The Faerie Blade

Chapter 4

So... interesting or not interesting? I guess if you're frantically trying to dodge people while trying to keep up with a lark going at the speed of a bullet train, you cannot really appreciate the City of Lights and Love. (By the way, the moniker 'Lights' ain't because it is so brightly lit up at night, even though that is true. Go read up. It was one of the first European cities to use gas street lamps, and was a hub during the Age of Enlightenment. What? I am interrupting the story? Well, do be so kind as to forgive me for spouting random information that my brain absorbs!)

Right. Okay, so that was kind of rude. Sorry, everyone. But I do digress. Where was I?

Oh, right. Running through the City of Lights and Love, also known as Paris. I do not know if anyone has chased a lark before, but darned if my lark was not fast. Fortunately, the route down the Rue Vielle du Temple (no, I certainly did not pull out my phone to search google while I was running; I saw a street sign) was a relatively straight path, but running 1.6 klicks on an empty stomach was not fun. How did I know it was 1.6 klicks? Let's just say that I was running for about ten minutes, and that is roughly the time I take to do 1.6 kilometres back home.

Le Marais was a riot of people and colour, and today was no exception. Thank goodness that the stupid bird finally slowed down when we reached the populated district. A handful of vintage shops and some falafel shops dotted the numerous boutiques lining the street, and crowds of people, all dressed in bright, sunny hues flocked to one store or another. Locals and tourists alike chattered excitedly as they browsed and shopped, engulfing the district in a whirlwind of sound and colour. None of them noticed the sweaty and panting girl with the lark hovering beside her.

I placed my hands on my hips. "So?" I asked the lark.

A quick chirp, and the lark started fluttering away again, at a more sedate pace this time. We turned down an alley. The further we went, the more deserted it became. It was like a little green heaven, what with the quiet and a great many plants. The majority of the façades to either side of me appeared to be former shop windows, but they were now all occupied by offices. We passed by the last shop in activity down this path, a little boutique selling umbrellas, parasoles, and walking sticks. The owner gave me a cursory glance when I paused to appreciate the picturesque set up of his shop, a damp gleam of hope surfacing in his eyes, slumping when I turned and moved on.

The lark led me right to the end of the alley, where the potted plants hid a wooden plank door framed by a worn stone arch made of some kind of obsidian veined with gold. All of it gave me mediaeval vibes, especially the metal emblem embedded within the planks. A circle of dark grey metal passed through a golden dragon entwined with a silver one, hanging free from the dragons' tails. The bottom of the arc bore the shape of a sun encircling a crescent moon, made from many twisting strands of the dark metal, which I thought could be iron, amazingly fine and delicate. A knocker. One that only someone with a sharp eye for detail could create. (Or perhaps truly appreciate, for that matter.) If that was not an indication that some kind of artist lived here, I did not know what was.

I tentatively reached out a hand to grasp the knocker but I snatched it back on second thoughts. Glancing at the lark, I asked, "Is this where our intrepid artist lives?"

The lark chirped twice. A yes.

I shrugged and decided to trust the lark. Clutching the knocker, I pounded it against the door. Once. Twice. Three times.

I waited, but there was no reply. If you were there with me, I am pretty sure you would have imagined crickets chirping, or an owl hooting. I knew I was. Awkward silence, much?

Glaring at the bird out of the corner of my eye, I was about to rail at it for misleading me when the door suddenly swung open silently and suddenly on its hinges. The interior was dark, and since the door was already hidden in shadow from the numerous plants, I could not make out anything but a large room beyond the threshold. The effect was ominous, and I had a feeling that if I stepped through that door, my life would be forever changed.

Run away! The rational part of my mind screamed. Don't take the risk!

The irrational part, however, wanted to step forward and see where the adventure would take me. Apparently the lark also had the hidden ability of mind reading, and was totally in accordance with the illogical curiosity, because it flew right in without waiting for me to make a decision. Of course, it could just be absolutely idiotic and stupid. I was definitely not ruling out that possibility.

I debated for a split second, but I quickly made my decision. After all, someone will need to rescue that lark. (Yeah, right, who am I kidding? No one, I hope, or you are even more foolhardy than me.) Squaring my shoulders, I cautiously followed the overeager bird past the archway. Perhaps it also made me idiotic and stupid, but no one can live forever, after all.

See you on the other side, I grimly thought. Adieu, world.

Was it not fitting to say my last goodbye in French?