Faery Worlds - Six Complete Novels

by Tara Maya, Elle Casey, J L Bryan, Anthea Sharp, Jenna Elizabeth Johnson, Alexia Purdy (epub)

  Mitch looked between Erin and the kids. “Um...Cinderella Night? Fast?”

  “Fast,” Jason agreed.

  They played, and the kids danced to rapid tempo, though Dred still hadn't joined in on her drums. During the song, more kids showed up dancing in the driveway and the front yard, including middle and high schoolers, as if the music had drawn them all out of their homes and down the street. It was turning into a semi-outdoor concert.

  With three of the fairy instruments going, the guitar in Jason's hands really started to buzz and cast off heat. Fortunately, the keyboard seemed to turn the hot wind circulating inside the garage into something wet and cooling, like the breeze off Lake Wisota.

  Energized by the growing audience, and unregulated by any drummer, Jason, Erin and Mitch kept accelerating the song, playing an extended instrumental version of it. The dancers moved faster with them, colliding with each other and laughing. One of the girls in the audience waved her iPhone around, capturing images of the band and the dancing crowd.

  Mitch went wild on the keyboards as he grew familiar with his new instrument. Erin and Jason stepped back and let him have an extended solo. He played as if possessed, his tongue sticking out of his mouth, his hands a blur across the keys, the assorted gemstones on the keyboard case glowing brighter and brighter.

  Jason watched the crowd, amazed at how they'd come from nowhere.

  Erin nudged Jason, and he looked back at Mitch. Blue steam erupted from the gemstones, forming into a cloud around Mitch, but Mitch either didn't notice or didn't care.

  The cloud grew larger and drifted through the garage, passing over Jason and Erin. It was cool and refreshing, not hot. No wonder Mitch didn't mind.

  It drifted out, with a trail of cool blue steam still feeding into it from the keyboard. The cloud expanded as Mitch's solo continued, and it rose above the crowd.

  Mitch hit a crescendo and leaned back, dropping his hands in his lap. He was drenched in sweat and gasping for air.

  The cloud rumbled, and then dumped rain all over the dancing kids.

  The audience shrieked and scattered, all of them dripping wet and laughing. Jason watched them spread out through the neighborhood, jostling each other as they ran.

  “Did that really just happen?” Erin asked.

  “Which part?” Jason asked her.

  “Any of it. That was unreal.”

  “Oh, man,” Mitch said, wiping his face with his T-shirt. “I love this keyboard.”

  “This is too crazy for me,” Dred stood up, tossing her keys in the air. She left the little fairy drum where Jason had placed it, on top of her snare. “I'm going for a milkshake. Anybody coming?”

  “Why don't you stay and try out your drum?” Erin asked.

  “It's not my drum,” Dred said. “And I don't believe in magic.”

  They watched Dred climb into her van and drive away.

  “Man...I love this keyboard,” Mitch repeated. He was staring at it with a crazy grin.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Aoide flew over the bright green Poisoned Forest, far south of Sidhe City. She'd been flying all day, from dawn until nearly dusk, and every muscle in her back ached. Fortunately, she'd just caught a hot south-moving breeze, and now she could spread out her wings and drift for a while. Rhodia floated alongside Aoide, her long pink hair twisting in the wind, her face looking tired and miserable. Aoide felt the same way.

  The dark waters of the Acheron River flowed wide and sluggish through the forest below. The forest itself was known for its impenetrable tangles of plants with sharp spines and deadly venom. It was also home to carnivorous plants that camouflaged themselves in the jungle foliage until a jumping deer or a duck-billed bear stepped within snapping distance.

  The Poisoned Forest was too dangerous to cross on foot or on beastback, so they flew. Neus the faun and Skezg the ogre couldn't fly, so they hadn't come along. Lucky guys.

  Icarus of the Queensguard flew ahead of them, leading them southward along the great river. He'd roused Aoide and Rhodia from sleep before dawn to make this journey. He didn't seem tired at all, despite his heavy black armor. The armor must have been enchanted to make it feel weightless, Aoide thought. He occasionally glanced back with an annoyed look, as if he felt the two musicians were flying too slowly.

  “Are we there yet?” Rhodia gasped.

  “I hope so,” Aoide replied.

  Below them, the Acheron River grew wider and shallower, eventually spreading out into a dark marsh that stretched from horizon to horizon, full of swampy little islands. Stalk-shaped plants, giant sugarcanes, grew from the swamp, some of them taller and thicker than city watchtowers. Their foliage overlapped, concealing most of the ground beneath them.

  Aoide sighed in relief when Icarus began to spiral down from the sky towards the swamp. Aoide and Rhodia followed.

  He landed on a small, marshy island, where Aoide and Rhodia's bare feet splashed into the wet mud. Icarus's black boots sank even farther. The thick towers of cane overshadowed them, and they were walled in by dense stands of smaller canes, which were still four times taller than Aoide.

  The entire swamp smelled sweet, as if they'd landed in a confectioner's shop. The humid, syrupy air was dense with flying insects.

  “This place is so gross,” Rhodia said. She lifted one foot, which was covered in gloppy, sticky mud.

  An insect landed on Aoide's arm and pressed its big, trumpet-shaped snout against her skin. It began to suck, and the sensation was painful. She slapped it away, but its mouth left a coin-sized circle of itchy red on her arm.

  Overhead, a fuzzy creature the size of a small dog with huge, leathery wings swooped down at Aoide with its mouth open. She and Rhodia screamed and ducked, while Icarus backed away, drawing his bright iron sword.

  The creature ate a swath through the flying bugs, leaving a streak of empty air behind it. It tilted upwards and flew high along the trunk of a giant old cane. It grabbed onto the thick leaves on the cane's side and hung upside down, chewing its mouthful of bugs.

  “What was that?” Aoide asked.

  “A sugar bat,” Icarus said. “The sugar cane makes the swamp water sweet, and the sugar water attracts all these swarms of bugs. So the bats grow very fat here.”

  “Ugh,” Rhodia said, waving away more of the trumpet-mouthed suckerflies. “I can't believe we had to come all the way to the sugar swamps. I'm ready for a nice bed and a tea-and-pastry.”

  “You won't find those here,” Icarus said. He swung his long sword at a wall of sugarcane, felling a dozen of the plants. Then he stepped forward and swung the sword again, hacking a path through the dense growth. “Come on.”

  Aoide and Rhodia followed at distance, leery of his sword. Iron was deadly to fairies, which was why the Queensguard used iron weapons.

  The mud slurped at their feet with every step, and they swatted flies from their faces and arms as they walked along the path of chopped sugarcane. High, dense staffs of cane surrounded them on both sides.

  “We are literally in the sticks,” Rhodia complained.

  “Watch out for the swamp bugs,” Icarus called back. “They'll suck the sweetness right out of you.”

  “I don't have much sweetness left,” Rhodia said.

  They hopped over a creek of dark sugar water onto the next marshy island, which was also dense with cane. Icarus held up a hand for them to stop, and then untied a spiral-shaped goat horn from his belt. He blew a long note to announce their arrival.

  “Who blows there?” a deep, gristly voice asked through the screen of sugarcane.

  “I am Icarus, a captain of the Queensguard,” Icarus said. “With me are Aoide the Lutist and Rhodia the Harpist.”

  “Fairies!” the voice sneered. There was a sound like hacking, and then spitting. “Go away.”

  “We've come on the orders of the Queen,” Icarus said.

  “Your Queen,” the gristly voice said. “We are queenless here.”

  “All of Faerie is the domain
of Queen Mab,” Icarus said.

  “Not this patch of swamp,” the voice replied.

  “We've come to hire your services,” Icarus said. “The Queen offers a generous payment.”

  “I don't take fairy gold,” the voice said. “It has a way of turning to broom flowers in a day or two.”

  “We have brought many forms of payment,” Icarus said, looking Aoide. Aoide carried in her pouch an assortment of jewels and silver coins, all of her savings, as well as the savings of Rhodia, Neus, and Skezg. The Queen was making them pay the hunter's fee.

  “Then come around,” the voice said. “There's a break in the cane off to your left.”

  Icarus sheathed his sword. The three fairies followed the wall of cane around the curve of the marshy island and found the opening. Aoide and Rhodia shared worried looks as they followed Icarus through.

  At the highest point in the island sat a hut made of sugarcane, brambles and mud. A garden of beets grew beside it.

  Next to the hut was a sugarcane the size of a tree. An elf with graying beard stubble and a tattered old gardening hat sat back against it, chewing a juicy splinter of cane, his horsehair clothes and sandals caked in dried mud. The elf eyed them suspiciously.

  “Thank you for the invitation,” Icarus said. “We would like to hire you as a tracker and hunter. Four objects of high magic must be found.”

  “And you fancy city fairies came all the way here, just to ask a simple country elf for help.” The elf smirked.

  “But you aren't just a simple country elf,” Icarus said. “The scrolls say you were a highly decorated knight in the Great Elf and Fairy War.”

  “A war your side won,” the elf said. “It wasn't so 'Great' for our side.” The elf spat.

  “That was thousands of years ago,” Icarus said.

  “Doesn't seem so long ago.” The elf sneered at Aoide and Rhodia. “The whole realm used to be known as Aelfer, or the Elflands. I bet you young brats didn't even know that.”

  “I'm not a young brat,” Aoide said. “I'm nearly seven centuries old. And Rhodia just had her five hundredth birthday.”

  “And I've lived ten thousand years longer than you children!” the elf barked. “Show some respect for your elders.”

  “The Queen requires your service,” Icarus repeated.

  “Now, hold your quarterhorses there, city fairy.” The elf stood, leaning on a thick staff of sugarcane. He looked at the golden seal of the Queen on Icarus's breastplate, and then pointed at Aoide and Rhodia. “I know what you are, warrior, but who are these two?”

  “As I said, Aoide the Lutist and Rhodia the Harpist. Musicians.”

  “You've brought musicians?” the elf asked. He raised his hat in greeting, revealing long and stringy hair. His left ear was tall and pointy, but his right ear ended in scar tissue, and the tip of it was missing. “Ladies, welcome to my back corner of the sugar swamps. I am called Hoke the Swamp Elf, unfortunately. A wind of ill luck blew me here long ago.”

  “Hoke?” Rhodia said. “I've never heard of an elf name like that.”

  Aoide elbowed her to be quiet.

  “If you like, you can call me by my given name, Hokealussiplatytorpinquarnartnuppy Melaerasmussanatolinkarrutorpicus Darnathiopockettlenocbiliotroporiqqua Bellefrost. But most people call me 'Hoke.'” He chewed on his sugarcane splinter. “So, you brought musicians to entertain me. Why don't you play a song for us?”

  “That's just the problem,” Aoide said. “Someone stole our instruments.”

  “And so the purpose of our visit—” Icarus began.

  “I would think musicians could improvise,” Hoke said. “Can't you sing or nothing? There's not much music to be had, way out here. No taverns, no amphitheater. Nobody to talk to, really.”

  “I would like to discuss the terms of our bargain—” Icarus tried again.

  “First, I want my song,” Hoke said. “Then I'll hear whatever it is you want to say.”

  Aoide and Rhodia looked at each other. Rhodia cleared her throat.

  “Mi mi mi mi miiiii...” Rhodia sang, warming up.

  Aoide sang the first line of the song, and then Rhodia joined in. It was “Sometimes in the Night,” a ballad about an elf and a fairy who fell in love during the Great War, and had to keep their love a secret. It began as a sweet and romantic song, and ended tragically.

  As Aoide and Rhodia sang the last verse, Aoide thought she could see a little wetness in Hoke's eyes. He wiped them with the back of his muddy hand and looked away.

  “I do miss being young,” Hoke said. “Young and foolish and ready to love.”

  Aoide and Rhodia smiled and curtsied, as if he'd applauded.

  Hoke looked at Icarus and sighed.

  “What is this help that you and Mad Queen Mab want from me?” Hoke asked.

  “You will not refer to Her Majesty that way! It is forbidden!” Icarus snapped. His black-gloved hand flew to the handle of his sheathed sword.

  “She's the one crushed the whole realm under her iron boot.”

  “Treason!” Icarus said.

  “Relax, Icarus,” Aoide said. “He's ready to listen now. Right, Hoke?”

  “I will listen, but no promises,” Hoke said. “I am very busy here.”

  Rhodia looked around the swamp with a puzzled expression, probably wondering what could keep him busy in this dismal place.

  “Go ahead, Icarus,” Aoide said.

  “As I have been attempting to say,” Icarus said, “Four instruments of high magic have been stolen.”

  “And I can guess it from there,” Hoke said. “You want me and my cornhorses to track them down.”

  “What's a cornhorse?” Rhodia asked.

  “Some call 'em unicorns, I call 'em cornhorses,” Hoke said. “Best creature for sniffing out magic, except for a banshee wolf, and good luck finding one of those for hire.”

  “So, where are the unicorns?” Rhodia asked.

  “Unicorn's a shy critter,” Hoke said. “Everybody get down low, on your knees, so you don't look so darn big.”

  Aoide and Rhodia lifted their skirts and squatted on their heels in the mud. They looked around the thick stands of cane, eager to see a live unicorn. Aoide had only seen them in sculpture or paintings. They were very rare, very skittish.

  “You, too,” Hoke said to Icarus.

  “A Queensguard will not kneel to an elf,” Icarus said.

  “You aren't kneeling to me, wasp-brain,” Hoke said. “You want these cornhorses to come or not?”

  “Just sit down already,” Aoide whispered.

  Icarus scowled at her. He spread an embroidered silk handkerchief on a muddy log of fallen sugarcane before sitting down on it. He kept his hand on his belt, near his sword.

  Hoke squatted and laid his sugarcane staff on its side in the mud. He hummed a high note.

  “Cinnamon!” Hoke sang out. “Berrymuffin! Buttercake! Come on, girls!”

  There was a tiny splashing sound behind a thick patch of sugarcane. The first unicorn nosed her way out, timidly, tiptoeing on her cloven hooves. She was smaller than a pygmy pony, with a reddish coat. Her tail and mane, and the spiral horn that spiked out from the center of her forehead, were the color of dark cinnamon.

  She took a few steps forward on trembling legs, then stopped, staring at the fairies.

  “She's just a little scared,” Hoke whispered.

  “Awww,” Rhodia whispered. “It's okay, little girl.”

  The second unicorn emerged just as cautiously. Her coat was the color of brown sugar, her mane and horn a strawberry shade of red, her eyes like big blueberries. She stood close to the first unicorn, their sides nearly touching.

  “Buttercake!” Hoke called again.

  The third unicorn walked out meekly, with her nose lowered until it almost dragged the swampy earth. Her coat was the color of yellow cake, and her mane and horn were like pink frosting. Buttercake stayed behind the first two unicorns, gazing at Aoide with huge chocolate-colored eyes.

&nbs
p; “Hi, Buttercake,” Aoide whispered, smiling.

  “Don't speak to my cornhorses!” Hoke snapped.

  “Are we ready to give them the scent?” Icarus asked.

  “Not so fast, city fairy,” Hoke said. “First I see my payment.”

  Icarus nodded at Aoide.

  Aoide sighed and lifted the drawstring pouch. She was determined to keep as much of her friends' savings as she could.

  She chose a big ruby, one of her own jewels, and held it out to Hoke. “Will this do as a first payment?”

  The elf yawned.

  Aoide took out a pearl, also her own, and laid it next to the ruby in her palm. “This?”

  Hoke crossed his arms and looked away.

  “You don't have to use all your own things to pay him,” Rhodia said. “Throw in that emerald Neus gave you.”

  Aoide added the emerald to her palm.

  The elf squinted one eye and leaned close to Aoide's hand, then snatched the gemstones away. They disappeared from his hand—he must have slipped them into a pocket somewhere in his mud-caked clothes.

  “And twice as much when the task is done,” Hoke said.

  “We can do that,” Icarus said.

  Aoide bit her lip. It was going to cost nearly everything, leaving the four musicians broke. They had no choice, though.

  “Now, we'll need the scent,” Hoke said. He pointed at Aoide. “You. Come and stand by me. Don't move too fast, or you'll spook off the cornhorses.”

  She did as the elf said, stepping lightly and carefully.

  “Buttercake,” Hoke whispered. He pulled a beet from the garden and held it out. “Come here, little girl.”

  Buttercake advanced slowly towards Hoke, giving Aoide a wide berth and a spooked look. Buttercake nibbled the beet in Hoke's hand, and the elf petted her mane.

  “There,” Hoke said. “Now, we need to find these missing instruments, Buttercake. Have a sniff.”

  His calloused hand seized Aoide's and put it close to the unicorn's mouth. Buttercake sniffed Aoide's palm, then swished her pink tail.

  “What kind of instruments am I looking for, exactly?” Hoke asked.

  “I play a lute,” Aoide said. “Rhodia has a silver harp. And there's pan pipes and a drum. But the instruments can change depending on who plays them. If a fairy blew on Neus' pan pipes, they might turn into a flute.”