Spark - ARC

by Anthea Sharp

  Someone was trapped in the Realm of Faerie, and it was up to her to rescue them.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Aran woke, the scent of mint and cinnamon in his nose instead of the musty smell of the Chowney’s garage. Above him, the unfamiliar, bright stars shone through the opening in the tent peak. It felt like morning, despite the night sky overhead. He stretched, the covers silky against his skin, then got out of bed.

  The plush rug welcomed his bare feet, and the air was warm enough to be comfortable. He pulled on his jeans, then bit back a yelp as something dug painfully into the arch of his left foot. He bent and felt around on the carpet until the hard, ridged object met his fingers. It took a few yanks to get it out of the silky strands of the rug, as if the thing had been cocooned.

  Aran held it up, then blinked in disbelief. It was a cheap plastic dragon toy—the kind that came in kid’s fast food meals. The bright orange plastic shone, as garishly out of place as a neon sign in a candle-lit dining hall. No question it had come from the mortal world, but how?

  The events of yesterday were blurry, but he chased the memory down. Something the Dark Queen had said about a troublesome mortal child. Aran wasn’t the first visitor here, and the confirmation of it made the skin between his shoulder blades prickle. What had happened to that kid?

  And did he even want to know?

  He shrugged on his sweatshirt, suddenly chilled, then slipped the plastic toy into his pocket. It felt good to have a piece of his own world to carry around.

  Pulling aside the crimson curtain, he stepped into the main room of the tent. Thomas sat at a table set along one wall, writing with a feather pen on what looked like parchment.

  “Good day,” Thomas said.

  “Is it?”

  “An intriguing question.” Thomas set his pen down and nodded to an empty wicker chair. “Sit, and we will discuss it.”

  Aran swung the chair around and sat backwards, resting his arms along the woven willow top. “We have a lot more than that to discuss.”

  “Indeed. But it is a start. Tea?”

  “Sure.”

  Thomas picked up a green teapot and poured a stream of pale gold liquid into a matching cup. The steam swirling over the surface carried the scents that had woken Aran; cinnamon and mint. He took a careful sip, and the tea spread through his mouth, tasting like a perfect summer day.

  “Cake?” Thomas pushed a deep blue plate filled with biscuit-like pastries toward him. “I will, however, caution you to eat no bite nor sip no sup outside the confines of these walls.”

  The guy had the oddest way of talking, but Aran could follow him. More or less. He reached for one of the cakes.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Let us begin with your initial inquiry.” Thomas gave him a thoughtful look. “Is it, indeed, a good day? Firstly, whether goodness favors your mood is entirely up to you. And for the second part, it is not, in fact, day—a detail I commend you for noticing.”

  “So, when does the sun come up? Does this place run on a super-extended clock or something?”

  “In all the time you bide here it will never be day, for this is the Dark Court, where midnight and moonlight hold sway.”

  Aran wrapped his hands around his teacup, trying to push away the chill brought on by Thomas’s words.

  “I have a feeling I’m going to miss the sun,” he said.

  Even though it was winter in the mortal world, at least the sun was there—a glowing ball of fire lurking behind the clouds. Endless night was going to get stale pretty quick.

  “Of a certainty, you will long for the daylight,” Thomas said, his voice laced with old sorrow. “I do.”

  “So, how’d you get here? And can you ever leave?”

  The questions left a sour taste in Aran’s mouth, and he took another hasty drink of tea. Was he trapped here, like those tiny fairies in the lanterns, unable to escape?

  Escape to what? a cynical voice inside him asked. No money, a useless attraction to a gamer girl, and every step overshadowed by the black cloud of a criminal record?

  “Answers for answers,” Thomas said. “First, we need something to call you by.”

  “My name’s Ar—”

  “Stop.” Thomas held up his hand. “Names have power here. Is there a name—not your birth-given one—you go by in the mortal world?”

  “BlackWing.”

  It was somehow fitting to claim his hacker identity here. And it wasn’t like anyone would recognize it.

  “Good.” Thomas lifted a cake from the plate. “Mortals who eat or drink in the Realm of Faerie are trapped here. Only the food I serve you is free of that binding enchantment.”

  Aran studied his cake. He had no reason not to trust Thomas. With a shrug, he took a bite. It was honey-sweet and warm, as if freshly out of the oven. He finished the cake in three bites, then snagged another.

  “Is that what happened to you?” he asked. “Ate something you shouldn’t have?”

  “No.”

  “Then you could go back, if you wanted?”

  Thomas gave a low, weary sigh. “I cannot. There is nothing for me to return to. Tell me, why did the goblins bring you here, to the Dark Queen?”

  Aran swallowed the last bite of cake, then took a sip of tea, buying time while he thought. There was plenty he didn’t want to say—and plenty he guessed Thomas wasn’t telling him, either.

  “It sounds strange, but I met the goblin in a computer game.”

  “Feyland, I suppose?” Something flashed across Thomas’s expression, a momentary easing of the anxious lines in his face.

  “Yeah.” Aran narrowed his eyes. “How’d you know that?”

  “Feyland and the Realm of Faerie are connected.”

  “That’s just… tweaked.” Aran set his cup down and folded his arms along the back of the chair. Crazy as it was, though, the evidence was all around him. “Care to tell me how that happened?”

  “Another time, perhaps. Your audience with the queen draws nigh. If I am to aid you, I must understand why you are here.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t quite understand it myself.”

  He wasn’t going to tell Thomas he’d been trying to hack Feyland. He had a feeling the bard wouldn’t think too highly of that idea.

  Thomas firmed his lips and studied Aran with a look that made him feel like a disobedient child.

  “Look.” Aran unfolded his arms and stood. “I just want something better out of life. I was given an opportunity, and I took it. I didn’t know it would bring me here.”

  “Do you wish to return to the mortal world?”

  “Not at the moment, no. So, what do I need to do to get ready to see the queen?”

  He’d take one thing, one minute, at a time. It was the only way to cope when life got complicated. Thinking too much caused a crazy whirlwind in his brain that could suck him under—that had sucked him under, in the past. Those first few months in juvie had been nothing but panic and fear. It had taken too long for him to get his bearings, to pull himself together, and he was never making that mistake again. Never.

  ***

  Spark signed autographs and posed for pictures, but the whole time her mind clamored with questions. At last the game center event ended, and she hurried back to the bus. Tucking herself into the back corner seat, she pulled out her messager. First priority was talking to Tam and Jennet.

  Tam, as usual, didn’t answer, but Jennet responded right away.

  :How’s the tour going?: she asked.

  :Crazy. The Elder Fey contacted me in-game and told me I’m supposed to rescue someone from the Dark Realm.:

  :What?!:

  :I know. Have you guys been playing Feyland? Did they get in touch with you and Tam?: Spark tried not to hold her breath for the answer.

  :We were in-game earlier today. Nothing unusual happened.:

  :I don’t want to do this alone.: Spark chewed on her lower lip. :You and Tam are the ones with experience.:

  :Maybe that’s wh
y they didn’t ask us. The game’s releasing now. If we’re all helping the same person, who’s on call when other people get in trouble?:

  Jennet was right, though Spark didn’t like it. She’d seen the danger and power of the Dark Queen, but unlike her friends, Spark had never faced her in direct combat. At least, not solo. It had taken seven of them fighting together, plus a powerful talisman, to defeat her last time. Also, Spark’s memory of that battle was a little hazy, since she’d been a fox during key moments.

  The bus swayed as the rest of the VirtuMax team climbed on. Niteesh headed toward her, a determined look on his face. He was going to ask her what was going on, and she had no idea what to tell him.

  :I gotta go,: she typed.

  :Talk again soon,: Jennet replied. :I’ll see what Tam thinks.:

  Spark turned off her messager. Lucky Jennet, to have somebody to share things with.

  “Hey,” she said as Niteesh took the seat next to her.

  “Is for horses,” he said. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Off day. It happens.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.” When she didn’t reply, he squinched his lips together. “Fine, don’t tell me.”

  “If I could, I would.” She hoped he believed her. The last thing she wanted to do was alienate the only friend she had on the tour.

  He gazed at her, his eyes bright, then shrugged.

  “Whatever. So, what happened to your clothes?”

  “What do you think?” Spark shot a look to the front of the bus, where Roc and Cora sprawled, taking up a row of seats each.

  “Thought so,” Niteesh said. “But I’m here now to watch your back.”

  “And vice-versa. They don’t love you any better.”

  The bus glided into motion, and Spark stared out the window as the parking lot of the gaming center slid away.

  “Yeah, but I’m just a little kid,” Niteesh said, a note of irony in his voice. “You’re the real competition. Keep your edge, though—don’t make it easy for them.”

  Spark let out a sigh that misted the window glass.

  “I know, I was distracted in there.” By otherworldly creatures giving her cryptic instructions. “In order to focus, I need some more time in-game.”

  “You need to practice?” He gave her a confused look. “You, Spark Jaxley?”

  “Something like that.” She leaned forward to make sure Roc and Cora couldn’t see her face. It wouldn’t surprise her if they read lips. “Think you could help me figure out a way to get secret system time?”

  His eyes brightened, and he tapped his lips with one finger. Niteesh was one sneaky kid, and between the two of them, Spark knew they could get her on a FullD. Vonda would probably help, too, although the more people who knew what Spark was up to, the harder it would be to keep secret. And to keep her own secrets about why, exactly, she needed to play Feyland during off hours.

  “I got it,” Niteesh said. “We’ll tell Vonda we have to brush up our PVP skills, since we know the Terabins are going to keep trying to jump us.”

  “But we both won our duels with them,” Spark said. “It’s not a good enough excuse.”

  “Then tell her your interface is glitchy, and that’s why you had issues today. Because, I tell you, your play was clearly off.”

  More lies. She was getting tired of them—but what could she do?

  “Okay. I’ll go back and talk to Vonda.”

  “If that doesn’t work, we can always break into the FullD trailer late at night, bring an auxiliary power source, and get you going that way.” He grinned and flexed his fingers. “I’m good with security codes.”

  “Too dangerous. I’m sure VirtuMax has serious safeguards on those systems. Let me talk to Vonda, first, before we try anything too crazy.”

  Though it could come to that. Her “glitchy interface” excuse would only work once, and Spark had a feeling she’d need a couple sessions in-game to get to the Dark Court.

  Jennet had talked a little bit about when she’d first played Feyland. There were several levels the gamer had to complete, each one leading closer and closer to the court, until at last they faced the Dark Queen.

  Spark had to win her way to the court and battle the queen in order to free whoever was trapped there. The thought sent a chill down her spine. How much worse was it for the poor gamer who had somehow stumbled into the Realm of Faerie? Even now they could be in terrible danger.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Aran followed Thomas down the dim path leading to the Dark Court. His fingers were cold, and he pulled the thick cloak closer about his shoulders. Not that a fancy new outfit could ease the chill he felt at the thought of standing before the Dark Queen again.

  Thomas had come up with an intricate set of clothing for Aran to wear for his audience. The shirt and close-fitting pants were nice and basic, but the tooled leather boots and vest embroidered in indigo and silver were too gaudy for his taste. Still, he didn’t argue about putting them on. At least the dark blue cloak covered much of the vest, and he could live with the ornate pin holding it closed at his throat.

  Thomas paused at the edge of the court clearing, his figure silhouetted by the eerie violet light of the bonfire.

  “Any last-minute advice?” Aran asked. He tried to make the question cocky, though it came out a little scared.

  “Speak but few words. The less you say, the less fuel you provide for the queen’s anger.”

  “Right.”

  At some point, Aran intended to find out why the queen was so mad. So far, Thomas had dodged his questions, claiming it wasn’t a good idea to discuss anywhere near the Dark Court.

  “Show me your formal bow once again,” Thomas said.

  “Are you sure it’s necessary?”

  Although Aran thought of himself as fairly coordinated, the complex court bow Thomas had drilled into him was not an easy move to master.

  “Yes.” There was no room for argument in Thomas’s tone.

  With a deep breath, Aran swept back the cloak, then stepped forward onto his right foot. He dipped low, sweeping his right arm out, while his left went behind him for balance. When he started to straighten, Thomas tapped him on the back.

  “Hold,” he said. “You may not rise until the queen gives you leave.”

  “My leg is killing me.”

  “’Tis not a matter for joking, BlackWing. More than your leg will be in pain, should you disrespect the queen.”

  Aran gritted his teeth and held the position, ignoring the hot jabs of discomfort in his muscles. Yeah, he was a rebel, like Spark had said—but there were times when you played by the rules. Until you knew when, where, and how to break them.

  “Rise,” Thomas said. “You are ready.”

  Provided he didn’t fall flat on his face. Aran unbent and rocked back onto his heels, easing the tension from his body.

  “Ready as I’ll be,” he said. “Lead on.”

  As they stepped into the clearing, the babble of fey voices rose. The figures cavorting in front of the fire paused, watching him with avid gazes. At the far side of the clearing, a tall figure stood, his head crowned with antlers gilded silver by the distant moon. Lithe hounds curled, serpentine, around his feet. There was something incredibly creepy about him, and Aran averted his eyes.

  Thomas led him past the banquet tables laid with food he couldn’t eat. Not that he’d want to—the silver goblets were filled with a heavy, dark red liquid that looked like blood, and the delicacies glowed with strange colors on their burnished plates.

  Sweet, melancholy music twined through the clearing; a breathy flute accompanied by the solemn beat of a drum. The air held the whisper of a chill, more pronounced as they drew closer to the throne. Aran darted a glance at the queen, her terrible, beautiful face framed by hair black as midnight, soft as smoke.

  Then they were before the tangled throne. Thomas swept into the court bow, and Aran followed, feeling clumsy. He remained bent over, barely breathing, his heartbeat thumpi
ng loudly in his ears.

  “Bard Thomas, BlackWing, rise,” the queen said at last.

  Aran cautiously straightened, careful not to meet her mesmerizing gaze. Instead, he watched the gossamer-winged faerie maidens clustered behind the throne. With their haunted eyes and pale skin, they looked as if they never smiled.

  “Stand forward, BlackWing,” the queen commanded, “and tell me what you seek in the Realm of Faerie.”

  Swallowing, he took a step toward the throne. Thomas stood at his shoulder, and Aran was grateful for the support. Even though they didn’t trust one another, Thomas was a decent guy.

  “Address her formally,” the bard whispered to him as Aran opened his mouth.

  Right. He paused a moment, considering what to say.

  “Your majesty—I’m here because the goblin told me this is where I’d be able to see what lies behind Feyland. That’s what I want.”

  Beside him, Thomas drew in a sharp breath.

  “Are you satisfied with what you have found?” the queen asked, a bite of laughter in her voice.

  “Not exactly.”

  He never would have guessed actual magic underlay the sim game of Feyland. How was a guy supposed to hack that? Learn a bunch of spells? It was ridiculous, in a horrible kind of way.

  “You are a mortal skilled in the use of this so-called game and its interface, are you not?”

  “I guess.” Not that he’d had much of a chance to play Feyland.

  The Dark Queen smiled, and Aran blinked at the way the clearing lightened, as if dusted with starlight. Her deep eyes were filled with mystery, and he swayed, dizzy from the force of her expression.

  “Steady,” Thomas said in an undertone, catching his arm.

  Aran yanked his gaze back down to the deep green moss underfoot and pulled in a steadying breath. The queen’s laughter sifted over him, light as chiming bells.

  “Ah, I forget how easily you mortals are undone,” she said. “I have a challenge for you, BlackWing. I greatly desire to open my realm more fully to the human world—and to do this, I need someone who understands the inner workings of Feyland.”