Spark - ARC (18 page)

“T
homas,” Aran said, ducking out of his room.

The bard looked up from the low couch and left off strumming his guitar.

“What is it?”

“I need to see the place where the game interfaces with the Realm of Faerie,” Aran said. “If you know where that is.”

Time for him to get started on his assignment for the queen—and figure out if he could actually succeed.

Thomas plucked out a melancholy chord, then set his guitar aside and rose.

“Very well. I am honor-bound to aid you, though I like it not. Although I doubt you will be able to accomplish this task you’ve accepted so foolishly.”

Aran gave him a close look. “Since you’re the one responsible for hooking the game up to the realm in the first place, why doesn’t the queen get you to do this reverse-hacking?”

“My connection with the mortal world is broken. Even had I wanted to, I could not do this thing for her.”

“Fair enough. Don’t sound so excited about it, though.” Aran let the edge of sarcasm in his voice mask his anxiety. He still had zero idea how he was going to pull this off.

“Come,” Thomas said, holding the tent flap open. “Though I urge you to consider returning to the mortal world. You will see soon enough how impossible the queen’s request is.”

Aran followed him out into the constant night. “Maybe.”

Was the bard only helping because he was certain Aran would fail? Well, he’d prove Thomas wrong. Somehow.

They walked silently through the dark oak forest surrounding the court. When they ran out of trapped-faerie lights, Thomas raised his hand and conjured a ball of silvery-blue radiance. It reflected eerily off the branches and points of light in the bushes that looked like watching eyes.

“I don’t suppose you have any advice for me?” Aran asked. “You know, being the lead programmer and everything.”

“No.”

Thomas did not elaborate, and Aran supposed he was lucky the bard was even helping him at all.

Soon, the oaks were replaced by pale-barked trees with shimmering leaves. Everything was washed of color, the trees and leaves rendered in black and gray. Moonlight slanted down into a clearing ahead. At the edge of the trees, Thomas halted.

“Step into the faerie ring,” he said, pointing to the circle of mushrooms at the center of the glade. “When you reach your destination, mark well the location of the clearing, so that you may come back to this place.”

“Wait—you’re not coming?” A splinter of panic lodged in Aran’s throat.

“This is your quest, BlackWing, not mine. I shall await your return.”

A million scared questions clamored in Aran’s mind, but he refused to ask any of them. Thomas had made it clear he was on his own, and totally expected Aran to tweak it. Swallowing back his fear, he strode past the bard and into the moonlit clearing.

When he stepped into the center of the mushroom-bounded circle, a cold wind pricked his skin. The air wavered, and the wind increased, buffeting him furiously. Aran hunched his shoulders against the gusts. After a few moments the air quieted. Shaking his hair out of his face, he looked up and saw that he still stood in the center of the faerie ring. But everything else had changed.

Twilight deepened the air, the last light of sunset tipping over the horizon, and the world held more color. The moss under his feet was a deep, velvety green. The mushrooms surrounding him shone like small moons, and the pale-barked trees did, in fact, have silvery leaves.

In front of him, like a mirror image, stood another clearing. Unlike his, the late afternoon sun illuminated the rich colors of flowers surrounding the faerie ring. And the mushrooms were different, a mix of the pale ones surrounding him and bright red ones, speckled with white.

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.