Chronicle Worlds: Feyland

by Samuel Peralta

  “Did you get the Bard’s Challenge quest yet?” Jane asked.

  Agatha shook her head no.

  Zack held up his hand in a swift gesture that asked for quiet. “I think I hear something.”

  They exchanged glances, listening intently for any sound out of place. There was a rugged and hollow horn blast that vibrated the earth under their feet. What’s with the sound induced earthquake? Agatha raised her eyebrows in an expression she knew matched Jane and Zack’s. The horn sounded again, there was more vibration underfoot, and for a brief time the sound seemed closer, louder.

  Agatha pointed east towards the sounds’ origin. “Is there a path going that way?”

  “Let’s see,” Jane said.

  After some brief scouting, they found a trail hidden under crossing boughs of heather. In single file they started down the path, which took them up the side of a larger hill. Exaggerated morning shadows made the worn hunks of rock near the summit stand out among the heather. Cresting the hill, Agatha saw a large village of stone cottages below. Crowds gathered in the streets. Just outside the village, people stood milling about tables covered in brightly patterned fabric. It appeared some sort of festival was underway.

  A flock of sparrow-sized birds flew past, and doubled back to swirl around them. The birds twittered in a song of stilted short bursts. They were all a tawny brown with beige highlights, and streaks of auburn ribboning from throat to belly. Jane pointed to some of the birds alighting among the heather.

  “They have riders.”

  A bird and its rider bobbed before Agatha’s face. Pulling back, she inspected the bullfrog astride the bird who hovered and flapped before her. The frog tipped a feather-plumed orange floppy hat, which contrasted with the navy dinner jacket he wore. There was a vague expression of amusement in the frog’s mustard colored eyes, as his wide oval irises widened. With bulb-tipped fingers, the well-dressed frog beckoned them to follow.

  The frog and his bird led them off the path towards a lone juniper tree on another hill. With a twisted bend, the juniper tree rose from the hill’s edge. Its trunk looked stripped of bark and flaked, an outer husk made of its inner fibers. The mangled stem was an impossible contrast to its lush spanning limbs of dark berries and soft needles.

  A man sat beneath the tree, with a bay horse grazing nearby. The man had a head of flame-red curls and wore silver armor rimmed with accents of bright copper. As they approached, he stood, and Agatha saw a large horn made of animal bone was slung beside his hip.

  “Rufus, you are ever a gentlemen,” the red-haired knight said to the frog. “I will toast with you at the fair today.”

  Rufus the frog waved farewell, before circling on his bird and flying back towards the village. The knight stepped forward and made a formal bow.

  “Greetings Illuminer Jane, Songbird Agatha, and Master Bard Zachary. I am Sir Nye.”

  “Greetings,” Agatha said. “Were you the one playing that fine instrument slung at your side?”

  “Indeed,” he said.

  Sir Nye lifted the horn from his belt and offered it to her. Taking it, Agatha ran her fingers along the etched carving of multiple birds in flight.

  “This is so beautiful, I loved the sound it made. If I could keep it, I would.”

  Sir Nye leaned over her and lingered there, with his hand resting on the horn. His eyes were a bright hue of marmalade.

  “Then it, and its magical music is yours,” he said.

  “What must I give in return for such a prize?”

  “Your hand in marriage,” Sir Nye said.

  Agatha felt warmth rising up her neck to brighten her cheeks. She never expected a sim character to make her an offer of marriage. This game was more confusing by the minute.

  “However, we can’t marry until I have a new shirt,” Sir Nye said. “One free of a woman’s embroidery, but imbued with your song.”

  “Oh, I’ve never made a shirt…with a song?” Agatha looked over at Jane and Zack for help. Zack just shrugged and motioned to Jane like the challenge was one he understood.

  Jane nodded her head. “I think we can do that.”

  “Where do we make it?” Agatha asked Sir Nye.

  “Why, with the tailor in the village of course. I should like it for the festival today, so I may wear it and boast of my Songbird’s gift.”

  “Then we will go, and I will make it,” Agatha said.

  “I will see you then,” Sir Nye said bowing his head as they left.

  Zack started running ahead, weaving through the heather as he led them down to the village of stone cottages.

  “Zack!” Agatha shouted after him, “Zack wait.”

  He turned around with a hop, “I’ve never seen this level!”

  Leaving Zack to his fun, Agatha stepped beside Jane. “What do you think Sir Nye meant by imbued with my song?”

  “I think we’ll need to make a shirt,” Jane said, “but it will need to be made while you sing. I have a spell that can capture a rhyme or music in an object. So we’ll sew, you’ll sing, and I’ll cast the spell.”

  Agatha sighed and tucked her hair behind each ear. “I hope it works. This is Feyland, nothing here is ever that simple.”

  Zack was whooping as he continued to leap down the hill. Jane put both hands on her hips and huffed a laugh. “Well, I know one Master Bard who doesn’t seem to mind anything that happens here.”

  The village was a flurry of activity. Women twirled brightly colored parasols topped with streamers of trailing ribbon. People drank from large tankards, hefting them up with two hands in cheering toasts. A line of people linked arm in arm skipped a dance that snaked them through the crowd, as onlookers cheered and clapped. The smell of freshly baked pastries filled the air. The main street was paved with a repeating mosaic of a yellow on blue sun pattern, and curved back and forth in a pleasant meander. Agatha and her friends passed many shops before they found the town tailor.

  Stepping into the shop, they were greeted by a tall man. He wore garments custom made for his long reed-like limbs, and inspected them with grey eyes. Peering over his pug nose, the man touched a long finger to what could barely be called a chin.

  “Good morning, I’m Master Lewis. How can I be of service to Sir Nye’s betrothed?”

  “Sir Nye’s what?” Agatha said. Jane cleared her throat as Zack doubled over, straining to contain his laughter.

  “Sir Nye’s betrothed. You are his beloved Songbird, are you not?”

  “She is indeed,” Jane said. “She’s here to make him a new shirt.”

  “Very good,” Lewis said. “You are in the right place, but we have no supply of the fabric you need. First you will need to fetch some from the weaver.”

  He pointed in the direction of the weaver’s house, and they walked out onto the street again.

  “You’re engaged to a sim character,” Zack said. He laughed and clapped in time with the people on the street.

  “I think it’s sort of tweaked,” Jane said.

  “Yes it’s tweaked,” Agatha said. “So why did you just agree with the tailor that that’s who I am?”

  “Sorry.” Jane gave Agatha an apologetic look.

  “It’s like the perfect relationship,” Zack said. “She’ll never really see him, so they’ll never fight. He’s in a sim, so he’ll never get mad about how much she spends on clothing. And if she ever needs to turn down a guy asking her out, she can tell him honestly she’s—” Zack choked on a laugh and tried again to finish his sentence. “She can honestly say she’s betrothed.”

  “That’s not fair,” Agatha said, trying to ignore his amusement. “You don’t know anything about how much I spend on clothes.”

  “We became friends at Reruns,” Jane said, looping her arm into Agatha’s in a show of unity as they walked past Zack.

  “Come on, I’m joking here! It was a joke.”

  They arrived at the weaver’s house to be told there was no thread from which to make fabric, and were sent on to the town
spinner to fetch some. The spinner told them there was no wool to spin for thread, and sent them on to the local shepherd for wool. The shepherd told them half the wool was theirs for the taking if they did the work of shearing his entire flock.

  Despite Zack’s carefree demeanor, he summoned his mandolin and stepped after the shepherd, who led them to the pasture and a stand for fleecing sheep. The shepherd gave them simple instructions and left them to shear his flock.

  Agatha picked up the blade shears and gave them a quick squeeze. “Do you think I should sing over every task it’ll take to make Sir Nye’s shirt?”

  “It might be a lot more singing than you think, I hope you don’t go hoarse from it,” Jane said with a sympathetic nod.

  “Your song selection menu is up,” Zack said,

  Agatha looked at the choices and selected The Spinning Wheel. Zack began to pluck the intro as the song lyrics scrolled by in glowing gold letters. The music drew the sheep near and Agatha sang as she helped Jane shear every sheep in the flock.

  When the wool was collected, they left with their promised payment. Zack continued to play as Agatha continued to sing and they went to the spinners house.

  By the time they reached the weavers with their spindles of thread, Agatha had sung the song enough times to memorize the words. The weaving chore went quickly, and soon they were back in the tailor’s shop.

  Agatha unfolded the freshly woven fabric on the floor. Jane stepped back and retrieved what looked like a magic wand. With graceful precision, Jane painted symbols made of light in the air. Her artistry continued as she walked a full circle around Agatha and the fabric. Each scrawled light symbol hung in midair, with a white-hot glow. When Jane’s circle was complete, the lyrics to The Spinning Wheel began to appear once more. The words were etched in light on the fabric as Agatha sang them.

  Jane stood still, holding the power of her spell together. Zack continued to strum his mandolin, as Agatha harmonized her voice and sewed Sir Nye’s shirt. Their marathon performance came to an end when Agatha held up a completed shirt. The circle of symbols faded, and the shirt seemed to absorb the lyrics painted in light.

  Jane and Zack were such good players; they used their simming abilities with effortless grace. Agatha never would have finished this challenge without their in-game proficiency. She smiled at her friends. “Wow, that was prime you guys.”

  Zack glanced down at his hand and rubbed his thumb over his string fingers before looking up at Agatha and smiling. “This whole village is amazing, I’ve never seen it, and I’ve finished the Bard’s Challenge.”

  “We’re not done yet. We need to find Sir Nye and see if he likes his new shirt,” Jane said.

  They walked back up the hill to the juniper tree, where Sir Nye sat waiting. He held out his horn again to Agatha, who tried to avoid staring into his marmalade colored eyes. She presented the shirt they had made.

  “The horn is yours,” he said. “As am I.”

  Agatha swallowed and tried not to frown. Whoever programmed the attractive Sir Nye insta-love character needed to improve their taste in romantic dramas. As Sir Nye pressed the shirt into his face, Agatha restrained the urge to put her palm against her forehead. What was he doing? Was he actually sniffing the shirt?

  The huff and snort of Zack’s failed attempts to restrain his laughter only increased Agatha’s discomfort.

  “I hope you like it,” Agatha said. “Thanks again for the horn.”

  She held it in both hands and a burst of light flew out from around the horn and scattered off like dust in all directions.

  “My horn provides you with musical accompaniment whenever you desire it,” Sir Nye said.

  Zack lifted his hand. “Do I get one of those too? I did help.”

  Sir Nye gave Zack a half grin but made no reply. Turning to Agatha he said, “Say my name sweet Songbird, and I will be in your arms.”

  Agatha blinked in wide-eyed horror. It was amazing how equally attractive and creepy Sir Nye was, and the idea of hugging him scared her.

  But her fear of him faded as she wondered if never saying his name meant she would never have to see him again. She never actually agreed to marry him, right? She looked down at the horn and felt a chill.

  Clearing her throat she said, “Well then, that’s great. Good day.” If she had primary control of the sim, she would just go ahead and shut the game down now.

  “Good day? Dear Songbird will you not attend the festival on my arm?” Sir Nye asked.

  “She can’t,” Jane said, “she promised to go with us and search for the Bard’s Challenge.”

  “That’s right, I promised,” Agatha said. “Do you have any clue where we should start our search?”

  Sir Nye stepped close and took Agatha’s hand in his calloused grip. His thumb caressed her knuckles. Agatha looked at the shine of his breastplate and held her breath.

  “I could never ask you to break a promise. Travel northwest from the village until you reach the hazelnut tree grove. Sing to the lark but leave the crossbill alone. Farewell my sweet Songbird.”

  “Farewell,” Agatha said.

  Sir Nye released her hand and Agatha inhaled with relief.

  When they were a short distance away Zack stopped. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m hungry for whatever it is they’re baking in that town. What do you two say we log out and find some food-food? Real food.”

  “I’m hungry too,” Jane said.

  Zack raised one finger and angled it to initiate the screen to save their game and exit. Agatha’s body felt the sim chair as she took in the real world surroundings of Jane and Zack’s apartment. Zack pulled off his sim gloves and inspected his fingers.

  Jane tilted her head to the side watching Zack. “You all right?”

  “Yeah, my calluses hurt a little more than usual. All that playing.”

  “All that playing made your string fingers hurt?” Agatha said.

  Zack shrugged and stood up, “Wouldn’t be the first time. I just wish I got the same in-game reward your sim fiancé gave you. Now you get to sing in game, with better instrumental accompaniment. It won’t be the basic notes they play for everyone.”

  “So that’s what he meant,” Agatha said, better understanding the reward from Sir Nye.

  “I think I could get into a red haired guy,” Zack said, with serious consideration. “At least long enough to get that reward.”

  Jane laughed as she offered Agatha a hand up. Agatha took it and followed her new friends into the kitchen for dinner. As much as she loved Feyland, the interaction with Sir Nye had unsettled her. Declining Jane’s offer to sim again, Agatha convinced Jane to show her the clothing design sketches she made with an old screenie program.

  “Zack says some of these nobody would wear,” Jane said, tapping through images of her older designs.

  “Really?” Agatha said. “Right, because Zack is the poster child of prime.”

  “What?” Zack said leaning in the doorway to Jane’s room.

  “You’re going to break my auto door again,” Jane said, getting up from her desk to haul Zack into her room so the door could slide shut. Zack playfully pushed at her hands as she released him, and then flopped his whole body onto her bed.

  “I’m prime, right Jane? I’m very prime,” Zack said.

  Jane grinned at her brother, mussing his hair playfully, and said, “You could be.”

  Zack gave Jane a hurt look and looked to Agatha with a plea for support. Agatha raised her eyebrows, making her skepticism clear.

  “What?” Zack said, looking down as he grabbed at his shirt. “Are my clothes not good enough for you high school fashion goddesses?”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Agatha said.

  “You didn’t need to, I saw the way you stared at me like a chip child.”

  “Your potential to be prime is there,” Agatha said. “You…well you’re dressed sloppy.”

  “Sloppy?”

  “Ah-huh, sloppy. And for the record, my
mother didn’t grow up with a chip in her wrist. My mom worked hard for what she has. She always told me, just because you’re poor doesn’t mean you have to dress like it. There’s no excuse for clothes with holes or things that don’t fit, unless you’re homeless. You’re breaking both her rules right now, and to me, that’s sloppy.”

  “Why does being better dressed make me prime?”

  Agatha sighed, “I think you’re missing my point. Look, you’re in a band, you write music, you’re an artist. A good one. But if this is how you dress all the time, then I think you could do better. Apply a little more of your artistic instincts to the way you dress. It’s like the cover of an album, a game, or a book.”

  “Wait-wait, aren’t you not supposed to judge a book by its cover?”

  “I’m not going to lie, I judge everything by its cover. Most of the time I find exactly what I expected. The professionals in the marketing industry have consumer psychology pegged. Anybody who thinks their buying habits don’t land on a consumer line and block chart is an ego charged fool.”

  “Listen to you!” Zack said.

  “Sure, there’s the odd time where a product’s better than the packaging, or you get something tweaked, where the cover’s the only thing you paid for. I just think, if you’re going to be prime, be prime.”

  “I think I hit one of your hot buttons,” Zack said, giving her a mollifying smile.

  Agatha threw up her hands and restrained a growl. Yes, he hit one of her hot buttons, and his smile made her think he was ignoring everything she said. “I pay attention, even to things in poor packaging. But there are a lot more people out there who won’t.”

  Jane nodded her head in agreement, and resumed tapping through her designs. Zack twisted his lips in quiet consideration as he scooted off Jane’s bed. The fun exuberance he bubbled with since that morning was gone as he left Jane’s room, and Agatha felt awful. How do you apologize for saying something, when you meant every word of it?

  If only she’d kept her big mouth shut. She liked Jane and Zack, and they made it too easy for her to be herself. Zack was kind and funny, and underneath his sloppiness was a decent-looking guy. People were missing out if they avoided him because of the way he dressed. She was trying to help him, but if she wasn’t more careful, their friendship would come apart in less time than it took to create.