The Faerie Blade

Prologue

Five years ago

Tap tap. Tap tap tap.

My eyes fluttered open. Blinking blearily at the ceiling, I lay unmoving on my bed as sleep loosed its sticky hold from my limbs.

Tap tap. Tap tap tap.

Drowsily, I let my head loll towards the windows. Squinting through the bright sunlight that pierced my gauzy curtains, I made out a brown and white bird perched on the window sill.

Tap tap, went its umber beak against the glass as its distinctively coloured yellow and black head jerked forward and back. Tap tap tap.

I groaned as I sat up, head pounding. My tongue felt dry and swollen as it stuck to the roof of my mouth, and swallowing was a chore. Last night, to celebrate my eighteenth birthday, my friends had dragged me out for drinks. They claimed that no coming-of-age birthday was complete without alcohol, since one was legally allowed to buy and drink it then.

The foul taste of the alcohol still lingered in my parched mouth.

Tap tap tap. The lark continued to peck at my window, the knocking becoming faster and more insistent. Tap tap tap tap tap. A summons.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I muttered, rolling my eyes. Rolling to my feet, I moaned as the throbbing in my head intensified. "I'm never getting drunk again," I hissed, as I staggered slowly to the window. Drawing back the curtains, I screwed my eyes shut against the harsh light until I could bear to open them again.

Beady eyes stared unblinkingly at me when I dared to peer out the window. "What," I growled. Perhaps it was just me, but the bird seemed to be expecting something from me.

Tap tap. It jabbed its beak against the window again. Tap tap.

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You want to come in?"

Tap tap.

I snorted. "Well here's my answer: no. Find someone else to bother." Turning, I shuffled away from the window deeper into my room.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap. The pecking morphed into something incessant and continuous. Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap...

I groaned and gritted my teeth. Each sharp tap sent a spike of pain into my skull, dancing up and down the already strained strings of my patience. Reaching my study table, I grabbed the bottle of water I had left there the night before and downed three mouthfuls, trying to wash the nasty aftertaste away.

Too much, too fast.

Bile rose and tickled the back of my throat as my stomach twisted. Only my force of will kept me from retching and spilling the contents of last night onto the planked floorboards.

"Ugh," I grunted and scrunched my nose at the stabbing pain in between my eyes. That incessant tapping so did not help. I stumbled back to the window, a litany of curses spewing from my lips. That stupid lark.

It stopped tapping the window and looked expectantly at me as soon as I stopped in front of it again. Baring my teeth, I snarled, "If I let you in, will you stop?"

Tap tap, went the bird.

"Fine!" I snapped, slamming the rotating handle downwards to unlock the locking mechanism and yanking open the glass pane. "Why do you even want to come in, anyway?"

The lark hopped through the now open aperture. Launching from its perch on the window sill, it started circling my head like a demented merry-go-round. Exasperated, I swatted at it, but it adroitly dodged my flailing hands (to be fair, I was having a hangover and was uncoordinated!) and dipped down towards my bottle.

It was only then that I realised that it was clutching a sprig with thin spiky leaves, which were very much like needles. The tiny rich purple flowers that dotted the branch provided a splash of colour.

Plonk. That lunatic lark dropped that unknown plant straight into my drinking water. It trilled a series of sharp, tinkling notes and flapped back onto the window sill.

I snatched the twig that was leaning on the rim of my bottle and shook it in front of the lark, spraying water everywhere. "You mangy bird-brain!" I started calling the bird other derogatory names. Huffing, I stomped to the rubbish bin and threw the sprig away, ignoring the ache hammering inside my skull. All that crazy bird did was sit there, unnaturally still, and watch me, like it was observing an experiment.

Scoffing at the delusions of my muddled and tangled thoughts, I took a swig from the bottle, grimacing as my parched throat contracted. To my surprise, that gulp seemed to soothe the dry, papery feel, and the agents of the headache stopped beating their tribal drums. Slowly, the battering against my skull started to fade.

Mystified, I peered over the rim of the metal bottle. Glittering purple flecks swam in the cool water. They glinted, catching the light when I gently swirled the bottle. I shook my head in confusion.

Well. Whatever works. I took another mouthful, and my eyes drifted shut as the agony of the hangover cleared.

Fast, high-pitched tinkles that rose in timbre and volume reminded me of the lark. Sipping the whatever-plant-it-was infusion, I padded back to the window. The notes crescendo-ed and cut off abruptly as I crouched to be at eye level with the bird.

"Whatever that was," I said, "Thank you. But ask first, next time, before you drop some random thing into my water. You hear me?"

A quick trill.

"Well great. See yourself out. Have a good day." I waved my arms to shoo the lark out. It took flight, zipping away with a trill. The rapid jumble of notes ceased as it circled back to face me before flying off into the distance. I could have sworn that it was telling me that it would see me again.

Yeah, right.

~

Turns out, that nutty lark visited me every day.

Each morning, it bore all kinds of unknown flowers, colourful bits of pebbles and quartz, and sometimes curiously intricate carvings on barks, knotted vines and dew laden leaves. Eventually, I began to look forward to its daily drop ins, going as far as to leave my window open, even though I wouldn't admit it to anyone. Occasionally, its tribute would be that sprig that it gifted me on the first day, and I would set it aside as a memento. The minuscule dotted blossoms never faded nor did the sharp needle leaves wither, so I continued to keep it as a magical kind of aspirin.

Not that I intended to get drunk again, of course.