She grew still, her body suddenly tense. “What do you mean to do with me?” she said, grasping the supple leather arms of her chair. She glanced at Callidus, leaning by the door. Is this why he had stayed? To intercept her when she tried to make a run for it?
“My, you are a skittish thing! I’m sorry my dear, I didn’t mean for that to sound so ominous,” Kacper said. “We want to train you. You have a rare gift indeed, and it is very valuable to this guild and the king. Only the highest levels within the guild know of this secret, the grand masters of the guild, like Callidus and myself. You will become one of us.”
Sacha was speechless. She looked around at the room they sat in, at the casual luxuries that she had never dreamed of having.
“I assure you it will be a quite pleasant life,” Kacper said. “We’re not all so serious as Callidus. There will be other students for you to learn with, friends to make. Of course, you cannot share the true nature of this secret with them, but that won’t be too difficult. What do you say?”
Sacha looked back between Kacper and Callidus, her mind whirring. She liked to think she was fairly good at reading people, and despite Kacper’s seemingly calm exterior, lines around his kind eyes betrayed his tension. “I don’t have a choice in this, do I,” she said, realizing the true nature of this summons.
“I’m afraid not, my dear. But it is truly an honor we are bestowing on you. Besides,” he said, leaning forward. “Do you have somewhere better to be?”
She thought of the streets of Maradis where she had grown up, the grubby orphans who had been her family but were now no doubt scattered. Some dead, others selling themselves as whores or mercenaries. She thought of Master Oldrick, refusing to make her a journeyman for six years despite the fact that her skill had surpassed his long ago. “No,” she said. “I don’t.”
“Excellent!” Kacper clapped his hands, and stood, turning to the wooden credenza that lined the wall behind his desk. “A toast is in order.”
He poured three glasses of rose wine from a crystal decanter. He offered one to Callidus, who declined with a curt shake of his head.
“More for me,” Kacper grumbled, handing another glass to Sacha. “Stand up, stand up,” he said, and she obliged, feeling a sudden poignancy to the moment. As if she were standing at the edge of a cliff, and with this sip, she would jump.
“Now, before we toast to our newest future grandmaster, I need a promise from you. Do you solemnly swear that you will not speak of the truth of your magic, of our magic, to anyone save Callidus, myself, or the others we say are safe?”
“I do,” she said warily.
“Excellent! Cheers!” He clinked his glass to hers and took a healthy swallow. She took a nervous sip of the wine, letting its fruity flavor swirl across her tongue. She had sampled wine a few times before, but hadn’t yet developed a palate for it.
The instant she swallowed, the wine’s sweet finish changed, turning hot and bitter on her tongue.
Callidus strode forward and grabbed the glass from her hand before she could drop it. Her tongue burned, and when she went to open her mouth, she found she couldn’t. It was glued shut. She backed up in panic, knocking into the leather chair, looking from one man to another with wide eyes. She clutched at her throat, fingers leaving red trails down her skin. Had they poisoned her? What was the point of all this show if they were just going to kill her?
“Easy now,” Kacper said. “It will pass in a moment, my dear.”
He was right. Already the burning sensation was dying, leaving only the tingling aftereffects of the wine and the thudding of her heartbeat in her ears. She opened her mouth wide, gasping in air.
“What…what did you do to me?”
“Standard procedure, my dear. We’ve found it’s best to do it quickly, like pulling out an arrow.”
“Do what quickly?”
“You are bound to your oath now. You are physically unable to break your word, to tell our secret. Your secret.”
“How?” she croaked, her hands still to her throat, working her jaw as if she could stop if from sealing shut once again.
“Our guild isn’t the only one with true magic. Vintner’s Guild,” he said, holding up the decanter to the light. “The magic of truth and lies. Secrets and whispers. Very helpful stuff. In the right hands.”
She shuddered a bit, suddenly cold and wary.
Grandmaster Kacper came around the desk and put his arm around her, leading her towards the door. “It’s a lot to take in, but I promise you will be safe here. A world of wonder is now open to you. Learn. Discover. Explore. And make more cupcakes.” He squeezed her shoulder and released her into Callidus’s care.
“Callidus will see you to Guildmistress Maloria, who will take care of getting you situated. I’ll come see how you are acclimating tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” she said, haltingly. She felt faint from the whirlwind of the last few minutes, and was content to follow Callidus’s grim visage down the corridor like an obedient puppy.
Callidus towed her down the corridor towards the staircase. As they reached the landing, a muffled crash sounded behind them, emanating from Head Grandmaster Kacper’s office.
Callidus whirled and darted back down the hallway with startling speed, bursting into the office. The two guards looked at each other and followed suit, spears held before them, surcoats billowing behind.
Unsure of what to do, Sacha drifted back down the corridor towards the office, not wanting to intrude, but overcome with curiosity. When she reached the open door, she gasped.
Kacper was on the floor, his face an unnatural shade of purple. Foam bubbled out of his mouth. His body shook and convulsed as Callidus and the guards tried to hold him down, shouting at each other for antidotes and doctors.
But it was over before it began. Kacper gave a final gurgling breath, convulsed once more, and fell still.
Sacha’s hands covered her mouth as bile rose in her throat. Kacper’s brown eyes, eyes that had sparkled with life just a few moments before, now bulged out in a blank stare that seemed to capture her own. She couldn’t look away.
“He’s dead,” Callidus said, still on his knees, head hanging in disbelief. “Murdered.”
“Poison,” one of the guards announced, standing, wiping his mouth with a shaky hand. “Nasty one.” He pointed at the cupcake wrapper on the desk, forgotten. “Where did that come from? It didn’t pass the security screening.”
“I brought it up…but the girl…” Callidus said, his voice ghostly. Then his head whipped around, his eyes locking on Sacha with such force that she stumbled back.
“It was her confection,” he said, pointing a spindly finger at her. “She must have poisoned it. Arrest her.”
Will Sacha be able to solve Kacper’s murder and clear her name?
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—ABOUT THE AUTHOR—
Claire Luana lives in Seattle, Washington with her husband and two dogs. By day, she works as a commercial litigation attorney, and by night, she writes young adult fantasy novels. To find out more, visit her online at www.claireluana.com.
UNICORN MAGIC
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
THE BREATH CAUGHT in Corinne MacArthur’s throat. If anyone discovered her here, peering around the trunk of a silvery birch, she would be in all sorts of trouble.
She might not know very much, yet, about how to play Feyland, but she was sure she shouldn’t be in a place like this on her first foray into the game. Surely it was way too advanced a level for a new player like her? But—that music—that singing… It was as delicat
e as rose petals, as pure as a mountain stream and as sweet as marshmallow melt. It captured her senses; filling her mind with its beauty so that for a few precious moments, the awful ache in her heart was replaced by a glowing golden warmth which emanated from the centre of the magical clearing—from him.
The singer.
Standing on a wizened tree stump as if it were a dais on an international stage, the minstrel’s voice rang clear and strong across the forest glade. Hair the colour of burnished copper curled around his head like a halo, a smear of freckles gilded his high cheekbones, and over his shoulder hung a drape of heather-coloured plaid.
The crowd around him contained creatures that Corinne had only seen in picture books—elves, pixies, nymphs, and other mythical beings with legs like goats or taller than trees, that she couldn’t even put names to. But they all seemed as wrapped up in his song as she was; hanging on his every word and straining to hear every syllable that spilled from his lips. Even the tiny birds perched on bush and branch had fallen under his thrall, their voices silent and their heads tilted in his direction.
He had a talent for drawing people in; for making his audience feel a part of his song. Looking out over the crowd, he made eye contact with one, then another, and another, each of whom would almost swoon after receiving his attention.
And then, for one heart-stopping second, those green eyes swept over to the edge of the clearing and locked, momentarily, with hers.
It was like a physical blow, driving the air from her lungs and all coherent thought from her mind. She rocked on her heels, gripping hard on the birch tree lest she fall.
Then panic set in. Had he spotted her? The allure of his song had caused her to forget the precariousness of her situation, and to linger when she should have quietly made her way back to a lower level.
But his gaze moved on around the throng, and she exhaled slowly. No, he didn’t see me. Her green tunic and brown leather waistcoat gave her excellent camouflage in the forest, and thankfully she’d chosen chestnut-brown hair—like her own, in real life—for her archer avatar, rather than the more esoteric options of neon-fuschia or lightning-white that had been on offer. The undergrowth here was heavy, and the tree was sturdy. She was undetected. For now. But she’d need to get moving soon.
The last tinkling chords faded like the morning mist, and the troubadour stepped down from his platform, his song at an end.
As if released from a trance woven by his lyrics, there was a collective exhalation of breath from the watchers. Wings unfurled, translucent like the finest stained-glass window, necks cricked, releasing knots under skin as pure as parchment, and legs stretched elegantly like a prima ballerina at the barre before the fey folk began to disperse around the clearing.
Above them, thistle-light tufts of phosphorescence shimmered through the air as bright pixies darted through the trees and skimmed above the heads of the other creatures.
Mouth-watering smells drifted across the dell from an enormous silver table laden with golden plates heaped high with tasty delicacies like honeyed rose-hips and toasted mallow-root. Behind the table, graceful attendants distributed crystal goblets brim-full of translucent nectar or creamy milk.
Before she could stop it, Corinne’s stomach rumbled.
She froze, eyes scanning the clearing for any sign she’d been heard, legs tensing in preparation for flight.
But her luck was in. Any noise she’d made had been covered when a tall elf had picked up a pearly harp and begun to strum an ethereal tune. Nearby, a circle of dryads and naiads began to glide and weave in an intricate reel, and she slowly released the breath she’d been holding. Careful!
In the corner, a blue-faced creature pulled a winter-white shawl over her head and shuffled over to a grass-covered mound that Corinne hadn’t noticed until now. Sitting in regal splendour on a golden throne was a captivating man with eyes the colour of sapphires, an aquiline nose and angular jaw. Above skeins of platinum-blond hair, he wore a circlet of filigreed gold that led Corinne to the inevitable conclusion:
The Bright King.
She’d read about him, of course, in the game’s description: The Bright King presides over the Seelie fey in the Bright Court. He finds mortals amusing—at least until he has no more use for them.
She shivered at that last thought; and that was her undoing.
* * *
“Look!” called a loud voice from the centre of the crowd. An arm pointed directly at her. “An intruder!”
Dozens of pairs of eyes turned in her direction, and she ducked behind the tree, her heart racing. There were too many of them to fight. She needed to escape, and fast!
Stooping low, she slung her bow over her shoulder and exploded forward in a crouching run. But already she could hear the sound of pursuit—too loud, too close!
Terror turned her legs to rubber, but she pushed the fear away and searched the shrubbery on either side, looking for a hiding place.
She’d barely gone ten paces when a chirruping whistle from a downy willow bush beside the path caught her attention. “Over here!” a voice hissed.
She glanced at the large shrub the mysterious voice had come from, and then over her shoulder towards her pursuers. The unknown, or the unnerving? Did she have a choice?
Chapter Two
THE VISION
AS THE LAST of her pursuers passed just a few feet in front of her nose, Corinne slowly exhaled.
The woolen cloak her saviour had thrown over both of them had strange properties—it was heavy enough to hide them from her pursuers, yet it was thin like gossamer and she could easily see through it. What class of player could her rescuer be, to have such a magical item? Perhaps a Spellweaver. Or an Illuminer?
She turned to thank him, and stifled a gasp.
Orange eyes glowed in a face that was dark and leathery, deep lines gouged through cheeks that sprouted tufts of long, coarse hair the colour of burnt umber. What kind of creature is this?
“Th—thank you for saving me.” Surreptitiously, she slid a hand towards the knife tucked into her belt.
“Make no mention of it,” he said, in a deep, melodious voice that was much more pleasant to listen to than he was to look at.
She stilled her hand. Perhaps he wasn’t to be feared after all. “I’m Corinne. Pleased to meet you.”
“Elphin. My pleasure.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what class of character are you playing? I should’ve read the instructions more carefully.” And then another thought struck. “Or are you a non-player character?”
“Something of that ilk. Now,” orange eyes bored into hers, “let me help you to find your way back. The Bright Court is not a safe place to be.”
“So I gathered. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to leave just yet.” She grimaced. “I haven’t completed my quest.”
His head quirked to the side. “What quest were you set?”
“It was a riddle, I think. I didn’t really understand it.” She looked up, recalling the strange words the goblin had said in his singsong voice. “‘Only the pure can see the pure, only the pure will find him. Only with love will love be shown, only by love unbind him.’ I thought maybe I had to find a stream, or a pool, so I went hunting through the forest. And ended up here.” She jerked her head over her shoulder. “But I probably should be going, right enough. I’m in a sim café using rented kit, and I’m sure my time is nearly up.”
“Come.” He stood up and held out a hand. “Let me take you to a faerie circle.”
* * *
Reality bites, so the old expression went. And in Corinne’s case, it was almost literally true. Back in the real world—the virtual reality of Feyland left behind in the gaming booth—all her troubles and woes came rushing back. Leaning against the wall outside the sim café in the wan Scottish sunshine, the residual glow she’d felt from the mysterious minstrel’s song dissipated, leaving her heart-sore and despondent.
“Did you have a good time, dear?” asked her
mother as she pulled up at the curb. “Meet any of your friends?”
“Yes thanks, and no,” Corinne answered, stepping into the car. If only her mother knew.
“I suppose everyone else must be away lying on a beach in Spain or on a golf course in Florida. If only your father wasn’t so busy, we…” She pursed her lips. “But anyway.” Mother’s face turned serious. “A courier dropped this off—” She nodded her head at a large box in the luggage area.
His ashes. Corinne knew what it was without asking.
“If you want me to go with you when…” Concerned eyes stared at her from under arched eyebrows.
Corinne squared her shoulders. “No, it’s okay, mum. I’ll take him up Chessaig after dinner.”
“Your favourite ride?”
“His favourite. Yes.”
* * *
By the time Corinne reached the top of the small hill, carrying her sad burden, it was twilight, the time of day the Scots called ‘gloaming’. The sun’s last rays gave the silvery trees around her an otherworldly aura and left an amber glow in the sky, which faded to a deep, velvety navy overhead. A sigh of wind rustled the leaves in the trees, and swirled through the lichen-covered granite monoliths that circled the hilltop.
Local legends said that this tumbledown stone circle was an ancient druid temple, but she’d never paid much attention to those folk tales, counting them as fiction, much like the stories she loved to read and the games she liked to play. As far as she was concerned, this was just a place she’d liked to visit, on a route that her horse had enjoyed.
Setting the box on the ground, she raised her face to the sky and turned in a slow circle, until her back was to the wind. Memories crowded her mind.
That Moment When: An Anthology of Young Adult Fiction Page 38
