The First Adventure

by Anthea Sharp

  The First Adventure

  A Feyland novella

  Anthea Sharp

  Fiddlehead Press

  Contents

  Title Page

  The First Adventure

  Also by Anthea Sharp

  About the Author

  Title Page

  A prequel novella to the FEYLAND Series

  * * *

  ANTHEA SHARP

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real events or persons is purely coincidental.

  Copyright 2013 Anthea Sharp. All rights reserved. Visit the author at www.antheasharp.com and sign up for her mailing list, Sharp Tales, for a free story and news of upcoming releases!

  Cover by Ravven

  Thank you to my CP, beta-readers, and keen-eyed editors: Peggy, Chassily, Marissa, Laurie, Ginger, and Brynn.

  QUALITY CONTROL: If you encounter typos or formatting problems, please contact antheasharp@hotmail.com so they may be corrected.

  THE FIRST ADVENTURE

  High-tech gaming and ancient magic collide when a computer game opens a gateway to the treacherous Realm of Faerie.

  Jennet Carter never thought hacking into her dad’s new epic-fantasy sim-game would be so exciting… or dangerous. Behind the interface, dark forces lie in wait, leading her toward a battle that will test her to her limits and cost her more than she ever imagined.

  The First Adventure

  * * *

  Jennet Carter sneaked into the computer room, her heart beating too loudly in the stillness. She closed the door, holding her breath until the lock clicked solidly home. It was silly, being so nervous in her own house, but still. She didn’t want any of the staff walking in on her while she hacked her dad’s new sim equipment.

  She padded across the plush carpeting to the prototype version of the FullD system, and ran her hand over the smooth curve of the sim helmet. The room lights reflected off the visor like miniature stars.

  The most immersive gaming equipment ever designed was here, in their house—had been for two weeks—and so far all she’d been allowed to do was run around on grids and jump off blocky gray squares. Her dad wasn’t the best player, despite being lead project manager on the FullD, so he let Jennet gear up while he took notes for the programmers. It was kind of fun, in a boring way. At least she got a chance to learn how to use the sim gear.

  Then, last night, she’d noticed a new icon as she logged on; an F made of scrolled golden flame.

  When she asked Dad about it, he’d made some weak excuse and hustled her off the system. Luckily, she knew his password. He hadn’t changed it in three years. She should say something. But then, how would she be able to access the stuff he didn’t want her to see?

  Jennet hit the power button and slid into the sim chair, cushioned in fresh-smelling black faux leather. She donned the helmet, then pulled on the gaming gloves. The embedded LEDs winked at her as the system powered up, the sensor nodes on the gloves glinting like precious jewels: amethysts, rubies, emeralds.

  At the loading interface, she lifted her finger and selected the new, flame-colored icon.

  Haunting, mysterious music played through the helmet, and anticipation tingled through her. What was Dad hiding? What amazing new game was VirtuMax developing to go with their new technology?

  Words appeared across the black background of the visor:

  Feyland: A VirtuMax Production

  Alpha 1.1.923

  WELCOME TO FEYLAND

  The letters glowed golden, then deepened to crimson as flames flickered along the sides. The music rose, and the words whirled up into a flurry of leaves the color of ashes. Behind them… Jennet blinked, a chill running through her. Was that a pair of eyes, gleaming from the shadows?

  If the programmers were trying to create an eerie opening, they’d definitely succeeded.

  The shivery feeling lingered, even as the standard character-creation interface popped up. She scanned the limited options: Knight, Spellcaster, or Bard. It didn’t take long to read the descriptions and make her decision. She always liked being a magic-user in other games, so it was a no-brainer to choose Spellcaster.

  Judging by the lack of options in the character menu, this was a very rough draft of the game. Jennet chose blue eyes and blonde hair—her own coloring. Her new character wore long blue robes and carried a magical-looking staff with a glowing crystal set in the end. She hoped she wouldn’t end up running her avatar through more featureless gray landscapes—that would be a serious disappointment.

  Enter game?

  She tipped her thumb up, the universal glove command for yes.

  Dizzying golden light enveloped her senses, and she swallowed. Whatever the programmers were experimenting with, it made her feel queasy. She wished could share her reactions and feedback with Dad. But she couldn’t tell him she was using the prototype equipment without his permission.

  For once, she was glad he was such a workaholic. As long as she logged off in time, he’d never know she’d been accessing Feyland.

  The golden light cleared, and Jennet found her avatar standing in a grassy clearing surrounded by white-barked trees. She stood in the exact center of a ring of pale mushrooms that glowed like the moon. The sunlit grass under her feet was springy and soft, and she swore she could feel the wind against her face.

  Wow. The developers had done a ton of work with the immersion software. This was nothing like the primary simulations Dad had her running around in. This world felt real. A faint, spicy scent tickled her nose—the smell of herbs and warm grasses. Jennet breathed in deeply, and smiled.

  A breeze riffled the leaves, their undersides flashing silver, and birdsong lilted through the air. On the far side of the clearing, a fern-draped path beckoned. Taking a firm grip on her staff, Jennet jumped over the circle of mushrooms and started forward in search of adventure.

  * * *

  The Dark Queen reclined on her throne of tangled branches, stars snared in her midnight hair. Her dress was made of moonlight and shadows. Around her the denizens of the Dark Court thronged, fey eyes glittering. Twig-limbed creatures crouched beside the throne, flanked by gossamer-winged maidens. Beneath the dark trees, hounds with glowing red eyes paced back and forth, held in check only by their antler-helmed master.

  A goblin approached the throne. Trembling, he bowed and swept off his blood-red cap, keeping his gaze averted from the terrible beauty of his ruler.

  “What news?” the queen asked, in a voice colder than winter ice.

  The goblin bowed even lower. “A human presence has been sensed at the edge of the Realm.”

  The Dark Queen stood, her eyes deep as night-dark pools. Her long, pale fingers curled eagerly at her sides.

  “Another human? Tell me everything.”

  “My queen—I know little.” The goblin shivered, clearly hoping his lack of knowledge would not prove his death. “It is a female, younger than the man….”

  He hesitated. The queen did not take kindly to reminders of her failure.

  The Dark Queen slashed the air with her hand. “Go on.”

  “A mortal girl. She is being watched.”

  “A young one.” The queen smiled, a sharp, dreadful expression on her inhuman face. “Bring her to me, but carefully. We will make no mistakes with this one.”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  On shaking limbs, the goblin scuttled away. He did not dare turn his back on the Dark Queen, or the avid, feral members of her court. As a redcap goblin, he was vicious—but one redcap alone was no match for the creatures under her command.

  At last, reaching the edge of her court, he turned and fled; past the eerie violet-hued bonfire w
here figures capered around the flames, past the high, keening laughter of a banshee, past the forbiddingly still figure of the Huntsman, his antlered head silhouetted against the late sky.

  * * *

  Jennet followed the mossy path through the white-barked trees. Sunlight sifted in golden shafts between the trunks, and yellow-winged butterflies danced against the deeper shadows of the woods. The oak of her mage staff was smooth and solid under her palm.

  This was prime. By far the best sim experience she’d ever had. VirtuMax had done an amazing job with their new tech. It was hard to believe she was in a prototype game, the interface felt so smooth.

  Something rustled in the bushes beside the path, and she whirled, her breath catching.

  “Who’s there?”

  No reply. She stood for a long moment, scanning the underbrush, but saw nothing. Warily, Jennet started down the path again. Just because she was in the beginning level of the game didn’t mean she was safe. Monsters and creatures could spring out to attack her at any moment. That’s how these fantasy-type games went.

  Although usually a character picked up a quest first, instead of wandering around in the woods, waiting to be attacked. Clearly Feyland was still in the rudimentary storyline phase. She had nothing to go on, beyond exploring the world and hoping to figure things out. No prompts, no cues, no text explaining what her game objectives were.

  But as long as the world was so amazing, she didn’t care. The game developers would give her something to do soon enough.

  The trees thinned, showing glimpses of emerald meadows and azure sky beyond. Jennet stepped out of the trees, and smiled at the view. Rolling hills spread out before her, spangled with white blossoms. Nestled in a nearby hollow stood a cozy-looking cottage, full-on fairytale with its whitewashed, half-timbered walls and diamond-paned windows. Red flowers spilled from the window boxes.

  The path she stood on led directly to the front step.

  A brown, squat creature sat there, watching her. Her first quest-giver? Or an enemy? There was nothing about it to give her any indication—no green friendly icon over its head, or red shield that would signal aggression. In most sim games, NPCs, Non-Player-Characters, were marked so that players knew how to interact. Obviously, the programmers had a bit more work to do on the game.

  Pressing her lips together in concentration, Jennet reviewed her Spellcaster’s arsenal. Fireball, Wall of Flame, and Arcane Blast. All three spells seemed strong enough to take down an enemy, though Wall of Flame had a ten second cooldown that made it less useful. Still, it seemed a decent enough assortment to work with.

  Jennet strode down the path toward the cottage. As she approached, the figure on the doorstep looked up at her. He was a hideous creature.

  His dark eyes and thin lips were overshadowed by his enormous, jutting cliff of a nose. The only things larger than his nose were his ears, great ugly flaps of skin on either side of his head. He was covered in a pelt of coarse brown hair, his only clothing a tattered cloth tied about his waist.

  He didn’t seem primed to attack, so Jennet stepped closer, wrinkling her nose at the smell of moldy earth and old wood-smoke. She halted a few feet from the stoop, waiting, but the creature only regarded her from its murky brown eyes.

  “Hello?” she said at last.

  “Greetings.” His voice sounded like stirred gravel. “Did you bring me milk?”

  She glanced around. Was there supposed to be a store nearby? Had she missed a step somewhere?

  He folded his spindly arms. “I want milk.”

  “Okay.”

  If this was the first quest, it was a strange one. She wished she could give the developers some advice.

  Clearly she wasn’t going to get anywhere with the weird little creature until she’d brought him milk. Whatever. Jennet walked around the cottage, looking for clues, and when she got back to the front step, the creature was holding a wooden bowl cradled between his knobbly fingers.

  “Slow-witted mortal,” he said, holding out the bowl. “Fill this with milk from the black cow over yonder hill.”

  Jennet took it, careful not to touch the creature. Something about him was just too odd for comfort. Bowl tucked under her arm, she headed for the rise behind the cottage. The wind tugged a strand of her hair free, and she pushed it behind her ear. She could almost feel the warm sunshine, like a hand upon her shoulder.

  At the top of the hill she took a moment to appreciate the view. The grassy hills, green-gold in the sunlight, rolled away before her. A small valley lay below, the silvery glint of a stream at the bottom edged by graceful cottonwoods. Farther out, a darker line of trees stood. Pines, maybe. Behind them, the blue shadows of mountains rose, jagged against the sky.

  The world of Feyland beckoned, a fantastic place to explore. But first, she had to get some milk.

  A white fence enclosed a small field below, holding—as the creature had promised—a black cow. She’d never actually milked a cow before, but surely the game designers wouldn’t make it too hard.

  Of course, she had to catch the cow first. Jennet climbed over the fence. The cow watched her with soft, placid eyes, but every time she got close enough to grasp the red harness it wore, somehow the animal ended up on the other side of the meadow.

  She plucked handfuls of grass to entice it, tried sprinting and sneaking, and finally, after ten useless minutes, gave it up.

  Fine. Jennet set the bowl down and crossed her arms, deliberately ignoring the animal. What else could she use? There was nothing in her in-game inventory, and somehow she didn’t think blasting the cow with a Fireball would help. The creature had asked for milk, not rare steak.

  There was some quote… something about music soothing the savage beast. Could that be the answer? And was it even possible to catch a cow with music?

  She had to at least try, no matter how farfetched the notion. Leaning back against the white fence, she hummed a snatch of song they were working on in youth choir—Ca’ the Yowes.

  To her surprise, the game picked up the song and amplified it. Jennet straightened. She started singing for real, pulling the air deep into her lungs and letting out a strand of melody that felt almost tangible.

  Ca' the yowes to the knowes,

  Ca' them where the heather grows,

  Ca' them where the burnie rowes,

  My bonnie dearie.

  The cow lifted its head and took a step forward. Jennet imagined the song surrounding the black cow, looping around its broad neck and leading it forward. The animal took another step toward her, then another. It was working! Keeping her breath steady, Jennet kept singing, drawing the cow closer and closer. At the last verse, she grasped the supple red leather of its harness with a burst of triumph.

  The cow snorted when the song ended, but didn’t seem too unhappy to be caught. Jennet tied the cow to the fence rail and picked up the bowl. Giving a doubtful glance at the udder, she squatted down.

  Was she actually supposed to grab the gross pink flesh? What if she pulled too hard, and the cow kicked her? Those hooves looked sharp.

  She could do this. Really.

  Jennet slid the bowl under the udder and grabbed one of the teats. It was warm to her touch, and she tried not to shudder. Pull and squeeze, right? She tugged, and thankfully, a white stream shot out, straight into the bowl.

  A dozen more pulls, and the bowl was nearly full. Jennet carefully set it beyond the fence, then untied the cow.

  “Thank you,” she said, and turned it loose.

  It uttered a low moo and trotted to the far side of the field. A second later it started munching the grass, ignoring her completely.

  The smell of warm milk drifted up to tickle her nose. Careful not to spill, she carried the bowl back over the hill and set it in front of the creature who still waited on the step.

  “Ah!” he cried with glee.

  Picking up the offering, he guzzled the milk in one long swallow. He looked happier when he was finished, his face plumper and not so
scowly. Still really ugly, though.

  He nodded at her, dark eyes gleaming. “So, mortal. My use-name is Fynnod, and I welcome you to the Realm.”

  “Thanks. I’m—”

  “We will name you Fair Jennet here,” he said. “What do you seek?”

  He knew her name? That was weird—but then, she had logged in under the user name of Jennet. Of course she didn’t use her real name when playing actual games, but this was just the pre-beta.

  “I seek…”

  She paused. What was the goal of Feyland, anyway? The intro storyline was non-existent. Clearly it was a fantasy-type game, but what was the objective?

  Fynnod was no help. He sat, still as a stone, and watched her.

  “Victory,” she finally said in a firm voice.

  “Then you shall continue further into the Realm.” He nodded, something murky and unpleasant moving through his eyes. “Be brave, Fair Jennet. I will send you to the next circle of Feyland.”

  He lifted his hand, fingers twisting in a complex pattern. Glowing runes inscribed the air, and Jennet blinked. A moment later, white light swirled around her. The blue sky over her head tipped and shredded away. Jennet gripped her staff tightly, forcing herself to stay calm. It was just a game. It couldn’t hurt her, no matter how real it felt.

  The light cleared, and she found herself standing in another clearing, the same pale mushrooms encircling her. This time, though, dark pines surrounded her. The sky overhead was the pearly gray of impending dusk, the air heavy with the scent of dust and sap.

  So, this was the second level of the game. She frowned. The starting lands were more appealing, with the wide horizon and sunlit hills. She wouldn’t have minded spending more time exploring there, but clearly the game had other ideas.