Chronicle Worlds: Feyland

by Samuel Peralta

  “Hey, watch this!” the mortal said. He waved his staff in a serpentine pattern, preparing to cast a spell.

  Sealgaire growled. None of these players took this game seriously, which was why, despite Sealgaire’s real faerie magic, his mortal traveling companions couldn’t stand up to the challenge of the game’s final fight.

  With a grunt and a quick, economical movement, Sealgaire pushed through the queen’s thin defenses and plunged his knife into her back. Her high-pitched shriek pierced his sensitive ears. He braced her while she writhed, until her body vanished in a puff of smoke. He sneered at the unnatural portrayal of death.

  “Aww, way to take all the fun out of it,” the mortal said. “I was totally gonna fry her.”

  Sealgaire let a heavy breath out through his nostrils. He’d done it. He’d defeated the Queen of Midnight and gotten a mortal through the experience to unlock the door for him. He had beaten this horrible game.

  He was free.

  Almost free, he corrected himself. Mortal effort shall unlock the door, after all. He stomped over to where the mortal stood, ignored the boy’s jabbering questions about his “prime character class” and dragged him over to the transparent door behind the throne. Sealgaire could almost smell the deep pine of the forest on the other side, could almost make out the baying of the hunting hounds chasing after their prey. The desire to join them, to charge along a scent trail after prey that quaked and sweated pools of its own fear, surged through him.

  “Here,” he spat. “Open the door.”

  The mortal glanced at him, unease tilting his brows together. “There’s no option to open it. My display thinks the boss battle is still going on. You tweaked the game somehow, man.”

  Sealgaire grasped the front of the Spellweaver’s robes in both fists. “You didn’t even try. Open it! I can’t stand this place any longer.”

  He threw the mortal to the base of the door with a hiss. The mortal scrambled to his feet, glaring.

  “Look man, I’m telling you, there’s no option to open the door. Whatever hack you did to bring us here early must have broken the game. I thought it was cool at first, but I don’t want to play a broken game. I’m logging out.”

  “Open it!” Sealgaire commanded.

  If he had to stay in this forsaken game for another day he’d go mad. The longer he lingered within the code, the more his fey essence drained away bit by bit. He didn’t know how many more times he could fight against the Queen of Midnight before he simply became a part of this fake world, before he turned into one of these flat NPC characters.

  He had to get back to the true Realm, and this ungrateful mortal was going to help him. He reached for the front of the boy’s robes once more.

  But the Spellweaver had already made the gesture to leave the game, and Sealgaire’s fist closed on nothing. He was alone in the courtyard. The fake courtiers, making their familiar shocked faces at the repeated death of their queen, didn’t count as company.

  Kicking at the sparse grass, Sealgaire let out a howl. He’d been so close! The words of the quest stated that the mortal should have been able to open the door.

  “Mortal effort,” Sealgaire muttered. “Don’t tell me the mortal needs to strike the killing blow.” He couldn’t count on a human to pull that off.

  What he needed was a player who understood the serious nature of this game. Even the ones who were focused on being the best warriors they could be didn’t devote all of their effort to a fight that wouldn’t have any real consequence if they failed.

  Feyland was just a game, after all. Fake battles and fake stakes bred fake warriors.

  And those hateful Feyguard were doing everything in their power to keep it that way.

  Sealgaire stopped his kicking. The Feyguard!

  He’d seen one of them once, when the Wild Hunt had pursued her in her attempt to rescue another mortal from the Dark Court. That girl… he still remembered her scent, the sharpness of her determination and the underlying salt of her fear. The musky scent of her fox form wound through her main scent as a splash of red. He’d caught whiffs of it from time to time since he’d found himself trapped in Feyland, though always far out of reach, as though she had entered the game in a different level. But he knew it was her.

  He gave a strained laugh. While he rode at the rear of the Wild Hunt in the Realm, he was the greatest huntsman by far in the world of Feyland. Not even the queen of these simulated faeries could hold her own against him.

  He could hunt down the Feyguard girl and bring her here. He could force her to return him to the Realm. Securing her cooperation would expend much of his remaining faerie magic, but it would be worth the cost.

  Leaving the faeries of the court to their scripted responses, Sealgaire strode back to the faerie ring that had brought him here. His magic flared as he performed the intricate twist of his fingers that would bring him to the game level of his choosing. Once he locked on the Feyguard’s scent, he’d have no trouble following her anywhere she went, so long as she stayed in-game.

  His vision blurred as the Midnight Courtyard faded away, but he couldn’t stop himself from casting one last glance at the transparent door. It shimmered serenely, as if it weren’t blocking his path to the place his very essence yearned to be. His fists shook at his sides, his sharp nails digging into his palms.

  He would make sure she stayed in-game. That door would open, even if he had to spill mortal blood to accomplish it.

  * * *

  “You chose a Kitsune character? You really are like Spark Jaxley!”

  Marylan found herself standing in a clearing as realistic as any she could find in real life. Silver-leaved trees surrounded the clearing, and she shivered as the cool breeze carried their scent and rustling to her. She felt the hardness of the dirt under her feet. A circle of mushrooms looped around her and Stelli, who stood beside her in a Spellweaver’s outfit, grinning.

  She’d struggled to get a hang of the gesture controls while figuring out the character creation system. It had been a long time since she’d played any game, of course, but she’d always loved fantasy games. She’d dithered over her options, torn between choosing the ability to cast magic and knowing she was supposed to be working on her physical movements.

  “The description said I could cast magic and fight with this character,” Marylan said, looking down at her leather-clad avatar.

  “And turn into a fox. That’ll be fun for your therapy, huh?”

  Marylan joined her granddaughter in laughing. Despite her decision to despise the simming experience, she couldn’t help it. She’d never played a game like this before. The place felt so real!

  “Okay, let’s get to my open quest line. We’ll meet up with my friends.”

  Stelli waved her staff, and the world melted away as the faerie ring transported them to a new location. They appeared in another faerie ring outside the wooden walls of a city. A dense forest of oak and curling underbrush grew right up along the wall, and Marylan watched as a crowd of cityfolk and soldiers worked to fortify their defensive line.

  Stelli led the way to the gate. While Marylan marveled at the ease of her own movement in the game, Stelli filled her in on the quest.

  “The townspeople are plagued every night by a group of fierce faeries known as the Midnight Huntsmen. Our job is to help fight them off once and for all. A whole bunch of people have tried to complete this quest, but it’s way harder than the rest of the game has been so far. We’re starting to think something’s tweaked in the programming.”

  They stepped up to the city gate, where a guard stopped them. Marylan squinted at him, making out the slight stiffness of his motions that marked him as an NPC. His armor was serviceable, though not of the best quality, and the sword he held could use a good sharpening. He waved them in as Stelli presented a token to him.

  “Welcome, my ladies. We need all the help we can get against these foul dark faeries. Be on your guard. Night approaches.”

  The guard spoke t
rue, and as Marylan followed Stelli into the main square of the town, the sun dipped towards the horizon. The pinks and purples of twilight draped over the city, and the cool breeze developed a chillier snap. More and more lanterns blazed with light as the sky grew darker.

  Ten other players stood gathered beside the stone basin of the town’s fountain, chattering in rising tones. Stelli greeted her friends with a wave.

  “You’ll never guess who we were just talking to, Stelli,” said a Saboteur.

  “Who?”

  “Spark Jaxley! You missed it. She logged out five minutes ago.”

  Stelli moaned and threw her hands up. “Did you ask her to join us? She could beat this impossible fight.”

  “Nah, Spark’s not like that. She won’t steal the glory from us regular players.”

  “But wouldn’t it be so prime to watch her smash these faeries?” asked a Knight. She pantomimed some fighting move, apparently something Spark Jaxley was known for, and the group laughed.

  As Stelli introduced the group, Marylan smiled. These kids wouldn’t have any idea who she was, but in her day, people had said similar things about her gaming. She sighed, remembering the glory of her tournament days. Of course, she also remembered the stress of travel, and of always being in the spotlight. A pang of sympathy for Miss Jaxley softened Marylan’s smile.

  “My grandma used to play games professionally, just like Spark.”

  Marylan concealed a wince as the group turned wondering eyes on her.

  “And you play a Kitsune, just like her,” said the Saboteur. “Maybe some old school gaming skills are just what we need to get through this fight!”

  Despite Marylan’s protests, the group rallied around this idea. Before she knew it, she had been declared their mascot, their ace-in-the-hole, and the leader of their charge.

  At that moment, the sun sank fully below the horizon, and a long, high-pitched wail snaked out of the forest beyond the city.

  “On your guard! The Midnight Huntsmen come!” someone shouted from the city wall.

  The group of players moved together to the gate, drawing weapons and scrolling through spells in preparation.

  A shot of nerves twanged through Marylan as she struggled with the gesture to bring up her own menu screen. She was about to make a total fool of herself. She still didn’t have good control over these gestures, and though she was enjoying the ability to walk without the shuffling gait that plagued her real legs, she didn’t think she would be able to pull off the sort of dexterity she would need in a fight. These kids were about to be sorely disappointed in their new mascot-leader.

  “Don’t worry, grandma,” Stelli said. “It’s just a game, even if it feels totally real.”

  They arranged themselves to defend the gate, and Marylan peered into the inky blackness of the forest. She couldn’t see a thing, and from the way everyone else was squinting, she knew it wasn’t just her worn-out vision.

  Glancing at her list of abilities, Marylan wondered about her fox form. Changing form in games always granted some sort of shift in abilities. Maybe as a fox she’d be able to hear what she couldn’t as a human?

  She made the gesture, and suddenly she was on all fours, much closer to the ground. Her vision reduced even further, blurred and gray, but her hearing sharpened. She ignored the group’s interjections of “good idea,” and focused on the way the foliage rustled in the forest. The sound swelled and faded with the natural flow of the wind straight ahead. But to the left, the hiss came in bursts, punctuated by the soft snap of twigs under light footfalls.

  Unable to speak as a fox, Marylan pointed her snout left, towards the oncoming faeries. She found herself slinking forward into the trees, ears pricked and nose primed for the telltale signs of her prey. The other players followed her.

  She froze when the harsh odor of dogs hit her nostrils. Her fox body felt an instinctive need to put distance between herself and the hounds, but Marylan fought it and pressed onward, wriggling through the underbrush on her belly. She knew the hounds had caught her scent, too, from the way they set up baying, but by then the others had caught up with her and were prepared for the fight.

  The two forces met at a wide, shallow stream. Marylan gaped at the sight of the Midnight Huntsmen. The hounds curled along the ground with glowing green eyes and strings of saliva dripping from their dark muzzles. The horses chomped at their bits and pawed at the ground as if they, too, sought the capture of the prey. Their riders, the Huntsmen themselves, showed terrible faces, pale yet dark with malice. Their leader seemed part animal himself, sporting a pair of ram’s horns curling from his forehead. At the sight of the players, he lifted a hunting horn to his cruel lips, and the high-pitched wail rang out again. At such close range, its cry was deafening.

  At the sound, a new Huntsman melted out of the trees. Something about this hunter was wrong. Marylan’s tiny fox heart pounded against her ribs at the sight, the sound, and the smell of him. Of all the impressive simulations in Feyland so far, this hunter truly took her breath away. He didn’t even seem to be all that important a member of the Huntsmen, certainly not as visually intimidating as the leader, but his expression was somehow chiseled with more hatred and more drive than the others’. As Marylan watched, he lifted his nose and sniffed. His gaze snapped to the bush she hid in, and a shot of icy fear ran from her skull to the tip of her tail.

  With a battle cry, the other players leapt into the stream. Marylan hung back, waiting for a break in the clash of weapons. Could she use her magic in fox form, or did she have to change back?

  A hound came bounding towards her hiding place, startling her out of her bush. The hound snarled behind her as she dashed away. Which gesture would turn her back to a human? The swipe? The chop?

  She scrambled through the brush. The hound snapped its dripping jaws at her tail. Its warm breath rippled over her fur. Why couldn’t she figure out these controls?

  The hound’s snarls turned to a stabbing yip of pain. Marylan spun to see it collapse and disappear in a puff of black smoke, defeated.

  Keeping her belly pressed to the dirt, she slunk into the cover of the undergrowth.

  All around her, grunts of pain and frustration rose from both Huntsmen and players. She saw two players fall, their avatars shimmering and disappearing as they lost all HP. But the Huntsmen were losing fighters, too, and the battle remained even.

  Marylan’s legs quivered and her breath sawed from her lungs. The mess she’d made of this battle proved she had no business playing games at her age. Her human form still eluded her. She desperately needed a rest, and she wouldn’t mind if she never set foot in a sim game again. That cup of tea was sounding exceptionally relaxing right now.

  She crouched under a bush, panting like a dog, as the two remaining players regrouped in the stream. Marylan allowed a hint of pride to puff through her at Stelli’s continued presence. The girl showed promise as a gamer.

  The tatters of the Midnight Huntsmen gathered on the opposite bank. Their ram-horned leader scowled and pointed in silent command.

  The fearsomely realistic Huntsman still remained. He was hidden from view behind the leader, but Marylan’s nose locked on his woodsy smell. She could hardly help it, especially now that their enemy’s numbers had been pared down. His scent stood out in sharp contrast against the duller smells of the others.

  The other remaining player, the Knight, charged forward to clash with the leader. Stelli leapt forward, too, her staff glowing with arcane light. The Huntsmen raised their weapons. The blades glinted in the faint starlight.

  Stelli’s spell crashed into her foe in a shower of embers, and the black smoke was curling about her feet before the hunter’s back touched the ground.

  But the horned leader slashed his long knife at the Knight, and her avatar faded. Stelli gave a shout and swiped her staff at the leader. Her rage-fuelled ice spell sent the leader spinning to the ground.

  The action left her wide open to attack from the remaining hunter.


  Marylan’s sense of wrongness returned full-force as she watched him reach for her granddaughter with his bare hand. The faerie’s stance, so feral, so real, screamed that they’d made a giant mistake in treating him like one of the other hunters.

  Marylan let out a bark. Cold stream water splashed in her snout and eyes as she bounded to Stelli’s side. She bared her teeth, and a growl rattled up her chest and throat. Confound these controls! She could hardly save her granddaughter as a fox.

  The huntsman turned to sneer at her as he drove his hand into Stelli’s shoulder. Stelli went limp, her eyes rolled back, and her skin turned a sickly pale color.

  The huntsman’s fist pulsed red as he gripped Stelli’s body.

  “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to this innocent girl’s mortal essence,” he whispered with a grin that set Marylan’s blood roaring in her ears, “would we now, Feyguard?”

  * * *

  Sealgaire had the Feyguard right where he wanted her.

  He’d meddled with the scripted Midnight Huntsmen event, knowing she would come as soon as she heard about the bottleneck in the game level. When he’d smelled her presence in-game an hour ago, he knew he had her.

  Oh, she might think she was confusing him by remaining in fox form, but he’d know that scent of determination anywhere.

  Yanking his fist from the unconscious girl’s shoulder, he wobbled on his legs as a wave of weakness passed through his body. The theft required almost all of his remaining magic, and a spike of panic pricked at his pulse. What if the Feyguard realized how easily she could overcome him right now? What if this last effort failed and the door remained closed?

  He shoved aside his fears and rested his fist against a pouch at his hip. “I’ll just keep the girl’s essence here for the moment. What I do with it later, well, that depends on your cooperation.”

  The Feyguard fox growled at him, puffed up like a cat and showing all her teeth, still dripping from her sprint across the stream. She was quite adorable, if he was honest. But what he needed from her didn’t have a thing to do with her animal form.