Read Feyland: The First Adventure Online

Authors: Anthea Sharp

Tags: #fantasy series, #fantasy short story, #urban fantasy, #ya fantasy, #teen adventure, #computer gaming, #Fairies, #fey, #videogames turned real, #science fantasy, #ya science fiction, #teen

Feyland: The First Adventure (7 page)

BOOK: Feyland: The First Adventure
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A low sighing went through the branches of the dark trees. The candle nearest her snuffed out, as though some invisible hand had abruptly doused the flame.

The queen shook her head. “One chance gone.”

A circle of watchers had formed around the table. Lithe women with gossamer wings gathered beside the queen. Gnarled brown creatures with fingers that were too long for their hands swayed next to them. Red-capped goblins and capering sprites—they all watched her with avid, gleaming eyes.

Freaky. This whole battle had turned beyond strange. Jennet pulled in a deep breath, though her chest felt tight, and gave another answer. “Music?”

The second she said the word, she knew it was wrong. She shivered as a second candle flame went out. The watchers surrounding her tittered, and the low breeze rustled the branches.

“Two chances gone.” The queen’s words held a victorious edge. “A pity you have no allies in this.”

She beckoned, and a faerie stepped up to her side—a beautiful maiden in a dress spun of cobwebs and dusk. Gossamer wings rose from her shoulders, changing hues in the wan light from blue to silver to palest violet.

“My handmaiden, MeadowRue,” the queen said. “You have met before.”

“I don’t think so,” Jennet said.

The Dark Queen smiled, an expression so sharp it could draw blood. “Ah yes. She wore a different form then.”

The queen’s pale fingers moved in a complex gesture, and the faerie maiden shrank and darkened, until a lumpish creature stood there, clad in a ragged dress with unkempt hair. Jennet sucked in a breath. It was the annoying creature who had kept wanting her to do dead-end quests! The one that had reminded her too much of the unfortunate scholarship girl at Prep. Damn it. Obviously she’d made a bad call there.

“Fair Jennet,” the handmaiden said, her voice as thin and raspy as Jennet recalled. “Thrice I begged you for aid, and thrice you refused me. Had you but bent your grasping human ways, I would now be permitted to aid you. But your impatience and selfishness blinded you. Now, at your time of need, you must stand alone.”

“But…”

Jennet caught her lower lip between her teeth. She wanted to argue, to beg for another chance, but there were no excuses. Not for the way she’d behaved in-game, and not for the way she’d treated the ’shipper girl.
Should-haves
writhed in the pit of her belly. Even in a game, she could have strived to be a better person. And definitely in real life.

With a wave of her hand, the queen restored MeadowRue to her true form. The handmaiden gave Jennet a glance full of pity, then turned away.

“The riddle remains,” the queen said. “Answer it.”

Jennet squeezed her eyes closed, blocking out the shadowy glade, the fantastical figures, the wicked curve of the Dark Queen’s smile. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest, and she tasted the metal edge of fear on her tongue. Think. She had to figure this out.

“Your time has run, Fair Jennet. Speak your final answer.”

She opened her eyes, to see that the Dark Queen had risen to her feet. A single candle burned between them.

“I…”

Panic banged through her, like a hundred doors slamming shut. The watching creatures grew still and silent. Even the wind quieted, waiting. She had to answer.

“Is it ... a dream?” The words floated from her mouth and hovered there, just beyond her lips.

In the silence that followed, Jennet felt shadows gathering closer. Dread crawled through her, carrying the awful sensation of failure.

The last candle died. A high, wailing music started up, the keening cry of pipes swirling through the air. Slowly, the queen shook her head. Diamonds sparkled like frost in her dark hair.

“No,” she said. “You have lost. Now, mortal girl, I take my due.”

The queen held up a hollow crystal sphere in one hand. With the other, she scribed strange gestures in the air. Her fingers left glowing streaks of silver against the darkness. Then she pointed straight at Jennet.

“Ahh!” A sharp pain speared through Jennet, as though the queen had stabbed her in the chest. She doubled over, gasping, while agony iced her blood. Oh god. It hurt.

“Behold, Fair Jennet,” the queen said. “The answer is Life. Your essence is captured here. It will serve us well.”

Jennet looked up, tears clouding her vision. The queen held the sphere aloft. It wasn’t empty any more. Inside was a bright swirl of color, like rainbow flames. They pulsed and danced, trapped inside their crystal prison. Wavering, calling to her.

“How,” Jennet forced the words out through lips tight with pain, “how do I get that back?”

Every game had a second chance, a third. You kept fighting the last battle until you finally won. Failure wasn’t permanent. Not like in real life.

The queen laughed, and the sound carried a bitter chill. “You cannot. Without a champion, you are lost. Now go. Go! I send thee, defeated, from the Dark Realm.”

Pain wrenched through Jennet and she screamed. Golden light blinded her senses and she swirled through a sickening vertigo. Blackness waited, merciful and dark, on the other side. She opened her arms to it, and fell.

 

 

J
ennet woke, aching, in the sim chair. Her hands were stiff inside the gaming gloves, and when she sat forward, fire exploded in her shoulder. She could barely lift her arm, but it was impossible to take off the helmet one-handed. Trying not to whimper, she gritted her teeth against the agony and pulled off her gear.

She had lost.

Feyland was more than just a sim game. The clues had been there all along, but she hadn’t paid enough attention until now. Now, when it was too late. And she’d done worse than lose the game.

There was a frigid hollow in the center of her chest. The Dark Queen had taken something from her—something she feared she couldn’t live without. Bright flames trapped inside a magical sphere. Her
mortal essence
, the queen had said.

She had to get it back.

Jennet stumbled to her bedroom. She swayed at the edge of her bed, trying to pull the covers back. No use. She toppled forward onto the blue coverlet, and let the blackness of sleep take her down.

 

 

C
all an ambulance! Now!

…unusual symptoms, Mr. Carter. No signs of external trauma…

--still unconscious?

…as soon as she wakes up we’ll notify you. Now get some rest…

(sobbing)

 

 

“D
ad?” Her voice was creaky, the word sticking in her mouth like it was coated with tar.

Jennet thought she’d heard him, his voice taut with panic. And later—crying? What was going on?

She couldn’t open her eyes. And then she could, the lashes parting gummily. Unfamiliar white walls surrounded her, and the antiseptic smell hit her nose the same time her brain registered
hospital
.

What was she doing lying in a hospital bed?

An IV fed into her left arm, and she was dressed in a dun-colored gown. The gridded lights overhead made her want to close her eyes again, but she had to figure out what was going on.

“Dad?” she called again, fear lending her voice a wavery strength.

The door opened and a blue-smocked nurse bustled in, her hair tied neatly back.

“Awake at last,” she said. “And how are you feeling?”

“I really don’t know.” Jennet took a deep breath. Nothing hurt, but her throat was blazingly parched. “Could I get some water?”

The nurse nodded. “I’ll be right back. But if you need anything else, press the call button.”

“I need my dad.”

“Contacting him is the first thing on my list.” The nurse gave her an encouraging smile and left, closing the door softly.

Jennet stared around the room. There was a big vase of hydrangeas—blue and purple and green—the only real spot of color in the place. Thick white curtains were drawn over the window, the light a bright smear behind.

The door flew open, and her dad rushed in. His hair was rumpled and he looked exhausted, but as soon as he saw her, a smile transformed his face.

“Jen! Oh, honey.”

He caught her up in a hug, careful of the tubes stuck in her arm, and Jennet clung to him. He smelled like sunshine and safety.

“I’m here, Dad.”

“I know.” His voice was thick with emotion. “The docs say they want another day of observation, and then they’ll let you come home. I can’t believe I didn’t realize you had walking pneumonia—I’m so sorry.”

“I did?” She didn’t remember being sick.

What she did remember was the Dark Queen taking her mortal essence—but that must have been a dream. Right? She had been feverishly ill, after all. The strange, hollow feeling in her chest was just an after-effect of her illness; nothing more.

“We’re through it now,” her dad said. Tears lurked in his eyes. “Let me get some light in here.”

He went to the window and pulled back the curtain. Afternoon sun poured into the room, as though it had just been waiting for an invitation. The branches of a tree were visible from the bed, dark green leaves moving gently in the breeze below the cloud-spotted sky.

Returning to the bedside, her dad sat and took her hand.

“I have some bad news,” he said, his voice strained. “It’s… I don’t know how to tell you this, but—Thomas is dead.”

“What?” She clutched his hand, her mind buzzing in circles. “How could he be? What happened?”

Dad shook his head. “He died at home, the doctors think from a stroke. It was fast, and probably painless.”

Tears choked her throat. “But I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“None of us did.” Her dad blinked, hard, but a drop of moisture still rolled down one cheek. “I’m so sorry to have to break this to you while you’re still in the hospital, but I thought you’d want to know right away.”

Jennet pressed her lips together and nodded. She couldn’t quite believe that Thomas was gone.

“The funeral is the day after tomorrow. You’ll be home by then.” Her dad leaned forward again and wrapped her in a tight hug. “I love you,” he said against her hair.

“I love you too, Dad.” She hugged him awkwardly back, mindful of the IV.

She felt cold and empty inside, but at least she was alive, and with her dad. Thomas’s death was horrible—but she and Dad had gone through worse and come out the other side.

Not perfectly, no, but who ever made it through life without a few scars?

 

BOOK: Feyland: The First Adventure
4.57Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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