by SM Reine
“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 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.”
“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 is this?” She shook it in his face. “Don’t tell me you wasted a wish on playing a practical joke?”
Her lack of trust hurt, but he supposed he deserved it.
“I’m serious,” he said. “Give me back my tablet.”
“You don’t touch this apple again.” She snatched it from him and vanished 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 reassembled to show lines of code. Aran’s shoulders dropped with relief.
“All right,” Spark said, which was close enough 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.
A rustle went through the crowd, and Spark swallowed the lump of fear blocking her throat. Striding toward them was the forbidding figure of the Black Knight. She remembered him from her former battle against the queen. Encased in ebony armor, his helmet was drawn over his face, the eye slits revealing only more darkness within.
He stopped at the edge of the ring, but made no move to attack. Yet.
The Dark Queen glided into the clearing. Her dark hair framed a face pale as snow, with high cheeks and eyes like fathomless pools. Spark glimpsed the death of stars in those eyes, and tore her gaze away. The terrible beauty of the queen was enough to freeze Spark’s senses.
Wait. She shook her head and blinked frost from her eyelashes. Stiffly, she looked at Aran. A thin layer of frost coated him, his cheeks shining with ice.
Anger flared through her, and she called up her wall of fire, blasting it forth from frigid fingers. The heat of it freed them from the frost’s embrace and made the watching fey folk cry out, stumbling in their haste to avoid that sheet of flame.
The Black Knight held his shield in front of his queen, absorbing the fire as if it were a black hole, eating up the light.
“Unfair,” Spark said.
The queen laughed, the sound like icy bells.
“Mortal girl,” she said. “Do not speak to me of fairness when your companion has cheated us.”
“Cheated you?” Aran scowled at the queen. “How about gold coins turning into leaves? I’d call that quite a scam.”
“We upheld our end of the bargain,” the queen said. “You received your reward. A pity that our coin takes a different form once transported from the realm. Yet you may not break the bargain we had.”
“Oh, yes I can,” Aran said. “And I have. The gateway is closed, and you can’t make me open it again.”
He lifted his tablet and, pivoting, smashed it against the invisible wall. The screen shattered, pieces of plas-metal and glass littering the moss. Spark glimpsed a bit of bright orange in the mess—the plastic dragon Aran had wished for.
The Dark Queen’s eyes narrowed into glittering shards of diamond. A frigid wind whipped through the clearing, lashing the branches of the white-barked trees.
“Take them!” she cried, pointing at Spark and
Aran with her long, sharp finger. “What mortal meddling has begun, mortal blood will make undone!”
The Black Knight drew his sword and strode forward, a gang of goblins at his feet. Spark nocked an arrow and fired, but the point slid uselessly off his black armor. Beside her, Aran flung throwing knives at their advancing enemies. A few of them hit, but not enough. Time for a bigger attack.
She conjured up a wave and sent it splashing over the goblins. They shrieked and flailed as most of them were washed away. The remaining few halted, dripping and wary. But the Black Knight kept coming.
Spark lifted her bow again and fired. The knight charged forward, knocking her arrow aside. She danced back, throwing up a wall of air to stop him. That armor was a beast to deal with. A shot right into the helmet was her best—and probably only—chance.
As the knight forced himself through her barrier, Spark darted to the side and nocked another arrow. She sighted down it, pulled back, and let the arrow fly. It was a good shot, fast and true. Halfway to the Black Knight the shaft dipped, suddenly encased in ice. It plummeted out of the sky to bury itself uselessly in the bright green moss.
Aran appeared from the shadows behind the knight, his blades at the ready. He stabbed, and the Black Knight let out a growl. Clearly one of Aran’s knives had connected. But now he had an enraged knight attacking him at close range. He ducked the swishing sword, then kept going, tucking himself into a roll that brought him past their adversary. Aran rose beside her, knives crossed warily.
The knight turned, and Spark smiled a grim smile. Aran had neatly manipulated him so that Spark had a clear shot at his helm.
She set another arrow to the string. As she released it, she summoned an earth spell. Two more arrows appeared alongside her first, made of wood and ore and fine fletching. The first one dipped, then fell out of the air, heavy with ice.
The second was incinerated by a glowing ball of magic.
The third arrow wobbled, off center, and struck the Black Knight in the neck. He roared, then charged them, fast as black lightning.
Spark threw up her hands, but she had no more spells to summon. Aran faded back—too slow, too slow. With sick horror, Spark watched the knight’s enormous blade swing, slicing right for Aran’s middle.
“No!” she cried, leaping.
She hit the knight’s armored side, and it was cold and hard, like flinging her body against black ice. Aran let out a cry of pain and doubled over, dropping his knives. He clutched his side, then took one hand away. It was red and slick with blood.
“Sorry, Spark,” he gasped.
The queen laughed.
“Hold her,” she commanded, brushing past Spark.
Three goblins leaped to do their queen’s bidding. Their claws dug into Spark’s arms and legs, and one of them gave her an ugly, sharp-toothed grin.
Her heartbeat banged through her, but she forced herself to breathe. To wait. She had a few more tricks, but the timing had to be just right. The queen was planning to… Spark squeezed her eyes shut, then made herself open them again. The queen would sacrifice Aran. If Spark remembered correctly, a few ritualistic things had to happen first.
An unearthly fire kindled in the center of the faerie ring. Its flames burned sapphire and azure and deepest indigo, casting eerie, writhing shadows against the trees. The queen smiled, fierce and terrible, then turned to Aran.
“Now, BlackWing, you will pay the price.”
She reached into the midnight folds of her gown and drew out a long black thorn. Spark tensed.
Chanting harsh syllables, the queen passed her thorn above the blue flames. They leaped hungrily. Once. Twice. Thrice.
The Dark Queen whirled, lifting the black thorn high above Aran’s heart. In that moment, Spark transformed, her limbs compacting and shrinking, her vision flattening, losing its color. Four-footed, she sprang out of the goblins’ grasp.
Her teeth closed on the queen’s arm, and the Dark Queen shrieked—a sound born more of anger than of pain. Spark’s mouth burned from the queen’s blood. She couldn’t hold on…
She fell, back in human form, to sprawl beside Aran on the moss.
“The apple,” he hissed, face taut with pain.
Spark conjured it and brushed her fingers over the top.
“Help us,” she whispered. There was no time for specifics.
The apple split and flared, then disappeared. She looked up, and gasped as the Black Knight’s sword cleaved down upon her.
“Spark!”
With a cry of pain, Aran heaved himself up and threw himself into the path of danger, covering her body with his own. She felt the sickening thud of impact as the knight’s blow connected. Aran stiffened and cried out again. Then, slowly, his head dropped to her shoulder, his whole body going limp. She could feel the wetness of his blood seeping into her vest.
“No!” Spark’s voice broke on the word. It couldn’t end like this.
“Forgive me, my queen, for robbing you of your sacrifice,” the Black Knight said.
“Fear not.” The queen ran her long pale fingers along the length of her thorn. “There is another.”
The queen gave Spark a look that turned her blood to pure ice. Aran lay unmoving across her, pinning her to the ground. They’d failed. Hot tears ran from the corners of her eyes.
They were both going to die there, in the Realm of Faerie, all their dreams undone..
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Moving like the wind over dark water, the queen knelt beside Spark.
“Farewell, mortal girl,” she said, raising her black thorn.
Spark braced herself for the queen’s strike. She’d rather die knowing it was coming.
“STOP!”
Five figures sprang from the air in the middle of the clearing. In the lead was a silver-armored knight, followed by a blue-robed mage girl, a bearded healing priest, a black-clad martial artist, and a mercenary wearing a bronze breastplate.
With a hiss of anger, the Dark Queen brought the thorn down towards Spark’s chest. The knight sprinted forward, deflecting the blow, while the mage and healer hauled Spark and Aran away from the Dark Queen.
Tears of hope blurred Spark’s vision. The rest of the Feyguard had arrived just in time.
“Glad to see you guys,” she said. “Aran’s hurt.”
“On it,” Zeg said, green light pouring from his fingertips to Aran’s wound. “You two get in there. Jennet, your dad needs a hand.”
Jennet helped Spark scramble up, then sent a bolt of power across the clearing, hitting the goblin that was sparring with Mr. Carter.
Metal clanged as Roy and the Black Knight circled one another, Roy’s bronze armor a brilliant foil for the knight’s darkness.
In the center of the clearing, Tam faced off against the queen, dodging her magical attacks but unable to get close enough to land a strike with his sword.
“Flame her,” Jennet said, raising her mage staff.
Spark called up her wall of fire, relieved to see that her spells had recharged, and the two of them sent their dual blasts toward the queen.
Flames engulfed her, and Tam danced back, lifting his shield. The fire reflected from its polished surface, bright orange. The queen laughed, then turned insubstantial as smoke, her black dress swirling about her.
Tam yelled and sliced his sword through that wisp of blackness. His only reward was more laughter, cold as frost.
At the edge of the clearing, a gang of goblins advanced on Zeg and Aran. Spark let out a relieved breath when she saw Aran was sitting up, his eyes open. Jennet’s dad joined them, and he and Zeg began dispatching the redcaps.
A clang of sword hitting armor brought her attention back to Roy’s battle. The Black Knight was pressing Roy hard. She needed some distance, and a clearer sightline to get a good shot. She needed…
Yes. The grav-board was still in her game inventory. Spark summoned it and leaped onto the deck. With a faint whine, the board lifted. She whipped out her bow and nocked an arr
ow, sighting down it to the knight’s black helm. This time, she was making that shot—especially while Tam and Jennet kept the queen distracted.
Aim. Pull. Release.
It was a flawless shot—until Roy leaped into the arrow’s path.
“Roy, duck!” she yelled, her lungs squeezing with sick fear.
He did, throwing himself flat without a moment’s hesitation. Thank God. The knight looked up, and the arrow flew perfectly through the eye slit.
The knight let out an immense bellow and fell to his knees. He shook, and the clearing shuddered with him, the trees creaking as a rain of silver leaves stormed down. Slowly, he toppled, his black armor dull against the brilliant green mosses.
“Curse you, mortals!” the queen cried, re-materializing in the center of the clearing.
Her expression terrible with wrath, she passed one hand over her wounded knight, blue power flowing in its wake. He disappeared. With that, the rest of the fey folk fled until only the Dark Queen was left.
“You shall pay for this day,” she said, her voice harder than diamonds.
She narrowed her eyes, sweeping her gaze over the Feyguard, and Spark shivered at the fury in those depths.
Then she was gone, and the humans were alone in the clearing, ankle deep in a silver wash of fallen leaves.
Almost alone. One member of the court remained, his form almost insubstantial among the trees. The edge of night retreated, the stars fading into pearly twilight.
“Thomas!” Jennet cried, dashing to the ghostly figure. “I didn’t know you were in the battle.”
He enfolded her in an embrace, then let go. “I could not aid you, but neither could I fight beside the court. My part is to observe, and to scribe the songs and sagas of what has befallen upon this day. Bitter and sweet as it may be.”
“Hey,” Aran said, stepping forward. “I owe you—”
Thomas held up his hand. “There is no debt between us, BlackWing. I should have spoken far earlier, and bear equal blame for what occurred. My only defense is that I am beginning to forget the fiery passions that move the human heart.”
