Feyland: The First Adventure (3 page)

“W
here is she?” the Dark Queen hissed, in a voice edged with ice. “You were to bring Fair Jennet to me, not cause her to flee!”

A white tracery of frost formed on the Black Knight’s chest-piece, proof of his ruler’s ire. He bore the cutting cold without complaint.

“I will not fail you again,” he said.

The queen crooked her finger, compelling him forward until he stared into her deep, fathomless eyes.

“See that you do not.”

She drew a wickedly pointed blackthorn spike from her robes and, faster than thought, plunged it deep into the place his heart should be.

The knight shuddered but held his ground. This was the price of his failure. He would not die from it, though the pain would have sent any other member of the Dark Queen’s court screaming to their knees. Instead, he merely bowed his head.

The watching Court laughed: pale maidens gowned in cobwebs, sharp-toothed goblins, hollow-eyed, nameless creatures with impossibly twisted limbs, all cackling and gibbering until the noise eclipsed the waning scythe of the moon above.

J
ennet pulled off the sim helmet and shook her head. She felt disoriented and muzzy, as if she’d fallen asleep in the hot sun and cooked her brains. That last fight had not gone well. Good thing the game suddenly glitched out.

She slid her hands from the gloves and stood up. Her shoulder ached—stung, really. Rubbing it, she powered down the FullD system, then checked it over to make sure she’d left no sign of her illicit gaming. Everything looked just the way Dad had left it.

She glanced at the clock and sucked in a breath. It was later than she’d thought. Dad would be home for dinner any minute. Hastily, she left the gaming room, turning the lights off behind her.

Just in time—the front door chimed open and she heard her dad come in, talking to somebody. Had he invited Thomas over?

Sure enough, her father’s friend, Thomas Rimer, had joined him after work. Thomas was like an uncle to her. Though she didn’t see enough of him, since Dad had gotten him a job with VirtuMax as a lead game designer.

Smiling, she went to the stairs and hung over the railing above the entryway.

“Hey there, Jennet,” Thomas said, waving. “Come down. I brought you something.”

“You’re going to spoil her,” Jennet’s dad said, but his voice was mild.

She hurried down the stairs, and Thomas handed her the flat package he’d had tucked under his arm.

“What is it?” She lifted it, guessing it was a book. Thomas collected rare old print volumes, though her dad teased him about hoarding dead trees.

“Come, sit,” her dad said, playing host.

He shepherded them into the living room, then keyed an order into the house computer; tea for her, wine for Thomas and himself. Their place was old—most of Jennet’s friends had voice-activated house networks—but they’d lived in the house for over ten years. Dad bought it after… she swallowed. After her mother took off. She preferred not to remember anything about that time.

No, this was their home, the only one she and Dad needed. Just the two of them. Old tech or not, she liked it that way.

Jennet sat on the soft couch, avoiding the one cushion that pulled people in like a black hole, and carefully peeled back the plain brown paper enclosing her present. As she’d guessed, it was a book—an old one, from the dusty, comforting smell emanating from the pages.

It was bound in green leather, the title worked in raised gold lettering:
Tales of Folk and Faerie
. Jennet ran her fingers over the words, the letters cool to her touch.

“Another old book?” There was a smile in her dad’s voice. “Jennet has a top-end tablet, you know. Nobody reads those old, musty things any more.”

“This book is only available in print,” Thomas said. “It’s special. Go ahead, open it.”

She lifted the cover, and caught her breath at the illustration on the opening page.

Moon-pale mushrooms encircled in a dusky glade, with dark pines rising behind. Within the circle, small figures danced, winged and shining. The colors were rich and mysterious, and she could almost smell the resin of pine and cedar drifting from the page. The picture was titled
Midsummer Pixies
.

Fingers trembling, she turned the pages, titles of songs and stories flashing before her eyes:
The Elfin Knight, Childe Rolande, The Nixie
.

Most of the drawing were in black and white. Gnarled figures perched in tree branches, lovely women who called men to their deaths in deep water, winged sprites darting through a clearing. And the Black Knight. Jennet’s stomach clenched as she stared at the picture of the knight. Her shoulder ached, and she hastily turned the page.

Next was a full-color illustration of a beautiful fey woman. Her face was delicate, her eyes deep and compelling. Her dress was woven of shadows and night. Pointed ears were just visible through her midnight-dark hair, gems tangled like stars in its silky blackness.

Her expression held a certain cruelty; something sharp in the tilt of her lips, her long-nailed fingers.

The Faerie Queen
.

Shivering, Jennet closed the book.

“What do you think?” Thomas asked.

“I… it’s amazing. Thank you.”

“Keep it safe,” he said. His smile was weary at the corners. “It’s very valuable.”

She hugged the book to her chest, her mind whirring. Pieces clicked into place like clockwork. Thomas: hired on to develop a top-secret game project for VirtuMax. Feyland: the game her dad was project manager for. And this book, full of ancient faerie lore that clearly was the inspiration for the world she had just been in.

Yet she couldn’t say anything. She knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that Dad would forbid her to play Feyland again if she confessed she’d snuck on to the system. He would change his passwords, locking her out of that vividly magical world.

After dinner, she excused herself. Claiming she had too much homework, she went up to her room and pored over the book, absorbing every bit of information. Fynnoderee was a brownie from Manx lore. The Pixies were mischievous creatures, but not malicious. She found no mention of the Black Knight, though a dim memory of some ancient ballad hovered at the back of her mind.

Jennet read a short fable of a girl who entered an enchanted faerie ring on Midsummer’s Eve, and found herself transported to the Realm of Faerie. She had feasted and danced—and when she returned to the real world the next morning, seventy human years had passed, and everyone she loved was dead.

It was brilliant, how Thomas had woven faerie lore into the game interface, and how VirtuMax brought it to virtual life. In a way, using the sim equipment was like stepping through a magical portal into another world.

Anticipation burned in her blood. Tomorrow, as soon as she got home from school, she’d return to Feyland and see what new adventures awaited.

I
n the moon-deep clearing of the Dark Court, the queen sat silently on her throne. She turned a hollow glass sphere between her elegant hands; a vessel, waiting to be filled. Her Realm was withering, but the means to save it was nearly within her grasp.

The old ways had closed; the circles tumbled and broken, the wild places lost. But as long as she ruled the Dark Realm, she would fight for a return to the human world.

Midnight wind lifted her hair, the dark strands tarnished silver by starlight. Centuries of patience honed her to stillness as she bided. Soon. Soon.

A shiver ran through the court, and the queen smiled. That smile could cut to the bone, and the creatures nearest her throne cowered.

“Huntsman,” she called. “I charge you—seek out your quarry in the mortal realm.”

The antlered form of the Huntsman detached himself from the dark trees.

“I shall call the hounds,” he said in a voice pulled from nightmare. “Tonight, the Wild Hunt rides.”

“Do not let her escape.”

“My queen.” He bowed, his antlers sweeping a shadow across the moon.

Turning, he let out a piercing whistle. Feral red-eyed hounds flowed to him from the shadows, lithe and deadly. Behind them came the riders, white-haired elfin knights upon flame-footed horses. Without a word they leapt into the sky, blotting out the stars with their passage.

The eerie winding of the horn unfurled through the night. Small animals curled tighter in their dens. Any unfortunate, wakeful creature felt panic freeze their blood at the baying of the hounds and the thundering of hooves as the Hunt was loosed.

J
ennet woke ten minutes before her alarm. Her skin was clammy from sweat, and the aftermath of weird, confused dreams echoed in her head. In fact, she didn’t feel at all well. She stumbled out of bed and pulled on her robe, then hit the intercom button in her room.

“Marie?”

“Yes, Miss Jennet,” the house manager said in her clipped accent. “I’ll send your tea right up.”

Jennet had been thinking of staying home from school, but maybe a cup of tea would perk her up, chase the last tatters of uneasy dreams from her head.

By the time George, their chauffeur, dropped her off at Prep, she felt better. The normalcy of the school day folded around her. The aggravations of her classes, the tight silence between herself and her former best friend, Taree—not pleasant, but at least familiar.

At lunch, Jennet sat alone at the end of a long table. Until last month, she and Taree had claimed this corner as their own. But now Taree was with a new boyfriend, one that Jennet couldn’t stand. She’d been a little too honest about that with her former friend, and Taree had stopped talking to her.

Petro was rich, even by Prep standards, where the kids came from wealthy families. He was also mean, constantly picking on the ’shippers, the few scholarship students admitted to their elite school. Jennet wished she had the courage to say something, but getting on Petro’s bad side meant nothing but trouble for everyone involved. If she had any hope of mending her friendship with Taree, she’d have to bite her tongue and wait for things to work out.

However, her sympathy didn’t extend far enough to welcome the company of one of the ’shippers, when the tangle-haired girl set her lunch down next to Jennet. Didn’t the girl know what a hairbrush was for? Jennet bolted the rest of her food and got up, leaving the girl to eat her meal alone.

Jennet went into the courtyard and found a bench in the shade. Closing her eyes, she conjured up memories of playing Feyland. She could hardly wait to get back in-game and shed the unhappiness creeping over her.

“Uh, hi.” The unsteady voice broke into her musing.

Great. Brock Havers, the most annoying geeklet in school. For a second, Jennet contemplated faking sleep, but he’d just poke at her until she responded. With a sigh, she opened her eyes.

“Hey,” she said.

Brock smiled, his eyes painfully full of unrequited love. “So, Jennet. I was just, uh. Anyway. There’s that new movie?”

“I’m busy this week,” she said. And next week. And next year.

“Oh, right.” His expression clouded and he scuffed the gray concrete with his boot. Then he looked at her again, his eyes brightening. “Like, beta-testing for your dad or something I bet. Right? Isn’t there a new top-secret game going into production?”