Birdie

The next day, Pierre, Tai, and I all walk home from school together. The weather had been so nice in the morning that we'd told Anastas that we would be walking home and it had been a great decision on our part. Pierre and I walked ahead, Tai trailing behind, fingers wiggling as he commanded his magic. The wind picks up and dies down and flowers sprout from nowhere. It's a beautiful thing to see.

"I'm glad you're coming over," I say to the Warlock as we walk through the busy Everstile streets. I do not see him but I know he is smiling. Tai had begun to come over after school a lot in the last few weeks. He liked to wander through the library and dance with the faeries, and even more so to talk about inventions with my uncle. As a being of purely magic, he found human machines truly facasinating.

We break from the city and find ourselves on the dirt path that leads to the Silversmythe manor. The path branches in two direction, though they both lead to the same place anyway. One branch leads straight through the village my Uncle lives outside of and the other that leads around it. The village is tragically small, no more than twenty houses or so, but we always take the path around. However, today we decided to wander through the village for some reason for another.

The village is small, small enough to not even have a proper name. The houses are less than adequate, but the stones keep the structure in place and the villagers seem happy enough. The three off us, an odd trio we are, are greated with skeptical eyes but also a warm smile. We wave at some of the kinder looking villagers and smile at the children. We pass trhough peacefully and happily.

"Oh. c'mon now! Move, you dumb oaf!" I turn my head to the sound of the shouting. It's a small farm on the way out of the village. A farmer stands impatiently in front of large animal. I step forward and get a closer look. A large ox is harnessed to a large cart filled to the brim with corgo. The ox, however, had decided upon laying in front of the cart rather than moving it.

"Is everything alright, sir?" I ask, walking onto the farmer's land. There are gardens all around his small house and there's a pen of pigs toward the back of his yard. The farmer spins around and smiles as best he can. He's an older man, his blond hair is thinning and receeding. He has dull brown eyes but wears a kind expression.

"Unfortunately, no," he sighs. "I need to get this shipment to Everstile this evening but this big joke of an ox won't budge."

"Well, sir," pipes up Tai. I hadn't been aware that the boys had followed me onto the farmer's property. "I can probably work some magic on him to get him moving, if you wish."

The farmer thinks for a moment, a hard expression upon his face. I can tell that even here, in this small rural village that they are leery of the Warlocks, of magic. While he thinks, I gaze off in the direction of the manor and am surprised that I can see it from here, the pillars catching the glare from the sun. Then an idea surfaces. When I look back again, the farmer has agreed to let Tai work his magic and the Warlock is now kneeling before the beast.

I turn to the farmer once more, caustious as I ask, "Would you be interested in an alternative source of transporting your goods?"

The farmer's eyes flicker with curiousity. His lips flatten into a line. "And that would be?"

"An ox, of sorts. A mechanical one. It doesn't have a heart, nor does it have a stomach. It doesn't need feeding and it will last as long as it doesn't rust. Plus, it has it's own natural way of thinking, so it will be able to listen to you and do as you command." I gulp after I finish explaining. All I had said was all that my Uncle had told me as I had watched him, but it is nervewrecking nonetheless to make a sale's pitch. The farmer puts his hand to his chin.

He says nothing for a long time. "You're Sliversmythe's daughter, aren't you?"

I freeze quickly. The farmer had just unknowingly confirmed what I had been uncovering. The dreans, the journal, her name popping up everywhere- it could have all be a coincidence or a cruel joke or something. But even this common farmer knew of his daughter and that is all the more frightening to me. "I am his niece," I correct softly.

Tai stands up, the ox standing as well. The Warlock comes to stand beside me and the ox walks up behind the farmer. He smiles and pats the hoofed creature between its horns. He walks back and pulls a saddle from the cart and puts it on the ox, climbing a top the creature a moment later. "Thank you, Warlock," he says before turning his attention back to me. He flashes a smile. "When do you think you could have it completed."

I think for a split second. "Two weeks time, if not only a few days more, or even less."

The farmer digs his heels into the ox's side and it starts moving again, toward the main road. Pierre, Tai, and I move out of the way. "Well, I'll tell you what- you bring it by when it's completed and I'll pay you exactly what I think it's worth, if I decide I like it."

I grin, "Deal."

The man then turns down the road and disappears toward the city. I smile at the boys, not asaying anything before I race toward the manor, all the while shouting, "Uncle! Uncle! You'll never believe what just happened!"



As soon as I had told Uncle Edwin of the deal I had struck with the farmer, he'd been so excited, he'd rushed into his workshop and worked through dinner. I had protested, of course, but his happiness was something that I did not want to put a damper on so I let it go. After dinner, Pierre goes to assist my Uncle and Tai starts his journey home, leaving me to my own devices. I wander around the mansion for a bit searching for Tinsley but I don't find her. I sigh and start searching outside for Anastas.

I search the garden first, but he isn't there. Luckily enough, another one of the faery servants happens across my path and he tells me that Anastas is in the carriage shed. I head that way and open the door, stepping inside quietly. The inside is much larger than I had expected. The space is empty save for a work bench in one corner and the carriage in another. Anastas stands infront of the far wall, gazing at something hanging upon the wall.

"Anastas?" I ask quietly, trying not to startle him. He turns, white eyes bright in the dim room. A smile plays on his lips.

"I had not expected to see you here," he says, returning to examining the items on the wall. I step forward and strain my eyes. Upon the wall hang two rows of slender, sharp pieces of metal- swords. I cover my mouth slightly. It isn't as if swords are against the Law or anything, but it is rare to see them. I've only known of the King's men and wandering soldiers to have any swords about them. It is odd to see them here, not because they should not be here but rather because they all look so alone without a master to carry them. Anastas stretches out his arm and runs his fingers against one of the blades.

"Are you okay?"

He twists his head to me, his eyes seeming to radiate his sorrow. He shook his head and resumed gazing and touching the blades. "Before these barriers were in place, and much time before that, I had been trained in the art of swordsmanship. Over the last few thousand years, I've come to master the blade," he speaks, his accent very thick tonight. "Over the last hundred or so years, I have not been able to use a blade, not in it's true glory anyway."

I look the poor faery over. Tall, pale, pink haired and white eyes follow of remorse. How can someone who has lived so long give off the scared innocence of a child? I had not though it possible, yet here it is right in front of me. "Why not?"

"The Fey Kingdom," he shivers as if he were sobbing but there are no tears. "It is faery law that we are not to be warriors or soldiers, not any more. It's been this way since after the barriers were raised. We are to be peaceful with the other two species. To carry a sword.. it may cause humans to distrust us."

I bite my lip, not sure what to say. In a way, I know what he says is true. I have seen the way faeries and Warlocks are looked at by humans. And if they rulers of the Fey Kingdom had been smart enough to try and keep them in a trusting position, it is more than smart to go along with it. Still, I feel terrible for the man. Something he has loved to do, something he is flawless at has been forbidden.

"You could still practice, you know. In the comfort of a secluded place," I offer but he just shakes his head.

"I have tried a million times, but it is not the same thing. The thrill of battle, the thrill of using your blade for justice- that's what I miss, that's what I hunger for. There is still crime in this world- bands of wandering theifs and thugs, living in the forest and robbing travelers. There are those who still murder for the sake of killing another, and here I wait, cannot raise my blade to help."

I look away for a moment. What else can I say to him? There seems to be no way that I can comfort this poor husk of a faery at this time. Instead, I stop forward and place a hand on one of the blades. It's made of pure silver and it glints off whatever shreads of light are left as the sun goes down. It's hilt is made of steel and is in the shape a lion's head, the blade extended from the mouth.

"They are beautiful, yes?" he says softly.

"Yes. Beautiful indeed." I run my hands over a few more of the blades, each one different from the last. Some have odd insribings on the blades and most of the hilts are in the shape of an animal or mythical beast. They all shimmer in the dimness, as if they were each competing against the others to shine the brightest. "Who's are they?"

"They belong to me. When I began work for your Uncle, I could not bare to part with them. I hide them in here. He never comes here." His voice is calm and steady but there's a hint of something much sadder hidden in his words.

"Perhaps one day you can use them again and be happy," I reply, trying to give him a little hope.

Sadly, he shakes his hed once more. "No."

"You don't think you can be happy again?" My voice is soft and sad.

"No," he sniffles but no tears fall. "For I have not been happy for quite awhile."

There is nothing more exchanged between us exept one final glance of pity before I leave the shed. It's barely dark now and I find myself opening the gate to the small wooden fence and sauntering inside. I am not quite sure I what I had hoped to find by coming in here but I do not regret it. I sit down upon the grass, looking up at the stars. It isn't until it lays its cold metalic head in my lap that I notice the fawn.

The fawn, I think to myself. It was like so many things surrounding this manner. Pierre and his way of testing my patience- warm one day and cold the next. Uncle Edwin who appears so sane only to slip back into madness. Anastas with his false happiness. And this fawn. It is not the real thing but rather a case of metal painted to look like somethign else. Nothing ever is as it seems.

After awhile of petting its head, I leave the fawn in its pin and venture back into the house and back up to my bedroom. Once tehre, I change for bed immeadiately and lay down beneath my covers. I ponder reading an entry from Odette's diary but I decide to put it off. It's been a great die, all in all, aside from Anastas's sadness. Why take it any further by reading a diary that is sure to be riddled with regret and sorrow? I close my eyes and fall asleep instead.



In the dream I stood in the bedroom on the second floor, the one with the trunk. However, it is clean and in order. There's not a single thing out of place. The pictures are hung neatly on the walls, the books are on the shelves, and if the woman had not been in the bed, I am positive that it would be made. The woman in the bed is the faery woman from the picture in the chest, the one I assume is Odette. Her black her is dirty and tangles as it lays against her pillows and her teal eyes are weary and hollow. She has bags under eyes, as if she needs sleep but something tells me that she's afraid of it.

She winces and groans in her bed, gripping her covers and keeping her eyes open. I rush over ot the bedside but it does not matter, she cannot see or hear me. This is a dream and I am no help to her here. She wears an air around her, a dying elengance, a fleeting grace. Suddenly, there's a knock on the door.

"Come in," she says through a raspy voice.

The door swings open slowly and two figures walk in. The brown haired girl bounds to the bed and sits upon it, sitting high near the pillows. Her tiny finger immeadiately find their way to the older woman's silky black hair. My Uncle Edwin follows her, but he stops next to the bed, sitting in a chair. He takes her hand in his and squeezes it.

"I'm fine, I assure you," Odette smiles weakly. It is obvious to see that she is lying to them. She knows there is not much life in her, and Uncle Edwin sees this too. The only obilivious one seems to be their daughter, Elena. Her innocence has not learned what it means to die.

"You're just sick?" Elena asks her mother softly. The girl leans over her mother's face, her big brown eyes twinkling.

Odette squeezes my Uncle's hand and he raises it to his lips, pressing it against them. Odette spoke again, softly, "That is right, just sick."

Elena had barely moved away from her motehr before she suddenly hisses in pain, her hand breaking free from her husband's flying to her stomach. She fights of her moan of pain but it escapes her lips anyway. Edwin shoots up from his seat immeadiately, eyes filled with fear and concern.

"Elena, go play in the yard," he commands slowly. She doesn't protest or argue. She leaps from the bed and races out of the room, looking behind her at her parents before she leaves. I take that as my cue to move to side of the bed oppisite my Uncle. Looking down at her, I can see that she will not last much longer. A few days at most. She looks nothing like a faery anymore. Her smooth skin now appears rough and her veins are visible and raised against her skin. Whereas faeries are as white as teh face of the moon, the pigment in her skin is nearly the same as my own. Her eyes look dull and her hair has lost its luster. Her immortality, her magic, her beauty- her life, it is all fleeting.

"Edwin," she whispers. She tries to look up at her husband but she ends up squeezing her eyes closed. Her hands clutch and release her covers as she struggles to speak. "My time here is fleeting. Faeries do not grow ill but illness has found me. My life...it is growing short."

His hand reaches up and moves a strand of flat hair from her brow and he kisses her forehead gently. When he pulls away, tears are cascading down his cheeks. They slide from his eyes, hitting the bed. "Odette."

"I know I've been so weary of you, and you're madness has been coming and going, but," she pauses to allow tears to pass through her own closed eyes. Her hand moves from her stomach and finds his. They intertwine their fingers, her slender fingers fitting perfectly with his calluced ones. He gazes over her but she seems to refuse to open her eyes. "I have not doubted my love for you, not even once. Times have been rough but I've loved you through it all."

"This isn't how this is supposed to be," he mutters softly. He's not speaking to her, but to himself really. "You are not supposed to die before me. You and Elena, you're supposed to live on after I pass. I am not supposed to know the sorrow that is being widowed. We're supposed to grow old together, Odette. You cannot die yet."

She sniffles and finally opens her eyes. "I have been growing old for quite some time. My dying is a surprise, of course, but it cannot be helped. I only wish I could stay longer in this world," she weakly raises her free hand to stroke it across his chin. "I wish to know the feeling of growing old with my lover, and of raising my only child. I wish to wander through the house and see you both smiling. And though this body is wilting, you must know I will live on and love you both in the world beyond this one."

He nods slowly, kissing her free hand before it falls to her side again. He's sobbing now, struggling to stay calm as he speaks. "I love you, in every way possible. In your dreams, in your thoughts. In this world and in the next, my love carries on with you."

Odette has began to sob as well, their cries in perfect harmony. They are so unlike eachother, if you are to look at them from a distance. The human inventor, unshaven and mad and the faery wife, collected and clean. But, up close, they could not be more in synch. There seems to be no love in this world stronger than the one I see before me. "I do not wish for Elena to see me this way, dying. I feel it in my viens, my death is near. Tonight, if there's any mercy to it. I want you to watch her grow up for me, for the both of us, and make her feel as loved as you have made me feel all these years."

There's a silence, save for their whimpering. Uncle Edwin opens his mouth to speak to his lover but she's grown silent. He panics at first but calms at the sight of her chest, the rise and fall of it. It is faint, but she is still living. He leans over her, bending down to kiss her slumbering lips. He walks away without wiping the tears from her eyes. He stops at the doorway, whispering softly before he continutes on his way.

"Sleep peacefully, my love," he had whispered, "We will meet again, in due time."