The Fifth Star - Chapter 9 (2/3) - Confrontations

“You want to know so badly?” he said, managing to get his tone contained. He should have anticipated this. When she nodded, he continued. “Fine. Sit down. Take my hand, and I’ll show you. But consider yourself forewarned.”

The defiance in her eyes faded a few degrees, but her curiosity was still plain as day. Sparrow placed herself back on the ground and extended her hand towards him, then paused, perhaps thinking the better of her actions.

She needed to see this. Before she could change her mind, he took the initiative. Darius filled his thoughts with the memories, his history he wished he could leave buried for all time, and took her hand in his own as he relived them.

A cold stone room. The agonizing rumblings of a days-empty stomach wrack through him, and it is all he can do to shut his eyes and try to block the pain. I’m going to die in here, the thought runs through his head, I’ve failed my test and now they’ve no use for me. A grating sound pierces into his skull, and he looks up with barely functioning eyes to see what manner of person has come for him. One of the tutors stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “Have you thought about what you’ve done? How you’ve dissatisfied us?” his voice is deep, imposing.

"Yes.” His own voice responds simply. He is so hungry, even speaking is an effort.

"Are you ready to perform your duty to the Empire?”

He says nothing in response, but the outcome is the same. The mage steps into the room, and a guard walks in behind. Grabs him by the arm, and hauls him bodily to his feet. His vision swims the whole while he’s led away, down hallways he can barely register before he’s swept off down another.

Eventually, he ends up in a chamber. A musty smell of mold and bodily functions accosts his senses but is the least of his concerns as he is pushed down into a chair, the table in front of him the only other object in the room. The door behind him opens, and suddenly a different smell reaches him. A plate of roasted meat is set in front of him.

"Eat,” a voice commands, and he is not about to argue. No fork is offered but he tears into it with fingers and teeth, ripping the meat apart like some wild beast, and in seconds the plate is emptied. Hot juices run down his chin and he licks off every drop, desperate for more. The feeling of hunger fades quickly, and his vision starts to return to its usual state.

He only notices the door on the other side of the room as it, too, opens. The guard stands him again, and he tries to shake off the unwanted contact with annoyance, but the hand grips firmly, painfully, and drags him to the doorway. He pushes him inside. The sound of a turning lock clicks in the near silence.

Inside the room the barely recognizable form of a man hangs from a wooden contraption, stark naked, his arms and legs spread as far as they can go. His skin is soaked in blood and he barely clings to life. The tutor stands beside the man, looking not the least bit disturbed. “Kill him,” he commands. He places a knife in Darius’s hand.

He looks back and forth between the condemned man and the instructor. “What is his crime?” he asks.

“It is not your place to know. Kill him, or you can take his place.”

Briefly, the thought crosses his mind to turn the blade on the mage instead of the man, but he knows it is no use. His strength is no match for him in his current state. He steps closer to the suspended man, who looks up at him with eyes that might as well already belong in a corpse. He draws in a laboured breath to speak but no words come from the cracked and bleeding lips. A wisp of magic edges into Darius’s mind and he knows the tutor is waiting for him to fail, to force him with magic instead. An oddly delirious feeling comes over his body at the same time, this one not borne of hunger. He readies the blade in his hand, positions it over the man’s heart. He stops, waits, assessing the escalating sensation that begins to crawl through his body as his own heart races faster. His vision starts to warp, and just as he thinks, I’ve been drugged, something’s not right, the magic tightens its grip and his own hands push the knife through the condemned man’s skin and into his heart.

He doesn’t understand, but ecstasy runs through his veins, alights every nerve in his body with warm sensations of pleasure as the hot blood pours over his hands, still wrapped around the hilt. He shudders, gasps at the strength of it. He’d never felt something so divine in all his days.

 The memory shattered the moment Darius’s hand separated from hers. “Conditioning,” he spat in explanation before she could say a word.

Sparrow reeled; such treatment was more than brutal. It was inhuman. “Gods!” she hollered, shock rendering her unable to come up with something more substantial, “Gods, that’s…”

“I know. That was the first time. There were many more after that.” A heavy sigh escaped him. “The human mind is a curious and fragile thing. The drugs – whatever it is they used, I never discovered – made the act itself pleasurable. The body connects the action with the feeling, ignoring the influence of the medicines, and when the withdrawal rears its head… let’s just say it makes the craving for violence quite potent instead.”

“And they would have done that to me as well?” Sparrow asked with a visible shudder, “What reason could they have to make their magi violent?”

“Because, to the Empire, we are no better than tools. Weapons, more aptly. What good is a weapon if its blade is too soft to pierce the flesh?”

“Darius… I – I’m sorry.” Her voice was hesitant, her tone more than a little frightened. Good. Fear would keep her on her toes.

“You had no way of knowing,” he answered, “and now you do. So, are you with me, or have you doubts still?”

Her head shook back and forth emphatically, and she rubbed at her arms as if she had suddenly caught a chill. “No, I’m with you. I don’t want to go anywhere near that place. I only have one question remaining, that you haven’t yet addressed.”

“The specifics of your talent, yes?”

She nodded simply, eyes intensely fixated on his.

“Remember what I told you. Magic itself isn’t wrong, nor evil. That lies up to its wielder,” he let that sink in for a moment before he told her. “Your talent is compulsion, Sparrow.”

Her reply was delayed, and when it came, the sound was barely audible, “Oh.”

“Please, don’t let yourself fall into despair. I may not be specifically trained for such magic, but I can help you. Most talents work quite similarly.”

“But I don’t want to control people,” Sparrow protested.

Darius attempted to flash her a reassuring smile, pitiful as it probably presented in his current mood. “You don’t need to, if you don’t want to. But you must at least learn to control it – the aethris, and your talent – or it will control you. If you refuse, your magic may cause you to affect peoples’ minds without being aware of ever doing so.”

She sighed heavily, “Fair enough. I wouldn’t wish that.”

“I’m glad for it.”

The conversation petered out, but Darius was in no rush to reignite it. He’d given Sparrow much to ponder, major developments in her life she would need to come to terms with on her own. There was nothing more he could do to ease the way other than support her and answer her questions once she managed to construct them. For now he relaxed and enjoyed the gentle breeze and shining sky, peeking through the canopy above, knowing their reprieve would soon be over.

**********

Sparrow did not sleep, but lazed about easily in the sunny spots cast upon the ground, watching through half-closed lids as Darius tended to their mare. He took it first to the stream she’d heard gurgling nearby, and after a few short minutes reappeared with the beast, tethering it to a nearby tree. He left the lead long enough that the horse could extend its neck to the grass to eat, and it did so now as Darius gave it a few encouraging strokes, murmuring to it quietly. Sparrow wouldn’t have taken him for the animal sort, but he seemed at ease and natural as he cared for it.

Suddenly however, he stiffened and looked about them with a degree of alarm. Sparrow sat up immediately at the change in his expression. “Is everything alright?” she asked.

“Stay calm,” he replied, “but I hear horses. This far from the roads, it can only mean trouble.”

She held her breath to listen, straining against the silence, and after a few moments she heard a distant repetitive thudding, so faint she was shocked he’d noted it at all. Rising to her feet, Sparrow went to stand closer to him, looking to him for direction.

“It would be futile to run now,” he told her in a rushed whisper. “They’re too close, and our horse not nearly rested enough. Just… follow my lead. Stay quiet unless they force an answer from you.”

She nodded her agreement, swallowing around the lump that had formed in her throat. Darius closed his eyes, and she watched with fascination as his face altered before her eyes, turning him into a stranger. Then she felt the unnatural influence flow over her own body, much as it had when he’d made her invisible, and she knew he’d done the same to her. She wondered fleetingly what he would have made her look like, but quickly reprimanded herself for distracting her thoughts with such vanities.

It was not long at all before the riders came into sight, their movement visible through the gaps in the trees surrounding the clearing before their individual forms were identifiable. One man spotted them, and he pointed in their direction as he yelled, “You there! Stay where you are!”

Neither of them moved an inch, and as the first few soldiers drew close, they spread their numbers out so as to surround the two of them entirely. Sparrow counted them as they appeared; ten men, and her with no fighting ability.

All of them dismounted at the same time. Though no man had yet drawn a weapon, three of them encroached closer with the confident sway in their step that their positions within the Empire afforded them. Their uniforms were all the same; none of them bore any marks to distinguish themselves as a commander, but he made himself known almost immediately.

“You two are a ways off the roads, aren’t you? You lost?” said the one as he peered at their faces from beneath his own bushy brows. His face was leathery, but not old; indicative of a hard life spent mostly outdoors. His companions were much the same.

Darius bowed his head down, attempting to look as much of a timid commoner as he could, and Sparrow mimicked the action quickly. “N-no sir,” Darius stammered with a false hesitance, “not lost.”

“What’s your business in the lord’s woods, then? Where you off to?”

“My wife and I, we’re just returning home to Reivic. We was visiting family in the city, is all.”

“I’m sure you’re aware then, that this forest is off limits, save to Empire men?”

Darius’s feet shuffled nervously in the dirt as he kept his eyes averted. “But the main road takes so much longer, sir,” he explained. “We’re not hurtin’ no one. Please, we want no trouble.”

The man who had spoken walked a tight circle around Darius, looking him up and down in a manner that was clearly meant to be intimidating. “We might be able to arrange something,” he said finally, stopping directly ahead, “that is… if you had seen a certain pair of criminals fleeing through these woods?”

At the same time as this questioning proceeded, Sparrow peered from the corner of one eye to note one of the soldiers was in the midst of detaching their bags from the horse’s saddle. Darius saw it too, it seemed. “Shit,” she heard him barely mutter under his breath as the horseflesh beneath the bag was exposed. A distinctive brand marred the horse’s hindquarters, and the soldier began to yell out his find.

Darius was faster. One arm whipped around and pushed Sparrow behind him even as he drew one of his daggers with the other, slashing it across the leader’s throat directly in front of him before the assembled men had a chance to think.

“Stay exactly where you are, Sparrow!” Darius growled, drawing his second blade as he whipped around and set his sights on the next closest man. The spine-chilling sound of nine swords being drawn echoed in the trees as Darius dropped the illusions on the pair of them. Though she could see no benefit in the same, she did as she was told; only her head moved around, her eyes wide with fear as she looked upon the encroaching threats.

Without warning, a column of fire whooshed into existence around Sparrow, and it was all she could do to keep her footing as the unexpected flash near blinded her. Her arm flew up in front of her face as she cringed away from it; she couldn’t bear to watch the flames draw close, only to consume her.

When her flesh suffered no burns after more than enough time, she dared look out again. The fire spun around her as if directed by a non-existent wind. Sparks flew from the body of it but the flames did not spread, though it should have easily in the current conditions. She could hear clashing metal from without her fiery prison, and if she squinted into the light just so she could make out the battle beyond its borders.

Calling it a battle was giving too much credit to the soldiers, however; it was much more one-sided than that despite the numbers leaning the other way. Darius moved like a demon at the centre of his own chaotic whirlwind. The remaining soldiers surrounded him, but their fear was obvious in their careful stances. Their blades jabbed and sliced this way and that, attempting to wound him, but none could find purchase in their target’s flesh. He deflected each blow with startling precision, ducking, lunging and weaving as fast as her eyes could track and more.

Sparrow cried out a warning as one of the men darted in close behind him, but her intervention was unnecessary – as if he had an extra sense not possessed by normal men, he spun to the side just as the blade would have run him through, his counter-attack a slash through a hamstring that sent the offender stumbling to the earth where he was dispatched with a complete lack of hesitation. His lifeless body joined the others now occupying the forest floor.

She couldn’t help but notice Darius’s lips pull away from his teeth in a manic grin with each life he ended. The entire display was brutal; gruesome, even. But there was also, she found herself admitting, something exquisitely beautiful in the way he moved. It was clear the motions were so imbedded in him, so practiced, that they were like the steps of a macabre dance, with he being the artist, taking lives with flawless execution and grace. She couldn’t help but to be entranced.

Soon Darius stood alone in the clearing, the corpses of his opponents spilling their remaining lifeblood out into the grass. The fire wall surrounding her petered out then, and now she could see the strain on him. Darius’s chest heaved as he panted for air, his clothing clung tight to his form with sweat. She went to him then, fretting over him and looking for injuries he may have sustained and not noticed in the heat of battle, but he waved off her concern. “I’m alright, Sparrow,” he assured her once he had gained his breath. “Are you well? I hope the fire did not startle you too terribly.”

Sparrow put her hands on her hips in a falsely scolding manner; it was not overly convincing with the smile that fought to emerge. “You never said you had that sort of talent. What other abilities are you hiding?”

Darius smirked at her spirit. “None else, I’m afraid. You’ve seen my whole repertoire, now,” he stooped to wipe the blood from his blades on one of the body’s clothing.

“Bloody waste,” he muttered as he reached out and respectfully closed the eyes of one of the men, whose expression had been fixed upon the sky above. “Harlemont knows my talents. Not that I wish he had sent more men… but he would have known what he sentenced them to, regardless, and he gained naught from it.”

Sparrow didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing, only laid a reassuring hand upon Darius’s back where it was turned to her. After a few quiet moments he straightened and turned to her with a smile.

“There’s one more thing I want to do before we go. I want to cut your hair.”

“My hair?” she asked, toying with one of the curling ends that laid on her chest. It was a comforting and familiar thing, one she sincerely did not want to part with.

“That, and your eyes, are the easiest ways to recognize you. We cannot always be relying on illusions. You’ll need a new name, too. You can’t be Sparrow anymore… not ever. That name cannot afford to be heard again.”