Secrets

By Lindsay R. Honosky

Chapter Nine: Murphey's Law

Dear Science it's almost five in the morning! Anyway! Sorry for the long wait; I couldn't figure out how I wanted this chapter to go, but thanks to my good friend Shepard I got the wheel's a turnin', lol. Thank you all for sticking with this story for so long; I'm glad I could write something you enjoy. I just hope I keep doing a good job, lol.

On a side note, at the end of this story I'm going to put an epilogue for my next, and it's going to be based in Fable 3, so if you don't like it I wouldn't read it, lol. Honestly I don't know why I like the third one so much myself; I blame the shameless fangirl. PLEASE TAKE MY MONEY FABLE~

It was strange to awake as the sun went to sleep, and as Sparrow looked out the open doorway she watched its last moments before disappearing beyond the purple-blue sky. She sighed contently, leaning back against the pillow, wanting nothing more than to drift back to sleep. Perhaps they could sleep in for the night, and head towards Bowerstone in the morning? Certainly there would be less threat of bandits, hobbes, and other undesirable creatures should they wait for the sun to accompany them. Then again, Bowerstone was only a few miles away; they could be there in a day or two if they hurried.

A strange feeling started to nibble at the corners of her mind, and Sparrow frowned as she realized she was dreading this trip's end. Of all the silly things; why on earth would she want to keep fighting, sleeping on cold ground, eating dried or salted food, and having to deal with the company of a nymphomaniac? It couldn't be any more ludicrous! It wasn't as if she had feelings for the deviant; no, what a silly thought. How could she fall for a man so egoistical? So self-centered, who had no respect for common decency or privacy?

...How could she fall for such a man?

Sparrow bit back the smile that was growing on her face, berating herself for thinking such ridiculous things. There was no way what she felt was love. Attraction, yes, she would admit to that. You'd have to be a fool not to be pulled towards the man's magnetic smile, his charming laugh, the way he carried himself with such arrogant assurance. Surely that was it; along with a dry streak of romance who's days she had lost count. He wants to sleep with me...Sparrow felt her cheeks burning as her mind displayed such naughty images before her eyes, and once again she disciplined herself. This would not do; they were Heroes, and Heroes were supposed to set an example. Though, she supposed Reaver had never really been concerned whether he was setting the right example. As she thought about it more, she never really heard him brag of his Hero blood. In fact, she was sure most if not all the tales told of him omitted that very detail. She wondered why, giving that it would be an extremely high status boost...then again, maybe it wouldn't be. Being a Hero was a double-edged sword; people could love you, but they could also fear you, hate you for being "better" than they. Thoughts like these often made her wonder what life must have been like, all those years ago when she and the other three Heroes would not have been such an oddity. Would they have been arrogant, selfish beings who demanded respect and power? Or would they have earned it through hard work, protecting the people and their self-interests for the greater good?

Something told Sparrow she wouldn't want anything to do with either.

The sound of footsteps echoed lightly through the wooden floor, and her chance to go back to sleep escaped. Not that she didn't trust Reaver...well, she didn't trust Reaver, (but she was pretty sure he wouldn't try anything in her sleep), Sparrow kicked back the blankets one last time, sucking in a hard breath as the cold air hit her bare arms and legs. Quickly sliding her feet into her thigh-highs, Sparrow began to walk up the stairs, wishing she had grabbed her coat.

Not to her surprise Reaver was already fully dressed, his hair styled neatly and his boots shining in the candle-light. He noticed her and smiled, studying one of the many candles along the stone walls, "I assume these are magically activated?"

"Oh, yes," Sparrow put her hand to the wall, feeling a small amount of warmth emanating from it. The magic that flowed through this place was awe-inspiring, and she wondered why it had taken her so long to notice. To be fair, however, most of her visits had involved fighting for her life, not taking in the finer points of its architecture. She heard Reaver coming closer to her, stopping to stand beside her, "The candles activate once the sun goes down, and the wicks are magically augmented so they last twice as long."

"Amazing...!"

She was surprised to see actual curiousity on his face. He held his chin in one hand while biting the tip of his thumb with the other, the pearl white teeth standing out brilliantly against the brown of his gloves. Sparrow looked away quickly, hoping he didn't notice her study of him. She instead grabbed his other hand and placed it on the wall as she had, "Can you feel that?"

"I'm wearing gloves-Oh!" His smile widened, and in his eyes was a hint of boyish curiosity. She wondered how many times that spark had been there, back when he really was just a boy with wild green eyes. Reaver stepped back, looking the wall up and down, "Simply amazing! I'd always had a fascination with magic; it was one of the things I could never do."

"Don't feel bad; I was eighteen when I first used it."

"It must be amazing; being able to bend the elements to your will. Conjuring weapons out of thin air to strike down your enemies..." He looked thoughtful for a moment, "Though, there is nothing sweeter than the kick of a finely crafted firearm, or the feel of a master blacksmith's work of steel."

"Were you alive before guns were made?"

He feigned offense, "My dear Sparrow! Just how old do you think I am?"

"Sometimes I doubt you really are immortal, what with you're moods ever changing like the tides." She crossed her arms, the corner of her mouth raising, "And please don't take offense to that, Reaver dear, for I'm sure you can sense the truth in my words."

He crossed his arms, locking eyes with her. She'd never really noticed how much taller he was than her, "So I'm more tumultuous than an adolescent girl, am I?"

"I wouldn't say that. Perhaps more along the lines of an aging woman who's finally reached that time." She leaned back against the wall, her smirk widening.

Reaver stared her down, the smallest flicker of a smile at the edge of his lips, "Now that is insulting. I'll have you know I'm nowhere near the age for such a horrible transformation!"

"Oh?" Sparrow raised an eyebrow, "And just how old are you supposed to be, anyway?"

"How old do you think I am?"

"Do you want an educated guess, or the visual assumption?"

"The latter, if you please."

"Thirty-six."

His head went back, a bark of laughter echoing through the tower, "Close. I was shooting more for thirty-two."

She frowned, her eyes dropping from his for a moment, "So when is your designated age?"

He sighed, joining her up against the wall, "I believe the highest I've even gotten was fifty. And that," he put his hand to his face, rubbing his nose between thumb and forefinger, "was a very long time ago."

Sparrow noticed how tired he looked and sighed, "You don't have to tell me..."

"It was the first time I had to go back..." he slid to the floor, eyes hidden beneath brown locks, "...go back to them." If he had noticed Sparrow joining him on the floor, he showed no sign, and instead took in a deep breath, "I don't know how I knew what I was supposed to do, but there you have it. I was just returning to shore after working on a trader's barge for a few months. Being out to sea...it helped me forget all the things I had done." He laughed bitterly, "Apparently that was not to be the case. I still remember the shock I felt when the Dark Seal appeared on my desk." He twirled a piece of his hair, his face absent of emotion, "I had thought, since my appearance had rarely changed in twenty-eight years, that the destruction I wrought upon my home would have been a sufficient price. I suppose that was just wishful thinking...I still don't know how I knew what needed to be done..." Reaver's voice trailed off, and for an eternity the tower was silent.

Sparrow stood, stretching her back. She looked down on him, her hand outstretched, "Come on, let's explore the tower grounds a bit; you're a bit unsettling if you're not flashing that ridiculous smile."

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For a long time he just looked at her hand, off in his own world. His head dipped for a moment, and Sparrow was sure he would refuse her, but as his face resurfaced that trademark grin was shining upon it, "Very well, Sparrow dear, as you wish." He grabbed her hand, allowing himself to be pulled up from the floor. His smile grew as he caught the faintest hint of a blush on little Sparrow's face, but decided not to tease her about it. Instead he allowed himself to be escorted, by hand, down and around the tower to a charming little sitting area in the garden, over looking the lake.

In the middle stood a grand oak tree, a few benches laid parallel to each other on both sides. Green shrubbery lined the walls of the tower and along the cliff base and walkway, causing the area to appear like a tiny green room. At the corner were statues older than he was, ivy reaching up around them in a tight embrace. Sparsh lantern light could be seen shimmering through the bushes' leaves, making it look as if they were a grand city filled with tiny little houses. The wind blew gently, causing the familiar sound of water gently gracing land by the lake, and as Reaver looked up at the stars a sweet calm washed over him.

"Hey yew!"

And like his calm was shattered, replaced by a horrible voice that shouted at them from across the lake. Scanning the waterfront his eyes finally rested on a tiny island, a small ruin of some old fortress poking out of it like a thorn in someone's thumb. Along the shore of said island was a tiny fire, and by that fire looked to be a man. Reaver squinted his eyes, as if that would allow him to see at greater distances, "Sparrow, dear, do you know who that might be?"

She shrugged, clearly amused, "I don't know; a squatter, perhaps?" Sparrow began to walk down the tiny path, smiling, "Let's go find out."

"Or let's just shoot him and be done with it."

"You have serious issues with trespassers."

"And you,my dear, have no issues with them at all."

"I have issues with shooting random people for no apparent reason."

He laughed at that, "Why, my dear, I believe that's half the reason I've lived so long." He gained no response, save the soft crunching of pebbles beneath his boots. Looking once more towards the tiny island, Reaver pointed and shouted, "You there! Come here so we may have a word with you!"

Sparrow giggled, "What are we, his parents?"

"I believe my gun will discipline him, should the need arise."

The man could be faintly seen crossing his arms, "Oh aye, I'm so scared! What're ya gonnae do? Shoot me?"

"Don't think it hasn't crossed my mind, you ignorant pauper!"

Sparrow sighed, "Ignore him! Might I ask who you are?"

"Oh no, you're not gettin' nothin' outae me!" The man leaned down, long hair falling to his knees, "I know who you are, and donnae think you're about tae trick me!"

Reaver drew his pistol, the hammer clicking into place, "I will ask politely again, Sparrow dear, may I please shoot him and rid the world of his existence."

He yelped as cold water splashed against his leg, an annoyed sigh quickly following as he watched Sparrow swim across the water. And I'd just freshened up too, he thought, regretfully unbuttoning his cape and vest, then undoing his cravat. Sparrow had reached the other shore by the time his gloves and boots lay strewn across the opposite shore, and he cursed explosively as cool water engulfed his body. This man would pay for this, Reaver swore, smiling as he pictured all the wonderful ways to kill him.

Reaver hated pebbled shores, and would be sure to add that to the pain he was about to inflict on this person. Sparrow must have seen something in his eyes, for she held out her arm as if to hold him back, "Calm down and listen, will you?"

"Yeah, calm down, ya trigger happy dandy." The peasant wore a smile that was much to arrogant for Reaver's taste. Bright green eyes taunted him from beneath a pauper's hat, bits and pieces of rags patching holes that must have been created by rats. His clothes were a rag-tag assortment of shirts, vests, and whatever pants he assumed the man found on the road. No shoes adorned his feet, yet he was surprised to see how clean they looked, though still quite haggard. Living so close to water must have given him ample opportunity to bathe, among other things. Reaver sneered as him mind thought of what "other things" could possibly mean.

Sparrow looked between the two warily, "Sir, I'm sorry but for your own safety I should warn you not to, uh," she held her fingers up in quotations, "pester him."

"Oh, fragile little flower, aren't ya? Well now, if I knew you were such a sensitive little dove I'dae chosen my words with more care!"

The gun was between his eyes, Sparrow's arm rendered utterly useless, "A name, if you would, so I may grace your corpse with the honor of having being created by me."

The man spat, "Oh aye, a great honor. Almost as great as tae be shitted out by Hobbes!"

Reaver's annoyance peaked as Sparrow burst out in laughter beside him. He was about to pull the trigger when Sparrow spoke between breaths, "I...I like this guy. I've never seen you so rilled up."

"That is because most people know better than to insult humanity so."

She shook her head, "Right. Anyway," she turned her attention to the blond man, "would you mind telling me your name?"

The man straightened, smiling, "Aye, I'll tell ya, seein' as it'll probably make fancy boy here pop a blood vessel." Fixing his hat, the man smiled wider, "You, my dear lass, may call me Murfs."

"M-Murfs?" She smiled, clearly amused. It sent a new fire through Reaver, fueling his rage.

"Aye, me name ain't Murfs, just what people call me. Real name be Clinton. Clinton McHugh, but me ma told me I was the child of ol' Murphey himself, what with me bad luck and all. So the name stuck," he looked up, smiling absently, "I guess me accidentally catchin' half the village on fire didn't help none with that whole mess, did it?"

"No," Sparrow laughed, "I guess not."

A vicious smile spread across Reaver's face, "Good, now I know what to carve on your headstone." The gun rose again, the hammer clicking into place...

"Wait!" The man held up his hand, his face changing from an oafish smile to a dark seriousness, "There's something I need tae tell yew!"

Reaver sighed, taking his thumb off the hammer, "Make it quick."

"You look right silly with them fancy clothes of your's all soaked and sticky!"

The shot rang through the night, accompanied by Sparrow's cry of surprise. Reaver holstered his pistol, a satisfied grin spreading across his face, "Now, I feel much better."

The next echo was not as loud as the gunshot, but the snap was just as sharp. Reaver bit back a yelp as Sparrow's hand left his face, the stinging red flesh already developing the image of said hand. She looked at him with a fury Reaver had rarely seen, and for a moment he thought he would need his pistol once more. Then he remembered Sparrow was unarmed, She has her magic though. Reaver cursed Will Users across the world.

However, instead of being burned by fire, he was burned by her words, "I don't know who you think you are, but you don't just shoot people for making you angry!"

"My dear, I shall shot whomever I desire, least you forget."

Her fists were clenched, the knuckles bone white, and she was shaking with rage, "I would have thought for someone who feared death so much, they would show the slightest restraint at causing it to others!"

Reaver smiled, "I disagree; that man clearly had a death wish."

Sparrow huffed, crossing her arms, "And you didn't smell the alcohol on his breath? Notice the way he tettered here and there?"

"Have you never heard that people become their true selves when intoxicated?"

"Really? Do you turn into a sniveling coward? Or perhaps you turn to a cold-hearted, selfish murderer?"

Eyebrows furrowed, Reaver snapped, "Sparrow, that man already went across the line. I'd advise you not to do the same."

Sparrow walked past him, her feet splashing lightly in the shallows, "I'm not scared of you, Reaver, like that man; something that you clearly fear." Before he could say something to counter she was already swimming across the lake, her head beneath the water. He followed her, the cold water doing nothing for his simmering mood.

Sparrow stood on the shore, wringing out her hair as she watched him swimming after her. She should have killed him, right then and there, but then what would that make her? No, she wouldn't kill Reaver; he wasn't worth killing. Such a man, no, thing did not deserve such pity. Chewing her bottom lip, Sparrow wondered if he truly were crazy. Was there nothing of the so-called weak man who feared death so much he would beseech shadows to save him? Would that not influence such a man to shy away from such needless bloodshed? Then she wondered if possibly, he challenges all those around him, hoping one day to provoke the right person that just might put him out of his centuries long suffering.

She watched as he walked up to his discarded clothes, white shirt almost clear as it stuck to his chest. Even though the muscles beneath would testify to his strength, all Sparrow saw was a sad, broken man who had forgotten who and what he truly was. Sparrow almost felt pity for him, but then the flicker of poor Murfs fire caught her attention, and she stormed off up the hill.

Pain, inexplicable yet familiar pain shot through her, and before she could react she was on her back, mind reeling. She couldn't breath, and the lanterns in the garden seemed to dim. Before her she heard a bone-chilling laugh, one that haunted her nightmares. But instead of one, there were three, all of them with those hate-filled eyes that only the Spire could create. Sparrow cursed, crying out as pain denied her the ability to stand. The three commandant copies came closer, the leader drawing his sword.

His head exploded into a million tiny bits of blue flesh, the others looking between each other in confusion. The exchange didn't last long, however, as the one to the right suffered a similar fate, followed closely by the last. Footsteps fell softly on the dirt path behind her, and she yelped as pain laced up her arm. She didn't see, but felt Reaver kneel down, "I believe you have a broken wing, little Sparrow."

"S-shut up, Reaver." Trying to stand, Sparrow cried out once more as her left leg seemed to be on fire.

Reaver clicked his tongue, "My, my, and a broken leg as well. Seems you'll never take flight in this condition."

Dots danced before her eyes, "Reaver, please. Leave me alone...Reaver!" His name came out as a surprised shriek, and she flushed at that small moment of weakness. Reaver's arms scooped her up as if he were picking up a pile of clothes. She could tell he was trying to be gentle. Such a confusing man, she thought as he carried her through the garden, "Reaver, please, put me down."

"You are quite the puzzle, Sparrow. Here I am carrying you to a nice, soft bed, a potion awaiting you, and yet you would rather stay out in the cold and suffer." She could barely make out his smile, "If you truly detest my aiding you, then perhaps think of it this way; a life for a life."

Her head began to sway, pain shooting through her leg despite how careful Reaver was, "That...might be true. However, I'm still in debt to you..."

He placed her on the bed she had previously occupied, thankful that the sheets were already drawn. Reaver turned his back to her, heading up the stairs, "Ah, yes, I suppose you do. I'll have to charge you for those bullets I used; all four of them."

"Four?" Her rage renewed as she remembered why the number was even, "Don't you dare assume I'm compensating you for murder!"

His laugh echoed from the upper level, the clinking of glass in the background, "Calm yourself, little Sparrow! One in your state is easily susceptible to unconsciousness!"

Sparrow put her uninjured arm over her eyes, wondering why the fates were so cruel to her.

Reaver: Another one of these little episodes? Don't you think their getting a little long in the tooth?

Me: Like your age?

*Sound of a gun cocking*

Sparrow: Reaver, if you shoot her, who will continue the story.

Reaver: I'm quite popular amongst the writers here; what's one among thousands?

Me: Wow, way to make a girl feel special.

Reaver: Oh, you're special, my dear. In all the wrong ways.

Me: You're one of those grouchy old men who shout at kids from their porch, aren't you?

Sparrow: Go to bed, Lindsay; I'm not mopping up another mess if he shoots you too.

(Should I stop these bits of insanity? Please tell me, for I shall post-haste!)