by SM Reine
Even weirder, another clearing lay beyond that one. Sunlight streamed brightly down, making Aran squint. All the mushrooms in that ring were the red ones with white spots.
Okay. He folded his arms, unwilling to step out of his own clearing until he’d figured things out.
He thought back to when Spark had played the demo game. The opening sequence… what had the clearing looked like? He was pretty sure the original game of Feyland had a faerie ring with both kinds of mushrooms, just like the middle clearing.
The ring surrounding him was made entirely of the moon-pale ones, and it had brought him to this place from the Dark Court. If he had to guess, he’d say the mushrooms were signposts, of a sort.
So where did the red and white ones lead? Was there yet another world tucked away behind the game’s interface?
“The Bright Court,” a high voice said.
Aran spun, his heartbeat revving. “What? Who’s there?”
“Puck, at your service.”
The sprite nimbly bounded down one of the pale branches. The branch bent under his slight weight, bringing him face to face with Aran.
“The bright what?” Aran asked, trying to get his racing pulse back under control.
“Court.” Puck gestured to the sunlit glade. “Yon gateway leads there.”
That made sense, in a tweaked, faerie-world kind of way. If it was always night in the Dark Court, then it must always be day somewhere else.
“Who’s in charge of that court?” Aran asked. “And why didn’t I end up there?”
“The Bright King rules the Bright Court. He is not as cunning as his sister, nor as schooled in the art of snares and trickery. Though, when he chooses to use it, he has power aplenty.”
Aran filed that information away to process another time. It was good to get some solid answers to his questions. As long as Puck was forthcoming, he’d keep asking.
“So, the middle clearing. Is that the way back into the real world?”
The sprite gave him a faintly disgusted look. “Real? Everything you have experienced is true, and each of the courts is as real as your own realm.”
“All right, sorry. It goes to the human world?”
“Indeed. Well puzzled, mortal.” Puck leaned forward and tweaked Aran’s nose, then catapulted back, laughing. The branch swayed as he deftly caught his balance.
“Hey!” Aran rubbed his nose. “Was that really necessary?”
The sprite ignored his question. “The center clearing is bounded by a wall, naught but a thin crack between it and the realm. Can you see the protections with your mortal eye?”
“No.”
Aran stepped out of the circle of pale mushrooms and walked slowly toward the middle clearing, hands extended. Sure enough, where the clearings touched he encountered an invisible barrier. It was slightly rough, as though made of unpolished granite. He ran his palms over the surface, searching for the crack.
At last he found it, barely wide enough for the edge of his thumbnail.
“This is the crack that lets humans into the realm?” he asked. “I’m not sure how anyone could even fit through there.”
“’Tis a metaphor,” Puck said, in a tone that implied Aran was denser than rock.
“Why doesn’t the queen send a bunch of goblins with pry bars over here and just, you know, force it open.”
“It would not succeed. Let me show you.”
Puck leaped from the branch, turned a somersault, and came to hover next to Aran. He lifted his hands, and greenish light spread from his long fingertips. When the light touched the wall, Aran sucked in his breath.
Lines of code encircled the center clearing. X-y scripts and commands glowed, as clearly as if they were displayed on a screen. Numbers and words and complex figures spun out, Puck’s magic spreading like a virus until the entire wall was illuminated. And it was constructed of nothing but programming.
Freaky.
Aran set his fingertip to one of the lines and flicked. The code obediently moved up, and another line took its place.
“This is it,” he breathed. “I just need a way to input.”
And he had one. He whirled to face Puck.
“Can you get me to the tent, then back here?” Aran asked. “Quickly would be good.”
The sprite looked at him, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. “I can. Step with me into the ring, and I will take you where you need to go.”
Aran leaped back into the center of the faerie ring. He could so do this. Grab his tablet—and the dinosaur—then run some of his hacker scripts into the wall. He was certain it would work.
And when it did… he’d be completely set. He’d return to the real world with enough wealth to at last take control of his life. No more subsisting on the edge, unable to get a job, or even a date, because of his criminal record.
Money meant freedom. Independence. The chance to finally follow his dreams, instead of living on the edges of other people’s hopes.
Exhilaration sang through his blood.
“Hurry it up.” He beckoned to the sprite, who was sauntering over the soft mosses.
Puck gave him a saucy wink, then bounded into the faerie ring. The chill wind rose, tugging at Aran’s hair and pushing at his shoulders. He huddled against it, waiting for it to end.
When it did, he blinked at their surroundings, then rounded on Puck.
“Where are we? I thought the plan was to get me back to the tent! This looks nothing like the clearing I came from.”
Instead of the dark trees and endless night, the sky overhead shone pearly gray. The clearing they stood in was large, and on one side stood a falling-down hut.
“Wait,” Puck said, holding up one long-fingered hand.
“No. Take me back, right—”
Aran broke off as a figure emerged from the building, one arm cradled close to her body. Her magenta hair was unmistakable.
“Spark?” he whispered.
What the hell was Spark doing here, in the fantastical areas of Feyland?
“She is injured,” Puck said, springing forward.
Aran didn’t hesitate. He sprinted past Puck and met Spark in front of the hut. She stood there, holding on to one of the crooked posts supporting the porch, and stared at him.
“Oh my God. Aran.” Her face, which had been pale before, lost all color.
“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching for her arm.
She flinched back. “I think I broke my wrist—but that’s not important. I came to rescue you. We have to get you out of here.”
“Me? What about you?”
She shook her head, her bright hair swinging across the pointed features of her avatar.
“Puck,” she said, turning to address the sprite. “I heard I might run into you. Thanks for the help.”
“A pleasure, milady.” Puck swept her an elaborate bow.
“How did you get here?” Aran asked her. “I thought humans couldn’t enter the realm.”
“I could ask you the same thing.” She narrowed her eyes. “As soon as we get back to the mortal world, you and I are having a serious talk. Dammit—I knew something happened when you played the Feyland demo.”
“You did?” Aran thought back. All her questions started to make sense. “Wait—is that why you kept inviting me to things? So you could pump me for information?”
He’d been an idiot. Spark wasn’t interested in him romantically, she had just wanted to know what he’d seen in-game.
“That’s not the only reason,” she said.
“Yeah, right. How did you know I was in Feyland?”
“It’s complicated. Once we’re in our world I’ll explain. Come on.” She started across the clearing, toward the ring of mushrooms sprouting on the far side. “Puck, can you send us through?”
“I will do my best,” he said. “Though my magic is small compared to the queen’s, you hold the Elder Fey’s favor. It will be enough to take you home.”
“Whoa.” Aran halted, lifting his
hands. “I’m not going back.”
“What?” Spark whirled on him, her expression fierce. “Of course you are. Do you have any idea how much danger you’re in? I’m just glad I found you before you got to the Dark Court.”
“Um.” Aran shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ve already been there.”
“How did you escape?” Still holding her right arm against her chest, she grabbed him with her other hand. “Never mind. Let’s just go.”
As if to underscore her words, a long, mournful howl wavered through the air. Aran shivered at the sound.
“The hunt,” Puck said. “Quickly, mortals, to the ring!”
Aran pulled out of Spark’s grasp.
“Look—it’s nice that you came to get me and all, but I’m staying here.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“There’s nothing back in our world for me,” he said. “Nothing.”
Her eyes widened, and she took a step closer to him. “If you were to see the Dark Queen, you’d understand how dangerous—”
“I’ve seen her. In fact, I’m working for her.”
Spark stared at him, a look of disbelief on her face. The air curdled with another eerie howl, punctuated with the rumble of hoof beats.
“Now!” Puck cried, dancing about them furiously. “There is no more time to waste.”
“You’d better go.” Aran crossed his arms. “Get that wrist taken care of.”
“I can’t believe this.” She took hold of his arm again, but he yanked free.
“I said no.”
She glanced at the sky, then back to him, eyes flashing. “I’m coming back for you. Soon. You may be working for the queen, but my job is to return you to the mortal world. Whether you want to or not.”
“I choose not.”
A dark shadow swept over the clearing. Aran looked up to see a company of faerie folk mounted on black horses with fiery hooves riding across the sky. At their head rode the horned hunter, and before him dashed his flame-eyed hounds.
Spark let out a gasp and, clutching her arm against her body, sprinted for the faerie ring. As soon as she leaped into the center, Puck flung up his hands and chanted three syllables, high and chiming. Blue light flashed, and Spark was gone.
The sprite rounded on him. “Oh, foolish, foolish choice. She braved the realm for you—indeed, bears an injury because of it—and you turned her away.”
Guilt twinged through him. Had Spark really gotten hurt because of him?
“It’s not my fault she came in here.” The words rang hollow.
“It is.” Puck shook his head sadly. “Think well on that.”
An instant later the sprite disappeared, just as the horned hunter landed in the clearing.
The hounds circled, growling at Aran. Despite the panicked pumping of his heart, he didn’t move. He was under the queen’s protection. He clutched that thought as the master of the hunt rode toward him, antlered head silhouetted against the storm-tossed sky.
“Mortal,” the hunter said, in a voice that held the echo of doom. “You have lost your way.”
“Not really. More of a detour.”
The hunter slowly turned his head to regard the faerie ring. When he looked back at Aran, his eyes were lightless pools.
“We shall escort you back to the court,” he said, reaching out a hand gloved in thick leather.
Aran hesitated, and the hunter grabbed him, quick as a snake striking. An instant later, Aran was seated behind him on the huge black horse.
With a shrill whistle, the hunter pointed into the sky. The fey mount leaped, and Aran lurched forward, forced to take a handful of the hunter’s cloak to steady himself. It was way closer than he ever wanted to be to any of the fey folk.
A rank, feral odor surrounded him as the hounds flowed around the horses’ feet. From somewhere behind came the high keening of pipes. The wind ripped tears from the corners of his eyes. Aran glanced down to see the dark tops of the trees billowing beneath them like waves. Silver ponds blinked their still eyes as the hunt rode over, leaving shadows in their wake.
He held on, clenching his jaw as the Wild Hunt stormed across the sky like his worst nightmare made real.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Spark fumbled, one-handed, at her gaming helmet, and managed to yank it off. Her wrist throbbed, and she knew she had to call Vonda and get it tended to right away. All she could do for the moment, though, was sit there, half in shock.
Aran was the mortal who had stumbled into the Dark Court. Aran! And not only that, he’d gone there on purpose.
Dammit—why hadn’t she nailed him to the wall and demanded more information?
Well, and what if she had? He’d been evasive with his answers. Did she really think he would have told the truth?
Even if he’d confessed, it wasn’t like she could have done anything, other than warn him.
Her wrist twinged. With a soft groan, she got out of the sim chair and stumbled to the hotel phone on the nightstand. It was beyond late, but she had to wake Vonda. Sinking onto the bed, she punched in her manager’s room number.
“Hello?” Vonda’s voice was groggy. “This better be an emergency.”
“It’s Spark. And yeah, you should probably call the med techs.”
“The hell?” Vonda sounded suddenly wide awake. “I’ll be right there.”
Spark unlocked the door, then sat on the bed, waiting. She felt wretched, inside and out. Her first assignment as a Feyguard, and so far she was failing miserably. How could she rescue Aran if he refused to leave the realm? But how could she let him remain there, in such danger?
As soon as she got her wrist fixed up, she had to talk to Jennet and figure out what to do next.
Vonda burst into the room and hurried over to the bed.
“No blood,” she said, after looking Spark over with a critical gaze. “What happened?”
“My wrist.” Spark held it out, then winced when Vonda touched her.
“Aw, damn. Can you wiggle your fingers?”
She tried, and this time was able to manage a little motion, though the pain that followed made her gasp.
“I’m getting you some ice and aspirin, and pulling the FullD out of here. No way are you playing more tonight on an injury. The med techs should be here soon.”
“Okay.” Though things were so far from okay she wanted to scream.
When Vonda returned, Spark pressed the ice-filled towel against her wrist and tried to breathe normally. She watched, heart sinking even further, as the VirtuMax crew took the sim-system out. There went her last chance to get into Feyland.
She had to come up with another plan, and fast. The longer Aran spent in the realm, the more danger he’d be in of being trapped there forever. Even if he didn’t know it, she did.
Outside, she heard sirens approaching. They cut off, and a few minutes later she was surrounded by med techs taking her vitals and examining her wrist. They stuck her arm in a portable scanner, then clustered around the readout.
“It’s a grade two sprain,” one of them announced. “Not broken.”
Spark let out her breath. The painkillers were starting to kick in, too, and she leaned back against the mounded pillows.
“What does that mean?” she asked. “I don’t have to get a cast or anything, right? How soon until I can play again?”
“Gamers.” Vonda shook her head.
“Young lady.” The head tech, a guy with reddish hair, gave her a stern look. “You have to give yourself time to heal. Ice regularly, take anti-inflammatories, and wear a splint, especially when you sleep. With the right care, you’ll be functioning normally again in a few weeks.”
“A few weeks?” She turned to Vonda. “I can’t sit around that long! I’m working, and we have a system to debut.”
Vonda firmed her lips. “We’ll deal with it, Spark. Now shut up and get some rest.”
Despite the harsh words, Spark was reassured. Vonda would let her try playing—that was what “we’
ll deal with it” meant. Maybe she could fit her splinted hand into an oversized glove. Or even play one-handed.
“Good advice,” the med tech said. “We’ll let your manager take care of the details of paperwork and prescriptions. If you’ll step outside, ma’am?”
Vonda looked a little sour at being called ma’am. Before she followed the man out, she set her hand on Spark’s forehead.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll work this out.”
Spark could only hope.
Aran stormed into the tent. He wished it had a real door, one he could slam. Or a hard floor to stomp over instead of the lush carpets. Anger was a bright flame, covering the guilt gnawing at him.
“And he yet remains in the realm? This is disastrous.” Thomas broke off as Aran entered.
“You!” Aran pointed at Puck, who hovered cross-legged several feet in the air, drinking a cup of tea. “You tricked me, with your faerie-ring switcheroo. Taking me to Spark, when you were supposed to bring me back here.”
“I only spoke true words,” the sprite replied. “You parsed the meaning incorrectly. ’Twas no trickery, but a sidestep.”
Aran scowled and turned to Thomas. Arguing with Puck was a useless activity.
“Do you know a girl named Spark?” he asked.
Thomas tilted his head and studied Aran for a long moment. Then he sighed and went to the table.
“Tea?” he asked.
“As long as you’re serving up some answers, too.”
“I will reveal what little I may. Understand, I walk a difficult path between my loyalty to the queen and the remnants of my mortal heart.”
“Just tell me about Spark.” Aran took an impatient swig of tea. There were lies upon lies here, and he was sick of being tangled in the middle.
“She is one of the Feyguard,” Thomas said.
“No idea what that means.” Though Aran could guess.
“The Feyguard are those few mortals set to watch the boundary between your world and the Realm of Faerie.”