the plinth, staring at this oddly dressed girl (for she surely could not be much older than David, if not the same age) and the dog which had materialized beside her.
The dog let out a whine, nuzzling the back of the girl's hand. "And what's the matter with you, Boy?" she asked, kneeling beside him and scratching behind his ears. "It's okay, we'll just have to find another way out. C'mon, maybe we can find a way up one of these…" She then spotted the old man, standing at the other end of the room. In a flash, her crossbow was on him, the arrow tightly drawn. "Who are you? And where is Theresa?" she said threateningly.
'She surely must be a Hero…' Weaver thought to himself. 'But from when? It's plain enough that she comes from a time long after the Guild fell.' He stepped down the steps and began walking along the bridge towards the centre podium. "Lower your weapon, dear. I mean you no harm. My name is Weaver." He said calmly.
The girl kept the sight trained on Weaver for a few more moments, then when she noticed Boy wagging his tail brightly, she lowered the weapon. If her faithful canine companion was willing to let his guard down, so was she. "Where is Theresa?" she asked again, somewhat less politely than she normally would have.
"She is long gone." Weaver began, ascending the podium and stopping a few feet from her. "And you, I'm afraid, are hundreds, maybe thousands of years ahead in time."
A blank look from the girl. "Come again?" she asked, turning an ear towards him. Either she'd misheard, or the old man was completely senile.
"Judging from your attire, I'd say you lived in the brief period before the Kingdom of Albion was formed. When Lord Lucien Fairfax ruled over Bowerstone." He halted a few feet from her. "Am I right?"
The girl's face darkened, and she clenched her fists. "Lucien. That bastard killed my sister. And I plan to return the gesture, as soon as I find my way out of here." After hearing Lucien's name, she had ignored the rest of Weaver's words.
Weaver, meanwhile, was still trying to figure out who this girl was. No doubt a Hero, but not one of the three. Neither Hammer nor Garth wielded a crossbow, for one. And Reaver was still alive to this day. "Might I know your name, child?"
"Sparrow." She said, after taking a breath. "And this is Boy. Forgive me for being blunt, Weaver, was it? But I have a rather important quest ahead of me. And since this useless hunk of metal doesn't work, I'd kindly like you to point me in the direction of Castle Fairfax."
Weaver sighed heavily again. What had he done? "You'll have to forgive me, Sparrow. But Castle Fairfax is no more. Lucien died over 25 hundred years ago. The Power of this Chamber has pulled you from the past, into the present. I'm terribly sorry."
She stared at him for a few moments, eyebrows raised. "Is… is this some kind of joke?" she asked incredulously. "If it is, I don't much like your sense of humour."
"I wish it was, I truly wish it was."
The annoyed look vanished from Sparrow's face, and she dropped to her knees, completely crestfallen. Boy nuzzled up to her, sensing something amiss with his master, and she distractedly ran her fingers through the dog's thick coat. She'd lost her chance at revenge, and it began to eat her up.
Weaver could almost feel her pain. He didn't interrupt her, nor make any move to comfort her. She needed a few moments to gather herself, he could see that. It would only anger her if he interrupted.
"Why?" she asked, looking up at Weaver, a look of despair on her rather beautiful face. "Why was I robbed of my vengeance? My sister…"
"There is a great power threatening Albion." Weaver explained. "One that brought the world to it's knees, long before your time. I alone could not stand up to this threat, and so I summoned a Hero from the past to aid me. The Chamber itself must have picked you for this fight."
"So… I'm expected to fight this thing?" she asked after a few seconds of thought. "I'm needed to face this… this great power? Quite frankly, I don't care about this sodding threat. I want to go back and put my blade through Lucien's heart." Anger began to rise in Sparrow, and she wasn't shocked to notice her hands shaking as she stood.
"What is done cannot be undone. I wish I could send you back, I truly do." The sincerity in his voice was enough to quell the girl's indignation and rage. "You are not expected to do anything. But you have the blood of Hero inside you. You will have a part in this war to come, whether it be with Albion or against it."
To destroy, or save? To protect, or to conquer? In Sparrow's mind, the choice was simple. Lucien was dead, and although it hadn't been by her hand, she felt that Rose had been avenged. Despite longing to go back and fight, Weaver was right. What is done cannot be undone. "Very well. I'll stand with you. And Albion. Although I don't know what use I'll be. I'm handy with a blade and crossbow, but I'm nothing like the Heroes of old."
"Not yet." Weaver said, the first smile touching his face since David's arrival. "But you will, mark my words."
Sparrow doubted that very highly indeed but chose not to argue the point. "What am I to do now?" she asked, with another look around the room.
"If you'd be so kind…" Weaver dropped to a knee and picked up Chicken-Chaser's Guild Seal. "… A young man will be upstairs in the grounds. This belongs to him. I need a moment to collect my thoughts, and those stairs can be a curse on my old bones. Would you take it to him?"
"Alright…" she said slowly, taking the Seal and compared it to her own. The one Theresa had given her was battered and worn. The indentation had faded a great deal, and the emeralds set in its face were dim. The other looked brand new, not long from the furnace. It near sparkled in her hands. She began walking towards the stairs, giving a sharp whistle, and the mutt sprang up from his position on the floor, bounding off after her.