Spark

by Anthea Sharp

  He sat up, head spinning, and flexed his arms and legs. Impossibly, he wasn’t injured. Spark’s spell had saved him. But now she faced the giant alone. He sprang to his feet, blinking with sudden dizziness.

  The giant lurched and swiped, trying to grab onto the russet blur of Spark’s fox form. She leapt nimbly back and forth, evading the swipes of his meaty fingers.

  Almost evading them. The giant caught her by the tail.

  “Aha! Foxkin head for my collection.”

  “Spark!” Aran sprinted forward, ignoring the pain pulsing through him.

  Her figure blurred, then solidified again in her human form. The giant still held her, however, her bright hair clenched between his massive fingers. With his other hand, he drew a thin, sharp blade.

  “My best prize yet,” he crowed. “The pretty, pretty hair.”

  Something glinted in Spark’s hand. Her dagger—but it was useless against the giant. She wrenched around, but she didn’t stab their enemy. Instead, she sliced at the top of her head.

  Brilliant girl. She was cutting herself free. And the giant was now low enough that Aran could do some serious damage. Without slowing, he raced to the giant’s knee, then vaulted up onto his arm and plunged his knives into their enemy’s chest.

  The giant swung his blade across Spark’s neck, but she had shorn off enough of her hair to squirm free. The giant’s slice did the rest, and he was left holding nothing but a fistful of magenta.

  “Aargh!” he cried, then dropped the hair.

  As Spark scrambled back, Aran stabbed the giant again. A moment later, one of her arrows whizzed through the air, hitting their enemy in the neck.

  With a slow groan, the giant toppled.

  Aran sprang free, knives at the ready. His breath rasped harshly through his throat, the sound nearly drowned out by the giant’s death moans. Beside Aran, Spark nocked another arrow.

  “I think we got him,” she said, though her bow never wavered.

  “Yeah. Good fighting.”

  Warily, Aran watched the giant until his eyes glazed over, lifeless. The hand holding the blade went slack, the weapon crashing uselessly to the blood-spattered soil.

  They’d won. Instead of a victory rush, Aran only felt tired. He wiped the giant’s blood off his knives, then sheathed them.

  “I hear the stream,” Spark said, stashing her bow away. “Over there.”

  She tipped her head, her chopped hair falling in ragged lines around her face. Together they stepped off the path into the dark woods. Aran glanced once more over his shoulder. The dim bulk of the giant lay unmoving.

  The cheerful babble of water ahead lifted Aran’s spirits. Spark was right about the stream. She probably was right most of the time. Which meant he should have gone with her, left the realm when he had the chance.

  Spark’s fireball licked red and gold reflections from the surface of the stream. Moving to the edge, Aran peered into the water.

  “Do you see anything?” she asked.

  “No.”

  Mindful that something might leap out and grab him, he carefully leaned forward. A flick of movement caught his attention, a flash of silver beneath the far bank.

  “Maybe,” he said. “Can you bring your fireball closer?”

  The flame floated to the center of the stream. Aran squinted into the shadows under the water, and kept very still. Another flash and flicker.

  “Some fish in there,” he said.

  “Are you sure?”

  He’d spent plenty of time fishing with his uncles, mostly off the piers, but in the shallows, too. He knew a fish when he saw one. Even if it was a faerie fish.

  “It makes sense,” he said, turning to face Spark. “A stick and a berry. But what can we use for the line?”

  “What are you talking about?” She frowned at him.

  “Fishing. I think we need to catch one of those fish.”

  He glanced around, studying the trees. Most of them were evergreens, though a short distance up the bank grew a leafy tree with long, thin branches. He didn’t know if it was a hazel, but it was the most decent choice they had.

  “You get the sticks,” Spark said, “I’ll look for berries.”

  She caught on fast. Aran nodded, biting his tongue on words of caution. As if he needed to warn the best simmer in the word about the dangers of a game.

  A few minutes later they reconvened on the stream bank. Aran had two branches, stripped of their leaves. Spark carried a cluster of red berries, still attached to a sprig of leaves.

  “Here.” She handed him the berries, then started messing with the edge of her cloak.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We need string, right?”

  She plucked at the heavy wool a moment more, then pulled her dagger from her boot and sliced at her cloak. Aran helped her unravel a length of dark green thread, pulling until it was about twenty feet long. They cut it from the cloak, then sliced it in half. Aran rolled the slender strand between his fingers. Would it be strong enough?

  “Do we need hooks?” Spark asked as she assembled her fishing pole.

  “I don’t think so. The old woman didn’t mention them. But if we do, I can make us a couple.”

  “You can?”

  “Yeah, out of sharpened twigs.”

  “You know a fair bit about fishing.”

  “I used to fish with my mom’s side of the family.” Before his life took a sudden turn into grim.

  He bent and sifted through the pine needles on the bank until he found a nice pointy one, then poked a hole in the berry with it. Squinting, he threaded the berry and tied a complicated knot at the end. Seeing his work, Spark did the same.

  “So… we just throw the berry in?” She waved her makeshift pole at him. “Any extra tips?”

  “We’re trying for that deeper part where the bank’s cut away. And cast upstream, so the bait drifts past. Wish we had a net.”

  Spark shrugged out of her cloak and laid it on the ground.

  “It’s already ripped,” she said. “A little fish slime won’t hurt it.”

  “Fish aren’t that slimy. But yeah, we can bundle the fish up, keep it from flopping back into the stream.”

  Provided they caught one.

  He and Spark cast, his throw landing further upstream than hers. Quietly, they watched the berries bob along the surface. When his bait floated into the shadows, Aran leaned forward in concentration, but didn’t get a bite. Not the next time, either. Or the time after that. After a while he lost count.

  Spark sighed. “I don’t think this is even—hey!”

  Her berry plunged under the surface and her line went taut.

  “Now what?” She turned a half-panicked gaze on him. “I’ve never done this before.”

  Aran tossed his pole on the bank and grabbed the cloak.

  “Go downstream—quick.” He eyed the tight curve of her stick. “Don’t want to break your pole. That’s it. Let the fish run a bit.”

  Spark hurried along the stream bank, Aran right behind her. He kept giving instructions, when to pull back, when to gather up the slack.

  “Wind the extra line up on your pole—like that. Good. Do you see it?”

  Spark paused to look into the water. “I do! It’s just a little thing, isn’t it? I hope it’s the right one.”

  Following his directions, Spark pulled the fish inexorably up. Its struggles broke the water as it splashed and flailed, its scales flashing silver.

  “Hold it fast,” Aran said.

  He spread the cloak between his arms and waded into the stream. Luckily they’d hit some shallows, the water only a little above his knees.

  As if sensing his approach, the fish thrashed wildly.

  “Oh no,” Spark cried as the red berry popped out of its mouth.

  Aran lunged, cloak outstretched. The berry swung back and forth on the end of the string. And the slim silver trout fell into the folds of the cloak.

  He whipped the edges together and splashed
back to the bank. Spark took his elbow to help him out, and, squelching with each step, Aran moved several paces away from the stream. He could feel the fish wriggling desperately within the woolen confines.

  “Now what?” Spark asked.

  “It’s getting heavy,” Aran said. “I think it’s growing.”

  “Stand back.” Spark pulled out her bow and took a wary stance.

  He laid the cloak down. Sure enough, whatever was under the fabric had grown bigger, and it was still thrashing. He backed up, hands going to his knives.

  The cloak fell open, and he could only stare. It wasn’t a fish. It wasn’t even a monster.

  It was a girl.

  Her naked skin glimmered like moonlight. White blossoms were woven into her long, dark hair, and her eyes were wide with fear.

  “Hey there,” Spark said, taking a step forward.

  In an instant, the girl was on her feet. She cast a wild glance about the forest and, before they could stop her, bolted into the shadows of the trees.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Wait!” Aran cried. “We have to follow her.”

  The maiden’s pale figure was quickly disappearing into the dark woods. He and Spark plunged through the underbrush, barely keeping the girl in sight. Only her glowing skin kept them from losing track of her completely.

  Branches caught at Aran’s arms and the scent of crushed bracken fern stung his nose. They got no closer to the girl, but fell no further back. Above, the unfamiliar stars shone down, distant and impassive.

  The forest ended. Ahead, the maiden scrambled up a sudden hill, the grasses silvered beneath the moon. She reached the top, her faintly glowing form framed for a moment against the night sky. Then she was gone.

  “Hurry,” Spark gasped, though she had fallen a few paces behind.

  Aran reached back and grabbed her hand, pulling her with him to the top of the hill. Except it wasn’t a hill, but a grassy mound. The midnight landscape spread out around them, with no sign of the fish maiden.

  In the center of the hill grew a tree covered with starry blossoms. And one perfect, golden sun.

  “Oh,” Spark said. “The golden apple.”

  “Do you think it’s safe to just pick?”

  Belatedly, Aran let go of her hand and readied himself for combat.

  “I think so. After all, we had to fight the giant, fish up the girl, and then pursue her. That’s three.”

  He wasn’t sure what she was talking about. Senses alert, he followed Spark to the base of the tree. She reached, but the apple hung too high, gleaming far above her hopeful fingertips.

  “Boost me up,” she said.

  Aran cupped his hands and they managed to get her into the crook of the tree. Carefully, she edged out along one of the lower branches. He paced below, ready to catch her if she fell. White petals drifted down in the wake of her passage.

  “Almost there,” he called softly.

  She was so close, the golden glow cast a soft light over her face and the ragged ends of her hair. Watching, Aran held his breath. She reached, and plucked the apple. It parted from the tree with a sweet, musical chime.

  “Got it.” She smiled down at him.

  And fell, as a sudden, furious wind lashed the branches of the tree.

  He caught her, breaking her fall as the two of them tumbled to the soft grass.

  “We better go,” he said, though part of him wanted nothing more than to lie there with her, limbs tangled together, and count the unearthly stars.

  Overhead, the trembling wail of the Wild Hunt echoed through the sky. Way to break the romantic mood. They scrambled to their feet.

  “Over there.” Spark caught his arm and pulled him toward the far end of the hill.

  A small faerie ring shone, nearly hidden by the silvery grasses. Without a word, he and Spark leapt into the center. He didn’t care where it went, as long as it took them away from the hunt.

  The familiar, chilly wind rose about them, and he hunched his shoulders against the gusts. After two icy breaths, the wind subsided and the scene cleared to reveal their destination.

  Aran couldn’t hold back his whoop of triumph. They stood in the mirror-image clearing, and though he couldn’t see the coded wall, he knew it was there.

  “What is this place?” Spark asked, glancing across at the other two clearings.

  “The barrier between the realms. Look.”

  He stepped forward, palm out, until he met the resistance of the wall. He gave it a slap, demonstrating its solidity. Spark, eyebrows raised, followed him, her hand outstretched. When she reached the barrier, she glanced over at him.

  “Fix it, and let’s get out of here.”

  Crap. Aran looked down at his hands, then back up at her. His throat tightened with the taste of failure.

  “I don’t think I can. Last time I had my tablet with me—that’s how I accessed the programming.”

  “There’s no other way?”

  He shook his head. Damn—why had he charged in without thinking ?

  Spark pressed her lips together, then held out her hand, palm up. The golden apple appeared, shimmering with light.

  “How’s that going to help?” Aran asked.

  “In a previous quest, I got three wishes out of a copper apple. I used them to get the silver apple, but now that’s disappeared for some reason.”

  “Maybe you can only have one apple at a time.”

  She frowned at the golden fruit. “Maybe. If you hadn’t been with me, I would have needed the power of the silver apple to help defeat the giant and fish up that girl. But I didn’t use it, so it disappeared when I got the golden one. I guess.”

  “How does it work?” He leaned forward and inspected the apple.

  “Rub it, and tell it your wish.” She held her palm out to him.

  He picked up the golden fruit. It was warm to the touch, and heavier than he’d expected. Running his fingers over the rounded side, he concentrated.

  “I need my tablet,” he said.

  Bright light flashed, and he stepped back, almost dropping the apple. It had split in half, brilliance was streaming from inside. Then it snapped shut, and the air felt colder, the shadows creeping closer.

  Spark bent and scooped up his tablet from where it had appeared on the green moss.

  “Okay,” she said. “Get to work.”

  “Um.” Aran looked down at the apple again. “Three wishes, right?”

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” she said, her voice distrustful. “Maybe I should hold the apple now, all right?”

  “No—it’s just that I forgot something. The other thing I need to make this work.”

  “Well, try it without.”

  Before he could protest, she swapped, plucking the apple from his hand and giving him the tablet in return.

  “Fine.”

  He powered on the tablet. As he’d feared, it showed the normal menu.

  “It won’t display the code,” he said. “I can’t tweak it if I can’t see it.”

  Blowing an impatient breath out through her nose, Spark snatched the tablet and gave him the apple again.

  Aran gently rubbed its smooth sides.

  “The dragon toy, please,” he said.

  This time he was prepared for the burst of light. When it faded, Spark bent and picked up the bright orange toy.

  “What the hell is this?” She shook it in his face. “I can’t believe you wasted a wish on playing a practical joke.”

  Her lack of trust hurt, but he supposed he deserved it.

  “I’m serious. Give me back my tablet.”

  “You don’t touch this apple again,” she said, snatching it and vanishing it back to wherever it had come from.

  “I won’t need to. Watch.”

  He brought the plastic dragon to the tablet. The instant it touched the screen the display flared, then re-assembled to show lines of code. Aran’s shoulders dropped with relief.

  “All right,” Spark said, which was close e
nough to an apology.

  “Keep watch,” he said, folding his legs to sit cross legged on the velvety moss.

  He balanced the tablet on one knee, the plastic dragon standing like a sentinel at the head of the device. Flicking his fingers over the display, he scrolled rapidly through until he found the protocols he’d changed. It shouldn’t take him long. Unravel this bit. Re-code that…

  He was dimly aware of the shadows shifting, of the air growing colder, but he narrowed his eyes and focused all his concentration on the programming. Not only was he closing the gap he’d made, he was triple-encrypting the whole thing. No other hacker would be able to open the wall again. Ever.

  “Done,” he said.

  The wall shuddered, then closed with a whoosh and thunderclap.

  “You did it!” Spark hauled him to his feet, her grip warm and strong. “Let’s get out of here. Hit the log out command.”

  Aran lifted his finger in the signal to exit the game. Nothing happened. He tried again.

  Spark looked at him, her eyes wide and anxious.

  “We’re stuck in-game,” she said, her voice tight. “This is bad.”

  “And about to get worse.”

  In those few seconds, night had fallen. The moon hung in the sky, a sharp sickle. Branches rustled, and he caught a glimpse of gossamer wings, of red caps and sharp teeth, of flickering purple flame. Faint music drifted on the breeze, and the air was icy.

  The Dark Queen was coming.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Spark grabbed her bow, her fingers chilled to the bone. Of course she and Aran couldn’t just close up the gateway and go home—the Dark Queen would not allow it. The shadows in the forest gathered thickly, and Spark’s heartbeat pounded in her ears.

  She reviewed her spells. Whether to use each element at a time, or throw them all together at once depended on how the fight went. She was confident she could make that choice in the heat of battle.

  What she wasn’t confident of was the strength of two mortals going up against the most powerful being in the realm.

  Figures gathered around the edges of the faerie ring, like spectators at a match. Squat goblins wearing hats the color of blood were joined by twiggy figures with long, oddly-jointed limbs. Ethereal maidens stood shoulder-to-shoulder with shambling bog creatures. All of them focused on her and Aran, their eyes feral and avid.