Chronicle Worlds: Feyland

by Samuel Peralta

  “I won’t bother being cryptic. You know what I am and where I come from. The Wild Hunt rode here in search of wayward mortals to bring back to the Realm. The others pulled ahead of me, and I found myself entangled in this imitation world. The game finally reacted to my presence and bestowed a quest upon me to open a way out, but I cannot complete it on my own. You will defeat the Queen of Midnight for me and unlock the door back to the Realm as my quest requires, or I will dispose of this girl’s essence. I’m under the impression that your position as a member of the Feyguard limits you to the former option.”

  Without waiting for a response, Sealgaire hefted the girl’s body over his shoulder and moved through the trees, heading for the faerie ring. He didn’t have to look back to know the Feyguard was following.

  The chirps of insects and hoots of owls trickled back into the forest, now that the nightly fight was over. Sealgaire breathed a sigh of relief at the knowledge that tonight’s battle was the last he’d ride with the false Wild Hunt. In many ways, his time with them had been more painful than each of his nine visits to the Midnight Courtyard. And in other ways it had been more frightening. Acting as the replica huntsmen did came too easily to him as his faerie essence trickled away.

  But he had the Feyguard now, and the door was as good as unlocked. She had the skill to defeat the Queen of Midnight many times over, and the necessary quality of being mortal, per the words of his quest.

  Mortal effort shall unlock the door.

  The faerie ring materialized out of the underbrush, the mushroom caps glowing under the light of the stars and moon. Sealgaire stepped into the ring and finally glanced back at the fox behind him.

  Her eyes were out of focus, the way players got when they were interacting with the game’s interface. She must be sorting through her options, trying to decide how to best use her tricks against him. He tightened his grip on the girl.

  “Join me, won’t you?” he demanded. He let one hand drift to brush against the pouch.

  Her eyes widened, then narrowed as she processed his unspoken threat. Her ears pressed flat against her head, and she slunk into the faerie ring.

  Once she stood beside him, Sealgaire twisted his fingers. His magic rushed around them, and he directed it to bring them to the game’s final level.

  He didn’t attempt to smother the blast of fierce joy as he felt the faerie ring’s tug for the last time. Never again would this sickening jolt pull at him. He had to endure the Midnight Court materializing before his eyes only once more.

  As the flawed mirror of his home came into view, Sealgaire slid the girl from his shoulder and placed her on the ground just outside the faerie ring. With her settled, he pulled at his pouch again, letting the fox see that it still pulsed with the mortal’s essence. If he had to stay out of this fight, he wouldn’t hesitate to give her all the motivation she needed to see it through to the finish for him.

  “I don’t presume to tell you how to fight your battles, but I’d think you’d have an easier time of it in your human form,” he said. He was surprised to realize how excited he was to watch her at work. Imagine, a mortal who would actually take this fight seriously.

  She hesitated a moment more, her fox body twitching. Then she made the shift, her body growing and elongating, pulling upwards.

  Into the form of a frail old woman in a Kitsune’s armor.

  Sealgaire’s lungs clenched, sending a jolt of pain through his heart. He’d made a horrible mistake.

  “I don’t know who—or what—you think you are, but you’re going to give me back my granddaughter,” she said. “She never did anything to earn your violence. Who taught you how to ask for a favor?”

  His chest hurt. His jaw ached where he held it clamped shut. He’d bitten his cheek, and the copper of blood filled his mouth.

  Across the courtyard, the Queen of Midnight’s eyes flickered as she spoke the words for the tenth time.

  * * *

  “Where is the Feyguard?” the Huntsman demanded. “She’s the only player with the strength to best the queen and send me back to the Realm!”

  Standing once more on two legs, Marylan trembled. The energy coursing through her body did not come from fear, but from anger. This faerie creature would regret laying a finger on Stelli, no matter that Marylan was an old woman past her gaming prime.

  She’d finally figured out how to shift between her forms, after all.

  “I have no idea who this Feyguard you’re looking for is. I barely understand how this game works. But believe me, young man, when I say I will make you pay ten times over for every hurt you inflict on my granddaughter.”

  The hunter shifted his slitted eyes towards the lantern-hung courtyard. Marylan noticed his fists tightening at his sides, an obvious instinctive response to the threat of the oncoming queen.

  She watched him watching the queen, read his desire to finish the fight quickly in the tightness of his posture. One hand inched towards the knife in his belt.

  With a quick gesture, done correctly this time, Marylan returned to her fox form. She gathered herself and leapt for the hunter’s hand, her jaws open and ready to snap down on him.

  He dodged aside. His tight restraint as she passed within range of his blade made the fur on her back ripple. She twisted to bite at him as she fell to the leaf-strewn flagstone.

  “I didn’t bring you here to fight me!” he hissed.

  Marylan prepared to make the shift back to her human form. A sizzling light and a flare of heat slammed into her, knocking her off all four paws and dropping her at the roots of a huge oak tree.

  Dazed, she blinked embers from her eyes as the hunter screamed a challenge at the queen. He was brandishing his knife at her.

  And yet, as the queen came within range of him, he did not attack her, and the queen acted as though she did not see him. Then she’d passed him, leaving him frothing with fury at her exposed back as she drew closer to Marylan.

  Why doesn’t he stab the queen right now? Marylan thought.

  He turned a scowl on her, his eyes glittering with… desperation. Beyond him, beyond the oncoming queen, beyond Stelli’s motionless body, a strange transparent door reflected the eerie light of the lanterns in the courtyard.

  Mortal effort shall unlock the door, the queen had said when the fight commenced. Marylan had been too preoccupied with getting Stelli back to pay much attention then, but now she took in the whole level and knew the questline. Somehow, this wild fey creature had gotten himself trapped in the game where he didn’t belong. His efforts to force a player to open the door that would take him back home, though dangerous and downright rude, made some sense to Marylan. Despite his poor method of asking, the hunter needed her help.

  Two obsidian blades appeared in the queen’s pale hands. Marylan’s ears flattened against her head as the glow of magic gathered along the edge of the left one.

  She couldn’t afford to mull over her options. That’s not how games were played, and certainly not how they were beaten. She had to trust her instincts and read the game’s signals, then base her actions off of that.

  The hunter’s freedom, and therefore Stelli’s life, depended on it.

  Marylan leapt up and twisted around, shifting to human form. Could she call up her bow at the same time? She could. Its smooth wood materialized in her hand, and she fired an arrow into the queen’s eye as her human feet touched the ground.

  The queen shrieked and flitted away, then grimaced with renewed hatred.

  A fierce grin spread across Marylan’s face. The thrum of energy she’d only ever gotten from the challenge of gaming zinged through her. How had she ever given it up? She was too old? Ha! She could do this for ages.

  The flow of the fight pulled at her, and she shifted back into fox form to dart among the faerie courtiers until she found another advantageous spot. This time, when she shifted back to human, she sent a wall of fire burning towards the queen. She shifted again, but the queen’s scream of pain and outrage told her sh
e’d hit her mark as she dashed off once more.

  She erupted from between two astonished faerie courtiers as a human, and aimed another arrow at the queen’s face. But just as she loosed the string, the queen hurled a spear of ice at her. Marylan leapt up, somersaulting in mid-air without thinking, to avoid the projectile. Its chill grazed her back, knocking her off-balance. She tumbled to the flagstone with a crack. Her bow had broken beneath her.

  But she had no time to lie there moaning, as much as the fall had reminded her of her true age. The queen was approaching, both obsidian knives drawn.

  As the queen bore down on Marylan, she pulled her own knife out to block. The blades met with a grating clash. The queen still had one more knife than Marylan, though. Marylan’s blood pounded in her ears, but the hunter’s shouts pierced through the roar. Was he cheering for her?

  Thinking quickly, Marylan reviewed her options. Her bow was broken, and she’d used her fire spell, but the other three elemental spells remained. With a twitch of her wrist, she shot a blast of wind into the queen’s arm, knocking her next attack aside. The queen grunted, and Marylan used the opportunity to dance out of the way.

  She glanced back at the hunter, who was leaning forward as though fighting against an invisible force that kept him stuck outside the area of combat. Stelli lay at his feet. Her arm was flung towards Marylan, as if in a plea for rescue.

  Marylan narrowed her eyes at the queen. She had to finish this quickly. She had no idea what the hunter’s magic might be doing to Stelli’s mortal essence, after all.

  She waited until the queen stood over a particularly large slab of flagstone, then cast both of her remaining elemental spells at once. The stone melted into a sloppy pool of mud, and the queen fell over, shrieking.

  The hunter taunted the queen, but Marylan wasted no time as she rushed towards her fallen foe. Her fingers tightened over the hilt of her knife, getting ready to plunge it into the queen’s heart and finish this battle.

  A wicked glimmer in the queen’s eyes was the only warning Marylan got before a crackling lightning bolt flew at her. She jerked to the side, but the bolt struck her hand, sending her knife spinning through the air and out of the courtyard.

  Marylan screamed and clutched her burned hand. She was out of weapons, out of magic, and lying defenseless on the hard flagstones before the Queen of Midnight. Her enemy was climbing out of the muddy mire, her blades glistening in the faerie lantern light.

  The pain faded quickly, though, and as her own whimpers quieted, she became aware of the hunter thundering across the courtyard towards her. His knife was out.

  He skidded to a halt, throwing his body between Marylan and her enemy just as the queen brought her first knife down. The blow landed on his back and drove him to his knees beside Marylan. His eyes widened.

  “Take it,” he grunted, dropping his hunting knife. “Defeat her.”

  The queen’s second knife hit him in the side, and he slumped to the ground.

  Behind the queen, the transparent door solidified and creaked open a crack.

  Marylan snatched up the offered knife and rolled to her feet. She drove the blade up into the queen’s heart up to the hilt. The queen screeched and writhed, then disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

  Marylan ignored the victory fanfare ringing through the courtyard, and knelt beside the hunter. He was still alive, his breathing shallower than her own harsh gasps. He looked up at her with unfocused eyes.

  “Is the door open?”

  Marylan nodded. “It opened when you took that hit for me.”

  The hunter grimaced. “Should’ve known. Mortal effort. Faerie quests… are never straightforward.” He twitched a finger at the pouch on his hip. “Let her… breathe in her essence… she’ll be… good as new.”

  Marylan reached for the pouch, but stopped when her fingers brushed it. The hunter’s breathing grew shallower, his face paler, and an idea came to her.

  Marylan made the gesture to bring up her menu. Her fire and air spells had returned, and in another second, so would the water and earth. It was time to see what this elemental system could do.

  First she sent fire crawling over the hunter’s open wounds. When new skin rippled into place, she once again mixed water and earth, this time sending it into her patient’s veins as fresh blood to replace what had spilled on the flagstones. Finally, as he stared up at her with glazed eyes, Marylan blew her air spell into his lungs until his breathing grew even and deep.

  The hunter blinked, and Marylan helped him to sit up.

  “You cured me,” he said, his voice soft with awe. “You didn’t have to.”

  Marylan picked up his hunting knife and offered it to him hilt first. “I think it’s time you went home, young man.”

  The hunter stood and pressed the pouch into her other hand. “Keep the knife. May its power one day repay you for the kindness you’ve done me today.”

  Then he turned and strode to the now open door. For a moment, Marylan thought he might look back at her, but he only took a deep breath before pushing the door open and stepping through.

  In that split second before the door closed behind him, Marylan got a dazzling glimpse of the Realm beyond the game of Feyland. A courtyard at midnight, full of glittering lights and the dark, terrible forms of fey creatures such as she’d only ever seen in storybook illustrations, lay just across the threshold. The strains of a harp floated in the air. Fair maidens with gossamer wings, and knobby gnomes wearing caps the color of blood cavorted in the open space between the thick trees.

  Deep in the murky darkness, a tall faerie crowned with antlers beckoned to the hunter. His piercing red gaze locked with Marylan’s as the hunter bowed before him, and Marylan’s entire body tingled with a fear the leader of the in-game Midnight Huntsmen could never hope to generate.

  Her breath caught in her throat, and she realized how the simulated world of the game, so realistic to her, could drive a true faerie mad. The Courtyard of Midnight seemed so much duller now, like a reflection in a warped and smudged mirror. Feyland, as groundbreaking as its technological and graphical advancements were, was a subpar imitation of the real Realm of Faerie.

  Then the door swung closed. The soft snick of a lock engaging sighed through the courtyard, and the door disappeared.

  Rocking back on her heels and catching her breath, Marylan put the hunter’s knife away in her inventory, then rushed to Stelli’s side. She administered the pouch as the huntsman had told her, and soon Stelli’s eyes flickered open.

  “Did we lose the battle, Grandma?”

  Marylan hugged her tight, laughing with relief. Real magic existed, tucked away in a hidden level of a video game, and she had seen it and lived to play the game another day. She considered telling Stelli about what she’d just experienced.

  But games and their secrets were always more satisfying when figured out for oneself, and Stelli had proven herself to be an excellent gamer. Perhaps Stelli would find a way to unlock Feyland’s secret levels on her own.

  “I think we did lose,” Marylan finally said, “but I’d like to try it again tomorrow.”

  * * *

  “On your guard! The Midnight Huntsmen come!”

  Standing amongst Stelli’s friends as they readied themselves to take on the nightly raid once more, Marylan brought up her menu. The gestures weren’t giving her trouble anymore, and she wondered why she’d ever let herself get so tangled up over them.

  “Are you ready, Grandma?” Stelli asked, rocking back and forth on her toes as she waited.

  “Almost,” Marylan replied. She swiped through her inventory, searching.

  Her bow had returned, intact, upon login, but she moved past it until she came to a hunting knife. The standard Kitsune knife rested beside it, looking rather plain and undetailed in comparison.

  Marylan smiled and equipped Sealgaire’s Hunting Knife. As it appeared in her hand, the familiar thrum of anticipation swept through her. A good simming session lay ahead.
>
  “I’m ready.”

  A Word from Brigid Collins

  I usually write young characters, probably because I am, at the moment, a young-ish person myself (the big Three-Oh draws ever closer). I find myself naturally drawn to writing younger protagonists. So when the image popped into my head of Marylan, an elderly woman who used to be a hotshot gamer chick (and still is, though she doesn’t realize it), she certainly surprised the heck out of me. It didn’t take long before I knew she was destined to make a run through Feyland, whether she wanted to or not!

  I’ve been a fan of the Feyland series from the moment I finished reading the first novella. Getting the chance to write a story of my own in such a rich and wonderful world has been so thrilling, and I’m not ashamed to admit to doing a happy dance when Anthea asked if I wanted to write for the Chronicle Worlds: Feyland anthology. I immediately knew I wanted to tell a story involving the Wild Hunt in some way, as I always found them eerie and terrifying in Anthea’s original series.

  If you enjoyed this story and want to check out more of my work, feel free to visit my website, www.backwrites.wordpress.com. All my pieces and where to find them are listed there, including my fantasy series, The Songbird River Chronicles, book 3 of which came out in May of 2016! Be sure to sign up for my newsletter while you’re there, which will net you a free short story, as well as periodic news about my releases.

  Unicorn Magic

  by Roz Marshall

  "Once you eliminate the impossible,

  whatever remains, no matter how improbable,

  must be the truth."

  ― Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes

  Chapter One

  THE SINGER