Secrets

By Lindsay R. Honosky

Chapter Seven: Memories best Forgotten

I believe this is the fastest rate that I've ever updated one of my stories (personal best)? Anyway, here's the seventh chapter of my Fable story Secrets, and only now do I realize I haven't claimed I own nothing of these characters, lol. OH WELL!

I want to thank you all for your support, really. You have no idea how happy it makes me. Also, to (I think this is right) idiotwhocantthinkofapenname, thank you from the very bottom of my heart. I believe it was your reviews that really put a fire back into my storytelling, and words cannot describe how grateful I am for it.

Now on to this chapter; I decided it was time to show the insides of Reaver's rotten little head before I went on, so here it is. I just hope I don't end up with a bullet to the brain because I did a bad job. Please enjoy and leave me feedback (nice or otherwise) and I shall have the next chapter up soon!

Reaver sighed heavily as he topped the cantina and stood, surveying what lay before him. The voice that had tried so hard to be heard moments ago was remembering things that Reaver knew not of, nor did he wish to venture into that hazy veil of remembrance. However as his eyes trailed over the moss and mud covered landscape, he could not deny that small spark of guilt that wormed its way into his heart. This was where we used to play...He gripped the cantina hard, his knuckles now matching the pristine white of his shirt. Suddenly the world seemed much more darker, and the need to be back by a fireside seemed so great he might die of the need.

Everything about this place seemed to work against whoever was foolish enough to set foot upon its grounds. Paths looked as if they would change as soon as you took your eye off them, the trees looming closer to suffocate the very life from your limbs. And then there was the fog, drifting upon the earth like a supernatural miasma, thick enough to choke a man. Wraithmarsh truly was a dreadful place; nowhere else in his travels had Reaver met such an unwelcoming place...and he had created it. No, he thought defiantly, that was a weak man. I am not he. This mantra continued until the warm glow of a fire could be seen reflecting upon the treetops. Sure that he was under control again, Reaver strode into camp with his usual confident swagger.

What he found upon his return was almost comical. A sleeping Sparrow and her furry companion must have grown tired with waiting on his return, and drifted off to sleep next to the fire. The dog lay across her chest horizontally, making the two look like some demented artist's cross. If the weight bothered Sparrow, she showed no sign, and continued to sleep peacefully beneath the dog, unaware of the world around her. Reaver was almost envious of the peaceful visage upon her delicate face, bereft of terrors and nightmares. How long had it been since he'd slept peacefully? The nights were to long to count. Such thoughts were dangerous, the lead to a wondering path of memory to which he refused to transverse. However, in this place, such thoughts were neigh impossible to deny. Reaver looked to the fire, the tiny post that hovered above it, and realized he no longer was hungry. He walked over to his bedroll, scanned the camp one last time for anything moving, and rested his head to the ground, regretting the lack of a pillow.

The dream again. It was always the dream. It should have stopped surprising him, after all these years, but he supposed one could not control the subconscious mind. He would walk into town in all his glory, showering these unworthy peasants of the honor of his presence. They would stop their work to gaze upon this God among Men, so beautiful, so strong, and forever young that it seemed like the world would stand still just to admire him.

And then he would come in.

Their face was the same, yet the frame was that of a boy's; lanky and unsure of itself, yet with the confidence that came with true youth. Raven black hair would soak up the sun's rays, deep green eyes sparkling with excitement as he ran towards her. Reaver would always follow, pride wounded that of all the villagers here, only this tiny boy denied to worship him. He watched as the boy crossed the covered bridge and down the other side, stopping at the tiny cottage with the stable just outside. He wore a face of poorly masked nervousness, and the shuffling of his feet would have been adorable to anyone watching other than himself. The boy lifted a hand as if to knock on the door, then hesitated, fiddling around with something in his pocket. Reaver knew what the boy was thinking, remembered it word for word, "You are the light to my shadow, the stars to my sky, please, say you'll be mine forever..." Confident that he knew what to say, the boy knocked, though still looking nervous.

He would see this scene a hundreds of times and still the image of her face would send ripples through his soul. The door opened and beyond it was a beauty beyond measure. Soft brown hair would drape around elegant shoulders, exposed slightly from the over-sized blouse she always wore. Blue-green eyes lit up at the sight of the boy, cherry blossom lips curling into a perfect smile. In the dimness of the cottage, faint Will lines could be seen tracing her chest and right cheek, like some other-worldly angel gracing those of the mortal realm. She spoke, and Reaver's heart broke, "Adrian! I was wondering when you'd get here."

"I...I...!" The fool was stammering, the words he'd practiced so hard strangling him. Reaver remembered a time when he used to shout those words at him, to scream them at the top of his lungs, but in this reality he did not exists, not to these lovers lost in time.

Placing both hands on her hips, the girl would say, "Are you feeling well? How many times have I told you to stay home if you can't work with the horses today?"

Then with a boldness young Adrian grabbed the womans hands, almost falling over in his haste to kneel, "Lyanna, I...I know you don't think of me the same, but I can become better! You," he couldn't look into those eyes, "You are the light to my shadow, the stars to my sky, please...?" He could continue no more, afraid of the rejection that was sure to follow.

Instead he felt warm arms drape around his neck, and when he looked up the angel had embraced him. A half sob, half laugh chimed from her voice, "You fool of a man; of course if feel the same! I was just waiting for you to come to your senses!"

"T-then you'll...?" Their eyes met, and she nodded. Smiling, Adrian reached into his pocket, fishing out a tiny gold band. Lyanna lit up, tears in her eyes, then tackled the boy to the ground, showering him with sweet kisses.

Reaver watched it all, a cold stone developing in his heart. What would happen next no longer surprised him, however the fear would never go away.

It was some years later, and the once quite hamlet was now ablaze, the night a melody of screams. The blood of the villagers drenched the ground, so much so Reaver thought he would drown in it. Darkness so thick he thought it would consume him blocked out any hope of light, as if the world was void of color itself. And the demons; the demons who stalked and killed all that lay in their path. Women, children, men of all ages; it did not matter. The price for immortality was all-consuming, and it would be paid in full. It was here in the dream that his younger self would re-appear, face haggard with grief and guilt, as he whispered such things as, "No...this isn't what I wanted...!" A scream from a voice that should never utter the sound permiatted the chaos, and his heart sank. Reaver would run along side young Adrian, even though he knew what he would find, always hoping to get there just a second sooner.

It was always in vain, however, and it was always more and more painful as the years went by. A shadow, in the shape of a man, would be holding a babe. His babe, by the leg, the tiny thing wailing into the night as its mother was held back by two others. A cry would tear from both his and Adrian's lips, but before either one could reach the shadow would smash the babe against the house, leaving nothing but a bloody stain. The cry he heard next would tear his soul for centuries, and as he turned to find the source he would watch as ghostly blades pierced the heart of his beloved. Blinded by rage and regret, Reaver would draw his pistol to destroy the ghostly shadows, but to no avail. He would watch as young Adrian fought with nothing but his hands, then fall to the ground defeated. The last thing he would hear would be the taunting chant of the shadows as the returned once more to their Court, "The debt has been paid...for the deal that you've made...the debt has been paid..."

Reaver...?

A new voice, however somewhat familiar.

"Reaver, are you awake?"

Who was this Reaver? He didn't know, but the voice sounded familiar, a hint of concern behind its sweet tones. He lifted an arm, reaching for her, "Lyanna?" He opened his eyes to meet sparkling blue ones, however they were not the same. The face had seen to much hardship, to much death to be that of her's. The world, and all he'd done to it, flooded into him like a flash flood into an aired land.

Sparrow raised an eyebrow, "What did you call me?"

Reaver coughed, sat up, and stretched his back, fully aware that he had spent the night on the cold, hard ground. It was morning, from what he could tell, the fog a thick gray color that told him today's travels would just be marvelous. He could feel Sparrow's gaze on him, and he gave her his trademark smirk, "If you don't stop staring at me so, Sparrow dear, I'll have to charge you a gold piece for each minute that passes by."

"You...!" Standing abruptly, he contained a giggle as she stormed across the camp, refusing to meet his gaze. It was quite clear that she had been awake for some time now, what with the camp practically vanished save for his own bedroll. His own belongings were packed neatly near the bottom of his mat, the hilt of his cutlass visible over the bag's flap. The dog barked happily, apparently eager to get going, now that both human's were awake. Reaver rolled to his side, got to his knees, and began to roll up his sleeping place as tightly as he could.

Once he'd finished and tied it to the bottom of his bag, Reaver chirped, "What a lovely day for more near-death travels, don't you agree?" She didn't answer him, to his surprise she didn't so much as glance at him. Sparrow simply flung her bag across her back and began walking.

After following in silence, Reaver asked, "I would have thought you more of a morning person, my dear."

"Forgive me if I seem rude, but I'd rather not run the risk of being charged just for interacting with someone," Sparrow said flatly, keeping her eyes ahead.

Reaver laughed, "Oh Little Sparrow, I said I'd charge you to look, not talk. Why, I believe I'd go quite mad if I didn't have someone to which my stories could enrich their lives."

"Really? Then I don't have to talk after all, seeing as your so keen on doing all the work."

"Alas, my heart would just shatter at the absence of your witty banter." Reaver then notice she had stopped walking. He raised an eyebrow that she no doubt didn't see, "Is there a problem?"

"I was just..." Sparrow turned, a strange look on her face, "Reaver, once we cross this stone bridge, we'll be in Oak-"

He raised a hand to stop her, "Trust me my dear, I've been venturing into these marshes since before you're parents were born. I will be fine, now I believe we should continue, least the moss start growing on our boots."

As predicted, they reached the ruin of Oakville in less than an hour, and despite what he had told the girl, the bones of his former existence sent chills up his spine. Drowned beneath gallons of mud and water rested the evidence of what he'd done; it was the sunken womb to which Reaver was born. Most of it had been claimed by the sea, what little remained was sure to follow within the next few years or so. The mist that floated over the water seemed like a ghostly seal, keeping all who would try to escape the drowning nightmare locked forever within its grasp. Reaver would not look at it, but he could feel it watching him, and something much worse as they began to cross the remnants of the covered bridge. His eyes would begin playing tricks on him, and for a second he could see it as it once were, two tiny children running through its openings, pretending it were a castle. Then just as quickly the reality of what it was would return, and just as quickly he would grow cold again.

The dirt made a funny squishing noise as they touched the other side; it had always amused him at how the marsh's rains had no dictation of where they would fall. He guessed it was suitable for the area to be a constant site of rain, as if those who had lost their lives here still cried upon its ground. The clouds even seemed darker as his eyes trailed to the black castle that loomed beside them. A shudder ran through him, and he was glad that Sparrow had decided not to look at him. Every step he took past the dark temple his pulse would rise, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. How annoyingly humbling this place was for him, angry at the stone halls for reminding him what pain and grief and fear felt to those who were mortal.

Ice.

Suddenly everything was ice, and he could not move. He watched with dread as it seemed Sparrow and her dog were getting farther and farther away, while he stayed paralyzed to the ground. He tried to cry out, but as he opened his mouth dark tendrils of shadow crept down his throat, utterly destroying any chance of his voice being heard. He felt his head going giddy as he looked at the substance that held him in place, crawling up and through his skin, It looks like ink...

Sparrow turned, disturbed by the lack of footfalls behind her. What she saw created a terror inside her that she had never witnessed before. Reaver stood, or was being held, with his arms out and head tilted almost to the point she was sure it had snapped. This dark...ooze was coursing around him, pulsing as if alive, draining all around it of life. She remembered crying out his name, and then nothing, as she too was swallowed by the unrelenting darkness...

Reaver: A cliffhanger, truly? I say, that's rather cruel of you.

Me: Yeah, well, I thought the chapter would be to big if I didn't stop here.

Reaver: It envolves me, dear; nothing is to big when it envolves Reaver.

Sparrow: How about that ego of yours?

Reaver: Honestly I believe it could be better. Care to help me with that...ladies?

Me: OKAY! WE'RE DONE!