The Fifth Star - Chapter 7 (2/2) - Contact

“You- you're welcome,” she stammered with surprise. She wanted to ask him about that incredible occurrence, and about what she had seen inside of what she knew must have been his dreams. But how could she possibly broach a subject such as that without sounding insane? She had experienced it, and she didn't quite believe the truth of it herself. What would he make of it?

Darius stood slowly, brushing the dirt from his pants, and the moment passed. “Well,” he began, “I'd like to pack this up and keep moving, but first, let me have a look at your wounds.”

Sparrow was hesitant to risk him touching her skin directly, unsure if the contact would cause a reaction like it had just minutes before, or if it would only occur whilst one of them slept. To buy herself a few moments, she protested the deconstruction of her rudimentary camp – though she was, admittedly, genuinely upset that sleep would still continue to elude her. “Why?!” she demanded, “I just set all that up!”

“It would have been fine too, if it hadn’t been for the fire. The smoke will betray our location if we have any pursuers.” He disappeared momentarily into the tent and emerged with the pack, then knelt beside Sparrow and began rummaging through it. “Don't worry. You can sleep once we're mounted again.”

She didn't say anything in response, waiting only somewhat patiently while Darius withdrew the items from his pack that he would need to address the cuts Harlemont had inflicted on her. When he was ready, he removed his cloak and spread it out behind her to cover the dirt, indicating with a casual gesture that she should lay back onto it. Sparrow slowly lowered her back onto it, the lacerations eliciting an involuntary groan of pain as some of the fresh scabs split apart and oozed once more.

Darius looked on with overwhelming concern, and once she was settled, he wasted no time peeling back her borrowed shirt to expose her belly. Sparrow squeezed her eyes shut, both anticipating and dreading the simple brush of his skin against hers that would inevitably come to be.

“How many cuts are there?” his voice broke the silence, “I see six right here on your abdomen.”

“Thirteen,” she said simply. She would remember each one of them for a long time to come. “But this one here is the worst; the rest feel pretty shallow,” she indicated the largest which stretched from beside her navel downward and slightly to the left, to where it nearly touched her pubic bone. It was much deeper than the rest and had begun to ache terribly.

“Okay,” he agreed, “I'll dress this one if that's all you'd like, and then we'll go.”

Sparrow heard a small popping sound and cracked one eyelid open just long enough to see that he held a skin of wine in his hand, now unstoppered. “This is going to burn a bit,” he cautioned, and she felt the cool liquid splash onto her skin. Then the wine touched the raw flesh, and Darius's warning was not enough to keep her from swearing in a most unladylike fashion as the hot pain flared.

Darius muttered apologies continually as he carried on with his work. She felt fabric swipe across her skin, presumably drying it. The sound of another container opening reached her, followed by a thick, sticky substance being spread around the wound but not touching it directly, its application rough as if it were being applied with a flat stick.

Maybe he won't touch me now, and I'll have a few days to think it over, she thought; but what she didn't notice that in the midst of her musing, Darius smoothed a piece of thick cloth over the wound, and his hand just brushed her abdomen at the tail end of his motion.

“To think what over?” he asked, his voice pleasant and not at all alarmed.

Sparrow's eyes flew open and she froze in place like a prey animal facing its natural predator, staring directly into his eyes from where she lay on his cloak. He must think I just said that aloud! Her thoughts seized similarly and she was completely unable to formulate a lie for his question once she was on the spot.

“I-erm– Nothing. Don't worry about it,” she stammered, averting her eyes and pulling down her shirt to stand.

Darius's brow furrowed with plain concern and he put a hand on her leg to discourage her from standing. “Is everything okay?” he asked, “You know you can tell me what ails you. I won't mock or laugh.”

She couldn't help the small snort she released at that. “I'm not worried about you laughing at me,” she told him quietly, knowing she would have no choice now but to tell him the truth. She didn't want what could potentially be a long journey to start with such animosity and the distrust it would produce. “I'm more worried about you sending me back, or leaving me at the next town to fend for myself.”

“I haven't gone through all this trouble to dump you somewhere with no protection. What could possibly make you think I would abandon you now?”

She sighed heavily. “You may just change your mind,” she intoned morosely, then she extended her hand to him. “Something happened while you slept. Take my hand… there's no possible way I could explain it with words.”

Darius's frown crinkled deeper but he didn't argue. He reached out and took her hand in his, his eyes intense as he stared at her face.

What is she so worried about? his thought entered her mind, clear as a bell.

This, Sparrow thought, still meeting his eyes, her lips firmly pressed together so he could see for himself that she did not open her mouth to speak the single word that he would have heard.

His hand released hers instantly, his brows shot up his forehead in shock, and his muscles visibly stiffened. After a moment of stunned silence, in which she assumed he attempted to process this new information, he spoke. “You can hear my thoughts.” Sparrow nodded quietly, fearful of his full reaction.

“And I yours,” he continued, overly calm, and she again confirmed it.

“But that's not possible.”

“Apparently it is,” she replied. “Told you I couldn't explain it.”

“Indeed…” he trailed off, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Can you hear me right now?”

“No, I can't,” she told him truthfully. “Only when our skin touches.”

He took that in stride, likely assuming it occurred while she fed him, and not the less defensible intrusion she had committed by touching his unconscious face without consent. She was grateful she did not need to explain that little detail. “Hmm. For once, I'm rather at a standstill. While I haven't any idea what could have caused this, we'll just have to investigate this on the road. We haven't time to stop any longer.” He stood, and to her great surprise, he offered his hand to assist her from the ground, already accepting the latest nuances of their situation and taking it in stride.

She glanced from his face to his hand twice to confirm he was sure and then she took a hold of it. He lifted her to her feet with graceful ease, and while she still held his hand she directed another mental thought at him, thank you. For everything.

You're most welcome, came his reply, then he let go of her hand and bent down to scoop up his cloak, brushing it off before throwing it over his shoulders once more. “Could you start throwing some dirt on that campfire, while I take the-” he cast a glance at her sagging construction and a teasing smirk played at his lips as he continued, “-tent apart?”

His smile reassured her and she allowed herself to relax and return it. “Alright,” she agreed, and while he made his way over to the admittedly pitiful tent she squatted down beside the fire and did as he asked. It was plain he was well accustomed to deconstructing the shelter, for he had it neatly packed away only moments after Sparrow had managed to fully extinguish the flames.

After he gathered and packed the remaining few items she had removed from the pack, they were ready to set off again. Darius retrieved the mare and strapped the bag back on, then stooped and offered his hands to Sparrow as a step for her to mount it, which she accepted gratefully. She had managed to get atop the animal at the stables during their escape, but it had been a cumbersome task with the animal being so much taller than her, and one she didn't wish to repeat in a hurry with her legs as sore as they now were.

Darius mounted behind her and his arms wound past her waist to take hold of the reins. A click of his tongue was enough to prompt the animal forward, and as soon as they were moving, Sparrow felt her eyes grow heavy. Her exhaustion had finally caught up to her.

“Where are we heading, anyway?” she mumbled, her head already beginning to sag downward.

“To investigate the truth of a rumour,” he replied, “at the village I hail from. We're going to Kierton.”